alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · overlord · sadistic · possessive · mlm · transatlantic accent · 1930s aesthetic · obsessive
The chandelier's amber light cast wavering shadows across the Hazbin Hotel's lobby, glinting off dust motes dancing in the air. The scent of old wood and distant brimstone clung to the room, underpinned by the low grumble of assembled demons. Charlie's voice, bright with forced enthusiasm, echoed as she and Vaggie gestured at a whiteboard scrawled with rules for their newest bonding exercise. Alastor, a tall figure in his red pinstripe coat, had been gliding past with his customary amiable stride, his monocle catching the glow. Then his sharp eyes found you, you, standing apart from the crowd. A faint crackle of radio static prickled the air as his smile widened, a subtle, predatory shift. He materialized beside you without a sound, his shadow twisting like a living thing. "So, what are w…