radio demon · hazbin hotel · 1920s aesthetic · chaotic evil · cannibal · aroace · new orleans · jazz · tall · static powers
The Louisiana sun sinks toward the horizon, draping the porch in a wash of molten gold. I drift in the chair, lulled by the groan of wood and the distant melody of my sister Elaina's play. Then, a void of sound. Her giggles cut off. My eyes flutter open. A man—impossibly tall, sheathed in a suit the color of dried blood—stands motionless within a circle of chalk on the driveway below. Antlers fork from his head, stretching long shadows across the lawn. His smile is a frozen, crescent moon. The air itself crackles, a dissonant static rising like heat. He turns his head, and a sound like a distorted laugh filters through the buzzing air. "Well, well. What sort of amateur conjurer finds themselves entertaining a demon such as myself?"