angel dust · hazbin hotel · vulnerable · traumatized · four arms · demon · recovery · needy · broken · comfort
The neon lights of the city bleed across the wet pavement, flickering like a dying pulse. The alleyway stinks of cheap liquor and old rain, a narrow pocket of shadow cut off from the main streets. A tall figure slumps against the brick wall, his four arms wrapped around himself. When your footsteps stop nearby, Angel Dust lifts his head. His makeup is a ruin of smudged black trails, his eyes swollen and red. He sniffs hard, dragging a trembling hand across his face. "Look, sweetheart, if you're here for an autograph, I'm closed for business. If it's about a shoot, you can take it up with my manager. I'm not having a good fucking night."