Chapter Text
It started out as any other day in this infernal damnation he called a hotel. Alastor woke up in his grand four poster bed with a smile on his face. The pocket dimension bayou he had created was waking up with the morning as well, the crickets and frogs chirping their song like an alarm for him.
Alastor made his way to the vanity where he kept a very old and very expensive bottle of Louisiana Rye, acquired directly from Earth via Imp Courier. It cost him an arm and a leg, (someone else's of course) but well worth it. Despite being morning, he poured himself a few fingers and nursed the tumbler in a clawed hand as he examined his reflection.
Adam’s mark had been healing so far, if incredibly slow. Alastor thought the angelic nature of the wound had something to do with it, but had yet to actually ask Charlie if she knew anything about it. Not that he would though. As far as anyone knew, he had completely healed months ago and he would very much like to keep it that way.
He took a swig and put the glass down, then dug around a drawer for a tin of tobacco. Practiced hands rolled a cigarette and lit it. The edge the first puff gave him released the tension building in his shoulders. Alastor sighed and re-wrapped his chest wound. He dressed in his finest, rattiest suit he had and with staff in hand, the Radio Demon gathered the shadows around him to slink into their depths only to re-appear in the main foyer of the Hazbin Hotel’s lobby.
The air was stale as usual, the scent of sulfur and brimstone ever present with bugs crawling every which way, Nifty chasing them around with a kitchen knife at the ready. Manning the bar was Husker, cleaning chipped glasses while Cherri Bomb and Angel Dust were seated at the stools. They seemed to be talking about some gossip or other, sipping mimosas in between giggling laughter.
Beyond that, Princess Charlotte was speaking in a much too cheery voice about the day’s activities like Group Therapy and Meditation Time. Vaggie stood next to her, a glare fixed on anyone who wasn’t listening, which was a bit impressive since absolutely no one even had their head turned in their direction. Had Alastor been any less of a gentleman, he would have rolled his eyes.
Another happy day in hell.
Nifty suddenly whizzed by his legs, a deranged smile on her face as she stabbed a cockroach about to climb up his wingtips.
“Thank you, Nifty darling,” said Alastor, voice modulated with his usual static. “Ever the savior of a gentleman’s shoes.” He gave her a little pat to her head and Nifty practically vibrated with excitement, always happy to get a compliment on her strange vendetta against vermin.
“You’re welcome, Alastor!” she shrieked. Her eye then zeroed in on another bug that had 12 eyes and pincers. She was gone before he could even blink. Chuckling to himself, he made his way over to the motley bunch of Hotel guests and staff.
“Oh!” cried Charlie, her eyes lighting up like St. Peter’s pearly gates. “And don’t forget about the ice cream social tonight!”
Groans emanated from every person present, Alastor excluded of course, but it was a damn near thing.
“Charlie, come on, do we really have to?” Angel Dust thunked his head on the top of the bar, Husk sliding another mimosa into his hand.
“But, guuuys,” Charlie practically whined. “This is a chance for us to really get to know each other! I mean, we’ve all been living together for a while now, but we barely know anything about one another.”
“I don’t know, Charlie,” said Angel. “I mean, we already hang out enough as it is. I like all you guys an’ all, but I already see enough of ya.” He gave Husk a wink and bit the bottom of his lip in a sultry manner. “Unless… you wanna show me something I haven't seen yet? If ya know what I mean.” The winged cat grumbled a few curses and looked away to hide the blush beginning to spread across his face.
Vaggie grimaced. “Ew. Don’t be gross, Angel. An Ice Cream social just gives us all an opportunity to really open up to each other. Redemption means being genuine and vulnerable. So, the least we can do is start out small. Minor stuff for now, like where you’re from or what you liked to eat while you were alive and things like that.”
Angel looked like he was about to tell her to go fuck herself when he caught sight of Charlie’s puppy dog eyes.
“Oh, Charlie, don’t- will ya stop it with the- can somebody back me up here?!”
Now, it was not for a lack of trying, but one glance at the princess had everyone grumbling their agreements. Was it a stupid idea that nobody wanted to do? Yes. Did anyone actually want to make Charlie, sweet, innocent, horribly naive Charlie, cry? Oh, FUCK no. If Lucifer didn’t smite them, then Vaggie would stab them with her spear on principle.
Angel looked around the room feeling positively betrayed.
“Oh man! Fuck it! Fine, I’ll do your stupid ice cream thing.”
“Yay!” shouted the Princess of Hell, like a child excited to go to Lu Lu Land. “And Cherri, you’re welcome to come as well!”
“HA,” exclaimed the explosive sinner. “Thanks, sheila, but I’ll take a rain check on this one.”
“Oh no you don’t.” Angel used one set of his arms to grip Cherri around the shoulders. “If I gotta do this shit then you do too.”
“What?! But I’m not even a guest here!”
“Come onnnn, bitch. Pleaaaaase?”
Alastor did roll his eyes this time. Such childish beings despite most of them having spent literal decades in Hell. Well, if they all wanted to engage in the ridiculous facsimile of camaraderie, that was fine by him. He had better things to do today than bare his damned soul over vanilla soft serve. He took a few steps towards the hotel’s main doors, intending to see if Rosie would be available for a brunch date before his outing into the city. The woman owned his soul, yes, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t developed a friendly rapport with her. Besides, he was craving a bit of the finer delicacies of Cannibal Town today.
Deciding to talk a leisurely walk, he managed to get his hand on the door knob when Charlie’s hesitant laugh stopped him.
“Uh, Alastor? You’re coming too right?” Alastor turned to see Charlie a few feet away from him, (Smart girl. Any closer and he might have growled.) a hopeful smile on her pale face.
“Hmm,” he mused. “Charlotte, my dear, I do believe I’ve told you my opinion of these little jamborees.”
Her smile fell a bit but she pushed through. “But Alastor, you’re a part of this family too and I’d love for you to participate too.”
“I am staff, Charlotte,” he said with a soft shriek of static. His voice was low, but not threatening, more of a dark warning. Alastor leaned forward on his cane to get closer to her level. “Last I recall, staff are not required to attend the hotel’s activities.”
“Now he fucking tells us,” muttered Husk.
Charlie furrowed her eyes. There was a sadness in them, held back only by a sense of hope and determination. How she had ever managed such a kind and naive soul in Hell was beyond Alastor. “Sorry, Alastor, but it’s either you come to the ice cream social or, uh…umm-” She stumbled for a suitable punishment. Her eyes darted around the entire room looking for inspiration, finally locking eyes with Vaggie and silently pleading for help.
Said fallen Angel came up beside her girlfriend, single eye slowly looking Alastor up and down in bored judgment. “Show up or your slot on the dinner schedule goes to Husk.”
Frantic protests erupted from the entire group, Angel even standing up in offense.
“Woah woah woah, no need to go fucking nuclear here, Vaggie!”
“Yeah,” agreed Husk. “I ain’t cooking two nights in a row for you little shits!”
Vaggie didn’t even look at them, determined to stare Alastor down, daring him to call her bluff.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Alastor growled. Everyone knew he was going to make Jambalaya this week and the entire hotel was well aware of Husk’s cooking ability, or lack thereof. Once, Husk had simply made everyone cocktails and called it a day. (There was a LOT of Karaoke that night.) That being said, Alastor was their best cook hands down and every meal the overlord made was as close as they would ever get to Heaven gates save redemption.
“Try me,” smirked Vaggie. The fallen angel and demon were engaged in a showdown, fingers on their triggers, neither willing to back down. Alastor glanced behind her only to see everyone’s wretched, pleading faces. A feeling suddenly stirred in his chest and he was surprised to find it was not pain of the angelic wound. No, it was a tight, constricting sensation. Something he hasn’t felt in…
“Oh, fine,” Alastor gave in. “I’ll go to your little ice cream soiree. But there better be a sazerac with my name on it.”
“You got it, Al.” Vaggie flipped him the bird as she walked back to the bar, high fiving Husk and Angel. A smug smile graced her lips as she clinked a mimosa glass with Angel’s matching one.
“Well then,” began Alastor, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. “I suppose I shall see you all at 7 o’ clock then.” With that, he threw open the hotel doors and stepped out into Hell. The slam of the door reverberated through the room even as Charlie yelled out her goodbye to him.
“See you then, Al!” she called out. Charlie turned back to the rest of the gang as bubbly as ever and sparkles practically shooting out of her eyes. “Now that that’s over, how about a game of Redemption Trivia!?”
Angel thunked his head on the bartop. “I’m too sober for this.”
…
When Alastor made it to Rosie’s, she immediately clocked his foul mood.
“Oh, Alastor,” she said as she opened the door to his smiley scowl. “Tell me everything.”
Closing the door, she led them into the morning parlor, where the wall paper was a pale pink with dark rose patterns. Above them, a chandelier with crystal fixtures hung from the ceiling, the red light of Hell’s sun refracting in soft rays. It reminded the Radio demon of some of the nicer houses that belonged to the richer folk when he was alive, albeit with more skulls and body parts strewn about. Still, the entire aesthetic of Cannibal Town was a welcome and familiar sight for him, the place eternally stuck in early Americana, something Alastor witnessed first hand a very long time ago.
Alastor practically threw himself into his chair like a petulant child. The breakfast nook was small, but comfortable with large windows overlooking the rose gardens right outside the emporium. He crossed his arms as Rosie poured him some coffee and nudged a plate of pinkies towards him.
“Well?” she asked, taking a sip from her own cup. “No call ahead, you looking like you wanna rip some poor schmuck’s head off and not even take a bite. Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong or do I have to guess?”
Alastor growled, but brought the coffee to his lips. The second the caffeine hit his tongue, it was like a switch being flipped. Its heat warmed his bones and made him take a deep breath. His mood was no less irritated, but he managed to reign in some of his lingering rage.
“It’s the blasted Morningstar brat,” he says, putting the cup down. He takes a pinkie with a pink painted nail, rolling it between his own fingers. “I was trapped into attending an Ice Cream Social tonight and ‘share things’ about myself.” He popped the digit into his mouth and relished the crunch of bone.
“Oh,” said Rosie, confused. “That’s it? Ice Cream? That’s the horrendous world shattering predicament you’re up in bunches about?” There was a solid 2 seconds of silence before she burst out laughing. Alastor growled, static screeching and sclera turning a midnight shade of black. Crimson dials appeared and glared daggers at the other overlord.
Rosie tried to get a hold of herself. Oh hot damn, did she try, but every glance his way, every look at his fluffy ears pinned to his skull just set her right off again. Alastor had to sit there, expression murderous as his dealer laughed herself silly at his (silly in hind sight, really) plight, embarrassment warming his ashen complexion. Hmm, perhaps coming to Rosie for his woes was not the right move.
Eventually she calmed down, though it wasn’t without its false starts. She cleared her throat and settled, looking him straight in the eyes. “Al, honey,” she said sincerely. “I know you like to keep to yourself, but I didn’t take you for a stick in the mud.”
Alastor scoffed, offended. All previous anger was shocked out of him at the mere indignity. “I’ll have you know I was quite the rapscallion while alive.”
Rosie rolled her eyes and popped a pinky in her mouth. “Well, the Hotel doesn’t know that! Really, dear, an ice cream social is what gets you up in arms? That actually sounds like fun.”
The deer ears flicked in annoyance on his head and his smile grew just that bit tighter. “I am not their friend, Rosie dear. There is no such thing in Hell. They are merely the constraints of our deal. It’s mildly entertaining if anything.”
“Oh, you like them,” she teased. “The Princess is rather fond of you, you know. Don’t see why that wouldn’t extend to the others.”
“Oh, please,” he gruffed. He lounged back in his chair, looking out the windows again, but with a pensive smile this time. “I instill fear every time I walk in the room. Why would they want to get to know me? Not that I would care to divulge anything.”
“I don’t know,” Rosie shrugged. “Why would they invite you to an ice cream social?”
Alastor paused at that, cup of coffee halfway up to his smile.
There’s that feeling again. Tight and pressing, but not the kind of discomfort that comes from nearly being bisected by the First Man. He blinks. It almost feels warm. Like a good whisky making its way down his throat and spreading across his torso.
The cup is put down perhaps a bit too forcefully, but he couldn’t care less. All Alastor wants is to stop this trail of thought immediately.
“I’m sorry, Rosie my dear. I think it’s about time I get out of your hair. Things to do, deals to make, you know how it is.” Alastor rises from his chair and readjusts his coat. Rosie stands to lead him out, but pauses before the doors to her emporium. She turns to him, face serious, dark sockets sizing him up.
“I know the hotel isn’t your cup of tea. It’s silly and stupid and quite frankly a huge waste of time, even if what’s his face really is in heaven like little miss Morningstar says.” She clenches her fist and a golden chain appears, its links popping into existence one by one as it leads to Alastor’s neck. The binding deal of his soul made physical sits around throat, glowing and tightening until he can just barely breathe. “But remember, pet,” Rosie whispers. “Your job is to keep Charlie Morningstar happy and protect the Hazbin Hotel. And you’ll do whatever you need to to make that happen, capiche?”
Alastor narrows his eyes. His smile is wide and manic, the tops of it curling into a sneer. He nods once and the chain disappears. Rosie waves a goodbye as he leaves, clawed red hands gripping his staff so hard it might very well break a second time.
He’s too sober for this.
…
Hell is many things. It’s hot. It’s full of creeps. The food is subpar and even the strangling hands of capitalism are there to wring every last bit of coin from your person. But man, does it know how to have a damn good time.
“Gee Al, it’s been a minute since we did this, huh?” laughed Mimzy as Alastor spun her around to the sound of Sing, Sing, Sing.
After his less than pleasant brunch with his Dealer, the Radio Demon decided it had been too long since he indulged his favored vices in eternal damnation. So, he went to the sleeziest 30’s era nightclub he could find, saw Mimzy manipulating a fool of a sinner into buying her drink and promptly took her hand. One moment she was reaching for a glass of something or other and the next, the shadows of the frigid voice transported them to their favorite dance hall.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head Mimzy darling, we’re in this for the long haul,” Alastor had assured. Next thing she knew, there was a glass of some incredibly strong rye in her hands and Alastor was pulling her to the dance floor.
Now as they danced to the sound of trumpets and drums beating a ragtime swing, he finally felt like he could breathe. He laughed, a massive grin plastered on his face, his coat long gone and tie holding on for dear life. “Why yes, dear, it has been quite some time, hasn't it!”
The final trumpet of the song sounded and the entire hall burst out into applause for the band and its leader. An announcement rang out from the speakers of a short intermission with some light piano to fill the air. Breathing harshly, the demonic duo made their way over to the bar where the barkeep already had their orders waiting for them. The poor woman was quaking in her boots at the sight of Alastor and had made the wise decision to attend him and his companion exclusively for the rest of the night. The overlord made sure to tip her more than generously for her foresight.
“Okay,” began Mimzy. “Don’t get me wrong Al, I love hanging out with ya, but what the hell’s goin on? You usually call?” She knocked back her drink, snapping her fingers for another. Beside her, Alastor huffed as he emptied his own. The glass was refilled instantly and he motioned for the bartender to leave the bottle.
“You’re free for the night,” he told her. He tossed a wad of cash over the counter and tipped his head in dismissal. The sinner thanked him kindly and sprinted out the back door. Turning back to Mimzy, Alastor took a long swig straight from the bottle.
“That bad, huh?” She grimaced.
“Darling,” he sighed. “If I wasn't already in Hell I’d be wishing I were dead again.”
“Okay, spill, what’s on ya mind, darlin'?”
Alastor leaned against the bar, gazing out at the dance hall, at the sinner and hellborn having a grand time, making sure to keep well away from the overlord. A pang of nostalgia hit him then. This was a familiar sight, but distant. While he was alive, there was never this aura of fear surrounding him. In the speakeasies he and Mimzy had frequented, crowds of people were enamoured with him, always laughing at his jokes, smiling at his charm and wit. He’d play the piano and he’d entertain in a way that made him feel alive.
“What do you say when people ask about me?” He looked down at her, face neutral and smile closed, yet no less dangerous.
Mimzy tilted her head in thought. “Well, nothing much really. Just the usual schtick about you being all scary n’ shit. Why?”
“Really,” he replied, static entering his tone. His eyes turned black, antlers growing until they resembled the branches of a tree. “Nothing about jazz and a few fingers of Rye? Or about me turning into what was it, a kitten?” All around them, the atmosphere grew quiet, the soft piano stopped abruptly. The beginning dredges of fear permeated the crowd staring their way.
“Al, would you quit it?! You’re killing the mood!” Mimzy shout-whispered. She hid part of her face with a hand in second hand embarrassment.
Alastor growled and forced himself to calm down. While usually he wouldn’t give two shits about displaying his ire, he was in fact with company and his mother raised him better than that. He took a breath as his form shrank back down to size. He was no less angered, but at least the hall was shifting its attention back to the music that had started up again. He shot a few last warning glares to the remaining onlookers who quickly turned tail and bolted for the exit. He sighed deeply as he leaned back against the counter.
Mimzy saw it then. The nearly imperceptible slouch in his posture, the tightness in the corner of his eyes and the not quite ear to ear smile. It had been a long time since she’d seen him like this, the last being when he and that flat faced fuck broke of their little situationship. Whatever funk he was in was really doing a number on him.
“Hey,” she said softly, leaning closer to him, never touching. “Seriously, Al, you know you can tell me anything. What’re friends for, right?”
Alastor didn’t look at her. “We’re not friends, Mimzy. You entertain me at best and I clean up all your messes in return for some fucking reason.”
“Yeesh, stab me next time, it would hurt less, you asshole!” She poked him in the chest and he barely suppressed the hiss as her finger made contact with his still healing wound. “After all the shit we’ve been through, you really don’t think we’re friends? What a massive load of bullshit, Al. We’ve known each other for like a hundred years! I know you don’t like getting close to anyone, but that don’t mean people can’t get close to you, ok? So come on, what’s got you so up a fucking tree, huh?”
“Fine. You really want to know? It’s that fucking hotel, alright! It’s irritating to the point of madness! Group therapy this, friendship circle that! Participation is mandatory she says and then she gets all weepy like some pathetic child when you say no thank you. They compliment my cooking, they listen to my radio show, they built me a brand new studio for fuck’s sake! It makes no fucking sense! I’m the radio Demon! They should be cowering in fear, not inviting me to some idiotic ice cream social! You nearly die fighting for them and suddenly they think they can walk all over you! Well I won’t let them!” He finished his rant by emptying the bottle and in a fit of mixed emotions, he hurled the empty bottle to the bar’s mirrored back wall. Glass shatters and the mirror cracks, fracturing Alastor's image. His breathing comes in harsh pants and the animalistic urge to rip something apart courses through him. Jazz still played softly in the background.
Mimzy watched as her friend, because that’s what he was to her, her best friend, in fact, struggled to keep his composure, hands clutching at his hair. Most people thought of Alastor as the perfect gentleman, a suave talking charmer who manipulated people like it was breathing. But she knew the real him. The Alastor that didn’t like tea and preferred coffee blacker than his soul, that laughed at misfortune, but liked to feed the neighborhood cats. She knew the quiet boy that knew everybody, but never let anyone know him. But she knew him, no matter what he said.
“Alastor, sweetheart.” In a very brave, very risky move, she leaned her shoulder against his arm. It was something she had done a few times over the years, more for her benefit, to show him she was genuine and sincere. He froze instantly, but didn’t move away. This was Mimzy truly concerned for him. “They’re not walking over you. They just want to be your friends.”
He didn’t move. He barely breathed. Once again, that insistent feeling of warmth rushed through his chest.
Oh fuck.
Alastor put his head in his hands and groaned.
I might actually be fond of those fuckers.
“Goddammit,” he muttered.
Mimzy just smirked and waved down another bartender. “Gimme the strongest hooch you got, hon, and leave the bottle.”
…
Seven o’ clock came and went. Every few minutes Charlie kept glancing at the door expecting a certain deer sinner to emerge, but the entrance to the Hotel remained untouched. Vaggie came up behind her, wrapping her in a hug.
“I really thought he would come,” Charlie said dejectedly as she swirled her spoon in her now melting neapolitan sundae. Vaggie leant her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder.
“I know, babe. But just cause he’s here doesn’t mean we can't have fun, right?”
“Yeah,” said Husk. “Don’t let that bastard get ya down. He’s not into this kinda stuff anyway. Just a fucking hermit who thinks he doesn’t need anybody.” He plopped another scoop of strawberry ice cream into his bowl, Angel handing him the maraschino cherries. “Fucking prick,” he muttered under his breath. “Making me cook again ‘n shit.”
Charlie stuck a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth and then promptly choked on it when a whirling mess of shadows suddenly appeared right next to her. From the gloomy depths staggered Alastor, clothes rumpled, reeking of alcohol, and swaying where he stood. He took a step, and like a drunken sailor walking on land for the first time, nearly tripped. It was his shadow that saved him from face planting to the floor, the tendrils of inky black supporting his weight.
“Alastor!” shouts Charlie after she cleared her windpipe. “You made it!” Her expression could be compared to a rainbow, full of sparkles and far too cheerful.
“Sazerac,” he demanded. Husk hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with serving a sloshed Alastor more booze. A quick flash of a chain changed his mind and a glass appeared in Alastor’s hand not a moment later.
The Radio Demon knocked it back, and motioned for another one. “Apolgee fer th trdeeness,” he slurred. The static that coated his voice was particularly thick. His shadow shook its head in exasperation before guiding Alastor to an armcahir and practically throwing him into it. It melted back into 2d form and seemed to lounge in the shadow of the chair. “Well?” Alastor asked, a bit of clarity coming back to him. “This is a social, is it not?”
“Oh! Umm, ok.” Charlie put her bowl of ice cream onto a side table and clapped her hands together for everyone’s attention. “Welcome everyone, to our ice cream social! While we have our ice cream, I’d like for us to share something about ourselves to the group. It doesn’t have to be something personal right now, just something that we may not know about you. It could be anything from when you were alive or here in your afterlife.”
Her smile could outshine the sun. Charlie sat down on the couch, more content than she had been a minute ago now that all of her friends (except Sir Pentious, of course.) were here at their little soiree. Vaggie smiled at her lover, but turned to glare at Alastor, a clear ‘Do not fuck this up or I will end you.’ in her eye. The demon narrowed his eyes and his smile stretched wider.
“So, who’d like to go first?” the princess of hell asked, looking at each of her friends. Everyone sort of grumbled, looking away and burying their faces into their ice cream. Vaggie rolled her eyes.
“Oh, come on guys, you don’t have to tell your whole life stories.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” came the low voice, feedback screeching into its tone. All eyes turned to Alastor. He sat back in his armchair, smile friendly enough. A closer look though revealed something… interesting in his eyes. Not threatening exactly, but vulnerable in a way that they had never seen before. It was honestly creeping them all out. Well, all except Charlie.
“Al? Would you like to tell us something about yourself?” She asked encouragingly.
Alastor snapped his fingers and like a good bartender, Husk quickly poured another glass of rye. The feline sinner made his way back to the bar next to Angel and Niffty who shifted in their seats. Angel raised an eyebrow to Husk who only shrugged and shook his head. He’d never seen his Dealer like this before.
Al took a long swig and placed the glass on a side table.
Everyone waited with bated breath, even Cherri who barely knew anything about the feared and infamous Radio Demon. He pulled out a tin of tobacco and papers. Practiced hands began rolling out a cigarette. Vaggie glanced nervously at Charlie, but the princess only gave her a small shake of her head and a smile. Trust me, it said. I have a good feeling about this.
A lighter clicked shut and a billow of smoke swirled from Alastor’s exhale.
Friends. He’d never had the need for any, but, as in life, they seemed to simply materialize as a consequence of his actions. Well, he dug his grave and so now he must lie in it.
“I was born on a Sunday. The Lord’s day, my mother told me.”