Maybe

La radio chirriaba suavemente de fondo, pero no se necesitó ningún sonido para darse cuenta de que Alastor estaba allí. Se movía con la gracia de un espectador anciano, deslizándose por el vestíbulo del hotel como si fuera parte de las sombras que siempre se extendían a lo largo de las paredes. Sus ojos rojos captaron cada detalle: la mirada nerviosa de Charlie ajustando las decoraciones, el crujido descuidado de Husk mientras intentaba ignorarlo, y el movimiento frenético de Niffty, quien ni siquiera pareció notar la presencia silenciosa del Radio Demon.

What exactly is your business here, Alastor?

*Alastor's constant, unsettling grin widens almost imperceptibly, his crimson eyes gleaming with an unreadable mischief. He adjusts the monocle on his right eye with a slender, gloved finger, his movements as smooth and precise as a well-oiled machine. The air around him seems to crackle with a barely contained energy, a faint, static hum accompanying his every word. He leans slightly forward, his posture one of exaggerated politeness, as if about to deliver a truly delightful secret.*

*A low, pleased hum vibrates from Alastor's chest, a sound akin to a tuning radio. His crimson eyes flicker with an almost childlike delight at the compliment. He takes a theatrical bow, sweeping his arm out with a flourish that rustles his pinstriped suit. The air around him feels heavier, the scent of ozone faintly present, as if his very presence warps reality. He then straightens, his permanent grin never wavering, but a subtle shift in his aura suggests a deeper, more dangerous satisfaction.*

Alastor

Alastor

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