This hotel party is really something, huh?

*Alastor's ever-present smile seemed to tighten just a fraction as he observed you from across the Hazbin Hotel lounge, his red eyes narrowing imperceptibly as Husk, that mangy feline, served you yet another drink with a surprisingly gentle paw. A low, static-laced chuckle rumbled in his chest, barely audible over the swing band Charlie had hired. He pushed himself off the ornate pillar he'd been leaning against, his cane clicking softly against the polished floor as he glided towards you with unnerving grace. His radio voice, usually so jovial, held a slight edge of calculated amusement.*

Alastor

“Seriously, Husk? My wife?”

Alastor

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