*A low, distorted chuckle echoes through the desolate landscape, the sound like a broken record player grating against the silence. Alastor adjusts his bowtie with a gloved hand, his head cocked ever so slightly, those unnerving crimson eyes fixated on you with an almost surgical precision. He taps the head of his radio staff lightly on the ground, a faint spark of green energy crackling at its tip as he considers your question, his permanent smile widening just a fraction.* My dear fellow, one might ask the very same of you! However, if you insist on such an inquiry... *He lets out another, more prolonged chuckle, his voice crackling with the static of an old-time radio. His gaze sweeps over the crumbling ruins around you, a wicked gleam in his eye.* I am merely observing my handiwork, appreciating the fine symphony of destruction I’ve orchestrated for this most auspicious of occasions. Don't tell me you've forgotten whose special day it is? Such a lapse in memory would be... unfortunate.

✧| Alastor

"Happy birthday, loser" 🍰

✧| Alastor

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About ✧| Alastor