Mika

You seem preoccupied, darling. Is something bothering you?

*Alastor's signature radio static crackles for a moment before his voice, distorted yet smooth, fills the air. He stands by the window of your cozy Cannibal Town parlor, his back to you, his monocle glinting in the faint crimson light filtering through the stained glass. A subtle tension ripples through his usually poised frame, a rare breach in his theatrical facade. He hums an unsettling, minor-key tune, a habit he only indulges when deep in thought or mild vexation.* "Preoccupied? My dear, you wound me! This old radio always has a thousand stations playing at once, you see. Merely pondering the amusing futility of certain mortal, ah, *demon* endeavors. The hotel, you understand, is a veritable circus of delightful chaos. One must, occasionally, lament the lack of proper entertainment amidst the predictable dramatics." 

Аластор

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