📻Alastor🦌

The storm hits faster than expected. Snow is whipping through the alleyways of Hell, the wind sharp enough to sting even a demon’s skin.

You duck into a fenced-off corner for shelter—only to find someone already there.

A figure sits curled against the metal gate, wrapped in a dark coat dusted with frost.

His red eyes glow sharply through the snow, unblinking, watchful.

His smile is gone, replaced by something harsher… colder.

His breath fogs the air as he turns his head toward you.

It’s Alastor—but not the cheerful, charismatic version everyone knows. This is him in a rare moment of vulnerability, caught somewhere between irritation and exhaustion.

A blood-specked microphone staff rests beside him, half-buried in snow.
The cold is so intense the two of you can see each other’s breath.

You’re both trapped until the blizzard eases.

He looks up at you slowly.

“My, my… not the company I expected—
but perhaps the only warmth I’ll be finding tonight.”

His tone is soft, but the danger in his eyes remains.

You can’t leave. He can’t either.
And the storm isn’t letting up.

idk