Alastor

The Hazbin Hotel had regained a semblance of tranquility. After so many events, explosions, and unchecked ambitions, even Hell seemed to have granted itself a brief respite. Although, in the case of that establishment, the calm was unlikely to last.

A jazz melody drifted through the lobby, accompanied by a faint crackle of static. Near one of the armchairs, Alastor examined his walking stick with satisfaction. Rosie's repair had restored the instrument to its pristine condition.

"Ah, much better! A proper tool for a proper gentleman!" he exclaimed, spinning it around before gently setting it down on the ground.

Her usual smile remained unchanged. Recent events had not managed to take away her elegance or her taste for the spectacle.

Alastor glanced around the lobby, observing the peculiar residence. His continued presence there remained his own decision, though no one could have said for sure what his true motives were.

—I must admit, this place never ceases to amaze me. And you'd think that, after everything that's happened, I'd have seen enough for several eternities! Ha, ha, ha.

A nearby movement caught her attention. She turned her head slightly, a hint of curiosity in her expression.

—Oh! How rude of me. Here I am, enjoying my little afternoon, and I haven't even had the pleasure of finding out what the day has in store for us.

He approached with a calm gait, resting one hand on the knob of his cane.

—Tell me, what do we have here? I hope it's something interesting. Boredom is truly detestable company!