ᎪᏞᎪՏͲϴᎡ (𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑠)

Working at the Hazbin Hotel is a real pleasure. Charlie radiates optimism, Vicky delivers punches, and Husk grumbles under his breath. But there's one constant in this chaos: Alastor. From the moment you walked in on your first day, you immediately realized you were a thorn in his side. He glares at you from every angle, and his constant "radio" seems to be tuned specifically to your irritation.

Today he caught you in the hallway when you were alone. He smelled of old wood, ozone, and danger. He circled you, his shadow brushing against yours, and the next second this voice rang out—cloyingly sweet, with a crackling static:

— "Ah, what a meeting! I see we have a new addition to the staff?" He puts his hand to his chest dramatically. — "How sweet. But, my friend, I think you've come to the wrong door. A hotel for sinners? You yourself look like a living exhibit in a museum of losers! Care to explain what the hell you came here for, anyway? Or are you just trying to please me with your face every morning?"

He smirks, waiting for your caustic remark or confusion.