While Cannibal Town keeps things a little more... retro... you'd be a fool to assume that they weren't perfectly in the loop about the new radio star gracing the airwaves with the screams of death and agony of the Overlord victims he's abducted.
Rosie was settling in with her Emporium with Franklin. She's got quite a foothold and reputation as an Overlord - honestly, she's curious what the Radio Demon is like! If things get a little hairy, well, she'll be able to handle herself, she's sure.
Alastor quite likes what little of Cannibal Town he's seen, it's even more vintage than his particular aesthetic and he finds it distinctly restful compared to the flashier and more gaudy areas of the city. Perhaps it's this good mood that has him humming a soft lilting jazz tune as he walks straight towards the Overlord's Emporium, as yet undecided how this afternoon will go.
Most of the Overlords he comes across end up as fresh additions to his broadcast, but that doesn't mean he's incapable of behaving in other ways if it suits his interests. For now, he's content to simply look around and gather information-- after all, nobody knows him from any other Sinner, he hasn't yet revealed himself as the one behind the radio broadcasts.
The bell chimes as he opens the door and joins the throng of cannibals waiting their turn, bright red eyes fixed on his current target. Observing.
She's got another working with her in the Emporium, but it's clear that Rosie is the charisma of the joint - she's giving customers advice, chatting them up delightedly, making silly little jokes.
Maybe she could sense a powerful presence, or maybe not - either way, Alastor ends up waiting to be attended to.
"Well well! What a handsome new face we've got here! Welcome to Cannibal Town, dear! Or should I say, deer?"
He's really not sure why, but her manner is instantly quite disarming to him. Alastor is usually not someone who tolerates ribbing at his expense, but this is harmless and oddly... warm, as if they are already sharing an inside joke. Fascinating, what social skills this woman has to make all of those who stand in front of her feel as though they're welcome friends.
"Alastor, a pleasure to meet you."
Holding his cane in one hand, he holds the other out towards her politely.
"Naturally I know who you are already, you have quite the reputation and I couldn't resist coming to put a face to the name."
Her brows raise at the effect of his voice, and the cane's mic-like appearance suddenly makes much more sense - why, this is none other than the Radio Demon himself! Rosie's smile broadens, resting her dainty hand on his and squeezing his fingers, very lady-like. But it's brief, because she wants to pinch and tug at Alastor's lapels, beaming.
"Oh! You're that thrilling new radio host we've gotten down here! My word, you cut quite a figure, leave one hell of an impression! Come, come, let's sit and chat, I am so curious about you! Are you hungry, deer? I've got a nice rack of ribs ready to go, a little dry-aged and everything!"
The battle may be won and the hotel rebuilt, but Alastor isn't quite so full of disgustingly naïve optimism as the rest of the residents. His reputation is one of the things that keeps the hotel relatively safe, and that reputation may well be under threat from something much more damning than a lengthy absence that could easily be spun to add to his own mystery. No, if he knows the Vees (and specially Vox), there's bound to be footage of the battle, which means footage of his humiliating defeat to Adam.
True, he won't show up well in it, but even distorted, even blurred, having that released would be a blow hard to recover from. It itches like cockroaches crawling under his skin, fuelled by the painful wound hidden carefully beneath his clothes, an almost manic dark desire to eviscerate anyone who saw his disgrace. He needs to both neutralise this threat, and send a wider message that the Radio Demon is still a force to be feared. Thankfully, he has an idea. It's quite the gambit, a gamble perhaps more suited to Husk than himself, but he is confident in his ability to pull it off.
It's late, well outside of business operating hours, but that's just a small disrespect to add flavour to this whole thing. He walks calmly into the lobby of the Vees Tower as if he belongs there, as if this isn't the stronghold of enemy territory. He makes sure he projects an air of nonchalance as he approaches the reception desk, as if he's never heard the term "injury from holy weapon and a humiliating retreat", as if the Vees were so inconsequential as threats that he could walk into their inner sanctum without the slightest fear of harm.
"Salutations~!"
He smiles widely at whatever goon is on reception.
"I'm here for my midnight appointment, my good man."
It doesn't matter that he doesn't actually have an appointment, he hardly thinks his trip here will be wasted. Either Vox will be alerted by the poor confused creature at reception, or perhaps he already has been alerted by the way his many cameras will be glitching at attempting to record him. Whichever, he doesn't imagine he'll have to wait long.
The front desk is sent cowering - but they don't need to alert Vox. Vox already knows what's going on in his building, the whole place is rigged relentlessly with cameras, after all.
So what if Vox's initial reaction upon seeing that distorted red blur in his front lobby was to spit out his coffee in shock? He's already giddy - after all, Alastor was injured, and vulnerable, and came right to him.
The television demon doesn't take a second more to think - he hops right through the wires and zips right to the front door, crackling with electricity as wires rose from him. "ALASTOR! Oh, ohohohohoh, you fucked up coming here, you arrogant piece of SHIT! You are gonna fucking DIE!"
Alastor is keenly aware of the fact that this could get very messy, very quickly. And far from their usual spats, there's no guarantee he would walk away from this one, not with him injured as he is and Vox at full strength. Though, naturally, he isn't wholly defenceless. He has been hoarding his power ready for this meeting, so he can put on quite the show if it becomes wholly necessary.
He has to make sure it doesn't become necessary.
Despite the sudden charge of electricity in the air and the present threat of curling wires, Alastor merely cants his head slightly to one side as if observing something mildly interesting rather than dangerous. Other than that, he makes no move at all, his smile remaining as nonchalant as ever.
He leans around the other demon and when he speaks it's as if Vox has welcomed him in rather than threatened his life.
"I assume the meeting rooms are back there? Come along then, my good man, no time like the present to get down to business."
"What fucking business do you think you have here besides w-walking up like a fawn to the s̵̰̗̝̜̿̿̃͠l̸̟̫͂̊͝à̷̙̺͕̣͆͌̑͜ͅȗ̷̦̳̿̏̌̓g̸̡̛͂͑h̷̡̢͖̮̱͈͊͂̀̔̉̒ͅt̷͎̼͉̟͖̔͜e̴̹̞̘͖͚̮̻͗̈́̃̈̈́r̶̢̬̞̞̪̅̀̊́?" Vox asked, voice stuttering and glitching from anger.
And yet, he didn't lash out, because-- what the fuck is Alastor's game here?? Even if he did crackle harsher, enough that the employee at the front desk took her shot and ran out the front door before a fight actually broke out.
With Alastor out of the tower, there's something to address. Still sparking and bleeding from the less than amicable Deal, Vox growls angrily as he hops into the wiring of the building's camera. It only takes him seconds to reach the porn studio that Valentino is currently overseeing - he doesn't give a fuck if Val is recording right this second.
Surging out of a camera, Vox remanifested, hissing at the feeling of his skewered arm reminding him that it's in pain. He hopes everyone is shitting themselves in fear because he is furious. "Everyone. Get. The fuck. OUT!"
And it did so happen that Val was in the middle of a recording session. Nothing with Angel, thankfully.
"Vox, what the FUCK?!" He got up from his chair, turning to the direction he'd heard the other manifest from. But this was concerning if Vox had shown up without prior notice: a text, a swiveling security camera... something. And in such a state, too.
"Fine. FINE." he stops to give his waiting cast and crew attention. The presence of the big boss is one thing but inciting Valentino's wrath is another. "We're taking five. Get the fuck out of here, all of you."
He waits until they're alone, approaching in the interrim. It's only when he's close that he notices that arm. It makes him pause, squinting just so he can make sure he's not seeing things. Was... he hurt?
Aww, compliance, you're such a PAL! Vox glared at the scurrying staff and with a strained smile and heavy distortion in his voice, he approached Valentino, using his good arm to grab the moth by the scruff and yank him down to eye level.
"A LOT! Especially since you didn't fucking tell me that the Princess showed up at your studios! Or that you OFFERED HER A FUCKING JOB BEING A WHORE!"
Vox was crackling still, mercifully short of actually electrocuting his business partner.
"Why the FUCK. Did you lick her arm and offer to make her a porn star??? Do you have any idea how fucking dead you are if Lucifer finds out??"
The fact Vox came PERSONALLY was one red flag. The fact that he came personally without prior notice and seemed to be down an arm was another. The fact that he wanted to be alone for reasons unrelated to getting it on was a third.
There's a time and a place for fucking around and this wasn't it.
But he paused, an unreadable look on his face. Confusion? Confusion on several parts, really.
"Wait... hold on..." his brow furrowed. "The fuck are you bringing this up for now? That was what, fucking months ago? And I thought you knew! There's cameras fucking everywhere! Guessing you didn't see when she... I dunno... SET MY FUCKING STUDIO ON FIRE?!"
But then it clicks. The tongue incident. Right. There's a small scoff there as he goes for his cigarette. The fumes help him think.
"Besides, who the fuck cares? It's not like daddy Morningstar ever stuck his neck out of his castle to care. Saw an opportunity and took it, that's all. There's got to be a market for the princess of hell domming it up on some poor unlucky sinner."
It has been over seventy years since the first time he met Rosie, and the Overlord of Cannibal Town has become perhaps his only actual friend here in Hell. The years saw them become closer and closer-- he saw her through Franklin's disappearance and she saw him through taking a seat in the ruling overlord's council.
She is one of the only ones he permits to hug and squeeze him first, consistently using the ridiculous deer pun themed gifts she sends his way with amusement. They spend many contented hours chatting, and before his disappearance Alastor was a regular fixture of Cannibal Town.
Less so now.
His Deal has constraints, and he doesn't want to spend one-on-one time with Rosie when she might actually ask questions that he cannot answer. Yet-- she is the only one he can go to now. The only one he can trust (ha... trust... ridiculous, does he really trust her?) to assist him and not use the opportunity to rid Hell of the troublesome Radio Demon for a second time.
Even after all this time, he will never accept a favour for free, and so he plans meticulously before he comes. He told Charlie that he would dispose of Adam's remains... she doesn't need to know that most of him is now frozen in packets for him to savour. With the exception of his two large golden wings, gloriously bright in colour even after death, and so different from common exorcist wings. Those are packaged in a display box and held out of sight in the shadows by his power, ready to be brought forth.
Too much exertion is still a struggle, and the edges of his smile are pulled taut when he enters Rosie's Emporium, an impatient crackle of static already chasing a few of the nearer customers away and out of his path. But even with the urgency, he remembers his manners and waits at the back of the queue for her to notice him; this is her territory and these are her people, he will not shame or belittle her by forcing things.
Unlike their first years of acquaintanceship, Rosie considers Alastor a fine friend and an honorable fellow in Cannibal Town - he's never steered her wrong yet! And just like when he brought the Princess to visit, when Rosie spots him, she steps aside through her customers to greet him directly.
"Alastor! There you are, I figured you were busy what with the hotel being rebuilt!" Rosie cheered delightfully - the other cannibals chittered and grinned in grateful delight. After all, Alastor had let them have a little taste of heaven in the first place. "Welcome back, looking cool and composed as ever!"
Despite the nature of his visit and the pain pulling at the edges of his senses, his words and smile are sincere. He reaches to take both of her hands in his, offering a gracious nod to the surrounding cannibals.
"I must say that Cannibal Town is positively glowing these days, quite the famous heroes of Hell. Loathe as I am to tear you away from your clients, I wondered if you might have time for a private word?"
"Of course, darlin! Alright, babes, Auntie Rosie is going on lunch break, I'll be back in a jiffy," Rosie waved at her customers - most were in a good enough mood that they didn't grouse at being asked to wait. Rosie offered her elbow to Alastor to walk him to the back, as usual, nothing particularly out of the ordinary.
Once they're in a private room in the back, Rosie locks the door behind them and smiles at Alastor a little knowingly. "Sit, sit!"
It's been six years since Fizzarolli lost everything in a blaze of green fire and an explosion that still lives behind his closed eyes on the worst nights, when he can still feel the burning in limbs that no longer exist, when he watches the person he loved most in the world walk away from him.
Blitzo had been his best friend, his constant companion-- he had thought they were close, how could he have been so fucking wrong? The fire had been his fault, that's what he heard after as he lay in his hospital bed, and that bastard hadn't even tried to help him as he lay melting in a puddle of his own fucking blood.
He still doesn't quite know how he survived. His horns gone, every fucking limb amputated, and his body eighty percent burn scars. But he did. He endured the lonely agony of the hospital without anyone to care by his bed, he fought through the rehabilitation, he used what little money he had saved from performing to purchase prosthetics from Asmodeus' factories. He learned to talk again through damaged vocal chords, forever now raspy; he learned to walk and feed himself, he learned to live.
He was going to fucking live, not just survive.
Finally, he's nearly proficient in his new limbs, nearly ready to finally try and enter Mammon's clown pageant for the first time. Get his joy back, prove he can still be good enough even with the damage.
It's a bit weird to be back in Greed, though. He hasn't been here since-- since before, and the streets echo with the memories of laughing with Blitzo, of sharing dreams and fears and jokes. He looks pretty conspicuous with his brightly coloured jester's clothing, his hat jingling with every step he takes, so perhaps it won't be a surprise if a certain imp spots a ghost risen from the dead.
There were a number of sounds that were forever soured for Blitzo. The tinkling sounds of bells was up there... it always reminded him of--
Fizz.
What the fuck? Blitzo did a double take, standing up from the bench he'd been sulking on - forget the fifth botched job interview, was he hallucinating things right now?? Without thinking about it a second more, the imp ran across the road, jumping and sliding over the hood of an oncoming car and reaching the other curb to intercept the jester imp.
Fizz reels backwards a couple of steps, eyes widening as if Blitzo is the ghost risen from the grave. Which he might as well be given how long it's been since they saw each other, and-- He looks different, a splotch of white scarring over his own face, and is that his mother's neck brooch?
"Good observation," his voice is a harsh rasp, fury igniting in his belly. "What the fuck do you want?"
He's speechless, for a moment, hands suspended in the air as his eyes darted, taking in every little detail. Prosthetic arms and legs, a covering cap - but it was him. It was Fizz.
"You're alive. You're actually-- t-they said you were dead, I was so scared I didn't g-get help in time, and-- oh Satan," Blitzo took in an uneasy breath, stepping back and wiping his face as he started crying. "Fuck. Fizz-- I am so, so sorry, it was an accident, I fucked up so bad and I'm so, SO sorry..."
It's a good thing that he can do most of his work remotely, because this hotel business is gonna be a huge fucking pain in the ass. For now, he's going to dress down - leave the suit at home, just arriving in nice slacks and his sweater vest. ...A bowtie still, because his neck looked freakish to him without the bow covering up.
He kinda missed being able to put on a turtleneck, even if Velvette would tear him a new one for being out of vogue for wearing one.
Vox doesn't bother knocking - who the fuck knocks on the front door of a Hotel? - and walks in, standing with his arms neatly folded behind his back. He didn't know what would be the worst possibility... getting a greeting from Alastor, or from the Princess. Or the boozehound gambler or Angel. Or the freaky maid that stabbed Adam.
He just plastered a smile on his face as he wandered into the lobby.
Charlie has, at least, been warned that Vox will be arriving to help at the hotel.
And she's THRILLED. Okay, so her favourite people aren't the Vees, but this is an opportunity, and she refuses to turn anyone away. She's sure if he spends enough time here then Vox will reform his ways, and he might even be able to persuade Valentino to give up Angel Dust, and then--
Anyway, Alastor is currently doing... um, she's not sure what actually, but he had asked her to be there to greet Vox until he was done, so she's leaping down the last few stairs into the lobby when the TV-headed demon overlord enters.
"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel~! I'm Charlie, it's sooooo nice to have you here."
"Your highness, hello indeed," Vox kept his smile fixed, offering his hand palm-up to her. "Thanks for such a warm welcome. And congratulations on fending off the Exorcists - you all did a pretty phenomenal thing, there."
She's a little cautious about giving her hand to one of the Vees, given last time it had ended with her arm being licked, but she does.
"Please, call me Charlie! Oh-- and thank you, we were incredibly lucky to have help from the residents of Cannibal Town, it's really thanks to them and the brave residents here that we succeeded."
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First Impressions
Rosie was settling in with her Emporium with Franklin. She's got quite a foothold and reputation as an Overlord - honestly, she's curious what the Radio Demon is like! If things get a little hairy, well, she'll be able to handle herself, she's sure.
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Most of the Overlords he comes across end up as fresh additions to his broadcast, but that doesn't mean he's incapable of behaving in other ways if it suits his interests. For now, he's content to simply look around and gather information-- after all, nobody knows him from any other Sinner, he hasn't yet revealed himself as the one behind the radio broadcasts.
The bell chimes as he opens the door and joins the throng of cannibals waiting their turn, bright red eyes fixed on his current target. Observing.
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Maybe she could sense a powerful presence, or maybe not - either way, Alastor ends up waiting to be attended to.
"Well well! What a handsome new face we've got here! Welcome to Cannibal Town, dear! Or should I say, deer?"
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"Alastor, a pleasure to meet you."
Holding his cane in one hand, he holds the other out towards her politely.
"Naturally I know who you are already, you have quite the reputation and I couldn't resist coming to put a face to the name."
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"Oh! You're that thrilling new radio host we've gotten down here! My word, you cut quite a figure, leave one hell of an impression! Come, come, let's sit and chat, I am so curious about you! Are you hungry, deer? I've got a nice rack of ribs ready to go, a little dry-aged and everything!"
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Let's make a Deal
The battle may be won and the hotel rebuilt, but Alastor isn't quite so full of disgustingly naïve optimism as the rest of the residents. His reputation is one of the things that keeps the hotel relatively safe, and that reputation may well be under threat from something much more damning than a lengthy absence that could easily be spun to add to his own mystery. No, if he knows the Vees (and specially Vox), there's bound to be footage of the battle, which means footage of his humiliating defeat to Adam.
True, he won't show up well in it, but even distorted, even blurred, having that released would be a blow hard to recover from. It itches like cockroaches crawling under his skin, fuelled by the painful wound hidden carefully beneath his clothes, an almost manic dark desire to eviscerate anyone who saw his disgrace. He needs to both neutralise this threat, and send a wider message that the Radio Demon is still a force to be feared. Thankfully, he has an idea. It's quite the gambit, a gamble perhaps more suited to Husk than himself, but he is confident in his ability to pull it off.
It's late, well outside of business operating hours, but that's just a small disrespect to add flavour to this whole thing. He walks calmly into the lobby of the Vees Tower as if he belongs there, as if this isn't the stronghold of enemy territory. He makes sure he projects an air of nonchalance as he approaches the reception desk, as if he's never heard the term "injury from holy weapon and a humiliating retreat", as if the Vees were so inconsequential as threats that he could walk into their inner sanctum without the slightest fear of harm.
"Salutations~!"
He smiles widely at whatever goon is on reception.
"I'm here for my midnight appointment, my good man."
It doesn't matter that he doesn't actually have an appointment, he hardly thinks his trip here will be wasted. Either Vox will be alerted by the poor confused creature at reception, or perhaps he already has been alerted by the way his many cameras will be glitching at attempting to record him. Whichever, he doesn't imagine he'll have to wait long.
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So what if Vox's initial reaction upon seeing that distorted red blur in his front lobby was to spit out his coffee in shock? He's already giddy - after all, Alastor was injured, and vulnerable, and came right to him.
The television demon doesn't take a second more to think - he hops right through the wires and zips right to the front door, crackling with electricity as wires rose from him. "ALASTOR! Oh, ohohohohoh, you fucked up coming here, you arrogant piece of SHIT! You are gonna fucking DIE!"
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He has to make sure it doesn't become necessary.
Despite the sudden charge of electricity in the air and the present threat of curling wires, Alastor merely cants his head slightly to one side as if observing something mildly interesting rather than dangerous. Other than that, he makes no move at all, his smile remaining as nonchalant as ever.
He leans around the other demon and when he speaks it's as if Vox has welcomed him in rather than threatened his life.
"I assume the meeting rooms are back there? Come along then, my good man, no time like the present to get down to business."
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And yet, he didn't lash out, because-- what the fuck is Alastor's game here?? Even if he did crackle harsher, enough that the employee at the front desk took her shot and ran out the front door before a fight actually broke out.
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*VAL*
Surging out of a camera, Vox remanifested, hissing at the feeling of his skewered arm reminding him that it's in pain. He hopes everyone is shitting themselves in fear because he is furious. "Everyone. Get. The fuck. OUT!"
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"Vox, what the FUCK?!" He got up from his chair, turning to the direction he'd heard the other manifest from. But this was concerning if Vox had shown up without prior notice: a text, a swiveling security camera... something. And in such a state, too.
"Fine. FINE." he stops to give his waiting cast and crew attention. The presence of the big boss is one thing but inciting Valentino's wrath is another. "We're taking five. Get the fuck out of here, all of you."
He waits until they're alone, approaching in the interrim. It's only when he's close that he notices that arm. It makes him pause, squinting just so he can make sure he's not seeing things. Was... he hurt?
"....Care to explain what the hell's going on?"
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"A LOT! Especially since you didn't fucking tell me that the Princess showed up at your studios! Or that you OFFERED HER A FUCKING JOB BEING A WHORE!"
Vox was crackling still, mercifully short of actually electrocuting his business partner.
"Why the FUCK. Did you lick her arm and offer to make her a porn star??? Do you have any idea how fucking dead you are if Lucifer finds out??"
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There's a time and a place for fucking around and this wasn't it.
But he paused, an unreadable look on his face. Confusion? Confusion on several parts, really.
"Wait... hold on..." his brow furrowed. "The fuck are you bringing this up for now? That was what, fucking months ago? And I thought you knew! There's cameras fucking everywhere! Guessing you didn't see when she... I dunno... SET MY FUCKING STUDIO ON FIRE?!"
But then it clicks. The tongue incident. Right. There's a small scoff there as he goes for his cigarette. The fumes help him think.
"Besides, who the fuck cares? It's not like daddy Morningstar ever stuck his neck out of his castle to care. Saw an opportunity and took it, that's all. There's got to be a market for the princess of hell domming it up on some poor unlucky sinner."
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Friend in need
She is one of the only ones he permits to hug and squeeze him first, consistently using the ridiculous deer pun themed gifts she sends his way with amusement. They spend many contented hours chatting, and before his disappearance Alastor was a regular fixture of Cannibal Town.
Less so now.
His Deal has constraints, and he doesn't want to spend one-on-one time with Rosie when she might actually ask questions that he cannot answer. Yet-- she is the only one he can go to now. The only one he can trust (ha... trust... ridiculous, does he really trust her?) to assist him and not use the opportunity to rid Hell of the troublesome Radio Demon for a second time.
Even after all this time, he will never accept a favour for free, and so he plans meticulously before he comes. He told Charlie that he would dispose of Adam's remains... she doesn't need to know that most of him is now frozen in packets for him to savour. With the exception of his two large golden wings, gloriously bright in colour even after death, and so different from common exorcist wings. Those are packaged in a display box and held out of sight in the shadows by his power, ready to be brought forth.
Too much exertion is still a struggle, and the edges of his smile are pulled taut when he enters Rosie's Emporium, an impatient crackle of static already chasing a few of the nearer customers away and out of his path. But even with the urgency, he remembers his manners and waits at the back of the queue for her to notice him; this is her territory and these are her people, he will not shame or belittle her by forcing things.
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"Alastor! There you are, I figured you were busy what with the hotel being rebuilt!" Rosie cheered delightfully - the other cannibals chittered and grinned in grateful delight. After all, Alastor had let them have a little taste of heaven in the first place. "Welcome back, looking cool and composed as ever!"
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Despite the nature of his visit and the pain pulling at the edges of his senses, his words and smile are sincere. He reaches to take both of her hands in his, offering a gracious nod to the surrounding cannibals.
"I must say that Cannibal Town is positively glowing these days, quite the famous heroes of Hell. Loathe as I am to tear you away from your clients, I wondered if you might have time for a private word?"
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Once they're in a private room in the back, Rosie locks the door behind them and smiles at Alastor a little knowingly. "Sit, sit!"
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rebuilt, reborn, from the fires of the scorned
Blitzo had been his best friend, his constant companion-- he had thought they were close, how could he have been so fucking wrong? The fire had been his fault, that's what he heard after as he lay in his hospital bed, and that bastard hadn't even tried to help him as he lay melting in a puddle of his own fucking blood.
He still doesn't quite know how he survived. His horns gone, every fucking limb amputated, and his body eighty percent burn scars. But he did. He endured the lonely agony of the hospital without anyone to care by his bed, he fought through the rehabilitation, he used what little money he had saved from performing to purchase prosthetics from Asmodeus' factories. He learned to talk again through damaged vocal chords, forever now raspy; he learned to walk and feed himself, he learned to live.
He was going to fucking live, not just survive.
Finally, he's nearly proficient in his new limbs, nearly ready to finally try and enter Mammon's clown pageant for the first time. Get his joy back, prove he can still be good enough even with the damage.
It's a bit weird to be back in Greed, though. He hasn't been here since-- since before, and the streets echo with the memories of laughing with Blitzo, of sharing dreams and fears and jokes. He looks pretty conspicuous with his brightly coloured jester's clothing, his hat jingling with every step he takes, so perhaps it won't be a surprise if a certain imp spots a ghost risen from the dead.
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Fizz.
What the fuck? Blitzo did a double take, standing up from the bench he'd been sulking on - forget the fifth botched job interview, was he hallucinating things right now?? Without thinking about it a second more, the imp ran across the road, jumping and sliding over the hood of an oncoming car and reaching the other curb to intercept the jester imp.
That face-- it was burned, but he knew that face.
"Satan - Fizz, is that you? You're alive?"
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Fizz reels backwards a couple of steps, eyes widening as if Blitzo is the ghost risen from the grave. Which he might as well be given how long it's been since they saw each other, and-- He looks different, a splotch of white scarring over his own face, and is that his mother's neck brooch?
"Good observation," his voice is a harsh rasp, fury igniting in his belly. "What the fuck do you want?"
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"You're alive. You're actually-- t-they said you were dead, I was so scared I didn't g-get help in time, and-- oh Satan," Blitzo took in an uneasy breath, stepping back and wiping his face as he started crying. "Fuck. Fizz-- I am so, so sorry, it was an accident, I fucked up so bad and I'm so, SO sorry..."
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First day of..... "work".
He kinda missed being able to put on a turtleneck, even if Velvette would tear him a new one for being out of vogue for wearing one.
Vox doesn't bother knocking - who the fuck knocks on the front door of a Hotel? - and walks in, standing with his arms neatly folded behind his back. He didn't know what would be the worst possibility... getting a greeting from Alastor, or from the Princess. Or the boozehound gambler or Angel. Or the freaky maid that stabbed Adam.
He just plastered a smile on his face as he wandered into the lobby.
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And she's THRILLED. Okay, so her favourite people aren't the Vees, but this is an opportunity, and she refuses to turn anyone away. She's sure if he spends enough time here then Vox will reform his ways, and he might even be able to persuade Valentino to give up Angel Dust, and then--
Anyway, Alastor is currently doing... um, she's not sure what actually, but he had asked her to be there to greet Vox until he was done, so she's leaping down the last few stairs into the lobby when the TV-headed demon overlord enters.
"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel~! I'm Charlie, it's sooooo nice to have you here."
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"Please, call me Charlie! Oh-- and thank you, we were incredibly lucky to have help from the residents of Cannibal Town, it's really thanks to them and the brave residents here that we succeeded."
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1/3
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1/2
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1/2
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I THOUGHT I REPLIED SMH