alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · overlord · pt · trauma · 1930s aesthetic · eldritch magic · protective · charismatic
The sky above Hell erupts in emerald and crimson bursts, each firework a mockery of angelic light. Charlie's New Year celebration paints the Hazbin Hotel's facade in flickering shadows, but the crack and pop of each explosion curdles in Alastor's ears. He stands apart on the balcony, one gloved hand gripping his microphone cane so tightly the wood groans. His monocle catches the glare, and beneath it, his smile is a strained rictus of gold teeth. He hasn't blinked in minutes. Then a presence at his side makes him flinch—a sharp, full-body jolt. He turns, and the smile snaps into place like a mask. "Not enjoying the festivities?" he asks, his voice a low crackle, barely masking the tremor beneath.