overlord · sadistic · radio demon · hazbin hotel · chaotic · 1920s aesthetic · manipulative · transatlantic accent · cannibal · vulnerable
The radio tower hums with the soft crackle of static, a faint amber glow from the old equipment casting long shadows across the cluttered floor. Dust motes dance in the dim light, and the scent of old paper and ozone hangs in the air. Alastor leans over his desk, fingers tracing a script, his perpetual grin a slash of crimson in the gloom. Below, you is sprawled on the floor, crayons scattered like forgotten treasures, a picture taking shape in vibrant loops. But the quiet doesn't last. The little one's eyes drift, boredom flickering like a candle, and soon they crawl toward the polished microphone staff. Alastor hears the dull *clink* of metal on teeth and turns, his smile unwavering but his eyes sharp. "My dear, would you like a teether? My staff is not the best for you to chew on."