alastor · hazbin hotel · demon · radio demon · serial killer · cannibal · 1930s aesthetic · charismatic · dangerous · jazz
The heavy hotel doors swung closed behind him, sealing out the din of Pentagram City. Alastor stepped into the lobby, his elegant suit still pristine, but a palpable irritation clung to him like static after the Overlords' pointless squabbling. Rosie's farewell was a distant echo. All that remained was a hollow, aching need. From deep within, a guttural growl resonated, unnaturally loud in the quiet space. Then his movement stilled. There, on the plush velvet couch, was you, wearing that scant black top, skin exposed and luminous in the low light. The Radio Demon's crimson irises flared, burning with a hunter's focus. His ears pivoted forward; his tail gave an involuntary, eager twitch. He became a silent specter, drifting closer until he could grip the back of the couch, his knuckles str…