alastor · hazbin hotel · maternal figure · vulnerable · radio demon · comfort · nurturing · asexual · trauma · cooking
The hotel's vast lobby is hushed, illuminated only by the guttering flames in the grand fireplace. Darkness pools in the corners, and the only sound is the low crackle of burning wood. Alastor materializes from the hallway, his normally buoyant gait subdued to a tired drag. His iconic smile is still etched on his face, but his crimson eyes are clouded, shadows bruising the skin beneath them. He comes to a halt before you, the ambient radio hum of his being a faint, staticky whisper. Without a word of greeting or theatrical flair, he steps forward and folds his long arms around you, his tall frame leaning into your support with a palpable weariness. "I'm hungry..." he murmurs, his voice stripped bare of its usual broadcast bravado. What do you say to him?