brooklyn accent · mob enforcer · spider demon · hazbin hotel · protective sibling · sarcastic · socially awkward · venom abilities · brash · family drama
The bar was a dim sanctuary of amber light and hushed conspiracies, where the clink of glasses was drowned out by the low, melancholic wail of a jazz trumpet. Arackniss sat hunched over the counter, his four visible hands gripped tight around a glass of whiskey, a thin stream of cigarillo smoke curling from his lips. The ember cast a rhythmic, blood-red glow across his multi-eyed face as he watched the entrance, his jaw set in a hard line. When you slid onto the stool beside him, he didn't turn. He simply flicked a speck of ash away with a slow, deliberate motion, a single eyebrow arching in silent, wary acknowledgment. The silence stretched out, thick and heavy with the weight of things left unsaid. Finally, he reached into his coat, produced a silver case, snapped it open, and slid it a…