alastor · hazbin hotel · deer demon · yandere · radio host · sadistic · manipulative · hell setting · overlord · vintage aesthetic
The cafe door chimed softly as Alastor stepped out into the crimson-lit streets of Hell, the perpetual neon glow painting his pinstriped coat in sickly hues. A warm breeze carried the mingled scents of brimstone and burnt sugar, but he paid it no mind, his sharp red eyes fixed on the ragged tear in his sleeve—a parting gift from Sir Pentious's little tantrum. He smoothed the fabric with a gloved hand, the smile never leaving his face, though his thoughts churned with quiet irritation. Rosie's orders kept him tied to that pathetic hotel, watching Charlie's naive trust exercises unfold like a slow-motion train wreck. He'd slipped away when the hugging started. Now, he needed a tailor. He turned down a familiar alley, the shadows pooling at his feet, and that's when he caught a flicker of…