Chapter Text
Clubs like these were not Alastor’s ‘scene’, so to speak. However he knew for a fact he’d find what he was looking for here, no doubt about it! The music here was, at the very least, all acoustic. None of that wubbing or dubbing in those too-bright clubs run by Valentino, that rat. At least he wouldn’t see that overgrown roach at a place like this.
He found it just a few blocks away, across from a voodoo shop he liked to frequent. Some kind of 1960s bar sequestered in a corner of the street, darkened and in dire need of repair. Several cars were scattered about, all in various states of disrepair and several just leaking fluids out from beneath them. One car, which looked distinctly 19 70 , was completely stripped bare of its wheels and everything that had been inside.
Neon lights advertised booze and music, and Alastor had to suppress a chuckle. Was that all these people flocked to? Oh well, at the very least he’d find what he needed inside.
The door jingled as he entered, his shadow stretching out beyond the doorway in front of him. Despite all the cars the bar was not at all packed. Maybe five demons that he could see, of several shapes. None of them looked particularly troublesome, just some drunkards whose “righteous” beliefs had gotten them into trouble. Oh, what “rotten luck” it would seem! Oh, how these fools have fallen.
Not what he was here for, though. There was a specific fellow he was looking for, and this was his haunt of choice. How does one not immediately find a man that immense…?
Oh well. Might as well have a seat and see what’s on tap! Alastor hummed delightedly to himself as he took his own seat at the bar. Some of the demons, immediately sensing the danger of this situation, leapt quickly away. A couple even fled the bar entirely, and Alastor let himself chuckle a bit at the reactions. Such a shame that he didn’t even need to do anything anymore, even if it was amusing to see.
“Hello, good sir!” Alastor’s voice boomed over the remaining chatter, making the other demons flinch and stare, wide-eyed, at him. “I’ll have a gin and tonic!”
The demon tending the bar didn't look at him. He was some sort of lobster fellow, though he resembled a zombie demon than anything and probably looked more dead in life than he does now—Alastor wasn’t one to make assumptions though. He just called it as he saw it, and this man had a shitty life. Still not good enough to bring back to the hotel.
It definitely needed to be someone who’d clash. With Vagatha or with that Spinner gentleman, it didn’t matter. Just someone who’d cause a ruckus. Unfortunately there didn’t seem to be anyone in this spot. What a shame, he might actually have to try with this one. Who knew he’d find the one place in Hell where none of the demons would—
A loud bang of a door from the end of the hall called Alastor’s attention. The harsh and abrupt noise was followed by heavy, stomping footsteps and within a few seconds, a large bipedal cockroach ducked into the room. Instantly, Alastor’s forever-present smile stretched impossibly further across his face.
Oh, perfect. Not at all the most creatively manifested demon, he looked like a common cockroach on steroids, but he would do nicely.
Alastor knocked his drink back and tapped the cup on the table. Time to get to work.
He stood up, twirling his staff as it poofed into his hand. “Hello, sir!” he said cheerfully as he approached the hulking blattoid demon. The rather uninteresting-looking demon flinched slightly at him and for a moment Alastor was certain he’d run away too, but he was so delightfully surprised when the gentleman said “Who the fuck are you?”
“Why!” Alastor chuckled, the sound tiny and fuzzy with radio static, “I’m your one shot at redemption, sir! Have you ever felt like you didn’t belong in Hell? Or, perhaps, you’ve felt like you needed a space for yourself to sin in peace! Either way, I’ve got the perfect place for you!”
The cockroach let all four fists down and his mandibles chittered curiously. Alastor noticed that they looked a bit like—mutton chops?
“...this place a hotel?” he asked, his antennae twitching and curling toward the Radio Demon, and Alastor adjusted his die and let out a soft chuckle.
“Why, yes it is! The Hazbin Hotel! Absolutely the perfect place to go when you’re down on your luck. Don’t worry, the staff are pushovers!”
For someone so unable to physically emotte, Alastor swore he saw the roach actually frown. Strange, he didn’t appear to have a mouth. “And this is a place for redemption?”
“It sure is.” Alastor twirled his staff again and tossed it away. It poofed into thin air before it got too far away. “And there is a room with your name on it!” He was really selling this place for sure! It took more than that to convince a demon, however, and Alastor was willing to play the long con for the sake of—
“Okay.” The blattoid man chittered, wings fluttering beneath the sheath on his back, “I’ll do it.”
Alastor hummed, and a spark of static betrayed his confusion and surprise, “Really?”
“Yep. Could do with a change of scenery.” The cockroach behemoth lifted one pair of hands and offered him two thumbs up, “Sounds like fun.”
Alastor spent a few seconds processing that. No ridicule, no laughter? That was no fun. “Just like that?”
“Sure, I mean, why the hell not?'' The roach shrugged both sets of shoulders, all four hands coming up in a passive gesture. “Don’t got much goin’ for me here. Meet new people, let of steam maybe. If I end up gettin’ redeemed, will, fuck it, right?”
Oh. Well, he might have made a weird choice here then. Alastor could still stir up trouble this way, couldn’t he?
Yes. He could.
———
It was quiet today. No Husk, neither of those bitches, no Cherri. If Angel was a lesser man he’d say he felt a bit lonely but, no, he was a working man! He had his ways of getting attention. And as far as he knew, there was always someone to find to have fun with, and maybe get Val a little bit more moolah to call it a good night.
That pretty bird, Spitter, he was still around tonight. Angel knew because he could hear the singing through his door. What a funky little song, and annoying too. Really, the spider wouldn’t bother otherwise but he was so bored with staying at this hotel. If he left that dumb moth broad would kick him out for sure.
He knocked on Spitter’s door while he adjusted his fluffy bust with a separate pair of hands. Gotta make a good first impression with this new guy.
From the other side the singing stopped, and Angel put on his best smile when the door opened. “Hey, sweet thing~” he leaned down, smiling when the fluffy blue bird looked a bit stunned at his arrival, “Couldn’t help but notice ya were stuck here too. Wanna make a night of it together?”
Spitter blanched and took a step back, shaking his head. For a second Angel was certain the door was going to be slammed in his face and the night was going to be boring as fuck. However after a second, the bird decided to explain himself, “I’m uh—not—I don’t swing that way, Mr. Dust. B-but it’s fine that you do!” He spoke fast and stuttered through his speech. Angel scoffed. Figures.
“Awright,” Angel stood back up, “if ya insist, but I am the best time in Hell, pretty boy~” Might as well keep selling it. There were enough bicurious folk down here after all.
As Angel stood up and took a step toward his room again, he flinched a bit when he heard Spitter call out, “Wait! Actually—” Angel smiled. That was quicker than usual— “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a little bit, about the owners of this hotel?”
Oh. Well, no law against that. “Is your money any good?” Angel spun around again, a pair of hands on his hips. “My time ain’t cheap, buddy, and I’m always on the clock.” He rubbed his fingers together in the universal gesture for cash money.
“Uh, sure?” Spitter stepped back and opened his door further, gesturing inside, “I just got a few questions. I can totally pay you for your time, brother.”
A macho fella. Certainly didn’t have the looks of one, more like someone Angel would see in a 1990s boy band. Sounds like this guy was just lying to himself. Oh well, money was money and Angel was always sorely in need of cash.
He bent down and stepped inside, and took a few easy steps toward the bed, plopping down and leaning back on his lower hands. “So what’s the deal, bud?”
Spitter walked over to his dresser and pulled open the top drawer. From inside he plucked out a cigar and leaned against the wall, lighting up without even once offering anything to Angel. Rude. “Those girls that run this hotel. Vaggie, and uh…” he tapped his temple a little bit, a few embers falling from the cigar. “Uh, the princess.”
“Charlie,” Angel flinched a bit. Wow, he actually remembered the broad’s name. Weird. “Whadda ‘bout ‘em?”
“Just wondering if you’ve known them long. Especially Vaggie. She’s super cute.”
Angel frowned a bit. “Usually I don’ like givin’ people bad news, bud, but Vags is a huuuuuge dyke.”
“Yeah, I heard.” Spitter puffed on his cigar some more, “I just think she’s cute, okay? No big deal. I was just thinking that maybe…” he paused for a second and thought again. This boy spent so much time thinking, “Well, like, what do you think about this whole redemption thing? She seems way too smart to believe in that stuff.”
Yeah, he couldn’t really deny that. “Maybe she’s got pussy in her ears.”
For a second Spitter’s face twisted into a shocked expression, and then he asked with that dumb ‘stricken’ look on his face, “Wait, she’s actually in a relationship with the princess?”
“Uh, yeah?” Angel offered a small shrug, “What, you some kinda homophobe?”
“No, no!” Spitter waved his hands as if to defend himself, but Angel was already giving him such an unamused look, “It just—well, like…” The bird sighed and rubbed the back of his head, “She just didn’t seem like the type I guess.” That look of disappointment. It was different, surely, that what Angel was familiar with but he still didn’t like seeing it. Especially not on some pretty boy talking about a chick clearly in a relationship with someone else.
Yeah, they were done here. Angel stood up and dusted himself off, adjusting his short shorts. “Listen, bud,” he looked down at the little bird, not really trying to put up a front anymore, not with this chad, “I’m givin’ ya a verbal warnin’. I don’ like these girls, but if ya think you’re gonna try to fuck wit’ em ‘cause they’re dykes you gotta ‘nother thing comin’, got that?”
Spitter blanched again, “Wh-what? When did I ever—?”
“Ya did.” Angel crossed both arms over his chest and his stomach, and for good measure he also pulled out his third pair of arms and crossed them over his hips, “Ya don’t think ya did, but I know you people. Don’t get it twisted, I can’t fuckin’ stand these prissy bitches, but if ya think yer gonna get yer dick wet wit’em, I’ll shoot ya full’a holes and fit ya with a fine new pair of concrete shoes. Then we’ll take a trip to the Lake a’ Fire. Do I make myself clear?”
Spitter stared up at him, eyes wide and feathers shaking on end. “Uh-u-understood, Mister Dust.”
“Good.”
Done with this whole situation, Angel Dust turned on his heel and stomped out of the room. As he slammed the door shut behind him he nearly knocked into Miss Prissy Bitch herself, Charlie. “Angel!” she startled, then composed herself and smiled, “Good afternoon! Are you making friends?”
Naive as usual. This time Angel wasn’t so sure he enjoyed that about this situation. “No. Just business.”
That smile quickly faded, and she glanced over at Room 70. Angel turned again and went over to his room. Part of him considered telling them about this guy, but as head-in-the-clouds as the princess was she wasn’t stupid. Neither was Vaggie for that matter. He’d keep an eye on the pretty boy chad, though, and do well to keep that promise he’d made with him.
Goddamn, he hated those types of men.