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It had been a rough day for Charlie. There hadn't been anything big and Hell-shattering – some bad press, a scathing story, being harassed by Katie Killjoy and on air no less, a patron being particularly difficult – but it had been draining. By the end of the day Charlie looked miserable, and the just wouldn't do.
“Chin up, Charlie,” Alastor said, popping up beside her, “I can always gut that prissy television slave. Can't imagine she'd taste very good, but she might do something to be useful to someone in her existence.”
Charlie shook her head. “Please don't. Even putting aside the Hotel's mission – which, yes I know, you don't believe in – it would just be more bad press for the next person in line to mock us for,” she said wearily.
“Hmm.” Alastor hummed, slightly disappointed. “Well, alright Charlie. Still, I can try to find something more subtle to inconvenience that news...anchor, are they called? What a silly name for a host. Though I suppose it is rather accurate in her case: she drags the story to the bottom of boredom, and it's what you want to tie her to.” Laughter from the abyss played on cue in the background.
Charlie was able to rose herself for a chuckle. “That's a little dark, Al,” she said, but nevertheless there was the remains of a laugh in her voice.
The Radio Demon perked up a bit, smile widening ever so slightly.
Alastor all but dragged the original Hazbin occupants out on the small 'field trip' that evening. When they got to the little hole-in-the-wall he was trying to direct them to, Vaggie's low-key suspicion came to a head.
“Oh, no! You are not taking us to some isolated murder spot so you can cut us up!”
“My dear,” Alastor laughed. “If I wanted to kill you, do you really think that I'd need to take you to some secluded place to do so?”
Vaggie grumbled. “No.... you'd be more than willing to dismember us in the middle of the street and broadcast it for a bigger audience.”
Alastor dramatically put a hand to his chest. “Why Vaggie, your praise truly is faint – in that I would faint if you ever did praise me.”
While everyone else groaned, Charlie laughed lightly at the word play, and the Radio Demon's smile brightened. “No, no, I'm not planning on slaying you –” he then ushered them inside. “– Except with laughter!” he added, revealing a cozy room filled with tables with around them and a stage at the far end, a banner above it reading 'Comedy Open Mic'
Vaggie, Husk, Niffty, and Angel Dust froze in mute horror, while Charlie squeed in joy, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The group was seated at the best table in the house in short order – amazing what good service they got in the Radio Demon's company – and Alastor made his way toward the stage to take up the recently vacated microphone.
“Good evening, Ladies and Gents! How are you all this evening?”
Some poor souls, upon seeing the dreaded Radio Demon, had started to slink off towards the door, but were scooped up by shadows, and placed back in their seats, holding their shoulders as they leaned over then with twisted grins.
“I want to start off with a serious question: what do you get from a pampered cow?” No one answered, but not a moment later, he provided one. “Spoiled milk!” Background laughter mixed with his own as Charlie's cheeks bulged with withheld laughter.
“You know, I used to hate facial hair, but then it grew on me!”
Charlie snorted, looking more energetic than she had for hours.
“A piece of advice: don't interrupt someone while their working on a puzzle. If you do, you're apt to hear some crosswords!”
By this point Charlie was smiling wide, joining the disembodied laughter Alastor provided along with his own.
“Here's a question, why can't you hear a psychiatrist using the bathroom? Because the 'P' is silent!”
The rest of the assembled demons had conflicted looks on their faces, wanting to groan and boo, but too afraid of Alastor's wrath.
“How much does a pirate pay for corn? A buccaneer!”
The only ones who weren't were those from the Hazbin Hotel, who openly groaned at each joke.
“Charlie dear.”
The Princess of Hell perked up, swallowing down her laughter at being called upon. “Yes, Al?”
“Can February March?”
She thought for a moment. “I don't know, can it?”
“No, but April May!”
The blonde erupted in another fit of laughter, while the captive demons sat stock still and the rest of her companions rolled their eyes.
“What's brown and sticky?” There was silence. “A stick!”
“Fucking hack! Get off the stage!” Angel Dust yelled, prompting the patrons not a part of the hotel to swivel to the porn star in alarm, rearing away from the demon who was surely soon to be the Radio Demon's victim.
“Do you want to hear a joke about paper?”
“No!” Angel Dust called back.
“Oh, that's alright: it's tear-able!” There were groans from the audience, over which Alastor added, “I had one about pizza as well, but it's a little cheesy.”
Alastor appeared to think fro a moment, then his gaze locked on Husk and his smile widened.
“Oh, here's one: the past, the present and the future walked into a bar... let me tell you – it was tense!”
The rest of the night followed as such, Alastor telling pun after pun, cracking Charlie up and the rest enduring it in fear of their lives, or – in case of the Hazbin crew – tolerance for their companions' enjoyment. By the time Alastor wrapped up his act, Charlie was smiling brightly, once again with a pep in her step and full of enthusiasm.
“Thank you Alastor, that was so much fun!”
“Why thank you, my dear. I'm glad you enjoyed it.”
And with that, the contingent from the Hazbin Hotel made their way back home.
The former serial killer made a mental note of this for the next time Charlie was feeling down.