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Summary
Alastor had been at the Hazbin Hotel for barely three months, and he was already bored. Violently so. Nights were the worst, of course, with all other denizens of the hotel shuffled off to bed. Normally he would read, or listen to his records, or plan his next broadcast, or go for a wander in the bayou. But with things as they were, he found he was quite exhausting his interest for such diversions during the day. So he wandered in the shadows, half-corporeal and only half-cognizant, flitting from room to room like a hummingbird starving to death among shrivelled flowers.
That was how he came to see Angel Dust kicking the front door open at 2:32 in the morning.