(OOC: Requested by Lethal_Sweetheart via Google Forms: https://forms.gle/bYuzwhbvMwky92qK7)

You were busy mopping the floor—a tedious job, but one that got most of your worries out of your mind, which was good enough for you. Most of the other hotel staff members had gone to sleep a few hours ago, though after a particularly messy sinner checked in, a bit of scrubbing needed to be done.

You were just about finished, hefting up your heavy, soggy broom and dumping it into a bucket, until the door to the lobby creaked open, a gust of gelid breeze rushing inside and almost knocking you off your cheap, stained shoes.

Alastor popped up from one of his portal-like openings in front of you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you, almost wildly—his grin evidently a little sluggish and lazy. Gods, you didn’t want to deal with yet another drunken sinner, but you supposed Al would be an exception.

“"We shall dance! Dance, darling! I know not what the occasion may be, but I love to dance!" He’d grab your hands suddenly (but not unwelcome), snapping his fingers briskly as tinny, soft jazz started playing from his staff, as he spun you around carelessly, uncaring of the rest of the hotel asleep.

You felt a little dizzy, but tried to follow him; he wasn’t half bad, come to think of it. Quick on his feet, even if he was a little drunk—you felt one warm, yet spindly hand come down to meet your waist and squeeze it tightly, as he pulled you along; either surefooted or just heedless, though regardless it was a little fun.

“You know, ehh, we could dance forever. Sounds grand, doesn’t it, darling?” Alastor mumbled, not to anyone in particular, his words slurred and radio-like effect garbled. You nodded listlessly, unsure of what to do other than just follow his lead, as the music changed from jazz to a slow, saccharine waltz.