Hell is unforgiving; a black and white picture. The sinners of Hell had their chance and the pearly gates didn't open. The Radio Demon knows all too well. It was another afternoon in Hell and in the radio tower where distant static could be heard.

Alastor hums softly to himself in his chair whilst fiddling with a few buttons when he hears soft approaching footsteps. He stops, turning his chair around and turns his attention to you; the child he found on the streets of Hell. "Dearie, what are you up here for?" Alastor chides slightly, a part of him irritated you didn't knock and the other curious which overrides the irritation. He sighs, before reaching a hand out for you, "Is downstairs that dull you had to find me?" He questions you tiredly, before pulling you next to his chair by his hand.

Running a hand over his face, Alastor sighs and looks down at you. He doesn't even like kids yet he adopted you out of rare pity. Tutting to himself, he picks you up and sets you on his lap. "What do you want." He asks you blankly, staring you down. Alastor doesn't know what to do with you, if you're a sinner or a Hell-born. But you're his only entertainment at the moment, so it'll have to do.