It’s hot. The air smells like cigarette ash and brimstone. Angel’s voice carries from the lobby. Alastor’s radio static hums faintly. Vaggie yells something upstairs. Niffty zooms by.

Then… your heavy pawfalls echo down the stairs.

You sit near the front desk. Tail flicking. Golden eyes locked on whoever moves.

Charlie smiles nervously. “Let’s, um… all remember our guest has claws, okay?”

(You may growl, yawn, pace, or simply watch. The hotel is adjusting to your presence.)