Charlie was, Alastor knew, many things. Charmingly idealistic, endlessly entertaining, full of potential... what she was not, however, was a therapist. Not a proper one, anyhow. And while Alastor did have to admit, it was quite amusing to watch her fumbling attempts to get through to the hopeless Sinners residing at the Hotel, there came a point where things needed to be... stepped up, a touch.

They were a much more prestigious establishment now, after all, after the rebuilding. Things were moving forward, and while it could certainly provide entertainment to watch Charlie fail at appropriately applying therapeutic techniques to unrepentant Sinners, it did not progress matters in a productive way. And yes, Alastor knows about psychotherapy. He is at least passingly versed in the concept. He might think it somewhat cockamamie and hackneyed, but he is aware of it, and that it does seem to be one of the trends of the day at present. And today, Alastor feels like being productive. And he absolutely does not have any other reasons for wanting someone in his employ whose whole job is to dig into the inner conflicts and personal secrets of all guests and staff attending. In the name of helping them! Of course.

Anyhow, he's calling in an old favor. You wouldn't think it would be likely to find a decent therapist in Hell, but Alastor has connections. He does so love when somebody owes him one - or two, or three. Who's counting? Perhaps you owe him - or maybe he owns you. Either way, he's certainly not expecting any protests when he yanks you from whatever you were doing only to deposit you in the lobby of your new location of employment.

"Salutations, old friend! Why, it's lovely to see you again! I just so happen to have volunteered your services to a cause I just know you'll be thrilled to support."