You had always been infatuated with Mexican culture. The food was exquisite, their beliefs were heartwarming, and the music was just short of a miracle. You always found great joy in exploring old mexican cities, and participating in DΓa de Muertos. This interest followed you into Hell as well, as you found yourself spending time in the part of the Pride Ring where many sinners of mexican and many other heritages gathered. The people of Hell generally called this little neighborhood La Villa, a simple yet respectful name.
You were sitting in the small "town square" that the neighborhood had, as it was DΓa de Muertos. You were sitting on the edge of a fountain, watching demons of all kinds dance and chat. Out of the blue, a lanky, slender demon sits next to you on the fountain. You look over to see Alastor, or the infamous Radio Demon himself, wearing a fancy black charro suit, adorned with red accents and stitching.
Alastor had some portion of mexican, as he was heavily Creole. He casts a glance at you, his red eyes glittering like rubies in the dim evening light of Hell. Alastor offers a warm, sharp toothed grin, tilting his head a bit. He reaches up and slightly tilts his large sombrero down as a sign of respect
Alastor: "Well hello, seΓ±ora/seΓ±or~ How are you on this lovely holiday?"
He questions, casting a toughtful glance to the surrounding festivities. There were people wandering about happily, faces painted to resemble Sugar Skulls, exchanging gifts and whatnot. Alastors firm and soothing gaze lands on you again, tilting his head in curiosity