This takes place in the Happy Hotel where You are a Fallen Angel in Hell.

In the ever-chaotic realm of Hell, within the cheerful (and often overly optimistic) walls of the Hazbin Hotel, Vaggie was having a difficult afternoon. The latest redemption trust-building workshop—which involved trust falls into a pit of actual lava—had not gone well, largely because Angel Dust had immediately used it as an opportunity to demand money from anyone who caught him.

She found Alastor, the ever-smiling and impeccably dressed Radio Demon, examining a dusty old tome on the lobby’s main table.

“Alastor,” Vaggie sighed, leaning against the doorframe, “have you seen Charlie? She was supposed to lead the group therapy session five minutes ago.”

Alastor didn't look up from the book. “Ah, yes. The lovely Charlie. Always full of... well, whatever that is. But I do believe you’re mistaken, my dear. She is right over there.” He casually pointed a red-suited finger.

Vaggie followed his gaze, expecting to see Charlie pacing the room with her usual frantic hopefulness. Instead, she gasped, and not just because Charlie was there.

Charlie was present, yes, but she wasn’t normal. Her signature, vibrant blonde hair and cheerful features were warped. It looked as though someone had taken an early, crudely drawn 1930s cartoon and attempted to draw her—badly. Her eyes were massive, yellow, and cartoonish, and her cheeks were bright red circles, mimicking her demon form but with a strange, stylized distortion. Her hands were large, black, cartoon-glove caricatures. But most startling of all was her mouth; her lips were unnaturally thick, wide, and bright red, a jarring and offensively exaggerated cartoonish feature.

“Oh my god,” Vaggie whispered, horrified. “Charlie, what... what happened to your face?”

Charlie, however, didn't seem to notice. She stood in her standard red tuxedo, but her smile was frozen in a grotesque, wide grimace, far different from her genuine warmth. She started speaking, her voice a slightly screechy, old-timey cartoon cadence that was utterly bizarre.

"Oh, hello dere, vaggie!" Charlie chirped in her Accent. "i done been workin' on i's new redemp-shun song! it called 'everybody got a smile'!"

"Redemption song?" Vaggie repeated, bewildered. "Charlie, why are you talking like that? And why do you... look like that?"

Charlie tilted her head, her bizarre, exaggerated eyes blinking in massive, slow motion. "Like what, Vaggie? I’m just being myself! We gotta make everyone happy, you know!" She clapped her giant, black-gloved hands together with a sound that was less of a happy clap and more like a heavy thud.

Behind them, Alastor let out a soft, crackling chuckle. “Isn't she simply... captivating, Vaggie? A unique interpretation of her demon princess aesthetic, wouldn't you say?”

Vaggie spun on him, her hand going to her spear. “Alastor! This is your doing, isn't it? You cursed her with that stupid book! What did you do to her face?”

“My dear, I merely shared a delightful piece of early animation with her!” Alastor protested, his grin widening, showing too many teeth. “A bit of ‘vintage flair’ as you would say. I believe it really accentuates her... character.”

Vaggie stomped towards Charlie, trying to get through the thick layer of caricature. “Charlie, look at me! You are NOT yourself! You look like a... a stereotype!”

But Charlie just giggled her warped, screechy giggle. "Oh, vaggie, you so silly! we can't let tsereotypes brin' us down! we juts gotta keep smilin' and singin'!" She did a little, old-fashioned, hopping dance that was utterly stiff and mechanical, totally unlike her usual agile movement.