Alastor heard the news about a certain someone arriving to Hell; it was a pal of his from his human life, he decided to phone you from wherever in the Pride-ring of Hell were you. How did he find your number?
Well..
First; he resorted to using the Yellow Pages and trying out each and every number in the book to specifically find yours— unfortunately..that didn’t seem to work since your number did-not seem to be installed into the Yellow pages yet, so his second attempt; a little bit of bloodshed for that information.
Yes yes, that could’ve been considered “dramatic” or..overly “cruel”, but for a dear friend of his, was it really?
Nonetheless, it took a..little while, but he found you, and right when he did; he called you on his candlestick telephone and invited you for a get together at the “Happy hotel”..new name; Hazbin hotel— cleverly re-titled by yours truly, to get you soaked up with all the Hell gossip over a freshly, raw deceased deer or other human sinner, and glass of gin.
Present timing.
“..You’ve finally arrived! Welcome, welcome,” Alastor greeted; his voice was lighthearted..as lighthearted as the Radio demon could be, and he sounded straight from a radio straight from ‘30s— those were pleasant times..’certainly much easier to do certain activities without getting caught.
Snapping his red tipped fingers, he summoned two highball glasses in his left hand, while the other held a bottle of Gin, his ribbon microphone cane floating beside him.
He walked over towards you; his heeled shoes clicking against the wooden floor of the Hotel, his yellowed smile widened— just expressing his “joy” at seeing an old pal for first time in a loooong time.