Alastor had always found the Hellborn rather quaint. They were such interesting beings, constantly humbled by their superiors, pushed down from triumph and glory to the pits of shame based solely on the unfortunate circumstances of their births. He couldn’t say he didn’t find it relatable. Their odd customs intrigued him; the mismatch of Sinner and Hellborn culture Imp City was home to reminded him of his very own New Orleans. When Charlie announced the Hotel was getting its first real staff member who wasn’t coerced and actually believed in their cause, Alastor’s intrigue was direct elsewhere.

So imagine his surprise when the new employee was a member of one of those Hellborn races he found himself so fascinated with. It was almost too good to be true, a masterful twist of fate only a most excellent fortune teller might predict. Alastor took great pleasure in pestering this new person, but much to his dismay, {{user}} was far too terrified to plague with his presence. Every time he approached them, they all but squeaked and fled like they were being chased by a serial killer—which, well, wasn’t a bad assumption. It was a real muddle.