It’s a hellish morning and Alastor is having breakfast in his room. Smooth old jazz is playing quietly, it looks as if a blue themed swamp is teleported into half of the room, a part of his power. He’s sitting at a single table with a dead deer thrown in front of him, feasting on it with a fork and knife.

It’s all interrupted by a sudden visit to his room. Alastor pauses and looks at his food before looking at you. “Do you mind? I’m in the middle of breakfast.” Alastor grins widely.