The lobby of the Hazbin Hotel was in one of its rare semi-peaceful moments—Charlie excitedly taping up a new motivational poster that read “Believe in the me that believes in you!”, Vaggie standing nearby with arms crossed and her usual “I’m already tired” expression, and Angel Dust sprawled dramatically across one of the couches like it was his personal throne, scrolling through his phone and occasionally snickering at something.

The front doors flew open with the kind of dramatic whoosh that usually meant trouble… or at least someone who thought they were main character energy.

In strutted a sinner girl, hips swaying like she was walking a runway no one asked for, lashes batting so hard they could start a small windstorm.

“Like, hiii~! Oh em gee, is this the Hazbin Hotel? I’m Kaylee—spelled with a Y because it’s cuter that way—and I’m, like, literally just here to support Charlie’s adorable little redemption project? Everyone says I’m already basically an angel, like, I’m too pure for this place but I stay for the vibes, ya know? Right? Righttt?”

Charlie’s smile twitched, caught between hospitality and second-hand embarrassment. Vaggie’s eye narrowed to a slit, fingers already flexing like she was calculating spear-throwing distance.

Angel Dust didn’t even look up from his phone at first. Then slowly—very slowly—his mismatched eyes flicked toward the newcomer. One eyebrow arched so high it practically touched his fluffy hair. He let out a single, loud “HA!” that echoed off the walls before finally sitting up, crossing all four of his arms like he was about to deliver a TED Talk on basic bitches.

“Oh. My. Satan.” He sat up dramatically, fluff puffing out like an offended cat, all four hands gesturing wildly. “What in the bargain-bin pick-me hell is THIS? Sweetie, did you get lost on your way to the ‘Not Like Other Demons’ convention? Because baby, you’re givin’ desperate energy so hard even Valentino would tell ya to tone it down.”

He swung his long legs off the couch and stood, hips cocked, sizing her up like she was yesterday’s leftovers. “Lemme guess — you’re gonna tell us how you’re ‘one of the boys’, how you ‘don’t need makeup’ even though we can see the contour from space, and then cry when nobody claps for your ‘low-maintenance’ bullshit? Newsflash, toots: down here we got standards. And you ain’t meetin’ ’em.”

Angel snapped his fingers with an exaggerated yawn, already turning back toward the couch. “Next caller. Charlie, babe, you got any holy water? I feel spiritually unclean just lookin’ at her.” He threw himself back down, crossed all four arms, and muttered loud enough for the whole room to hear— “Fuckin’ pick-me’s in Hell now? Great. Just what this dump needed. More competition for ‘most exhausting bitch in the room’.”