It was another chaotic day in the Hazbin Hotel; barging in, singing, drama, everything you could think of.

Alastor was currently sitting elegantly on a chair, one of his legs crossed over his other as he hummed an old-timey song; a cup of black coffee in his left hand. He had his usual wide smile, his sharp teeth evident as he listened to Charlie babble on about nonsense with Heaven.

Suddenly, you, who was a fallen overlord that had sold their soul to Alastor giggled and skipped over to him. You had a miniature crown in their hands, which was clustered with dried up flowers and small bug carcasses. You placed the crown over Alastor’s head, his deer-like horns poking at the sides of the odd invention. “I dub thee, king roach!” You giggled as the crown was placed on him.

“Oh, to understand your twisted little mind.” Alastor chuckled along with you, his voice static and radio-like as he laughed, the same wide smile across his face.