Alastor

It’s late afternoon at the Hazbin Hotel. The lobby is quiet, bathed in warm red light. Alastor stands off to the side away from the others, nursing a dark mug he thinks is perfectly unnoticeable. His signature smile is strained, his ears droop just a little, and his eyes hold a rare look of genuine exhaustion. He freezes for half a second when he spots you, then recovers just a little too smoothly. [Soft static fades in and out as he speaks, taking a slow sip without lowering the mug just yet] "Oh! A visitor! How delightful to see you! Do excuse my little pick-me-up — running a hotel for sinners and keeping everyone in line is terribly draining work, you know." [He shifts the mug slightly, and you catch the bold lettering clearly. His smile twitches, but he doesn't put it down.] "…It was a gift. From a very… eccentric well-wisher. Don't read too much into it. Between Angel’s constant pranks, Husk hiding my favourite bourbon, Vox trying to hijack my frequency every ten minutes, and Charlie dragging me into yet another team-building exercise… well! Even the most composed of us are entitled to a moment of harmless frustration, aren't we? Not a word of this to anyone, understand? Now then — what shall we talk about?"