Chapter Text
The Hotel stood as a relic of Hell’s failed bureaucracy. Originally designed as a predatory "orientation hub", the infernal equivalent of Heaven’s various waiting rooms, the building was intentionally built to be claustrophobic and disorienting to arriving Sinners to pressure them to sell their souls for a quick escape into the districts. However, as Lucifer withdrew from public life and the soul market became more immediate and aggressive, the "funnel" grew obsolete. Abandoned for nearly a century and scarred by Judgement Days and local skirmishes, the structure was left to rot until Lily, the Princess of Hell, now tearing herself away from royal life and in the pursuit of proving redemption, discovered it...
The City of Pandemonium was drowning.
Acidic black rain sheeted across the jagged skyline, bleeding down the warped glass windows of half-ruined towers like ink across parchment. Fog curled and slithered between the buildings like it was alive, thick with whispered memory and the ghostlight of flickering lamplights and neon signs. The streets below, once scorched with movement, were now hushed, empty of foot traffic, devoid of chaos. Even the demons had taken cover.
A thunderclap cracked across the sky like the universe had torn a seam, and for a moment, all the lights went out.
And then came the creak.
Slow and deliberate.
Creeeeaaaak
"Hello? Sorry, I’m—hello?"
Lily’s voice wavered as she stepped across the threshold into the dimly lit upper office of the Hotel. Her hoof-falls clicked against the onyx marble floor, sharp and precise, then softened beneath the plush, velvet-trimmed carpet as she moved further inside.
The door whined behind her and shut itself with a rebellious sigh.
She paused just inside, amber eyes narrowing with cautious interest. The air in the office was heavy. Not with heat or humidity, but with weight. A kind of stillness that wasn’t natural. Like the room had been waiting for her.
The desk was the first thing she noticed.
Massive and tawdry, it sat in the center of the room like a dark altar. Intricately carved from some oily black wood that shimmered like it was wet, the base formed a twisted support of jaw-like arches, molars, and incisors arranged like cathedral pillars, giving the impression that the desk itself was trying to bite whoever dared sit behind it. Along one side, embedded within the wood, blinked a singular eye—yellow, ringed with violet, unblinking.
Above the desk, a string of small round bulbs gave off a soft golden hue, casting pools of light in the otherwise shadow-strewn space. A single candelabra burned near the curtained window, wax dripping onto a book that had long given up hope of being opened.
The radio, an antique, eye-shaped device resting off-center near a stack of scrolls and buzzed faintly.
Then it hummed.
Lily froze, hand hovering near one of the candles.
"What the hell—?"
BOOM
Lightning exploded outside the window, illuminating the room in a flash of blue-white brilliance.
In that fraction of a second, she saw him.
A figure standing in front of the window, tall, lean, sharply dressed in something between a preacher’s coat and a burial shroud. His face was obscured, shadow clinging to it like it had been stitched there. Only the gleam of his glasses, round, red, and cold as dying stars, cut through the dark.
She screamed, instinct overriding decorum. Her tail flicked out wildly behind her. Her claws glinted.
The radio, ignoring her panic, lit up like a mouth full of fire and began to play a slow, swinging melody, thick with static and strange warmth:
I'll be round to get you in a taxi, honey
Pick you up 'bout half past eight
Oh, honey, don't be late
I want to be there when the band starts playin'
The jazzy tune crackled through the air like an echo from some bygone era, impossibly crisp against the distortion.
Lily’s hand went to her chest, breath sharp and ragged.
"You nearly gave me a heart attack," she hissed.
The man turned slowly from the window, his smile already there. Wide. Too wide. It didn’t so much sit on his face as cling to it. It gleamed faintly in the candlelight. His red glasses flashed like traffic lights bleeding through fog.
He removed his hat and gave a low, ironic bow.
"Good evening, my dear," he said in a voice that was warm, distorted, and just shy of real, like someone speaking through a distorted vinyl record. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alastor.”
The sound of his name seemed to glitch as he said it, just slightly. The vowels shimmered, refracted, and broke apart like glass being crushed in slow motion.
Lily blinked hard.
“…Alastor,” she repeated, heart slowing.
He nodded, his smile deepening. “I heard you were undertaking an... ambitious project. I thought I might offer my assistance.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Alastor chuckled, clasping his hands behind his back as he drifted forward like mist on a theater stage.
“Let’s just say,” he murmured, “I find your little endeavor… entertaining.”
The room seemed to lean with his presence. The shadows gathered tighter.
“If there’s anything at all you desire,” he said, “ask. And I’ll give it to you.”
Lily blinked, stepping back just slightly, not in fear, but with caution.
She hesitated. Then:
“Well, I would love to have more staff.”
Alastor’s glasses gleamed.
“Done,” he said, the word cutting like a ribbon pulled taut. “They’ll be here shortly.”
Lily’s brow furrowed. “Wait, wha—”
“Anything else?” he asked, interrupting with flawless timing.
Lily considered him. His posture was easy. Too easy. A demon with the patience of a hanging clock.
“…Guests,” she said finally. “I’m glad Fonda’s here, but the place needs more guests. Real ones. People who actually want to be here.”
Alastor nodded. “I know just the souls.”
He stepped back toward the window, looking out as if the rain meant nothing to him.
“I’ll call in a few... friends,” he said, with a voice like dripping honey. “If you could call them that.”
Lily crossed her arms. She wasn’t sure if this counted as a deal. He hadn’t asked for anything. And that unsettled her more than if he had.
But still, she felt the words rise in her chest:
“…Thank you.”
Alastor turned, his smile a little too delighted.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.
His head tilted. Something in his expression flickered. For just a moment, there was no smirk. Just the void beneath it.
Then he grinned again. Broader. Hungrier.
“Mmm~,” he mused, tipping his hat again. “I’ll have to take a rain check on that.”
He stepped backward toward the window as the storm outside surged, flickering and crackling like a live wire. His voice echoed as he faded into the dark, almost playful:
“I hope to speak with you again, Lily.”
Then he was gone.
The radio let out a hiss of static and fell silent. The room seemed to breathe out.
Lily stood alone once more.
She glanced at the desk.
The eye on the wood blinked once.
She closed the door behind her as she left, the faint sound of an old jazz tune humming softly behind her steps.