badend | ( active ) hazbin hotel: alastor

Something like this should have been a big and noisy affair, a limo pulling up before the formal checking in of the biggest-- ...who was the biggest Overlord in Hell. But the first sign of something being off lately was the frantic murmuring of Vaggi, who was locked in a hushed argument with Princess Charlie.

"Babe, I understand and I support your dream that anybody can be redeemed if they have the desire to, but you- you can't be serious! HIM?? You let HIM in, after everything he's done to smear the hotel's reputation? YOUR reputation! And after everything he did to your dad?? We don't even know if he's got some new scheme!"

"I know, Vaggi. But... but we know his tricks now! Right? And besides... you weren't there when he arrived. It was... different... from when he came by before. I couldn't just turn him away."

The angel sighed, but despite her weary eye, she reached out and took her girlfriend's hand. "...I know. It wouldn't be like you. Just... be careful, alright? I'll keep my eye on him..."

But it was stranger still that, even with the big crowds looking to check in, there wasn't a peep about this new arrival in the rumor mill. One would think that someone who would cause the ever-cautious angel to be on higher alert than normal would be enough to perk some ears...

Edited 2025-12-02 06:04 (UTC)

The hotel has come to be livelier than Alastor ever thought it might be.

That is, of course, a good thing; persistent effort, painstaking hard work, and forward thinking are all things that ought to be rewarded. Still, there's a part of him that dislikes it. It's crowded and noisy at all hours now, people getting into this and that, being trapped with their unpleasant and repulsive qualities and insufferable drawbacks. He persists though, in far more good cheer (or something like it) than he had been before his little vacation, and he has allowed someone else to take on some of his burden as desired - that is, he continues to do what he pleases.

His eyes remain stock still, but his ears tilt slightly to one side as he listens to the conversation. They twitch before perking back up, and Alastor is left with the choice on whether to pursue this new lead. It isn't one that had been discussed with him, which is quite curious, but if he asks directly then he'll only be met with distractions.

The demon melts into the shadows instead, disappearing as quickly and silently as smoke. He picks a place away from the prying eyes of the staff and unruly guests, and begins his hunt. There's only so many places that one could be, and each click of his heels and twitch of his ears brings him a bit closer to his goal.

The sound of static in the air is far quieter than anything he produces; it's so faint as to be nothing but silence to all others, but just barely audible to his ears, or perhaps it's more something like an additional sense that others lack. Radio transmits, video receives; both have their own sound. Alastor wonders if he still can, given that he still has that silly antenna of his, but that's not his concern. He can still here, and so he can follow it in that way one might follow a blood trail to a wounded animal.

The plan seemed to work. Blondie really was such a fucking bleeding heart...

But he arrived under the cover of what darkness the forever-red Pride Ring offered, heavily cloaked, and had studied the rounds of who checks at the door to see who would answer. That fallen angel bitch would just ram that spear through his monitor and be done with it. The king doesn't do anything. Charlie? Ahh, now Charlie was the ideal. Speak a few soft words and show a little regret, and you're in no problem. The alternative was Alastor, and...

...He didn't want to see him right now. Not like this.

Valentino and Velvette had quickly grown sick of carrying his head around. They had better things to do, and they needed all staff on deck for all the changes that were happening in the Tower with the rebranding... the slow and gradual erasure of everything Vox was, no doubt. Though he laughed and insisted the Vees would be nothing without him, deep down there was an unmistakable pain. They'd been thick as thieves for decades! What was one megalomaniacal scheme with a holy rail cannon between family, right!?

But the days he spent as a head left on a table or a couch increased regardless of his calls for one of them to come and get him. Bitter, he managed to call on at least some of the engineers he had left that still answered to him. He had back-up bodies! He replaced his head plenty of times. What was another body? But someone had thought ahead, changed the codes and prevented his access to his more... complete frames. So when he arrived at the hotel, covered in a london fog coat and an ample hood to cover his head as best as he could, it was seated atop a prototype.

His height was there. The claws met his specifications. But the frame screamed 'temporary' until he could regenerate or- ideally- find wherever the fuck his body was and plug himself back in. He was more machine than... okay, machine-man... but as he stowed away his precious few things in the room he'd been assigned, his door presumably locked up tight, he had endoskeleton legs to carry him, endo arms to move this and that. He just needed to bide his time, stay out of sight for a while. People tended to forget everything and move on to the next big scandal in less than a month. He could wait that ou-

Vox froze, slowly turned his head. His antennae buzzed, a thread of lightning jumping between the diodes. Radio transmits, video receives.

"...Fuck." He'd hoped to have more time, figured Blondie would do him a solid and distract the bastard. But considering the events of not too long ago, ol' Vincent really was on a misfortune streak.

But maybe he just stalks around sometimes. He could hope for that, right? Maybe he's going to bother one of his pets, the cat or the bug or whatever.

It's nice to have hopes.

Alastor's ears turn to the source of the sound before his head does. Radio never needed video, and so Alastor never needed Vox. He has always thought in this way, and he continues to now. Even so, Vox is the only one in Hell who can catch his signal, and if he had the self-awareness to realize it he might find some profound thought or another.

But as it is, there has never been any reason to do so and there isn't now, and so Alastor only knows that Vox is here, in this place where he shouldn't be. The sound of his footsteps are muffled by the plush carpeting as he strolls along. He comes to a stop after a spell, raising his microphone and tapping the front of it before he shakes his head. He opts to fold his hands behind his back.

"I know that you're here, Vox. You can't hide from me," He says in a cheerful sing-song voice that shifts into something marginally more formal, "And as the host of the hotel, it's my duty to welcome you. And I did miss you during your visit to the hotel, after all."

He's tactful enough to keep his voice to a reasonable level (mostly for his own sake,) just high enough to be heard, and considerate enough not to immediately flush him out. He'll give him a chance to greet Alastor on his own terms first.

Edited (icon) 2025-12-03 06:52 (UTC)

His hopes, brittle as sugar glass, came crumbling down with the voice that never ceased to make his teeth grind and the coolant in his system rush to try and even him out before he'd glitch and overheat.

It was his pride, his stupid, infectious pride, that immediately snapped up the aspect of hiding. He wasn't HIDING from anyone, let alone him. Fuck you. FUCK you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you-

"You mind keeping it down?" It took a titanic amount of willpower to keep his tone even. Calm. Really, the way he was able to manage this somehow should be measured by experts.

But his door had opened, just a few down from Alastor's position, and he leaned an elbow to level a reproachful look at the Radio Demon.

"I'm sure some of your little guests here are trying to sleep at this hour. Or cook their heroin they slipped in or whatever."

Fine. He'll face you. And not because this fucker would only be more persistent and obnoxious if he went ignored, the big red brat.

Edited (i can write, i swear) 2025-12-07 14:26 (UTC)

"There you are!"

His voice was just as vibrant as the smile that's painted onto his face, though he did indeed drop it down to a more appropriate volume. He raised one hand, then splayed his fingers out before curling them and letting his hand fall back down by his side.

He was quick to close the gap between them, coming to a stop just a few feet away from Vox. He looked the man over from top to bottom just once, assessing his current condition, before he lifted his hand and moved it in small, circular motions.

"Our other guests aren't who you should be concerned about right now. I am. We need to have a little chat."

With that having been said, Alastor would proceed to try to push his way past Vox and into his room. He's as inconsiderate as always, but it might be kinder than dragging him out of it for this conversation.

No wave or so much as a wiggle of a digit in return. His frown, however, deepened.

His first mistake tonight was assuming some manner of chat would occur just like this. After everything that happened, perhaps it was best they kept some manner of distance from one another. Vox didn't entirely mind Alastor stepping closer, standing his ground.

"...What the fuck could we possibly have a 'little chat' abou- oof-" He DID mind the abrupt push past and into his room.

"Hey!"

He hadn't had long, so the room was still set up just the same as everyone else's. A suitcase was sitting open on the bed, still filled with finely-ironed articles of clothing that he had scarcely begun to remove before the interruption.

Perhaps he should have left the door open. Perhaps then, if something happened, there would be some witness or maybe even some intervention and he could lay thick a story that he'd been intruded upon. Instead, his pride had him close the door and give them privacy.

He loosened a few of the wires in his neck, disconnecting them from the temp body to raise them like many whips crackling with electricity. They raised and curved in an S, countless 'serpents' ready to strike. Even if some truly troubling thoughts still brewed in his head- he really was ready to die and take everyone with him- he could at least put up something of a fight. Last thing he needed was for the Radio Demon to get one last laugh at him.

"...What- you wanna finish the job after the others' little Care Bears act?"

"We have rules about fighting here, Vox. Or have you forgotten already? You're in my house with my rules now."

The words were dripping with venom, because he hasn't forgotten that little display either. If looks could kill, Vox might have been turned to ash on the spot. Fortunately for everyone involved they could not, and one of the rules of this hotel was that patrons were not to get into fistfights on the premises.

The sharp edge tapered off quickly though, and upon continuing Alastor's tone would go from irritable to simply curt.

"You can either follow them and play nice, or you can leave. I don't care which option you choose."

There was probably a rule about barging one's way into another person's room too, but the benefit of being the host is the ability to ignore those completely reasonable requests for privacy.

"I'm here to talk."

Like an adult, because unlike Vox, he is quite capable of acting like one.

Edited 2025-12-09 04:56 (UTC)

The eye roll practically threatened to have his eyes fall through his monitor. But Alastor typically was a man of his word when it came to these things, so there was a short pause before those cables lowered, powering down.

He didn't put them away entirely, however.

"Hey- You barged into my room!" He could unpack his suitcase, keep his hands busy and his mind sharp in case Alastor had some kind of last-minute trick up his sleeve. But he didn't want to take his eyes off the deer.

"But, fine- what do you want?"

"To speak with you," He repeated it once more in a slower voice, placing emphasis on each word, as though Vox were just particularly slow. There was no need for it, but he was in the mood to be particularly obnoxious today. He lifted his hand up as he spoke to further emphasize his point, creating small circles with it.

Alastor was quite polite about it too, as far as he's concerned. If he were a less considerate man, he would simply found his way in through the shadows. There's no lock that can keep him out, no area that he can't infiltrate, and there's no escaping him.

He took a few additional steps toward the center in the room, angling himself so that he can see Vox clearly. The bottom of his staff tapped against the ground, and cupped the top of the microphone.

"I want to know why you're here. You must know that your presence isn't wanted. In fact, if Charlie weren't so stubbornly set on the hotel being open to everyone, you would have been thrown out in a minute, to say nothing of the need to swallow your pride and humiliate yourself. It can't be that you want to be redeemed either, because that's impossible for us... So, what is it?"

A dangerous question, but an honest one. He wouldn't have come here to be a spy, he would no longer have the ability to sabotage, and so that meant there was a different reason for his arrival. And he did wonder if that reason was related to been related to a certain bit of news that had been going around.

His scowl deepened with each roll of emphasis. Vox rather expected Alastor to be especially obnoxious once he cottoned on, so he'd given himself at least a little time to galvanize his temper. To further prove himself, he slowly receded the cables, and tucked them away one by one.

"I'm not here to spy, if that's what you're suspecting." May as well cut that off at the pass. He began to move, his step slow and deliberate, all while keeping eyes on the other demon. In case he'd wind up too agitated after this talk, he could at least busy his hands a bit with the suitcase. Hey, he could change his mind if he wanted.

"I have an... arrangement." He paused, then turned his attention to the clothes, keeping them folded as he began unpacking.

Velvette called it 'body probation', but that's a lovely little chunk of classified information.

"I put in some time to make up for getting carried away with my last plan, and Val and Vel discuss returning access to my body back-ups." Was that a lie? Yes. Absolutely. But the best lies were ones easily sprinkled with some shadow of truth.

Because the full truth was... pathetic. God, it was so pathetic and he didn't really need any of that right now.

Vox grunted his frustration when this body's left arm twitched, sparked, and he took a moment to try and focus, get this fucking thing to cooperate. It's picking things up and putting them down, you had ONE JOB! This was ridiculous...!

"What I'm hearing is that your companions are no longer willing to humor you, so you came slinking over here like the pathetic creature you are! You really do find new lows to sink to, don't you?"

Alastor isn't so inclined as to show kindness and sympathy at the best of times, and this is far from that. There's a satisfaction in watching him struggle, though he does well in keeping that thought to himself. He's even kind enough to avoid reminding Vox of the many times that he had pointed out that he was completely dependent on them. A smarter man would have put a back up plan in motion instead of continuing to shower them with platitudes.

But, that's not his problem. His reputation is on the mend now. He rests one arm on the top of his microphone, leaning forward. This sort of blatant antagonism is probably the best he can ask for.

"You should find better partners once you have it back."

It sounds like a joke, but it's really not.

"Oh, no longer 'goons', huh? Are you feeling alright?" He flexed the fingers in that odd arm, and once things were right again, he pressed on with his task.

He expected this. Let Alastor talk. Let him get his licks in, get him bored and then he can get some peace. At the very least, he hadn't been tapped for anything like therapy or 'circle time' yet. Vox wagered Charlie was at least rubbing two brain cells together in the fact that maaaaybe having Vox show his face publicly around other guests wasn't the play right now.

"And what about you, anyway? You were talking about another chain holding me back-" Why, he even made a perfect mimic of his voice, eyes swapping to radio dials for the moment.

"You can't tell me you actually care about this 'hotel host' bullshit. So why are you still here?"

The first two questions received no response. There was only that cheshire cat smile, a toothy grin that gave away nothing. One ear twitched in response to the change in tone, but nothing more. It had probably been a mistake to mention the second point, but Alastor was under no obligation to answer.

The latter question, however, was one he didn't mind answering.

"For the entertainment! Why, in all my years, I've never seen anything like it. In just a year, this ratty little place has gone from a dilapidated, empty building to to starting a war with heaven, to ending one, to bustling with activity, proving redemption to be possible, and working with angels! To say nothing of all the other guests. I'm on the edge of my seat waiting to see what will happen next."

He spoke of it the same way that one might when trying to sell a particularly interesting story. There wass a dramatic flair to it, and he stood up straight in order to accompany it with gestures to accentuate each point. He's delighted.

Of course there were his own personal reasons as well, but it was all interconnected. In the end, this ratty little hotel had proven to be worth investing in.

"Once it starts to bore me, I'll take my leave."

That much he recalled in his ~~surveillance~~ casual observations. The place was a dump, falling apart, and when he heard the building was bought up, he had to wonder why. Then it was crushed, reborn, and Vox could quietly admit it was real estate he could have picked up, himself. Bit garish on the outside, but what in Hell wasn't?

However-

"...Bullshit." He stopped emptying the bag, and turned with a quirked brow the other demon's way.

"I've known you for the better part of a hundred years. Success isn't what gets your antennae hard. Schadenfreude does. The princess is winning, and has successfully made a kumbaya with Heaven; the most boring fucking outcome anyone can hope for!"

He raised a claw and gestured it at him. "Someone benefits from her success, and it sure as shit isn't you, Al. You've only ever cared about one guy: Alastor."

Then the hand was waved dismissively, and he turned to open a drawer, start putting the clothes he unpacked into it. "...So spare me. Or finish the job and kill me, or whatever."

Not like I have anything left. The way he shoved things into the drawer now looked more like he wanted to strangle the cloth, no longer caring if things were folded neatly. He didn't even care about wrinkles, too incensed to do more than just keep himself busy and try not to lash out again.

"Who said anything about that? You need to clean the cotton out of your ears, because I've already said it quite clearly: There's no violence in the hotel."

Alastor speaks with that usual tone of his, and he'll go so far as to come directly next to Vox and pull at his screen - right around where the cheek would be - before slipping into the shadows and reappearing on the bed. He sits there, legs crossed.

He only cares about himself. Vox hasn't said anything wrong at all, save that Alastor is so pragmatic as to do what's best for himself without concerning himself with emotions. There's plenty of truth to what he says. There's plenty of things that he could pick on here, too, because he knows Vox better than anyone. There's plenty, but there's also an unspoken agreement between them, and Alastor only ever picks at his insecurities and nothing more.

Even what comes next feels like a lot, but asking is a necessary evil,

"Now, what is it that really caused you to come here?"

Edited 2025-12-19 07:20 (UTC)

The princess really had him trained. No violence, and he was abiding by it. Then again, the Morningstars were the only ones short of the Deadly Sins who could forcibly out Alastor if they tried, soft-hearted or not.

But deep down, some ugly, oily little feeling in his belly perhaps... wanted Alastor to finish the job. Better to die at the hands of an 'old friend' than some random maniac in this shithole hotel or something, right? Yet he instead tugged at his cheek, and Vox pulled away from it with a scoff and half-roll of his eyes.

The question had him narrow his eyes, mouth scrunched into a scowl. He shoved the first drawer shut, and all but tore the second off its hinges to continue his unpacking.

"...I'm out," he answered quietly, even if everything in him screamed to remain defiant. He'd already lashed out and even cried that night, looking as pitiful as he ever could be. But was there really any dignity he could gather up any more, after all of that...?

"You've seen the news feeds, haven't you? Val runs the company. Vel's been on board for that for a while. ...So." The heaviest 'so' he'd ever spoken. But he shrugged a shoulder, fought to keep his composure and an air of 'who fucking cares'.

"I'm here." Make it sound like your own decision, right? Because who needed them, anyway? He sure as fuck didn't.

He missed SHOK.wav.

It would be lovely for Alastor to say that's no surprise, but it actually is. He's a pragmatic man. He understands that the Vees need one another, and there's a good reason that Vox was the only one that he's ever acknowledged. Vox has always been sharp. He was predictable and trustworthy. He had the capacity to be the strongest sinner in Hell.

The other two had no right to discard him out of hand, but well, that would be their problem in the long term. The Radio Demon has already since lost interest in that organization, because the only point of interest was right before him, and he would only regain any interest if Vox entered the scene again.

"Hmm. I did, but I never thought I'd see such a pitiful display of self-loathing from the Media Overlord."

He's resting one arm on the dresser now, leaning on it, eyes half lidded as he stares at the other. Vox isn't a stupid man, nor a weak man. He's one of those few people who can stare down the Radio Demon. But here he is, acting so pitiful, so much like Charlie on that day.

But, unlike Charlie, Vox is an absolute moron, so he'll state it more clearly:

"And, how long will the Vees last without you? You were their publicist."

Mockery and comfort, because everything is about to fall down, but only for his absence.

"I was the fucking BRAINS of the outfit!" He growled, and with nothing else to add to the drawer, his hands were left empty. Before he could claw the material of the furniture before him, he opted to bring his arms to cross against his chest.

He began to pace, already restless without his system, all the feeds, all the people clamoring for his attention and authorization on this and on that-

"I give it two months! The first few weeks of the honeymoon phase, people talking about the big change in waves as they speculate, wonder where I've gone, maybe... but the beauty and the curse of news is that they'll soon grow bored of spinning their wheels and move on. Attention wanes, then those two have to somehow come up with a way to be relevant again. I wager they'll borrow a few things I had left over, projects and copy they have authorization to access..." He could see it so vividly now. They had their methods, but they didn't have that spark like HE did. Surely, they'd cannibalize his hard work until there was nothing left, if anything to keep from putting in the effort.

"Then it all comes crashing down when they hit the bottom of the barrel. If they're smart, they look for me and come crawling back on their hands and knees, begging me to come back!"

Alastor plopped down on the bed as Vox went on. He hung off of it, his back bent at an unnatural angle. The top half was belt at a perfect ninety degree angle, ears brushing against the floor and the very tips bent against it. It was the closest he had ever gotten to a frown, and even then it was only a mockery of one; his grin is upside down, but it was easy, collected and calm. His hands remained folded over his stomach, and they rested on his staff.

There wasn't the same need to antagonize and isolate him now, and in fact at this point that would be detrimental (or maybe it's precisely because it was and would be that he could speak like this,) and so Alastor was just a tad more generous.

"Well, two months is more than long enough for your media empire to be irreparably damaged! New sinners appear on the daily," He drew one knee up, then crossed the opposite leg over it, "And with them they bring new ideas and expertise. Your brand has only survived up until now because you were able to keep an iron grip on it."

To say that he preferred the company of the other two Vees would be an understatement, but Alastor had no illusions about who had what talents. The other two didn't have the same obsessive fixation on image.

How unfortunate.

You mentioned being interested in crosscanon plotting- So here are two general ideas, both gen.

1. Sabriel in Hell. Sub-ideas include that is that Something is happening and bits of the Old Kingdom and Death have started manifesting in Hell as the borders between worlds start getting a little too thin, bringing Old Kingdom Dead/necromancers with them if you want some plotty/action stuff. Maybe Sabriel's talking cat/pet eldritch abomination comes along for the ride.

2. Alastor in Sabriel's world. Her canon features two countries- The Old Kingdom, which is a zombie-infested pseudo-medieval fantasyland with cool magic and literal paper airplanes, and Ancelstierre, which is 1920's England with the serial numbers filed off, and shares a very strange border with the Old Kingdom. Also there's Death, which is cold, wet, and creepy.

i'm so sorry for the delay on this! i'm normally quicker, but i've been scatterbrained this last week or so.

anyway!! i think the first one would be really cool... hazbin plays with the idea of heaven and hell being linked in some nebulous way where hell can invade heaven, but so far the mortal world has been inaccessible to both so it'd be something something completely new!

alastor is someone who tends to value stability/safety over active power grabs, but also someone who does fight tooth and nail for a certain amount of control, so he'd be all over whatever was going on there and the implications of that. also i want to see her lil eldritch abomination, that's so cute...

Edited 2025-12-19 02:40 (UTC)

It is basically spelled out at a few points in canon that the Ancelstierre, (AKA 1920s England with the serial numbers filed off) the country to the south of the Old Kingdom is literally another world that it's intruding on, which explains how it's often different times of day and different seasons on different sides of the border. Sabriel spent most of her childhood in northern Ancelstierre, so she's one of the few people in the Old Kingdom who understands what technology is. (Any tech from Ancelstierre stops working as soon as it crosses the border). So parallel worlds are technically canon!

The Old Kingdom itself is... Pseudo-medieval? It's pulling itself back together after two hundred years of decline and chaos since Sabriel stopped the architect of the decline and rescued the last royal heir.

There's both Charter Magic, which is more common, and Free Magic. It doesn't really have fantasy races or creatures, just humans, various flavors of undead monsters (lots of those) and occasional Free Magic creatures lurking in the wings. The locals are... unfortunately used to attacks by the Dead.

The Old Kingdom has its own afterlife... Sort of. Death is a weird spiritual realm with a lot of fog and a river with no banks whose current drags souls to an unknown destination. (It's not oblivion, but whatever's beyond the Ninth Gate is kept deliberately vague). So if you want creepy floods of black water and fog, there's that too!

Listen, Mogget is the best, he's such an asshole cat. (Until his collar comes off, then he's a horrifying eldritch entity from the dawn of time.)

Sorry for rambling! I'd be happy to write a starter, unless you'd like to! I tend to default to shortly after the first book in the series for Sabriel's canonpoint- what point in canon would you like for Hazbin?

( active ) hazbin hotel: alastor

The Check-In! What does this mean for your neighbors??

gentrification... is coming

you're either miracle whip me... or -against- me...

lkjdhsa help i laughed

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Plotting?

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