𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 ★Alastor x fem! reader★🥀

Ch. I ✡The Daughter Of Zestial Morde✡

IT WAS MIDNIGHT. You walk the dirt covered sidewalks of Pentagram city, the heels of your boots making a soft clinking sound to add to the mass hysteria of noises.

You walk in silence, the hood of your cloak drawn over your head, though whatever demon catches a glimpse of your glowing green eyes, they scramble away in fear, leaving whatever they were doing behind them, forgotten.

Something you haven't earned, putting fear in others. You were born with this trait, by being able to flash a look at a demon's direction and have them and their meek existence run from your gaze.

It meant less trouble on your part, in all honesty. So, you don't mind it that much.

Your feet lead you to the front entrance to the rather run down, hotel of Pentagram city.
The words Hazbin Hotel shine in the darkness of the night, displayed on the highest level of this building so that anyone can see it. The letters A and I seem to flicker due to the light bulbs breaking.

You wonder if anyone will fix that anytime soon. But does it even matter?

This is a folly dream of the Princess of Hell, Charlie Morningstar.
Though...it is quite a great investment to be involved with. Even if...it's not exactly a hopeful cause, rehabilitating demons. It's ridiculous.

But for a demoness like yourself, jobs aren't that easy to come by. Worthy jobs, to say the least. Jobs that actually fit...your style.

You like to be in control of your own time, and the things you do. Hence why, this is the perfect place to try and make your little claim on a position.

You raise your head, grabbing the slightly damp doorknob and pushing it open, only to be hit with the smell of alcohol, smoke, and faint sniffs of...cookies?

You step inside gingerly, shutting the door behind you softly to not alert your presence as of yet.
Your eyes take in your surroundings. Two old, tan colored couches stand surrounding the lit fireplace, and to your right side, you see what appears to be a small bar, and a black and white, pissed off Cat demon behind it's wooden counters.

The bartender, you assume.

Though the man sitting at the bar...
You smirk. The exact man you are looking for, if you want to get involved with this hotel idea.

You walk to the counter, standing with your hands clasped in front of you.
"Greetings, gentleman," you say in a soft, stoic, voice, making sure to keep your face hard to read. One of the many lessons your father taught you to use whenever you are in conversation.

Appear stoic, emotionless, and have them wonder what it is that you are thinking.

The cat demon raises a suspicious eye towards you, though the other man spins his stool to greet you, a wide, quite intimidating, smile on his face, revealing his set of yellow-colored sharp fangs.

Alastor.
Though his most common name, is the Radio Demon.
Called such a title due to the fact of how he spread his carnage on Hell's radio stations, the screams of once high ranked overlords, being slaughtered mercilessly by the hands of the man who sits before you.

For anyone else, being in his presence would be terrifying, but not for you.
No matter what Alastor believes, he has limits.
And you are indeed his limit.

He wouldn't dare harm the daughter/only child of Zestial Morde, now would he?

You raise your hands to pull your hood down, and once the fabric falls away from your head to reveal your face, the cat demon spits out the remains of alcohol in his mouth.