Injuries (RadioSnake) (Hazbin Hotel)

Rain

    It hadn't rained in Hell in years, but every so often, it did. When it did, it made everything muddy and even more miserable than things already were. Most demons avoided the rain, but one could not. It was clear this demon was limping and injured, leaving drops of blood behind it. It's red eyes glowing faintly, weak.
      Alastor had never intended to get injured. When he had heard of Princess Charlotte's plan for the civilians of Hell, he simply HAD to see this event. However, now that a week had gone by, the Hazbin Hotel had lost it's entertainment and the novelty of it wore off. Beside the point, little Charlie kept trying to persuade him to become one of her little test subjects.
    Alastor had never been good with people, and preferred to be alone. Nifty and Husker were alright, but having Charlie, Vaggie, AND that annoying slut Angel was just too much. ESPECIALLY Angel.
     Alastor continued to trudge through the mud, cold and wet. His wounds were serious, but not bad enough where he could 'double die'. The deer demon chuckled to himself, reminding himself that he had lived through worse.
     His thoughts wandered back to the Hotel. It was surely going to fail, especially now since he was abandoning it. He had left quietly, as not to wake the residents.
     In his own stupidity, he left alone and took a different route as a shortcut to the outer reaches of Pentagram City. Vox's territory. Alastor and Vox had gone at it with eachother for centuries. Sometimes he would win, sometimes Vox would win. Tonight, Vox had made quite a victory over the Radio Demon.
      Alastor slumped against a building, becoming weaker. He shivered, knowing he'd have to find shelter soon to heal his wounds. That proved to be a problem. His own home was within Pentagram City's inner circle. There was no way he was going back that way like this. It would ruin his spotless reputation. Ontop of that, other demons may see his weakened state as a chance to pick him off.
     He continued limping, much slower now as he scanned for an inn or tavern or something. Most out here was nothing but abandoned garbage from the latest cleanse. Alastor looked out over the wasteland, hoping to find at least a pipe he could crawl in.
     After searching the junk for awhile, Alastor grew weaker. He weakly summoned his microphone staff, leaning against it. This was no use. He'd bleed out before he even found shelter. Then.. he'd really be screwed if another demon came along.
      He trudged onward, slipping in the mud, falling on his knees. He snarled, now covered in mud. He got up weakly, his legs wobbled. He started again only to stumble and fall again, this time face first in the mud.
      Getting up again, he hissed. The mud stung his wounds, and he trembled from the pain.
      Just as he was about to give up and lay down in the mud, he saw a building through the haze of rain. He tiredly struggled towards the building, his battered body protesting with each step. It was a grand, old Victorian house all by itself. All the lights were off. The door looked too heavy to push open, but there happened to be several ground floor windows.
    The Radio Demon let out a shaky sigh, "It will have to do".