Leslie arrives in Hell shortly after an extermination, with no idea what she's done to deserve this. She checks into the so-called Hazbin Hotel in hopes of redeeming herself. Unfortunately, Leslie catches the eye of Alastor, and finds herself subjec...
When the meeting ended, the guests scattered like cockroaches from a kitchen light. Angel Dust left so quickly that a small bag of something dropped, unnoticed, from his pocket on the way out. Leslie darted to retrieve the bag before anyone saw. It was a suspicious little powdery bundle, and no mistake. She stuffed it in her bra, deciding to hand it in later. Right now she wanted some breakfast.
Leslie turned a corner and, sooner than expected, bumped straight into Alastor again. As her nose met his suit jacket, the cologne he was wearing – fiery citrus and cedarwood – also made her acquaintance.
"Sorry! Sorry," she said, moving to pass him, but he stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder.
"So," he said, "you're avoiding me now?"
Leslie shook him off. "Someone told me all about you," she said.
"Ah."
"Yep."
The information didn't seem to bother him. "A reliable source, I hope! Wouldn't want to be misinformed!"
"Why are you talking to me?" she wanted to know.
"Because if you're as squeaky-clean as you say – if you're here by accident – then you stand a minute chance of being taken upstairs... and it's more interesting to keep you downstairs. We must find out what you're hiding!"
She stared. "You do want the guests to fail."
"Indeed!" He leaned over her, an easy feat. "I'd like to ask you some questions," he said.
"No thanks." She walked away, only for him to appear before her in silhouette, then fully formed, as by some unknown power the different shades of red and gray flashed into place.
"How about a quid pro quo? You know what that is, don't you? Shake my hand, and whatever questions we ask each other, we'll be bound to answer truthfully." His eyes were on her, then the meeting room door. Perhaps he was looking out for Vaggie, but Leslie thought there was more to it. Alastor had a conspiratorial air, like he had secrets to impart.
She sighed. "How long?"
"Two minutes."
"90 seconds," she bargained.
He smiled, extending a gloved hand. "Deal."
Leslie shook, before she could think too long about it. There was a flash of green light between them, and their surroundings flickered and changed. She felt a *whumph!* as the floor whipped away beneath her, and the next moment, she held Alastor's hand over a large, ornate wooden desk, in a different room entirely.
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He let her go, settled into a comfortable desk chair, and gestured for her to sit in a smaller, less comfy chair suddenly behind her.
"Christ!" She sat, peering round. The room was lined with bookcases; it was a little imposing, striking that fine line between cluttered and sparse. "Where are we?"
