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...
Leslie curled up in bed, letting tired, frustrated tears fall sideways along her face. Goddamn Alastor. He was the worst, and yet she couldn't get him off her mind. She'd been down this road before: fixating on a man, usually unobtainable, often powerful, but always a bad choice. Her type.
But she'd also recovered from these men. Leslie would pine over them for a while; she'd grieve for something that wasn't hers, and never could be; and finally, she'd get over them and move on. At least, that was her usual approach. She put Karlton in that box once, writing him off, until the two connected and he grew into that caring, albeit troubled person she loved. If only things could have been better for them.
Still, Leslie resolved to ride out the current situation. That night, she lay clutching her pillow, representing an Alastor who didn't exist. He was a phantom with imagined limbs, who silently murmured sweet nothings to her. It was pathetic. She knew this. She reveled in the tragedy of tumbling around with a clothy, feather-stuffed bag, while the real Alastor carried on without a care or a thought.
Fuck him.
o - o - o - o - o
The next morning, Leslie slid down the banister into the main hall, in a vain attempt to lift her spirits. Angel Dust was awake, for some reason. How could he be a night owl and an early bird simultaneously? Perhaps he'd stayed up, carried on drinking with Husk... and Alastor.
Angel gave her a wave. "Hey, how's it goin'?"
"Fine," she said, "little hungover."
"Aw, don't worry, a few aspirin, you'll be fine. Feelin' OK othawise? Hey, I hope ya didn't take it personal. We were jus' havin' some fun."
"Don't remind me," she groaned.
"I mean, it's Alastor. That's what makes it funny."
"Oh, I get it, yeah. Why couldn't I have picked someone more accessible?"
"Yeah, Al's inaccessible a'right."
"He could have any woman he wants," Leslie reflected bitterly. "Probably has. Probably does."
Angel blinked. "That's not what I meant. Ya really don't know? He's fuckin' frigid."
"What? Frigid like-?"
"Nobody tells ya nothin', do they? Yeah, Al don't do sex... or anythin' in that ballpark. Thinks it's borin', or maybe he jus' thinks otha people are, y'know, a big ol' pile'a repugnance."
Leslie sank against a pillar. "Ohh."
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"Yeah. He even turned me down, which should tell ya somethin'. I know it don't make ya feel betta, but..."
"Actually, it kind of does." She cracked her first smile of the day. "God, now I can forget all about him."
"Wow, that easy, huh?"
Leslie chuckled and walked down the hallway with her friend. "You know, when I think about it," she mused, "I only wanted him in the physical sense. Outside of that... he's kind of a shit."
