// Closed Thread with @poisonedspider & @hellmxses

This year, Valentino actually managed to convince Vox to go out to the club with him and Angel on his birthday. The moth was brimming with excitement, all but skipping toward the limousine that night. During the day, he'd been on a shopping spree with Velvette who bought him a bunch of new outfits. She didn't have the time (nor patience) to go clubbing with them, understandably so given that Val tended to spin even more out of control than usual when it was his special day.

Sporting one hell of a hot get-up, the pimp slipped into his car, arriving at the club shortly after the other two sinners. His platform heels clicked on the floor as he sauntered through the entrance, the crowd going wild as soon as he appeared at the scene. Every demon allowed inside was a hand-picked guest. Friends and employees, conquests and admirers. Valentino bathed in their attention, taking photos with some and clinking glasses with others, welcomed with his favorite drink by one of the waiters.

Eventually, he stole himself away to the VIP lounge where Vox and Angel would be waiting for him. Flopping down on the velvet couch, he gave his partner a cheeky smirk.

ཐིཋྀ "Regretting your choice already?", he asked teasingly,

"Or could it be... that Pride's number one workaholic actually enjoys a lavish party for his favorite moth man?"

Of all the bullshit in Hell, being stuck in the Pride Ring was one of the things Satan hated most, but here he was anyway, forcing his massive frame to shrink down just so he could squeeze through the damn doors of that eyesore called the Hazbin Hotel. His horns scraped the frame as he ducked inside, and he let out a low growl under his breath while his tail lashed sharply behind him. Charlie’s little redemption project was still a complete waste of time in his book, but that wasn’t why he’d dragged himself over here.

Word was that the latest extermination had been brutal enough to take out the First Man himself. Satan didn’t give two shits about the sinners getting culled or the yearly bloodbath, but he knew Heaven wouldn’t let something like that slide without hitting back hard. Until they made their move, this place Heaven’s favorite punching bag seemed like the smart spot to settle in and wait.

He shoved past a couple of chairs, his heavy hooves thudding against the floorboards, and stepped behind the bar like he owned the joint. One clawed hand snatched up the biggest jug of liquor in sight, the glass clinking as he yanked it free. He dropped onto a stool with enough force to make the wood creak under his weight, his tail still flicking with pure irritation as he tilted the jug back and took a long, messy swig.

@poisonedspider

"True. But you don't usually seem upset about it when they're not. Want to vent?"

▹@poisonedspider liked for a starter.

He refused to consider this as poor decision making, convincing himself that it had been a necessity. Still mending injuries or not, Alastor had absconded from the hotel for the afternoon, insistent on maintaining a few of his own personal contracts and issuing reminders that despite what they'd seen on television, he was not about to permit any of them to forget precisely who they were beholden to. Alastor would not lose any of his contracted sinners simply because they believed his ruse - or what he would call a ruse - to be a genuine detriment to his credibility and reputation. And if he had to throttle a few of them in the process of giving those reminders, then so be it.

But with energy levels waning by the later hour, he was beginning to regret leaving the hotel at all; regret leaving his room, in fact, having not even stopped for a moment to consider eating despite knowing that he should. It was a poor habit to forget, and his aches and pains were infuriated by his negligence, stomach giving a heave as he fought the inherent and strangely contradicting sensation of nausea in response to his hunger. But vomiting would only do the opposite and purge him of whatever small bits of nutrients he still had in his stomach from the day before - not a good solution.

Alone in the darkened alley that bordered the territories of Uptown and the Entertainment District, Alastor leaned against a nearby stone wall, willing the earth to stop spinning in his vision.

Damn this curse, he thought. A day of not eating should not yield such disastrous results. And yet here he was, feeling as though he only had a few precious minutes before he succumbed to some sort of dizzying unconsciousness. And if he passed out, he could not eat - he might starve, or worse, be set upon by some opportunistic individual, only to reappear a few days later knowing that he had been bested by some hapless sinner.

He would not abide by that.

But nor could he find the will to continue to move his feet - and he certainly did not have the energy to slip into shadow and pray that he could return to the hotel without incident. Instead, the inky vestige of his silhouette danced against the wall upon which he leaned, watching with some frustration and concern in its hollowed eyes.

"Oh shut up," Alastor hissed aloud, glaring up at the shadowy beast. "If you had reminded me to eat, we wouldn't be in this situation."

He knew better than to believe that to truly be the case... but he would complain nonetheless.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about my ratings," Grabbing Angel by the jaw, he gets really close to him. "Maybe you should worry more about being Val's perfect little whore, now that you've left the hotel and abandoned your 'fwiends'."

[🍎] Everyone should be asleep, which made it the perfect hour to slip down into the kitchen. He couldn't sleep for the, what was it? Fifth? Sixth day in a row. Time had been a blur since coming back to the hotel and he hadn't really left his room in that time. He was exhausted and drained from being used as a living battery, an experience he did not want to repeat.

He could still hear the TV heads laugh, mocking and cruel. He hated sinners.

Lucifer sets the kettle on, hoping some tea would help calm his nerves. He'd try anything at this point just for some semblance of comfort. Something hot might do that.

He glanced at the fridge as he waited for the water to boil, frowning at it. Food had been something he had trouble with. The idea of eating made his stomach turn in uncomfortable ways. Shaking his head, he looks back at the kettle, as if staring at it would make the water boil faster.

He just wanted to get back to his room where it was safe.

" What Angel? I already made it clear I hate the walking moth man cliché. If I have to step in I will you already saved my life for what its worth. I pay my debts especially to those I care about don't get a big head. "