#sinnerxroulette

Pierre held his composure but he wanted to run the minute he realized, not only was Feliz bidding but now Niko, the guy he had drugged and robbed, was bidding on him!

He didn't know if this was a coincidence or if he had just volunteered to sell himself off to his enemies but he was checking the crowd for anyone else he recognized now.

Seemed it was just the two for now but he was determined, not to be contractually obligated to go anywhere near Feliz, for any amount of time and so, before any winners were named, Pierre looked over the list of bids and wrote an extra zero next to Nikos.

He could handle the zebra spider being mad at him but he was already starting to panic, just thinking about Feliz winning.

"Ah, Husker! Mais oui, everything is quite alright. Merely a horribly incompetent client, who could do absolutely nothing on his own, and demanded my presence for 'safety reasons'. I have him working in accounting now, simply for the trouble he decided to cause me~"

Make no mistake. He was more annoyed by the inconvenience than he was letting on.

Lobo came to the hotel, expensive-ass magical carpetbag in one hand and briefcase in the other. He wasn't expecting to be checked in immediately, no, but... the news footage sure made it seem like he may be? He'd never thought that that 'redemption' stuff was for him, but he wasn't really in a position to choose the terms of his living space. Unless he wanted to keep living in that ratty ass apartment that saw a massive turf war only seven months ago. No, he didn't want to go back.

But the Hazbin Hotel seemed promising. They just beat back an angelic army! That meant it was a safer space with experienced security measures. And if Lobo could get a job there? Even better.

[Unprompted]

"Sure, uh...Harvey," no real attempt to pretend he was even trying to remember names. He was still constantly forgetting Vaggi's name.

Why Crimson was in an old, abandoned underground subway at one in the morning was nobody's business. It was mob business. The place had flooded a few years back, and Crimson was a fan of making people 'sleep with the fishes'... to put it simply.

Sometimes, even a boss like him had to get his hands dirty. This was one of those 'if you want it done right, do it yourself' moments-- the top dog was sending a disloyal smaller dog to a watery grave.

The plan was simple: get in, dispose of the body, and leave like nothing had happened.

Unfortunately, life never went as according to plan.

Crimson heard foodsteps, saw a shadow pass, and jerked up, hand reaching for his gun.

He snaps off a fresh bandage with his sharp incisors, smile turned into an annoyed grimace. “Clearly it is, or it would not have gotten so infected, you fool.”

Hell yeah, he’s such hot shit, he’s literally all that and more, just as satisfying as rumors say! Does he know much about any of this? Fuck no. But his ego’s gotten a little stroke that all these other rings know who’s best! He’s gotta show this off, pad over to his boss or something and show him the message. Buuuut before that…

@sinnerxroulette from HERE

"I'm serving what I got ta serve. Got a complaint, take it up with the resident former angel who wants this place to stay a recovery house."

Comes the snorted reply from the cat, the heat in his tone barely tepid. The booze was hardly "sparkling water," but it wasn't satisfyingly strong either. But it was cheap, and it was there, and it got you drunk eventually. Good enough to Husk's standards, since he wasn't paying for it.

"You want me to pour you real liquor? Use some magic and make a bottle of it appear."

The cat snorts before grabbing up his own bottle of cheap booze and taking a chug from it.

Alastor traces the hem of his glass with his claw as Husk speaks, a rimshot echoing right at the end of the cat demon's words, as if they had been a bad punchline in a comedy show.

"Then our resident former angel is a bit of a hypocrite," he shoots back, his tone almost bored now. "She drinks just as much as anyone else down here. I've seen it with my own eyes during our last one-on-one chat."

There hadn't been a single drop of Bourbon left in the bottle by the end of the discussion.

Still, the Radio Demon can't deny that the other has a point. One can be the most talented in existence, but without the right raw materials, the results can only be mediocre.

So, he snaps his fingers, vanishing the bottle Husk is holding while the cat is mid-gulp, and four aged bottles appear on the counter. Oh yeah, he's obviously in a foul mood.