Alastor was at his desk, leaning back with a posture so casual and in a state of dress so informal, that it would have given Rosie a conniption. Given that it was one of the rare times when he was willing to sleep, he was not dressed nearly as stiffly as he otherwise would be. He still had a dark pair of dress pants and belt. His top was a blood red,long sleeved dress shirt with its sleeves rolled back. He would never be caught out in public without wearing his best dressings, but he felt comfortable in his private time: a pleasant surprise given that he shared a hotel with a promiscuous spider demon with a fondness for hard drugs and crude language.
A gentle hum, similar to a radio settling in a lukewarm room, could be heard buzzing from his slim throat. It was not the hum of a tune of any note, but a relaxed, free form noise akin to a cat's purr. Alastor found having some peace and quiet to be a wonderful past time.
Of course, the calm was always most permeable before the storm.
Suddenly, a deep, explosive boom thundered somewhere below the fifth floor. With a discordant spike of static, Alastor's once dazed eyes filled with energy once more. He had sensed an atmosphere of tension over the past ten minutes, a lesser known gift from his days as an axe murderer. The Radio Demon knew when he found an ideal target for his blood spilling machinations, and which persons were far too distrusting or cautious to perform his customary means of dispatching victims.
The only draw back was that most sinners were disproportionately aware of his reputation. Such days of murderous splendor were behind Alastor. All the same, his ability to read which direction the proverbial winds were blowing hd other uses.
With a slow flourish, his microphone staff reappeared with a burst of crimson smoke in his hand. He gave two light taps on the head of the microphone, and its serpentine eye opened to address its ghoulish master.
"Is it show time?" It asked in its iconically vaudeville tone.
Alastor merely grinned in a predatory manner. For the first time in weeks, his typically static tone gave way to his true voice.
"Show time."
Jersey's head was ringing for the first time in almost eighty years. If he were none the wiser, he could have sworn that he had been adjacent to the landing of an artillery shell. That was the only viable comparison he had to the sudden blast that had turned a forceful intervention against Baxter's unseen actions into a debilitating chaotic scene at a room-wide ground zero.
One unfortunate trade off from having superhuman senses was the fact that overstimulation was even more painful than normal. Being able to hear as well as an elephant was all well and good, but suffering the sound of an explosion was just as debilitating as it would be for someone with mundane senses. The useful talent of being able to see in the dark as well as one would see in the day meant that bright flashes were like a ship's broadside for one's optic nerves.
Having to endure an acrid stench resurrected from the battlefields of Flanders, Abyssinia, and Iraq while having a finely tuned nose went without saying.
Jersey could very well conceive of all of these thoughts as he writhed on the floor. This state of pain was particularly intolerable as Jersey despised being vulnerable, even in "friendly" territory as the Hazbin Hotel. As it stood, an unbearable tinnitus was stirring within his skull like a maelstrom in the aftermath of the grievous explosion. The harsh odor in the air appeared to have slightly intensified, to the point where Jersey was half convinced he was back in the Argonne Offensive, over a century ago. Furthermore, a flash blindness had made Jersey close his eyes uncomfortably shut by sheer instinct, not expecting a rush of light in such relative darkness.
'My fucking head...' Jersey thought, his his subconscious wishing he had the means to suppress his senses, rather than enhance them with magic.
All he could recall as he tried to work through the pain and stand on his own two feet was the sight of Baxter, standing still as a rabbit as an ill-fated drop of substance fell into the beaker on the dresser. It was, perhaps in hindsight, not totally unexpected, but as a relative novice in chemistry beyond the basics, Jersey confessed that even in his worst assumptions about the scholarly sinner, he never expected such a catastrophe. It was doubtless that he would have to aid everyone in the vicinity in recovering from whatever grave mistake Baxter had made, but for now, he had to regain his own bearings.
One safeguard against the loss of sensation in any one neural field was that Jersey's ability to heal did not limit itself to flesh wounds. If he was deafened by a cripplingly loud noise, the cochlea and its various nerves and hairs could regenerate. The same applied to his retina, and all of the vital cells and components necessary to have clear vision. Even now, unprepared as he was to endure the explosion in Baxter's room, Jersey soon found himself recovering.
The ringing in his ears stopped, and the perpetual flashes in his eyes as he kept them closed subsided. Doing his best to ignore the intensity of the smell in the hallway, he could hear that all of the people around him were in a sorry state. Staggering to his feet, he looked over his companions, and was almost instantly demoralized.
Several feet away from the door, Husk was cursing Baxter's existence, in both pain and anger. His thick paws were pressed tightly over his feline ears, a gnarled face clearly displaying his discomfort. The entire time, he leveled grumbling, creative threats of what he was going to do to Baxter once he had recovered from the shock of the blast.
Niffty, who was rolling on the ground and coughing her lungs out, was clearly faring no better. She too, was affected by the sound of the blast, as noted by the fact that her hands were trying to shield her ears. The maid was pitifully whining through a pair of quivering lips, like a child after being given a boxing on the ears for making an innocent mistake.
Angel Dust had fared slightly better than anyone present, as he had been standing the furthest away from the explosion. Nonetheless, he was trying to nurse his aching, deafened state, his eyes squinted shut in a vain attempt to concentrate the pain in his head away. Driven to his knees, the salacious spider demon was momentarily unable to grasp anything to help bring him up on his feet. His four arms stumbled about whilst he groaned and coughed multiple times.
Second nearest to the doorway when the blast happened, Charlie was currently in tears, though she was not making nearly as much of an effort to cover her eyes and ears as the former most witnesses to the chaos currently unfolding. Jersey suspected that her bloodline to Lucifer granted her exceptional durability, even for a demoness. On the other hand, it might have been an act of necessity, as the Princess was focused on the after effects her best friend had suffered. Having enough strength to sit up, she was trying to aid Vaggie, who was flat on her back, hacking to the point of near breathlessness.
Despite the grave irritation everyone was suffering, there was no evidence of anyone suffering a notable flesh wound. This was likely due to the fact that the walls framing Baxter's door had managed to contain the chemically induced blast and whatever shrapnel was launched by the subsequent pressure wave. Those who could get to their feet trudged away from Baxter's room. Presumably, it was to leave the hotel and get fresh air for their terribly irritated lungs.
The chaotic scene was beginning to clear itself, as most of the people in the hallway began to feel their way to the stairwell. Angel, cursing like a sailor as he held the sides of his head, would have tripped and fallen down the stairs if it were not for the fact that he had a spare pair of limbs to grip the railing on the left side of the stairs. When Husk and Niffty could see the porn star's sluggish exodus, they began to instinctively follow suit.
Charlie, her face becoming soaked with pained and fearful tears, managed to get to her feet. Through the unpleasant, near incessant coughing she was doing, she was able to heft the left arm of an equally hurt Vaggie over her shoulders. The Salvadoran sinner managed to muster enough strength and coherence to stand mostly on her own two feet.
From what could be seen through the haze, neither of them had suffered any debilitating injury. All the same, both women had suffered thin cuts on their faces as a result of shrapnel: likely flying glass or wood shards from the dresser in Baxter's room. After minutes of harsh coughs and debilitating pain from the gas and the sound of the chemical blast, Charlie spoke up.
"Everyone out!" She ordered in a strained voice, likely struggling to sound normal as a result of gas inhalation.
Hardly anyone answered, but everyone able to move was already taking initiative ahead of Charlie's decree. Everyone was soon limping down the stairwell towards the lobby and the front entrance. As Charlie and Vaggie brought up the rear, the Princess recalled the absence of one person: the one sinner who was closest to the explosion.
"Wait, we forgot about Baxter!" Charlie remarked with some alarm.
If she hoped for a sense of urgency about Baxter's fate, she was not going to get it. Niffty, still suffering from the aftermath of the explosion to say anything, promptly ignored the call for aid and stumbled out the front door, emoting hacking coughs so terribly, that tiny flecks of blood and saliva launched from her mouth. Not even the stray thought of the mess Baxter had made could rouse her to move with haste to account for the fish demon.
"That shit mixin' quack motherfucker can choke on it, and not in the fun way!" Angel Dust declared angrily, sitting against the wall next to the front door. He was recovering decently, but was understandably furious that he had been dragged into such a situation by the fishy mad scientist.
"What he fuckin' said." Husker remarked, leaning against a wall in the lobby. He nearly knocked off a family photo of Charlie and her parents at a social event as he tried to rally the energy to leave the hotel.
Jersey said nothing, but his deepening frown spoke volumes. At first, he might have considered the newest arrival to be an eccentric hermit of a chemist, but now, having received the full brunt of one of Baxter's unauthorized scientific ventures, there was very little good will to be had. Jersey could not care less if Baxter terminated his own life as a result of his reckless and destructive actions. As it stood, he was the second person to have the energy to get himself outside, looking on with concern at Niffty's state.
The little maid was able to get her coughing under control. However, the flecks of blood on the sidewalk betrayed the damage of her lungs. It mildly alarmed Jersey when he saw the obvious signs of bleeding as a result of the gas. There was a strong likely hood most everyone was suffering the same internal injury. Jersey's healing factor could restore the pleural tissue in his chest with ease. He was unsure of anyone else, as he had not witnessed anyone of the other guests and staff members get hurt.
Letting out a cough, he addressed a slowly recuperating Niffty. "Are you okay? Looks like you're coughing up blood..."
Niffty peered up, her large eye blood shot from irritation. It was a most disagreeable sight, but she managed a little smile at Jersey's concern.
"I'm okay." She rasped, forcing a watery smile on her face. "Even little ladies like me aren't that easy to put down. Give me a few minutes and I'll be right as rain."
Jersey's query was cut short as the rest of the group joined them on the sidewalk. All of the signs of sensory irritation and pain began to slowly but surely fade, leaving a palpable, unsure silence in the air. Once everyone was outside, no one had any inclination to return for the sake of a relative newcomer who had blown up a small part of the hotel.
"You guys?" Charlie asked, her voice deeply concerned.
Nobody answered. Everyone resorted to staring at the Princess, their faces strained or simply demoralized.
Charlie felt a pant in her chest when she saw the downtrodden expressions of everyone before her. She swallowed a burning sensation in her throat as she continued talking. "We need to call an ambulance. I don't have my phone with me."
"For who?" Husk drawled. He was far from feeling normal, but he doubted he needed any sort of medical attention. His usual stubbornness with all things outside of gambling and liquor was the biggest contributing factor to his skepticism.
"Baxter." Charlie replied, her voice becoming more and more frantic. "He was right next to that beaker when it exploded! He's probably been ripped up by the blast, so-"
"Fuck off..." Husk growled. "I ain't wasting my minutes on that fried fish fucker..."
The harsh condemnation chilled the area in front of the Hazbin Hotel. An awkward silence rose up until Vaggie explained her inability to follow Charlie's request.
"I left my phone inside, too." Vaggie explained.
"I'm not getting that jerk an ambulance..." Niffty said bluntly. It was a stark contrast to her usually peppy tone.
Angel nodded firmly, his arms crossing defiantly. Jersey simply averted his eyes, trying to play the part of another member of the hotel who had neglected to bring his phone outside during the evacuation. His Hellphone was in his right pocket.
"Please," Charlie pleaded, her voice losing whatever positivity it once held, "I know you guys might not like Baxter for what he did. Maybe you want to hate him for it. I don't appreciate his experimentation behind our backs as much as anyone else in our group. But we can, at the very least, spare him any further suffering."
"Why should we?" Jersey asked, sounding more bitter than he wanted to. "Sounds like a suitable punishment to me."
Charlie frowned more deeply. "Even if we fully agreed on a harsh punishment, we can at least allow him to recover first. If any of you found yourself suffering because of a decision you made, I would be the first to help you."
"That's all well and good toots," Angel interjected, "but unless that explosion was made of holy steel or some shit, Baxter ain't gonna die."
"There are things worse than death..." Vaggie brought up, her voice somewhat meek. She was hardly one to sympathize with Baxter, but she also had an understanding of Charlie's perspective.
"Please," Charlie repeated, "you won't even have to pay for his medical services. Just give him the chance to recover and be better. Even if he never lives in the hotel again, we can try to help him learn from his mistakes."
An impasse arose. Most everyone either had no phone immediately in their possession, or stubbornly refused. Each person addressed by Charlie began to have their own, internal debate over the merits of her argument to help the very sinner who forced them out of the hotel. Like any demon, they had reservations about helping someone who caused them harm, even if the harm was unintentional.
Neither side looked ready to give in, until Charlie let out a disappointed sigh.
"I guess I'll head on back inside and grab the office phone." The Princess turned with genuine dejection to walk inside. She only moved three steps towards the front doors.
"Ugh, I'll call the fuckin' ambulance." Angel remarked rudely, bringing his phone out. "You can forget about me going back in for that four-eyed shit stain."
Charlie sighed, unwilling to argue the point with him. At the very least, one of them was willing to go out of their way to help another sinner in need. She made a slow about-face, and looked about the staff members for help.
"Is anyone willing to check out Baxter's room for a potential fire? I'm willing to go on if anyone doesn't want to."
Once more, she found the will to help Baxter in short supply.
Niffty averted her eyes, her lips tightly pressed in a cynical grimace. Much of the recent tension and trouble related to Baxter had started with his insistence on interfering with her cleaning duties. Her distaste for him on that front made any chance of reconciliation a long shot.
Husk was still quite verbal in his opposition to doing anything for Baxter, but he retained his typical bluntness. "The only thing I'd be going back inside for is a long, goddamn drink, Princess. If you think I'll put my furry hide on the line to save that fuckin' lunatic, you can go fuck yourself."
Even the normally dutiful and reasonable Jersey looked hesitant. He was standing near Niffty, almost stiff in his posture, with his hands in his pocket and his eyes purposefully gazing from his royal employer's eyes.
Vaggie, feeling jaded, but slowly recovering, let out a sigh of acceptance. "I'll do it, *cough* Charlie."
"But you're still trying to heal..."
"I'll be okay." Vaggie insisted, fighting back several coughs. "Unless Angel's right, and the chemicals somehow created artificial holy steel."
"You still need to rest." Charlie insisted, helping Vaggie to sit on the sidewalk just a few feet away from the ornate, front door. "If anyone else is willing to go back and check things out for a fire, I'll owe you."
The general announcement was met with scowls and unsure silence. Charlie would be lying to herself if she claimed she did not expect the vague little bribe to work.
"Fine." Jersey spoke, like a teenager agreeing to go to a dry social gathering after being pestered by his mother.
Charlie blinked once, perhaps thinking that a lack of oxygen had made her hear things. "R-really?"
"Yeah." Jersey said, rolling an arm as a short form of stretching. "Remember, you owe me."
As Jersey was about to reenter the building, Charlie stopped him once more, whispering into his ear.
"I know you probably don't feel obligated to do this. I don't blame you," Charlie explained in her lowered voice, "but please, don't let Baxter suffer. I would go against everything that I stand for. The least we can do is to make sure he isn't badly hurt. We can ban him from the hotel after the fact."
Jersey gave a curt nod, his eyes peering tiredly down at the idealist he called an employer. It astounded him that she could be so restrained after all of the grief that Baxter had put the hotel and its guests through. With one hand over the lower half of his face, he stepped forth back into the lobby, mentally preparing himself for the rescue mission at hand.
Darkness.
That was all that Baxter could see. From his perspective, the only sense in his possession that was remotely functional was his capacity to feel pain.
Even for a chemical reaction that went awry, this one had wound up especially painful. Baxter's chest cavity ached terribly, a potential sign that at least one of his lungs had collapsed as a result of being in close proximity to the explosion he had unwittingly created.
Similar shots of pain could be felt peppering his face: glass shards from the unfortunate beaker he had been using. Likwise, it seemed that part of his lower intestine had been perforated, much like his lungs. Such times made the resiliency of sinners just as much a curse as a blessing.
With his ears ringing incessantly and apparently blinded by the flash of the blast just moments ago, he felt helpless. So overwhelming was the sense that he was incapacitated, that Baxter could not even think back to discern what had gone wrong. All that ran through his head was the need for survival.
'I've got to get out of here.'
With agonizing slowness, he tried to roll onto one side to ease himself into standing up. It was a painful process, with multiple areas above his waistline shooting with pain as if he had suffered tiny gunshot wounds.
'Shrapnel,' Baxter discerned, 'from the beaker.'
The vague threat of being further injured by physical interaction with the chemicals he had used to create the ill fated concoction were not Baxter's concern. Even without the protective gear he frequently wore, he had an exceptional resistance towards the damaging effects of direct contact with strong acids and bases. Enduring close range explosions was a feat outside the realm of resiliency for his unimposing body.
The attempt to get to his feet lasted only a few seconds. Pain was something Baxter could not easily work through, particularly when it affected his torso and even parts of his arms. Since the left arm had been raised when he was pouring a volatile additive into his chemical mixture, the explosion's flesh puncturing fragmentation had damaged most of the muscles in the previously mentioned limb. With a sharp gasp of pain, Baxter flopped helplessly onto the floor of his bedroom, having barely moved his probe form an inch.
'I can't do it.' Baxter lamented. 'I'll just have to wait for help... assuming the others think I'm worth helping.'
Deep in his mind, he had a terrible feeling that his betrayal of their trust would lead to an immediate eviction. His tireless pursuit of knowledge had dragged him into an inescapable predicament: one less home, one more blacklisting. Even the last apartment lasted a few weeks before Baxter had been forcefully extricated from the premises. Then again, his earliest scientific accidents did not immediately cause a powerful and disruptive explosion within 72 hours.
Unwilling to overexert himself to stand up, Baxter tried to calm down, using his partially collapsed lungs to take shallow, rhythmic breaths. It would take some time to fully recover, but as long as there was no fire caused by the explosion, he would at least be spared any excess pain. He had been through enough agony for one evening.
In Baxter's delirium, he did not see a moving shadow peer into the battlefield that was his room. He simply allowed himself to slip into darkness once again, hoping that losing consciousness would ease the pain.
Back on the first floor hallway, Jersey had a spare hand on a wet paper towel. The towel had been taken from the kitchen and soaked in tap water to act as a makeshift filter through which to breath in some of the acrid air airing out of Baxter's room. This precaution appeared to have been only somewhat misplaced, as the intensity of the stench had noticeably lessened from several minutes ago.
'I guess whatever the hell he was cooking up has been used up or evaporated...' he thought, unfamiliar with chemistry beyond its most basic applications to his job at the hotel.
Baxter's door was open and somewhat damaged from the blast within the room it led into. The wall immediately across from the doorway also appeared to have suffered some minor damage. Jersey's sharp hearing, now fully recovered, could not hear the ominous crackle of flames that would otherwise indicate a fire. All the same, the fact there was some mustard gas like-smell in the area indicated that smoke could otherwise be obscured in a worst case scenario.
Looking into the dark, and now newly blackened bedroom, he could see that the chemical blast had been messy. The soot from the explosion had traveled as far up as the ceiling directly above where the pulverized beaker once stood. Fragments of glass were scattered about as far away as the bed, which was on the far side of the room. The dresser where the makeshift lab had been set up was covered in black marks and discolorations that indicated that the substance in the beakers had chemically altered them.
The good news was that there was no fire. Aside from one wisp of smoke on one spot of the ruined dresser.
There was also Baxter, lying prone with luminescent blood welling up all across his upper body. His visor had prevented the fragments from gouging his eyes, and his light-emitting lure had escaped being completely mangled by the blast. However, he was clearly in a bad shape, with his lab coat and gloves perforated with holes and scorched by the chemical explosion. It was only with the short, rhythmic rising of Baxter's chest that Jersey could determine whether or not he was alive.
"Well, I guess Charlotte will be happy about that." Jersey sighed, his tone dry and lacking any sense of relief for the partially mangled sinner. "Now about that smoke..."
He looked for some means to smother the smoking spot on the dresser. If left alone, it could strengthen to a proper flame and threaten the room before combusting major parts of the Hazbin Hotel. He quickly found an ironic way to extinguish the flame: another beaker. It was located in a sizable dresser cabinet that was pushed up against the wall opposite him. Under the dull, crimson glow of night, he could see a myriad of glass objects dedicated to clinical use.
Carefully parsing out what glass was not cracked or shattered, he found a beaker that only held two hundred and fifty milliliters. It did not need to be particularly large: it just had to encompass the one area of the dresser that could ignite into a significant fire hazard. Jersey soon placed the beaker upside down, its insides filling with gray smoke for a few seconds before the tiny patch of smoldering wood ceased burning altogether.
For a moment, Jersey considered what to do next. He was no sadist, and did not want to further injure Baxter in his efforts to extricate him from the room. From what could be seen, most of Baxter's visible injuries were on his front side. Scooping up the fish man under his back seemed like the best call.
As far as healing Baxter was concerned, Jersey had no reason to waste his energy on mending the doctorly demon's wounds with magic. It would be too conspicuous if the others saw Baxter looking pristine aside from his damaged clothing. Secondly, Jersey considered Baxter's pain a worthwhile punishment for his hand in upsetting the hotel and causing so much property damage.
With great tenderness, Jersey slipping his arms under the partially conscious Baxter. Aside from a light groan of pain, he hardly stirred beyond his shallow breathing. Getting back to his feet, Jersey made the journey out of Baxter's room.
"And so the rugged hero rescues the damsel in distress!"
Jersey's head jerked to his left. There, standing boldly with microphone staff in hand was Alastor. Despite the presence of the mustard gas-like stench in the air still present, his beaming, toothy grin hardly looked forced. Lacking his dress coat, but still not appearing dressed for going to bed, the Radio Demon was looking very pleased to have another chance to narrate the chaos that had taken place at the current hour.
"I must say," he continued, his voice losing its theatrical manner, "you could have chosen a damsel that was easier on the eyes. Not to mention better dressed."
"What are you doing here?"
"Have you forgotten so soon? I frequently stay here! As an investor into this charitable venture, I believe I have the privilege in having immediate access to the Hazbin Hotel."
Jersey glared lightly, knowing fully well that Alastor was sidestepping the question.
Alastor appeared to understand the handyman's less than pleased expression. "Oh fine, you joyless wretch. I heard a tremendous boom all the way up in my sleeping quarters. You can imagine my joy to think that this hotel is at the epicenter of another chapter in real-life entertainment!"
Jersey, choosing to move on, turned to go down the hall. "I see."
"The new fragrance in the air is quite unusual. I might have to complain to dear little Niffty about her choice in cleaning product! This hallway hardly smells refreshing." A laugh track accompanied Alastor's comment.
"This is no time for jokes, Alastor." Jersey interjected tiredly. "Baxter's hurt, and we narrowly avoided a small fire in his room."
"You don't say!" Alastor remarked, sounding more intrigued than concerned. He walked at a slightly faster rate to match Jersey's pace, then pointed his microphone near Jersey's lightly scowled mouth. "Care to explain the situation, my pouty plumber?"
Jersey sighed, then speed-walked to avoid Alastor's sudden pestering. "You can ask Charlotte, about it. I have a job to do."
Alastor sighed, disappointed with Jersey's seriousness. "As you say..."
Charlie perked up when she glanced to her side and saw Jersey exit the front door with Baxter lying in his arms.
"Oh thank goodness!" She directed him to show her the extent of Baxter's injuries, wincing as she saw his bloodied torso. "What was it like? Was there a fire?"
"Not really." Jersey explained. "One little point of his dresser was smoking, but I smothered the coal and got him out here. Even brought a mutual acquaintance with me."
Charlie and Vaggie noticed Alastor and his Cheshire grin, with the latter frowning instinctively as a result.
"Quite the exciting evening, isn't it ladies?" He remarked in a cheeky manner. "Care to explain just what in Lucifer's name happened?"
Charlie averted her gaze, a sense of failure welling up in her chest. She knew Alastor could see through any petty attempt at lying. "Jersey, Husker, and Angel smelled something like mustard gas coming from Baxter's room. They alerted me and Vaggie to the situation, and we tried to intervene in case Baxter was doing something that would put anyone in danger. When we managed to get his door open, he was mixing chemicals on his dresser. Then there was an explosion, and we were all driven out here."
Alastor hummed, his blood-red eyes slowly assessing the tired forms of everyone on the sidewalk. "I suppose Baxter gave a new meaning to the phrase 'blew up overnight.'"
The pun incurred scornful reactions from Vaggie, Husk, and Angel, the latter growling a 'Jesus fucking Christ' under his breath. The laugh track from Alastor's microphone filled the air once more.
"So, whatever shall we do since we have been smoked out of the hotel?" Alastor inquired further.
"We're going to get Baxter to a hospital." Charlie said. "If he has glass shrapnel stuck in his body, it'll be harder for him to recover. The people at Marbas Healthcare can get him stabilized so that he can heal on his own."
"Not that I'm one to interfere in a heroic effort to save the most reclusive member of our hotel's guest, but what are the rest of us to do in the meantime?" Alastor asked pointedly. He seemed genuinely disappointed that the scene outside the hotel was not nearly so hectic.
Charlie turned her head to Jersey. "What was the air quality in there? Had the gas begun to air out?"
"Yes. We'll probably have to open a couple of windows to speed up the process, but I think we can try to settle in for the night again."
"And we'll have to clean up Baxter's room for the mess he had made." Vaggie added.
"Ugh, about time!" Niffty ran back inside, likely to grab the nearest cleaning equipment to tidy up the one room she had been denied access to for two days.
"Angel, did they say when they'll be here?" Charlie asked.
"Eh, wudn't payin' attention. Just told 'em the guy got shredded up by a big kaboom, and where the fuck we are." Angel admitted with a lazy shrug.
Vaggie reacted predictably. "Can you at least try to be considerate about things?"
"I ain't much for considerin' assholes that choke me out with gas, you hypocritical bitch. Weren't you trying to skewer the fucker when you heard about the smell comin' from his room?" Angel asked accusingly.
For once, Vaggie had no answer. Angel was right. She was in a wrathful state of mind, and she had gone all the way down to Baxter's room with her spear in hand. The fact she was not trying to argue the point was proof of the legitimacy of Angel's rebuttal.
"Okay, that's enough." Charlie chided, her patience becoming thin with having to be a mediator after such a chaotic evening.
Soon, a privately owned ambulance arrived near the sidewalk. Two Imp EMTs leaped out and brought a stretcher out for a debilitated patient. One of them, slightly taller than Charlie, addressed her.
"Are you Princess Charlotte?"
"I am." She replied, rising to her feet.
"Pleased to serve the house of Magne." The Imp said with a genuine nod of his head. "Where is the victim?"
"Right here." Charlie led the EMTs to the bloodied form of Baxter.
"What specifically happened?"
"There was an explosion in his room. We think his body is full of glass shards as a result."
"Alright, we'll get him to an intensive care unit." The Imp and his fellow EMT soon brought the still form of Baxter onto a collapsible gurney. Once the fish demon was in the ambulance, it drove off towards the heart of the city.
"We'll have to visit in the morning to get Baxter's care in order." Charlie said offhandedly.
Vaggie put a hand onto her shoulder, a tired glare on her face. "Do we really have to?"
"If Baxter's to get the highest level of care at no cost, then that's what we'll have to do."
"Really?" Husk asked from the side. "After all of the shit he's put us through, you're gonna give that scaly-faced sunova bitch the red carpet level treatment? Forget it. That asshole's not worth it."
"Here, here." Angel concurred, leaning back on the wall next to the front door.
Charlie crossed her arms and stared resolutely in the direction the ambulance drove to. "If I abandoned one of my people just because they did something wrong, I'd violate my own principles. That's what I am, take it or leave it."
The sidewalk was silent for a time, until Vaggie allowed a little smile on her face. She gently shook one of Charlie's limbs, getting her attention again. "Well, we'd better get some rest, if that's what your plan is."
Charlie met Vaggie's gaze, giving an appreciative grin in return. Without a single word, she nodded, joining Vaggie inside the hotel again. The men were left staring after the couple.
Alastor hummed, a bit bemused at Charlie's commitment to Baxter's well being. "Quite the demoness... very much unlike her fearful father."
"She's crazy." Angel remarked bluntly.
Jersey stared on, but did not let his thoughts linger for long. "Perhaps we should be glad she can remain so considerate. I doubt there's even a handful of other demons that can hold such a maternal instinct for perfect strangers."
Off to the side, Angel opened his mouth briefly. If he wanted to refute or at least comment on Jersey's statement, it got stuck in his throat. Instead, he hugged himself more tightly with his four arms. Strangely, it was not because it was particularly cold outside.
"I still think we should leave that fuckin' quack out to dry." Husk said, his gravely voice laced with animosity.
"It's Charlie's choice." Jersey reminded him, not wanting to drag out the evening debating the decision. "Sometimes there's no figuring out royalty."
The handyman quietly headed back into the hotel, intending to get back to bed.
Alastor's eyes, once gleaming with interest, fell onto the remaining two sinners. "Hmm. Disappointing. I thought I'd see a bit more action this evening. Oh well, I suppose I'll ask Niffty more about the finer details of whatever anarchy took place in poor little Baxter's room. Good night, my furry fellows!"
Husk growled at Alastor's candid exit, but acknowledged that he wanted to go to bed too. He stretched out, popping his joints and wings with a labored groan. "I swear, a bunch of goddamned, bleedin' hearts..."
Angel Dust stared up at the Pentagram engraved moon overhead. All the while, he thought back to Charlie's stubborn commitment to a sinner that he believed did not deserve to be helped, not after smoking out the entire populace of the hotel. Still sore about the evening, he scoffed, albeit forcefully.
"Yeah... bleedin' hearts..." Angel was the last to walk back inside the Hazbin Hotel. The night remained relatively still all the way until dawn.
8:02 am
Come breakfast, the mood was quite sober for many of the demons present. The memory of the events from last night left most without the energy or mood to engage in the typical conversations and banter one might expect. The only two people that acted even mildly peppy were Niffty, because she could clean every room in the hotel without any obstruction from Baxter, and Alastor. He was quite eager to broadcast the latest episode of a new series on his radio frequency.
"Why the long faces, my friends? Is this the horse stable hour?" He asked aloud.
The joke did not receive anything more than tired glares from the usual people who had their own beefs with the Radio Demon.
"Oh don't be that way. Cheer up! It is a new day, free of an acrid atmosphere and with plenty of possibilities to do great things!"
"Like what?" Vaggie asked, her grumpy face belying her contempt for Alastor's eager behavior.
"Well, since you asked, my spicy Salvadoran sweetheart, I'm to broadcast the latest episode of a new hit series on my own personal frequency! I haven't had the usual traffic on my channel in decades. Truly, I have you and dear Charlie to thank for reinvigorating my career on the radio waves!" He declared boldly.
Vaggie did not like the sound of that. "What do you mean, thank us?"
"Why, it was inspired by this redemption project you two have dedicated your energies towards. Am I not allowed to receive inspiration from you?" He inquired with a tilt of his head. His tone was far too unassuming and innocent for Vaggie's case.
"I don't even want to know..." She muttered, stabbing bitterly at what remained of the pancake on her plate.
"You still planning on going to visit Baxter?" Jersey asked, wanting to change the subject. He knew what the answer was going to be; he simply was too exhausted and dulled to the quarreling that Vaggie regularly engaged in as a crusade to oppose Alastor on any number of actions or comments that he made.
"Yes. I'm not changing my mind." Charlie stated without hesitation. "In fact, I'll be going once I've brushed my teeth."
"At least bring me with you." Vaggie insisted.
"Vaggie-"
"I know you may not trust me given my... reaction towards what happened last night." The Salvadoran admitted, her frown looking more tired as she tried to explain her thought process.
"Vaggie..." Charlie repeated, her voice not chiding, but trying to reassure the spear maiden.
"I'm not going to confront him. You know how the public is since you've gone through with the hotel. Even if it is a high scale hospital, I don't trust that anyone won't bother you. Call it a simple precaution that no asshole tries to get in your face or something worse."
Charlie slowly nodded. Vaggie truly was protective to a fault. Even more so than some of the guardsmen who acted as security when Charlie was but a small child who was spoiled by her mother and groomed to be a leader by her father.
"Okay. Just be sure to let me deal with interacting with Baxter."
"Alright."
"Please tell me you aren't gonna invite that quack back here, are you?" Angel drawled from the side.
"I'm only going to leave it as an open question. I do have. A punishment in mind if he decides to stay with us."
"But why?!" Angel asked. "The fucker's done nothing but fuck shit up. I hardly got any beauty sleep, thinking thee was gonna be another fuckin' explosion while I was trying to catch some shut eye. Why give him a second chance?! We have no reason to believe he won't try that shit again!"
Charlie sighed, then stared into Angel's eyes. She was not giving a glare, but it was stern: the same look she gave him when they rode back to the hotel after her 666 News interview. "If I had the same attitude towards people that did wrong by me that you have, wouldn't I have kicked you out too?"
Angel blinked, not expecting that kind of reply. "Wha...?"
"If I had no capacity to give people a second chance, where would you be? You did engage in a turf war. You damaged the reputation of the hotel while I was advocating for it on live tv."
"Yeah that's right, you reckless little-"
"Vaggie..."
The one-eyed demoness let out a breath to calm herself down. She then leaned back in her chair, keen to observe the words being exchanged between Angel and Charlie.
"What da fuck does that hafta do with anything?! I didn't do anything close to what that fishy fucker did!"
"Didn't you?" Charlie was particularly careful with her tone. The last thing she needed was to be seen picking on Angel. "I gave my confidence that you were going clean. You chose to engage in a turf war while I was advocating for the possibility of souls to be redeemed. If I was any other overlord, I would be justified in punishing you, in evicting you from this hotel. Do you know why I haven't, even with your stubbornness in getting on board with the program?"
Angel Dust crossed his arms, not in the mood to guess, and at the moment too bemused at Charlie's insistence on mercy. "I dunno... maybe you're a glutton for disappointment..."
Charlie sighed, her face frowning in concern. "It's because despite what others may think of me: that I'm crazy, or badly suited to be the heir to the throne, I do believe every demon has some, tiny bit of goodness within them. That's not to say that everyone down in Hell is a saint, but that every sinner, if given the chance, and a guiding hand, can be spared the end of an Exterminator's spear."
Angel remained silent, perhaps not fully listening. It did not appear that he was flatly ignoring the Princess' words.
"Surely, you too, are tired of having to cower in some shelter every year. Even for all of the short-lived pleasure you might receive from drugs or sex, surely you want something deeper, something higher than an after-life in the fast lane."
Angel allowed a small smirk on his face, a joke springing to mind as he listened to Charlie's tangent. "Well, since you mentioned deeper and higher, maybe I'll get a chance to get hammered at an orgy at the studio this week~"
Vaggie growled under her breath. 'Why do we even bother with this cabrón?'
Charlie was not nearly so phased. "You may be quick to dismiss your potential for good, but I won't give up. Not yet. And the same applies to Baxter, even for all the damage he has done, because I won't forsake my principles, no matter how much my own kingdoms tries to beat it out of me."
A slow, sharp clap from Alastor broke up the talking at the breakfast table. He had a twinkle of amusement in his blood-red eyes. "Quite the sermon, dear Charlie. Maybe you should be a priestess. Although old Lucy might not take such an occupation lightly."
Charlie suffered a light blush at the scene she made, but cleared away her embarrassment along with her throat. "I suppose I'll be getting ready for the trip to Marbas Healthcare's nearest clinic."
"I'm still going with you, Charlie." Vaggie said as she rose from the table. She left her empty plate behind, but that was hardly a problem. Niffty thrived on cleaning up the hotel.
"If you're sure, but I get to see Baxter personally. We don't need a commotion at the hospital." Charlie snapped her finger, summoning Razzle and Dazzle in an instant.
"Yes, mistress?"
"Prepare the car. We'll be going to the Marbas Healthcare clinic on Leech Lane. It should be just on the west end of Nero Pike."
Soon, Vaggie and Charlie left the kitchen area. This left the rest of the table's guests to ponder Charlie's decision.
"I do hope that Baxter fellow does return." Alastor mused, rising to his feet and bringing his plate and glass to the dishwasher. "He was such an unexpected source of excitement in this venture."
"If that sunova bitch never comes back, it'll be too fuckin' soon." Husk growled. He trudged out of the breakfast area, eager to drown himself in alcohol and to forget any mention of allowing Baxter in again.
"Well, if he does return, I think we need to keep a close eye on him." Jersey suggested, following Alastor's actions. "In fact, that might be a good policy moving forward. Yesterday, it was just a small explosion. Who knows what disaster could happen with another guest?"
"Don't need to tell me twice!" Niffty immediately stationed herself to begin cleaning up the plates and the table. "As long as I can clean where I need to, I'll be more than happy!"
"And if Baxter returns?" Jersey asked.
"Well..." Niffty drew up a used butter knife to put it into the sink for a preliminary washing. It was hardly an effective weapon, but it drew her point across quite transparently. "I might have a few, stern words, if he dares to come back~"
Jersey instinctively scooted away from Niffty by half a step, in the direction of the door leading towards the hallway. "Right... just try to restrain yourself. I'm sure Charlie wouldn't appreciate you trying to skewer a demon who just recovered from hospital."
"Hmph!" Niffty scoffed through her lips. "Then she ought to remind that scoundrel to not stop me from doing what needs to be done! Without me, this place would be a pigsty!" The little maid took out her reinvigorated frustration on the dirty dishes and silverware.
Jersey was second to last to leave Niffty to her usual cleaning duties, with an unusually introspective looking Angel Dust following behind.
"Hey Jers, can I ask you somethin'?" The porn star asked from behind the handyman.
"Technically you just did, but I guess you're not in the mood for banter."
Angel Dust rolled his eyes. Jersey's rare attempt at humor was still better than the wordplay that Alastor used as his bread and butter for "comedy."
"Do ya think anybody deserves a second chance?"
"I'm a plumber. I'm no philosopher." Jersey did not feel comfortable with in-depth discussions about redemption. He simply did not care for spending time whiling away with any subject related to the humanities.
"Can ya just humor me?"
"..." Jersey remained silent, not sure of what Angel wanted to hear. If the porn star was privy to his first rehab session with Charlie, he would have heard the handyman's brutal opinion that some people were so cruel or depraved as to deserve death. Over how many years living in the realm of men, Jersey never bothered considering the merits of mercy.
Mercy had only done so much for him. Mercy had allowed him to survive for well beyond the average human lifespan. All the same, mercy was less a result of any moral realization by those who could kill him, but a pragmatic decision: he was valuable alive as opposed to dead.
Mercy was an act to uphold in war. To kill your enemy when they were unarmed and unwilling to engage in combat, killing them was simply murder, a war crime. It was a matter of sparing one's sworn foe in the middle of conflict that was Jersey's most relevant experience. This was back when he still called himself Benjamin, or any number of pseudonyms and aliases throughout his abnormally long life.
During the Revolution, on Christmas of all days, he had been one of thousands who crossed the Delaware to take on the Hessians. The German mercenaries were dead to rights when they defeated them at the Battle of Trenton. Yet they were spared an ignoble death of being hanged or shot after the battle. It was a strange, profound experience that recolored his somewhat jaded look on life at the time.
It was also far from the last time that he would be faced with the prospect of mercy.
When he fought in the Great War, he had personally aided badly wounded German conscripts, even when his more bloodthirsty comrades in arms insisted on finishing off the bastards. Then, there was his experiences in North Africa, Sicily, Italy, and Southern France during The War. He could not even count the number of demoralized Italians and overheated Germans that had passed his way with their arms raised above their heads in defeat.
On the other hand, Jersey had, on several occasions, killed people well outside the context of a battlefield. These fatalities were not without reason, as he was a fugitive, and one who held his privacy in high regard. There was at least one occasion where he killed a man with a penchant for blood sucking simply for the threat he posed to Jersey's secrecy. The longer he lived and left blood drained corpses in his wake, the more attention from unwanted organizations and actors.
With all of this running through his head, Jersey had to come up with a suitable excuse for answering Angel's question. Keeping Charlie's goal in mind, and wanting not to undermine her while she was about to depart for a hospital visit, he put his slowly developing thoughts to words.
"People often have debates over what the purpose of indemnities are, Angel. That includes things like fines and jail time, as well as having to live down here. The debate usually goes along the lines of 'should indemnities be to punish, or to encourage reform?'"
Angel quirked an eyebrow, not entirely understanding Jersey's reasoning, but not to the point of outright asking for a simplification.
"I've seen justice carried out improperly, and I've seen just how brutal one can be if they indulge in merciless bloodbaths. I won't say that everyone is willing to do better, but I will say that people can learn from their mistakes, even if they are grave ones. The blade of justice and mercy goes both ways: who decides who rightly deserves death and who deserves life?"
"Yeah?"
"Like Charlie said, if she was of a mind to not forgive you and give you another chance after your turf war with Cherri, where would you be now?"
"Probably in some shitty apartment, suckin' the landlord's dick for a discount on rent." Angel replied easily.
Jersey cringed slightly, putting a palm to his face. "The point stands: there is value in abstaining from permanent punishments for those who do bad things."
"And how do ya think God feels, throwin' us down here in this dump?" Angel asked.
Jersey shrugged. By nature, he had no high opinion of God. His response was telling in its vagueness. "We all made our choices in life. Those choices were bad. We wound up down here. Isn't that the point of us coming to this hotel?"
"I just wanted to prove that I could be a candidate for redemption." Angel clarified. "I think Charlie and Vags had to kinda bribe me to join this place."
"Either way, we're here as a means for a second chance. The least we can do is work for it." Jersey broke off, heading in the direction of a supply closet. He had plans for repairing the war zone that was Baxter's room.
Angel stared after the handyman. After a moment of silent pondering, he shrugged and decided to get to his own room to prepare for the day. Valentino did not take poor sleep as an excuse to miss work.
I was worried that I wouldn't be able to fulfill my chapter quota in time for the usual schedule, but I managed to make a lengthy chapter all the same. This one's a bit of a dry read, but we'll be seeing Jersey interacting with more sinners outside of the hotel soon enough.
As usual, thank you for your patience, and a special thank you to everyone who is following my works. Your support is highly appreciated.