The journey to Marbas Healthcare had been silent at first. Charlie and Vaggie were in the large passenger area of the limo lent to Charlie by her parents. In both of their minds, they considered just what was to be said to Baxter, assuming that he regained consciousness.
There was the need for a suitable punishment for his actions last night. Despite the clambering of more vengeful minds to leave Baxter to his agony, both women agreed that such an arrangement would have been an ugly stain on the hotel. Treating Baxter with an iron fist was not going to foster any desire for reform. Furthermore, if Baxter went to the press and spoke of the callous treatment under Charlie's tenure, it would have been another blow to the hotel's credibility.
What was needed was an act of discipline that was neither cruel nor unusual. The two women had their own ideas in mind. Each suggestion, still restricted to thoughts as opposed to words, was painted by their worldview.
Vaggie was in favor of simply banning Baxter. It would be a suitable punishment for lying both explicitly and by omission about his actions prior to the explosion. The hotel could wash its hands of someone who took advantage of the hotel and aside from some snide comment on the hotel's choice of guest, no one could make that strong of an argument that it was acting with the typical, often cruel nature of other organizations and associations in Hell.
Another suggestion that passed through her mind was a parole system. This idea was much shakier, as it required someone having an eye on Baxter whenever he was at the hotel, but it would limit his ability to try such a scheme again. If Baxter was caught trying to perform potentially dangerous experiments on hotel property, his chaperone could inform either of the two of them. Afterwards, Baxter could be further disciplined or be given an afterlife-long ban from staying at the Hazbin Hotel.
Charlie's perspective was much more generous, but was not naive in its application. Given the damage to the hotel, it appeared to be appropriate that Baxter should find a way to reimburse the hotel for the damage dealt to his room. Compelling Baxter to pay out of pocket for imminent repairs would be a solid reminder to make a careful choice before committing himself to any scientific endeavors. If, in a worst case scenario, he was to refuse, then she would consider banning him from the redemption program. It would be a sobering disappointment, but Charlie knew fully well that some matters could not be viewed with sentimentality. The mission of proving the concept of redemption came first before any guest with a selfish desire.
Secondly, it occurred to her just the potential for someone to put another at risk. Hell had a gigantic population, and many of its sinner residents died with obsessions over any numbers of destructive or harmful things. Some were obsessed with weapons, much like Cherri Bomb. Others were rank sociopaths with a predilection for senseless violence just for the sake of it. Charlie realized that more rules were needed to confront even the most unique of circumstances that might happen with a new guest with a disturbing or potentially hazardous hobby.
The latter most thought that passed through Charlie's mind had been realized the moment she made the choice to assess the damage in Baxter's room after the acrid smelling smoke and gas cleared. If one drop of an unknown substance at the hands of a mildly obsessive scientist could cause such damage, just imagine a more subtle individual with proper weapons and a desire to cause carnage against their fellow hotel guests. It was time to make a list of things not allowed in the Hotel, and she did not intend to allow anything to slip through the cracks.
As Charlie began to type ideas on the notes app on her Hellphone, Vaggie noticed the intense concentration on her face.
"Watcha typing, hun?"
"Things to be banned from the Hazbin Hotel."
"Like chemicals that can cause explosions?"
"Among other things..."
"Well, since we're back to rules in the hotel, I think we need to come up with a good punishment for Baxter. We can't just let what happened last night go as if nothing happened."
"Agreed."
"It's just trying to figure out what to do." Vaggie put a finger to her chin, thinking about how to put her thoughts to words.
"I assume you have your own ideas." Charlie predicted.
"Yeah... banishment."
Charlie winced at what she considered a punishment of last resort being suggested right away. "Let's consider alternatives before we choose that one. Let's think of another way for Baxter to pay his debt to the hotel."
"Fine. Maybe parole, with a trusted few people keeping an eye on him so that he doesn't pull anything like last night again."
"That," Charlie said, "is a great idea. Who do you suggest keeps an eye on him besides us?"
"Niffty has a vested interest in making sure the place isn't messy. She could do it." Vaggie answered.
"Yes, but she also has some resentment from not being able to clean Baxter's room." Charlie said. "What if she falsely accused Baxter of doing something bad?"
"This isn't some kangaroo court." Vaggie replied. "We can search for the facts of the case and act accordingly. Besides, who else would be willing to act as an unofficial parole officer? Husk? He'd be too drunk to reliably tell us what was going on, and that's assuming he even pays attention to anything outside of the front parlor. Angel? Don't get me started."
"Jersey could do it." Charlie suggested. "He hasn't had much to do with the hotel largely fixed up."
Vaggie nodded. "True. I guess that makes four pairs of eyes if we add ourselves."
"What about Alastor?"
Vaggie narrowed her eye, not wanting to humor the suggestion. "What about him?"
"He has those shadow familiars at his beck and call." Charlie explained. "That would be plenty of eyes on Baxter, and we wouldn't have to put the burden on four hotel staff members to observe his every move."
Vaggie looked at Charlie in mild disbelief before putting a hand to her head. She really did not want to get into an argument on the way to visit a badly wounded hotel guest, even if that guest was wholly responsible for a night of collateral damage and sheer panic. "No."
"Why?" Charlie asked, genuinely wanting to hear a good answer.
"I don't trust Alastor."
"I know Vaggie but-"
"Please. Just let me finish." Vaggie begged.
"Okay." Charlie conceded.
"Imagine you leave what amounts to the full security detail of the hotel to Alastor: just think of how he could abuse his power. He could use them to spy on us, looking for some dirt to manipulate someone to do his bidding. Furthermore, what's to stop those shadows from picking on people for the sake of giving their master sick kicks?"
Charlie nodded wearily. Alastor was a notorious being, even among Overlords for a reason. He once had an entire hour dedicated to the horrific scope of his desolation of other sinners in order to gain his infamy.
"There is a question of whether we could hold Al to account."
"And a question of whether we expect the fucking Radio Demon to be someone who won't use his shadows like his own personal thugs." Vaggie added.
"... let's just shelve that idea." Charlie said.
Vaggie eased her glare, but still felt on edge at the prospect of the Radio Demon being given permission to wield his familiars like a police force.
"I think paying the hotel a fine for the repairs is a step in the right direction." Charlie continued.
"Sure, if he has the money..." Vaggie added.
"True. In fact..." Charlie quickly sent a text on her Hellphone.
"Who are you messaging?"
"Jersey."
"What for?"
"Damage assessment."
"Oh... right." Vaggie remembered. "Goddamn you, Baxter."
The Hazbin Hotel, 8:39 am
Angel still had time before he was expected to take a cab to head down to Valentino's private studio. He also had a desire for a morning drink before he departed to engage in his obscene occupation. He was at Husk's bar, with Jersey content to sit on a barstool with no drink present. The three male demons were talking, all of whom had no interest in breathing further life into last night's debacle.
"I'm thinking of going fishing sometime this weekend." Jersey spoke plainly.
"What for? The grub here ain't good enough for ya?" Angel asked, being as familiar with fishing as he was with nuclear physics.
Jersey rolled his eyes lightly. "It's not for food. It's recreational. Just a pastime."
"Like sex?" Angel asked, a twinkle of slyness in his eyes.
Jersey withheld the urge to groan. "That's one way of putting it. You just cast your line and try catching whatever grabs onto your hook."
"It sounds boring." Angel remarked, busying himself with a tall glass of orange mimosa.
"You don't see me criticizing your 'pastime.'" Jersey retorted.
"But you think about criticizing it." Angel responded. Admittedly, he was not entirely wrong with his accusation.
"So, are ya collectin' 'em or what?" Husk asked, not interested in watching an argument at his work station.
"No. You just catch them, get them off your hook, and then release them back into the water. It's quite relaxing." Jersey explained.
"Guess the man-whore's right, that does sound borin' as shit." Husk said before taking a swig of the dollar store beer in his paw.
"Thank you, Husk." Jersey replied dryly. "Your interest in my pastimes is truly a testament of our friendship."
"We're friends?" Husk asked, not sounding particularly wounded by Jersey's comment. This earned a little sigh from Jersey.
Angel just chuckled, not expecting the consensus from the hotel's concierge. "Why don'tcha do somethin' excitin' for once? You hang out with me and Cherri, and I guarantee back to back hell raisin' and fuckin' things up."
"How thrilling..." Jersey felt a familiar buzz in his right pocket, and lifted his Hellphone to see Charlie's text. Without a word, he stepped off the barstool to head in the direction of Baxter's room.
"Whoa, where are ya goin'?" Angel asked, mildly annoyed by Jersey's sudden departure.
"Duty calls. I have to assess how damaged Baxter's room is. It'll have to be fixed up sooner or later." The handyman soon disappeared up the left stairwell.
"Ugh." Angel groaned. "If that's the case, I'm blowin' this popsicle stand. Then I'll actually be doing some blowin'. Ha!" The arachnoid sex worker left his empty glass on the counter and made his way to the front door.
Husk immediately slumped back into a spare chair behind the bar-like front desk. "Guess shit's back to normal. Maybe..."
"Grr... that stupid, glowy headed... jerk! If I don't see him back at this hotel, it'll be too soon!"
Niffty was in a most disagreeable state. This would not normally be the case: cleaning her surroundings was as natural as breathing. The one exception was when a mess was created by a neurotic scientist who had so forcefully stopped her from fulfilling her duties. Niffty was surprisingly vengeful (one of her worst traits in life), and this was the first time in decades that she had fully tapped into the old, broiling sensation of a scornful heart bent on burning itself out through action.
With a wash cloth in hand, she was on her needs, vigorously scrubbing the top of the dresser in Baxter's bedroom. The wood still looked seriously discolored and marred by the marks left by glass shrapnel and soot from the explosion caused by Baxter's mishap. Niffty had going at this one task since late last night. So far, it appeared that her efforts were largely in vain.
She had been forced to rest and eat breakfast by a rare bout of exhaustion before returning to the long winded task of cleaning up Baxter's damaged room. Now, Niffty was committing her somewhat refreshed energies to scrub away the evidence of last night's chaos and, by extension, the unpleasant memory of Baxter's insolence. Unfortunately, even she could not work miracles on a blast scarred hotel room. Despite her usage of the most powerful deep cleaning sprays Hell could offer, it was clear that many hours of elbow grease would be needed to remove the stains on the dresser and the wall adjacent to the door.
At least, that was what she hoped, for a time.
"Ugh, maybe we just need to get this stuff replaced. My arms are killing me..." Niffty whined.
"I agree." Came Jersey's voice. He was standing in the door way, wincing at the state of the room in daylight.
"Oh, hi Jersey." Niffty bid half-heartedly. "Come to watch me work?"
"Nope. Damage assessment." Jersey replied as he took two cautious steps inside. "I think Charlie expects Baxter to pay for the damages to his room."
"I see. Make that hooligan pay, literally, for the mess he made before evicting mess..."
"Technically she never mentioned evicting him in the text she sent me."
Niffty's weary but content smile immediately gave way to a bitter frown. "Oh please no..."
"Look, let's not think too much about Baxter right now." Jersey placated. "As a matter of fact, why are you going to this length to clean up this place? Wouldn't it make more sense to leave this place in squalor in the event he does come back?"
Niffty's single eye widened, perhaps realizing how strange her efforts were looking given her public opinion on Baxter and his recent behavior. Her one eye darted back and forth, pointedly not meeting with Jersey's own bewildered look.
"Well... I... just want to... get this place back in ship shape for a future guest! After all, Charlie wants this place to look perfectly presentable in the event of a new arrival!"
Jersey did not look convinced, but had no reason to get psychoanalytical with the cycloptic maid. "Well, even if you had no choice but to clean up this place, you wouldn't be able to. The blast marks are one thing, but that pale color on the wood is chemically made. It's been corroded and altered by whatever the hell was in a that beaker. Nothing can undo that."
Niffty looked down at the dresser. Given her small size, it was hardly unusual for her to stand on top of furniture for the sake of tidying things up. Staring at the splat shaped, light brown mark on the otherwise dark dresser, her tiny fist clenched at the cleaning rag harshly. With a resentful screech, she threw it to the floor, momentarily startling Jersey.
"I can't stand this! Everything was going well with my duties at this hotel. I kept to my schedule, kept everything looking brand spanking new, and now I just wasted hours on a stain that can't be removed?! This is a disaster!"
"Look let's just calm down-"
"I AM PERFECTLY CALM, JERSEY!" Niffty yelled as she dashed to the edge of the dresser closest to Jersey. Breathing heavily, her pupil had dilated dramatically. She looked half crazed. "I swear if I ever see that walking seafood platter, I'll just serve him as the main course! Mr. Alastor will thank me for that!"
Jersey felt most uncomfortable trying to deescalate situations with a person as monomaniacally dedicated to domestic affairs like Niffty. It was a state of alarm that became heightened when she implied that Alastor would truly indulge in eating the fishy demon if he were served on a silver platter. For a moment, looking at the twitching, hot pink eye of Niffty, he considered whether he should say anything at all, lest he further inflame the little housekeeper.
To his surprise, she gave a sigh, deflating and giving him an apologetic look.
"I... I'm sorry." She said, dejectedly. "It's just been so long since I've encountered someone making a mess so... irrevocable. I've only gotten three hours of sleep, and... I shouldn't lash out to you of all people."
"Hey, umm..." Jersey began, not sure how to respond to the sudden change in tone. "It's okay. We all have off days."
"No it's not okay. I'm very dedicated to cleaning by the letter, and when Baxter held me up to keep his secret chemistry stuff, I got really mad. Then there was the explosion last night, and that awful gas that came before and after that. It's been really stressful and-"
"That, we can both agree on." Jersey interjected. "Why don't you take a break? I'm just gonna examine the room and give an estimate on the damages to Charlotte."
"You can do that?" Niffty asked.
"I used to help build houses for a time. Not to mention I'm pretty savvy on construction and repair costs for lumber, electric, and other amenities. Trust me, you deserve a little break from all of the crap we've been put through."
Niffty pressed her lips and looked down, genuinely conflicted with acting idle when she was still in an unkempt room. With a huff, she relented, picking up the cloth and racing out the room. She stopped to address Jersey one more time before she headed down to the lobby once more.
"I'm just going to do this out of spite. If Baxter does come back, which he better not, then I won't give him a clean room for all the trouble he's put me through." Niffty declared in an exaggerated tone of importance.
"I'm sure that'll teach him a lesson, if the glass shards in his flesh haven't." Jersey joked.
Niffty gave a sweet little grin in response before dashing away.
"Now, let's see about this dump." Turning around to face the dresser once more, Jersey looked about the immediate area to better ascertain the scope of the damage inflicted last night.
The blast pattern was clear. Blast marks stretched almost half a meter away from the epicenter, and fragments of glass no bigger than the body of a fly could be found at the corner nearest the door. Tiny indentations in the sheetrock indicated that the glass lacked the kinetic energy to punch through the wall, and as such, they bounced down to the floor. Across the way, the comforter of the bed, still made up with relative neatness, had suffered a handful of tears, courtesy of glassy shrapnel.
Most notable was the dresser. The mirror was horribly cracked in multiple places, up to three dozen pieces in all. The largest was a crooked rhombus some twenty square inches in size. The smallish ground zero of the chemical explosion was marred by whatever chemicals had interacted with the once polished looking lumber. The center of the table portion of the dresser was reduced to an ugly plain of blackened soot on top of discolored, roughened wood that had no hope of being repaired.
The good news, if it could be described as such, was that most of the mess and damage was confined to the dresser itself. That took up the bulk of the cost. Assuming that the dresser had a rather average cost, plus the damage to the comforter and touch ups to the sheetrock, Jersey estimated the damages in the four to five hundred dollar range.
He promptly began to text the price tag to Charlie. All the meanwhile, he slowly left the small war zone that was Baxter's room. It was time to find Niffty, if only because it seemed like she needed company.
"How far away are we from Marbas Heathcare?" Vaggie asked.
"Should be just about five minutes." Charlie said.
"You've got this city memorized to a 't' don't you." Vaggie remarked with a small grin.
"Heh. Guess living for more than three and a half millennia will do that." Charlie remarked sheepishly. "It wasn't nearly so modern when I was born, if you can imagine."
Vaggie just let out a disbelieving laugh. "I can't imagine being able to live so long."
"It's got its perks." Charlie felt the buzz of her phone in her lap, she saw that Jersey had replied with the total cost of repairing the room.
"Is that Jersey again."
"Yup. Hold on." Charlie had to do a double take to make sure she was looking at the text right. "Jersey says it shouldn't cost more than five hundred dollars."
"What?! Bullshit."
"Not necessarily." Charlie explained. "He says most of the damage was confined to the dresser where that beaker was placed. Aside from the bed comforter and some damage to the sheetrock, that's where we'll be putting most of the cost: getting a new dresser for the room."
"Well, I guess that's pretty lucky." Vaggie conceded with a sigh. "It's about time we heard actual good news for the hotel."
"Yeah..." Charlie soon get the limosine slowing down. Then she received another text, this one coming from Dazzle.
"We're here, Mistress!"
"I think we've arrived." Charlie explained.
"Really?"
"Yup. Time to stretch our legs."
Suddenly, the limousine jerked, as if it had to come to a sudden and complete stop. This sensation was quite disconcerting to the women in the passenger area of the limousine.
"What was that?" Vaggie asked, feeling on edge again.
"Let me ask." The text that was sent back to Dazzle was almost immediately responded to.
"There's a lot of press people Mistress."
Charlie was momentarily confused. She was hardly one to question the presence of the press at any particular place. Her parents had a glowing relationship with the press (never mind the obvious fact that both Lucifer and Lilith had more than enough power to destroy them all.
Then, thinking about where they likely were, Charlie suddenly became alarmed. Stepping to a side window, she looked out to see a size-able crowd of numerous demons, all of which had microphones and video equipment. Several demons were huddling at the front of the limousine, where Razzle and Dazzle where acting as chauffeurs. Something told Charlie that their attention on her limousine was not a coincidence.
"Oh shit..." She muttered.
Vaggie stared on at Charlie, a sense of dread filling up her stomach as she remembered the exact circumstances that accompanied the vulgar utterance.
"Don't tell me..."
Charlie nodded gravely without meeting Vaggie's eyes. "Hope you're good at moving through reporters..."
Niffty was bouncing one of her legs so rapidly, one could have mistaken it for a blur sprouting from underneath her hoop skirt. She was not used to being idle outside of sleep. However, she had already spent much of her energy, in vain, to clean up the mess left in Baxter's room. So monomaniacal was Niffty's commitment to the dresser alone, that she had no time to vacuum what remained of the shattered glass or to try to patch up the damaged comforter from across the dresser. She did not want to sit still when she could focus on other rooms in the hotel, but she did feel drained, and ultimately accepted Jersey's suggestion to rest.
Now on one of the sofas, she was conscious of the grandfather clock in the lobby, waiting for a full hour to pass before she went back to work.
"Ya sure you don't want a drink or somethin'?" Husker called from the front desk.
"No thank you, Husk." Niffty declined politely. "I just want to rest for a bit."
"Rest, huh?" Husk commented, having a seltzer mix at the moment. It was a rarity given that its alcohol content was a measly five percent. "That's fuckin' strange, givin' your obsession with keepin' things tidy."
"Well, a friend suggested that I take some time off. Get my mind off of... things." Niffty did not want to bring up the Baxter situation. It still infuriated her to no end.
"I did not realize we're friends." Jersey commented as he slowly and purposely stepped into the lobby.
"Hey, Jersey!" Niffty called out, her face becoming flush. "Why do you say that?"
Jersey shrugged. "Figured that it was awfully soon since we've only known each other for what, more than a month?"
"Well, you've helped me more than once, and we've worked together so many times, so I thought... 'why not?'" Butterflies were beginning to flutter within Niffty's modest bosum, a feeling that arose when she talked with a man whom she fancied.
"Huh." Jersey rarely made friends. It was such an uncommon occurrence for practical reasons: why leave yourself vulnerable to having the lives of others being used against you? Otherwise, Jersey valued his privacy, and largely kept his relationship at a distant and personal level. All the same, the circumstances were not the same as back home in the human world. To the average sinner, he was just another relatively recent arrival with an abnormally human appearance. It was not nearly so hazardous for him to have some kind of social life with others.
"Well, I'm planning on going fishing sometime later this week. You want to hang out with me then?"
Niffty struggled to contain her excitement at the offer. "Are you... asking me on a date?!"
Jersey was mildly befuddled by the question, but remembered her earlier instances of infatuation with him. "No, I just wanted to extend the offer... to a friend."
Niffty's toothy grin fell slightly, but she did not dispair. 'Baby steps, Niffty.' She thought to herself. "I'd be happy to go fishing with you!"
Jersey allowed a little smile. "Just take it easy. We're just going to find a fishing hole and try our luck with casting a line or two."
"Sounds like fun!"
Suddenly, vigorous knocking could be heard from the stained glass windowed front door. Immediately, Niffty rose up from her seat.
"Ooh, maybe Ms. Charlie is back already!" She raced towards the door to open it.
Jersey was suspicious of the timing. "That's awfully quick..."
Once in front of the door, Niffty jumped up to grab the handle nearest to her. If she expected a warm greeting from Princess Charlie and Vaggie, what she got was quite different. The door was suddenly pushed with such force that it nearly squished the cycloptic maid holding the handle against the wall.
The people who entered were a collection of chattering demons with various, well dressed suits and collared shirts, all of whom were armed with media issue microphones. They were followed from behind by camera men and other crew members, hefting the tools of the trade for recording video and audio. All the while, the footsteps of the unexpected arrivals thundered down the hall, giving a hectic aspect to the scene. The tv crews soon traveled in the direction of the front desk.
While Husk looked on in astonishment at the sudden flood of newly arrived demons, he silently cursed himself for taking the front desk. He was not prepared to take in so many people, especially since he was far from the warmest personality in the hotel.
On the other hand, Jersey, now roused to his feet, looked on with a mixture of emotions. Anger was first and foremost. The newly arrived news reporters had just barged their way into the hotel with no regard for the well-being of Niffty, who might otherwise be hurt by their arrival. Secondly, he felt quite self-conscious, as he despised media types on principle. Having so many cameras pointed at him was like having the eyes of giants peering into his very being, uncaring of his private life.
'Just when I thought today was going to be somewhat normal...' Jersey thought, clenching his teeth in stress.
The talking that accompanied the news reporters was jumbled in a chorus of male and female voices of various octaves. Much of the noise could not be parsed out to determine the motivation for such a gathering, though some voices at the head of the crowd could be heard talking about a "blast."
"You there!" At the head of the crowd was a familiar face. It was the same individual who had covered the aftermath of Jersey's arrival on New Year's Day. Samuel Salamanca, dressed in a slate grey suit, had an overly charming smile on his face that put Jersey on edge as he addressed him. "Are you a worker at this hotel?"
Jersey's legs tensed, ready to run at the nearest opportunity. He did not care to have his words scrutinized by those whom he assumed were professional, corporate muck rakers. All the same, he figured there was little choice in the matter. Resorting to violence to get them to leave would just draw more attention to him, so he answered truthfully.
"I am."
"Wonderful! Samuel Salamanca of 666 News is the name. We've heard reports of an explosion happening within the... Hazbin Hotel." His eyes narrowed purposefully, his thin, dark lips curling back to reveal, small, sharp teeth like that of a lizard. "Would you care to tell us if there's any truth to such testimony?"
Jersey was silent, thinking carefully of how to respond without damaging the shaky credibility of the hotel. He thought of a plan to distract the numerous reporters, but it relied on several factors, one of which being the hope that they drove to the hotel to report on it. He slowly addressed the microphone which was dangerously close to his personal space.
"Explosion? This is news to me. I have not heard of any explosion at the his hotel. Perhaps you have this place mistaken for another establishment, unless this is the only hotel in all of Pentagram City." He spoke as if none the wiser.
Salamanca narrowed his eyes, perhaps frustrated at the subtle deflection. However, he still had information on his side, and this was far from his first hesitant interviewee. "We received calls at around 11:00 of last night that the sound of an explosion could be heard from around this address. One person even claims to have seen a flash in a window."
"Around this address does not necessarily mean this hotel. There are multiple demons in Pentagram City who use explosives as a weapon in turf wars. Cherri Bomb is an example. Besides, a flash in a room could mean a television turning on within the room. If the window in question was from our hotel, would it not have been shattered, if it could be heard from a notable distance away? What if the so-called witnesses heard nothing more than an explosion from a movie that was being played on a television?"
The corners of Salamanca's smile tightened in an almost painful manner. The tension in his voice betrayed his shrinking patience. "Well, if that's the case, surely you won't mind if we investigate the place? You know, for the truth..."
"Investigate? What is this, the Arthur Conan Doyle hour?"
The eyes of everyone milling about the room immediately looked towards the imposing form of Alastor. Dressed impeccably in a black dress coat with red trimmed sleeves and matching trousers, he was standing atop the stairway, halfway down to the ground floor. His sharp teeth were formed up in a charming smile, and his hands were behind his back, giving the impression that he was judging the crowd before an acting sketch.
'Well, Alastor's got one heck of a sense of timing.' Jersey thought, grateful for the distraction and somewhat suspicious of the nature of his arrival.
The journey to enter Marbas Healthcare was turned into a slog. A small army of camera crews and interviewers eager to humiliate Charlie swamped her and Vaggie the moment they exited the limousine. It was only with fierce and often literal pushback from Vaggie that allows the two women to even reach the nearest available elevator.
"Yes, I'm sure you all have valuable questions, but I'm afraid this is a bad time for an interview. I have important business to conduct in this place, and I can't have anyone distracting me. I must refrain from commenting at this time."
Vaggie, steadily retreating with her back to an overwhelmed Charlie, managed to use her spear as an effective distance maker between them and the nosy media crews. The Princess hastily pressed a button to go up to the second floor, where ICU was located. Only when the door was closed, thanks largely to Vaggie threatening to poke at the eager crowd of reporters with her spear, was there a moment to breathe.
"Phew!" Charlie remarked, realizing that the neck of her dress shirt was already damp with sweat. "I thought we'd never get here."
"How did those guys hear about what happened?" Vaggie asked under her breath, paranoid that even the walls of the elevator had ears. "You don't think Alastor leaked out the details of what went on last night, do you?"
"Nothing stays very private for long in Hell." Charlie answered cryptically. "We can't linger on that. We have to meet up with Baxter."
Vaggie growled in frustration as they arrived at the second floor. "Maldita sea, we can't even go to a hospital without something going wrong. I'm going to be asking Alastor some poignant questions when we get back to the hotel..."
"Now, what is this about an investigation?" Alastor asked openly as he walked steadily towards the crowd of various news crews. Some instinctively backed away, their eyes wide in fright. Even Samuel Salamanca looked as though he was sucking on a lemon at the approaching, radio-themed Overlord.
"We heard," came one nervous voice from the middle of the anxious gathering, "that there was an explosion that happened at this hotel. In the interest of uh, news, we're here to report about it."
Alastor's blood red eyes twinkled in amusement. Few demons dared to speak in his presence when it was clear that they were utterly terrified of him. With a flourish of his hand, his microphone came appeared in a puff of rosy smoke.
"Well, this is hardly the ideal place for any such interview." Alastor declared. "After all, I know how your professional camera operators prefer grand background shots. Outside is where the best photogenic opportunities will abound! Come with me, and I'll shall do my best to answer your eager queries!"
The tension in the atmosphere suddenly appeared misplaced. Tentatively, the crews parted before the Radio Demon. When he exited out of the front doors, the reporters, audio technicians, and cameramen that once filled the area up to its full capacity began to file out of the lobby, following after the unexpected PR operative of the Hazbin Hotel. Salamanca was among the last to go, giving a critical glare of the lobby before following his fellow crew members.
Seeing the area cleared, Jersey ran to check on the well-being of Niffty. It was clear she had been momentarily pinned between one of the formerly opened doors and the wall adjacent to it. He dropped to one knee before the dazed form of Niffty.
"Niffty, are you okay?"
"Yeah... just a little flattened. I just need a breather."
"You sure nothing's broken?"
"Well, I guess my chest feels pretty bad..." Niffty winced as she tried to take a proper inhalation of air.
Jersey glanced to the side to see Husker was indulging in his drink. Without a word, he lifted a palm a few inches over Niffty's torso. A magic circle smaller than a tangerine appeared, and energy gently radiated over the little maid's ribcage for a few seconds. The muffled sounds of ribs becoming intact could be heard by Jersey's sensitive ears, an indication that his healing seal had done its job.
"You need a hand up?" Jersey asked, turning his palm as if offering aid for Niffty to stand.
"Sure..." she said as she grasped the calloused hand lent before her. "Hey... I can breathe better! That was quick..."
"You stay here. Make sure that this place looks as tidy as possible in case those guys come back. We can't let the hotel take another dive in credibility." Jersey declared.
"Huh." Husk muttered. "Didn't think you were that committed to this redemption shit."
"If this 'shit' goes under because of a bad report, then I'm out of a job, for one thing." Jersey explained. "I'm heading outside. I'll see if Alastor's answers are enough to keep those news crews from coming inside."
Jersey briskly walked out the door, leaving behind Husk and Niffty to look after the lobby. The latter was especially eager to get back to work.
"Well, guess my break's over. See ya in a bit, Husky!" Niffty raced to the nearest janitor's closet to clean up the hotel once more.
"Don't fuckin' call me that..." Husk grumbled.
Baxter was now finally starting to lose the sensation of bodily pain from yesterday. One benefit to being a sinner was a higher rate of healing and a greater capacity to endure physical trauma. He had spent years vigorously researching the limits of healing, and had written a mock dissertation on the subject. It was one benefit he could count on in a field as volatile as chemistry.
The people who had operated on him had done a tremendous job of removing the glass shards from his body. He even silently forgave the fact that they touched his body, an action that he would normally abhor. With his healing largely complete, he knew he was well enough to be discharged from the Marbas Heathcare Clinic. However, when he asked about the matter, the answer confused him.
"Someone wishes to speak with you within the ICU setting. A private matter." Spoke the Imp nurse who had attended to him. "You will have to wait until that matter is concluded."
Baxter was unsure of what such a conversation would entail, but his pondering came to an end when he saw the familiar face of the woman who had so graciously allowed him to live in the Hazbin Hotel. When Charlie, accompanied by Vaggie entered the room, he fully understood what the matter was about. He also felt a great welling of guilt in his scaly chest.
"Your visitor is here, Baxter." Said the Imp nurse from before. She was leading Charlie and Vaggie inside the room where he was being cared for. Once she affirmed that she could be reached with an emergency button, she left the three demons to their discussion.
"Hey, Baxter." Charlie's voice was not nearly as chipper as it was when Baxter first met her. Sitting on a nearby stool, her tone was much more managerial, suitable for a business meeting rather than a typical hospital visit.
"Hello."
"How have you been recovering?"
"Well enough." He answered truthfully. "I feel well enough to be discharged."
"Be that as it may," Charlie responded evenly, "there is something we need to talk about. I don't think it would be wise to wait it out."
Baxter averted his gaze, staring at the white bed sheet over his form.
Charlie leveled a disappointed look that borderline looked heartbroken. "You lied to us."
"I know..."
"Yet you turned your own room into a makeshift lab." Vaggie said, her one eye burning through the prone fish demon. "You smuggled chemicals into the hotel and did not tell us. Now you're here, and we have had to deal with a mess, not only with your room, but also with news crews asking about an explosion happening last night."
Baxter only blinked somberly at Vaggie's words.
"You didn't just put yourself at risk." Charlie added, her voice soft, but clearly upset. "You could have started a fire and destroyed the entire building. The gas made by your experiment could have left the staff and other guests unconscious, if not worse."
"I did not mean to."
"But you still caused a horrible predicament. You are lucky the worst thing we suffered was mild lung and eye irritation and a shorter than usual sleep last night."
Baxter nodded slowly. "I suppose you will evict me, correct? I won't blame you. If you knew anything about my reputation amongst the apartments and other hotels in Pentagram City, I'm terrible at keeping a roof over my head."
"That would be a possible punishment..." Charlie trailed off. The fiddling of her hands betrayed the internal conflict she had with making her latest decision. "But I want to give you at least one chance to prove that you could be redeemed."
Baxter blinked in mild incredulity. "You mean... I could stay?"
"Only," Vaggie added sternly, "if you abide by a new set of rules. You'll also have to... compensate for the damage you inflicted on your room."
Baxter gave a quiet sigh. It was an unexpected deal, but he was not one to complain if the terms were somewhat even handed. "What would you have me do."
"First," Charlie proclaimed seriously, "you will have to pay the cost to repair the damage to your room. That dresser you turned into a makeshift chemistry table will have to be replaced. The comforter on your bed will also have to be replaced because some of the glass shards from that beaker shredded it."
"I see..." Baxter said, "and what is the price tag for the damages?"
Charlie paused, deciding that it was safest to high ball the cost of the damages that Jersey reported. "Five hundred dollars."
Baxter blinked at the estimate. "Huh. One would think that the blast my mixture caused would have done much more collateral damage."
"The dresser took the brunt of the abuse. That and the comforter on your bed. Let's say you have one month to repay us for replacing the dresser and fixing up your room." Charlie offered.
"Very well." Baxter agreed. "I'm thankfully not short on cash."
"Secondly, you need to take on a roommate to watch your behavior." Vaggie stated. "I know you value privacy, but we can't afford to let last night happen again. If you relapse and give in to your... science mania, then someone needs to report it."
Baxter cringed at the thought of having to share a room with another demon. He had consigned himself to an afterlife of being alone, and had become accustomed to it after decades in Pentagram City. Yet he swallowed his pride, if only because he was quite tired of having to search for a proper resting place outside of his labs.
"As long as the maid and that male street walker do not become my... chaperones. I suppose I can tolerate it."
"Third," Charlie continued, "you are going to attend a special rehab session with us tomorrow. We want to understand you better, and looking back, our first rehab session did not progress that well."
"You want the truth..."
"As much as you can. The most important step in redeeming you will be understanding your motivations. It will go a long way, if only you would help us understand just who was Baxter before and after he died."
Baxter nodded somberly. "I will try my best. I don't feel... comfortable enough to tell you everything about my past, but you deserve to know my obsession with science and the reason why I turned my room into a convenient lab for my use."
"I'll be glad to hear it."
"However," Vaggie affirmed bluntly, "if you pull something like last night again or if you continue to lie to us, we will evict you. No second chances."
Charlie fought back a mournful look. The ultimatum was necessary, for the good of the hotel in the worst case scenario.
"I understand." Baxter said. "So, can I return to the hotel? I can give you my first down payment on fixing up my room."
"That sounds like a plan." Charlie sent a text to Razzle and Dazzle. They were going to have to pick them up in the back area of the clinic. If they wanted to lose the tv crews hounding them for a comment, they would have to be subtle.
When Jersey strode out onto Fallen Eden Avenue, he was not entirely certain of what Alastor would say to the news reporters that followed him outside. His eyes fell upon Alastor, standing off and to the right of the hotel entrance. The reporters before him had notably irritated frowns on their faces. He would soon come to understand why.
"Would you care to hear a joke about construction? I'm still working on it." Alastor joked dryly.
A few chuckles could be heard towards the back of the crowd, but overwhelmingly, most of the camera operators, audio technicians, and reporters groaned loudly. One demon even yelled out, "knock it off with the dumbass jokes and tell us what we wanna know!"
The whole scene appeared quite absurd. Dozens of allegedly grown adults, albeit demonically inclined adults, were suckered into listening to a few dad jokes. It would have greatly amused Jersey if there was no threat of the reporters publicly revealing the evidence of he chaos that happened in the Hazbin Hotel last night.
"I'm telling you, anything with Velcro is a total rip off! Ah ha ha ha ha ha!" Alastor crowed before the crowd.
"Enough!" Samuel Salamanca yelled, stepping to the front of the crowd. "You promised to answer our questions, but you've been subjecting us to this fourth-rate children's comedy bullshit!"
"Did I?" Alastor asked, sounding genuinely curious. "Well, if you wanted a guarantee to receive answers, we could always make a deal."
Stepping forward, he branched out a hand to Salamanca. When it was within a foot of the reporter, it became subsumed in a sphere of vile, green energy. Demonic power radiated as potently as radiation from the ground zero of a hydrogen bomb testing site. The sight made Jersey somewhat queasy as he carefully maneuvered to get a viewing angle of the news station cars which transported the reporters and their crews in the first place.
Salamanca sweated heavily, but refused to give in, even as some of his colleagues trembled and backed away from the Radio Demon. "I think you'll find I'm already engaged to a binding contract. Plus, my boss is not exactly fond of you."
The swampy green aura around Alastor's palm vanished. His vermilion eyes narrowed as he immediately determined the person whom Salamanca was referring to. "Is that so my sniveling salamander? Hmm. What a shame."
The trucks parked across the street all had various numbers and logos on the passenger doors indicating which tv station they belonged to. It almost appeared like a discordant caravan just followed one another right to the hotel. Jersey quickly got an idea to compel the tv crews to leave the hotel for good.
Off to the side, he glanced to make sure the cameras were still focused on Alastor. He then breathed in and focused on the cars before him. Stretching out a hand, he extended his energies to search around the car. When Jersey sensed that he had gotten a feel for the mechanisms for the news station cars, he carefully applied telekinesis to disengage the parking brakes one by one.
With nothing to hold back any future momentum that might be applied to the cars, all it would take is an application of Newton's first law of motion. With another, firmer push of his will, Jersey slowly sent the cars rolling away. Fallen Eden Avenue was on a slight incline, less than ten degrees, but the news vehicles were pointed downhill, so it only took some effort to send them on a pilot-less journey over a mile away from the hotel.
"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen?" Jersey called out, lowering his arm and looking towards the agitated crowd of journalists.
Some of the crowd looked his way, confused more than anything else.
"I think your rides have departed without you." Pointing to the free rolling vehicles, the media employees gasped and yelled in disbelief as they saw the unfolding disaster.
"What the fuck!?" Yelled one of the technicians, who promptly sprinted after the vehicle associated with his company. This soon triggered a panicked dash after the unencumbered cars, and in a matter of two minutes, all who remained in the street were a laughing Alastor, and a stoically pleased Jersey.
"Oh my," Alastor observed, "looks like those automobiles could not give their owners a 'brake.'"
Jersey allowed a chuckle in response. "I wonder how that could happen?"
Alastor gave a sideways glance at the handyman. "How indeedy."
The two men soon retreated into the hotel. They were, coincidentally, never bothered by news crews for the rest of the day.
9:47 am
The Princess' limousine returned to the Hazbin Hotel with little incident. Charlie, Vaggie, and Baxter were dropped off at the front entrance while Razzle and Dazzle parked the car in a garage located in the backlot. Once inside, they found everyone except Angel hanging about in the front lobby.
"We're back!" Charlie announced.
"You!"
Everyone looked to see Niffty brandishing a knife, a thunderous look on her face. Baxter yelped in fright at the murderous display and cowered behind Vaggie, who looked especially uncomfortable with the current scenario. Just as Niffty was about to charge and try her luck in stabbing the demon who had caused her so much grief in the past three days, Alastor intervened.
"Calm yourself, Niffty." Alastor said with a lightly chiding tone. "I believe Charlie has a reason for our fishy fiend's return."
Niffty grumbled, but obeyed. Putting away her weapon, she crossed her arms and tapped one of her little feet impatiently.
"Thank you, Al." Charlie remarked with relief in her voice. "As you all know, Baxter caused the explosion last night. As it stands, we are taking steps to ensure such a fiasco doesn't happen again. Baxter has promised to be more honest, and that he will not do any experiments on hotel property."
"He fuckin' better..." Husk growled, forcefully swigging some beer to calm his temper.
"He will also be paying monetary compensation for the damage he caused." Charlie continued. "Of course, to ensure that he behaves, we will need to ensure an eye is kept on him, for probationary purposes."
"Probationary?" Jersey asked.
"Yes." Vaggie said. "Baxter will be given one more chance to stay a resident of the hotel. To make sure that he doesn't relapse and start experimenting again, someone will have to be his roommate from now on."
"Fuck off with that shit." Husk answered with a middle finger.
"I'm not sharing a room with him." Niffty said crossly.
"Don't worry, you won't have to Niffty." Charlie assured her. "We have... a different person in mind."
Charlie sent an apologetic look Jersey's way. The handyman, leaning against the lobby's front desk, looked somewhat frantically between her and Baxter, who hardly looked thrilled with the prospect.
"Surely you don't mean-"
"Let's just have a brief talk." Charlie said diplomatically. "Vaggie, keep an eye on Baxter."
"Okay, hun."
Jersey hesitantly joined Charlie at her office. She did not even explain her proposal before Jersey stated his opposition to being made a roommate of the hypochondriac scientist.
"Please no..." Jersey replied meekly.
"I know it's not ideal, but it's part of the compromise plan to keep Baxter in the hotel. You are the only person with the temperament to share a room with Baxter. I'm not asking you to share a bed, just... keep an eye on him, when he's wanting to hold up in his room. Report if he's doing anything suspicious, that sort of thing."
"Is there really no other way?" Jersey asked desperately.
"Well, we can't have coeds together in a room. Husk doesn't want to do it. Angel might... well... make things unnecessarily difficult for Baxter if they roomed together. Alastor likes his privacy-"
"So do I." Jersey replied.
Charlie sighed heavily. She hated having to act in a dictatorial manner. In the back of her mind, she remembered her father's advice to never take shit from any other demon, but Jersey was not trying to be confrontational or utterly unreasonable. Charlie continued to negotiate as gently as possible.
"I'm afraid we don't have much choice in the matter. If there was another male demon who could act as Baxter's roommate, I would ask them, but we don't."
"What about those goat servants of yours? Couldn't they do the job?" Jersey asked. "They could relay information no problem, and they'd both be on site to help you with other tasks. One could stay with Baxter while the other one helps you with various tasks."
Charlie had a look of realization on her face. "You actually have a good point. They usually stay at my parents home with the other servants, but they could do the job... Let me ask them."
With a snap of their fingers, Razzle and Dazzle appeared with a plume of smoke and a deep bow.
"How may we serve you, mistress?" They asked in unison.
"We have a predicament you two." Charlie said. "We have a guest who is to be under probation for the foreseeable future, and we need someone to act as his roommate to make sure he doesn't try scientific experiments inside the hotel, especially in his room. If I asked one of you to do it, would you be willing to be his roommate until he shows consistent progress in redeeming himself."
The two servants looked to each other, making a brief huddle before they addressed Charlie again. Dazzle relayed the answer. "We could take turns staying with this problematic guest, my mistress."
Princess Charlie could not help but smile in relief. "Really?"
"Absolutely, my mistress!" Razzle affirmed with gusto.
"Oh, you guys are so committed. Thank you." Charlie gave the two servants a hug, which they happily reciprocated.
Jersey began to look hopeful. "So, does that mean-"
"You're off the hook Jersey." Charlie remarked. "Can I ask you to be an extra pair of eyes to make sure Baxter doesn't relapse?"
"That sounds like a fair deal."
"Thank you." Charlie remarked. She addressed her personal servants once more. "Would you like to meet the guest who you'll be sharing a room with?"
Baxter would have to spend the night in a bed without a comforter and a room without a dresser. Keeping to his word, he paid fifty dollars as an early down payment for the collateral damage of his chemical escapade twenty four hour before. Dazzle was to take the first night as Baxter's roommate, sleeping on a small cot provided by Charlie.
To the relief of everyone in the Hazbin Hotel, that night was a quiet, boring time. Everyone was able to achieve a well deserved sleep.
This day had not suited every party that interacted with the Hazbin Hotel. Several news stations had to call insurance companies to pay for severe damages to their respective vehicles after they inexplicably disengaged their parking brakes and crashed at the southern most end of Fallen Eden Avenue. Likewise, they had failed to capture any spicy comments by Princess Charlie Magne or any of her workers following reports of a blast at her hotel. This, of course, was of no concern to anyone falling into slumber at the Hazbin Hotel.
The hotel had avoided another crisis, for now.
Earlier that day, 2:08 pm, Unknown location
"Really? This was the best footage you could come up with? A big fat segment of that static spewing shit heel making dad jokes?" The voice was tenor and male, not particularly deep, but clearly the voice of someone with authority. However, it was a voice that sounded wholly inorganic, as if it were passing through a speaker set to a low level of metallic reverberation.
"M-my apologies sir." Came a nervous voice belonging to a bird-like demon who was facing the demon on a web cam. "From what I heard from Salamanca and his coworkers, they tried their best, but it's d-difficult when dealing with an Overlord of the Radio Demon's reputation. His association with the hotel made it mildly hazardous to push for any intimate inquiries on the reports we received."
In a large, private editing booth, a demon was staring with utter disdain at the lackluster video that he had received from the largest news station under his control. 666 News was normally capable of exceptional investigation, with reporters going so far as to report breaking turf wars and even events that occurred during Exterminations. The fact that nothing of consequence or entertainment value could be recorded because of the presence of an Overlord that the demon hated with a passion only increased his ire.
"Ha!" He laughed, the sound sharp and dripping with contempt. "To think that Bambi would reduce himself to humoring that fucking charity nonsense by that stupid Magne bitch... fucking pathetic."
"Shall we try to gain an interview again, sir?" The avian sinner asked. "Transportation would have to be provided, but we have more than enough vehicles to."
"Forget about this one. It's been a full day. If there was any truth to the explosion testimonies, it's probably been cleaned up or cordoned off from view. Besides, this was hardly that juicy a potential story."
"Sir?"
"Call it little more than me trying to start another game with an old rival of mine. I heard about his association with the Princess' naive little pet project and decided to test the waters. See if I could piss him off like old times."
Much of the footage was little more than jumbled chaos caused by rival news reporters clambering to get worthwhile shots and audio quality. That was one flaw with trying to report something en masse. The rest of the footage contained the brief denial of some unassuming, pale faced man who claimed to be a worker, and the usual, charismatic antics of Alastor.
"I see."
"Just keep to the usual reporting, Bird." The demon ordered. "Don't linger too much on this debacle. I'll soon settle the repair costs for the vehicles that simply decided to go on their merry way."
"As you wish, Mr. Vox." The internet call soon cut off, leaving Vox alone.
Tall and slim like Alastor, he wore a dark, pin striped tuxedo suit with a large, dark red bow tie. His undershirt was the color of moonlight on a cold autumn night, and highlighted an upside down Wi-Fi signal. Most disturbing was his head. Looking like a horror film's interpretation of a television themed monster, his face was a flat screen tv with manic, crimson eyes. Below these terrifying pupils was a sharp, carnivorous grin with one corner dripping with blood. Atop his head was a top hat with another Wi-Fi signal and sparkling electrodes.
He was currently disappointed, but not entirely disheartened. One day, Vox would see his ultimate rival put in his place.
"One day, Bambi, we'll settle this once and for all. One... fucking... day..."