Snake
The man in the sunglasses, coat, and snakeskin boots stuck out like a sore thumb in the winter, and that was what Hades counted on. The cold was a means to an end as much as the tickets were, and the harsher the weather, the more likely those he tempted down would accept.
It wasn't like refusing would get them far; they'd come down to Hadestown sooner or later, especially in winter. But Hades found he much preferred signing workers on himself, and he'd had enough practice over the years that nowadays no one refused his offers.
His boots slipped through the fallen snow softly, making no sound but leaving an impression of power wherever he stepped. Like the snake, he knew what paths to take and what not to, and how to sense those in desperate need.
When he made his pitch and offered the coin, presenting Hadestown as the only way out, it was only a moment's hesitation before the snake secured his prey.