Chapter Four: Unsteady
Unsteady- X Ambassadors
Shadows stretched long and thin across the Hazbin Hotel's lobby, mimicking the silence that had swallowed the usual cacophony. With a grace uncharacteristic of the dilapidated grandeur, Alastor moved through the stillness, his footsteps sending soft echoes skittering off the walls. The plush carpet did little to muffle the sound, each tap-tap-tap an underscore to the emptiness enveloping the once raucous establishment.
Upstairs, Charlie sat curled on her bed, the dim light from the window casting fragmented patterns over her hunched form. Her fingers clutched at a pillow, the fabric wrinkled under the pressure, as if she could wring out the hurt that soaked its fibers. Eyes distant, she sifted through the detritus of trust now scattered like broken glass within her mind. The betrayal was a poison, leeching color from the tapestries of memory that hung on the walls of her psyche.
Alastor paused at a turn in the corridor, tilting his head slightly, almost imperceptibly. The weight of the hotel's mood was tangible, a thick shroud that even he, with his flair for the dramatic, could not shake off with a smile or a quip. The Radio Demon continued his traverse, his presence an odd harmony to the maudlin melody of the silent hotel.
The quietude was new and unfamiliar, and it wrapped around him like the cool embrace of an uninvited dance partner. Each step he took was precise, a practiced move in this unexpected ballet of stillness. The grand staircase loomed ahead, its banisters dull and lackluster, yearning for a touch of life to restore their shine.
The shadows danced more fervently as if agitated by his acknowledgment of their secrets. Alastor, the Radio Demon known for orchestrating pandemonium, found himself standing in the eye of a silent storm, the very concept of redemption wrapping around him like a tangible force, challenging everything he had ever been.
The stillness of the Hazbin Hotel was suddenly split asunder by a cascade of divine light. It poured from above, a radiant fracture in the ceiling of Hell itself, ushering in figures that seemed out of place in the underworld's perpetual dusk. Seven stoic angel guards, their armor gleaming with celestial luminescence, formed a protective ring around two central figures. The first, a Seraphim named Emily, fluttered nervously, her six wings catching the hellish air in awkward gusts. Beside her, Sir Pentious, his usual villainous attire replaced by vestments that glowed with a soft, repentant light.
Alastor, standing halfway down the grand staircase, halted at the sight. His eyes, usually alight with mischievous spark, widened with incredulity. Angel Dust, his posture shifting from relaxed indolence to alert curiosity, craned his neck to observe the newcomers. Husk simply raised an eyebrow, his poker face barely concealing his surprise. Niffty popped up from behind a banister, her tiny frame quivering with excitement, while Cherry Bomb stood rooted to the spot, her hands clapping over her mouth.
"Would you look at that," Angel Dust murmured, a smirk playing on his lips.
The sinners who had found asylum within the hotel's walls after the Extermination pressed close, their expressions a mix of wonder and trepidation. Whispers swept through the crowd like ripples across a dark pond—angels, here, in Hell? Impossible. Yet the evidence was overwhelming, the presence of the heavenly beings filling the space with an energy that seemed to make the very foundations of the Hazbin Hotel hum.
"Is this a joke?" Husk grunted, his voice low but carrying.
"Shh!" Niffty hissed, bouncing on her toes.
Emily, the Seraphim, stepped forward, her voice a rapid patter that spilled over the gathered crowd. Her words tumbled out too fast for many to grasp, but her tone, earnest and tinged with anxiety, conveyed enough of her intent. She was here on a mission of hope, of possibilities yet unexplored.
Then Sir Pentious emerged from the protective circle of angels, his snake-like eyes scanning the faces of those before him. A collective gasp rose from the sinners as recognition set in. Sir Pentious, once a notorious sinner, now stood before them clad in redemption's embrace.
"Not fuckin way..." Angel Dust whispered, his earlier bravado giving way to astonishment.
Cherry Bomb surged forward, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, her emotions detonating in a display as unexpected as the angels' arrival. She wrapped her arms around Sir Pentious, her kiss fiery with passion and relief. For a moment, all the fear and skepticism melted away, replaced by raw joy and the dawning realization that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something more beyond the damnation they had all accepted as eternal.
"Remarkable," Alastor conceded under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest of smiles, acknowledging the scene before him with a mixture of fascination and caution. Husk remained silent, his arms folded, observing the reunion with a detached wariness that bordered on disapproval.
The revelation hung heavy in the air, laden with implications that none could fully grasp. Redemption, it seemed, was not solely the stuff of legends and wishful thinking. It had come to the Hazbin Hotel, incarnate and undeniable, promising changes that would echo through every level of Hell.
Alastor's crimson eyes flickered with a sharpness that cut through the collective awe. He stepped forward, his usual grin tightening into a line of scrutiny as the angels still fluttered their ethereal wings in the dim light of the Hazbin Hotel lobby.
"Excuse my impertinence," Alastor began, his voice smooth as velvet yet edged with the static of suspicion. "But what precisely entails this 'redemption'? Does one's soul perish once more in the process? Is there an element of sacrifice required?" His cane tapped against the floor, punctuating his inquiry, a metronome to the sudden tension.
The angels exchanged glances, their faces a blend of confusion and concern. The one named Emily, her halo shimmering like a beacon of nervous energy, stepped forward. Her words stumbled over each other as if racing to form an answer that didn't exist. "We... well, it's not exactly clear. Redemption is—"
"New," another angel interrupted his brow furrowing. "It's different for each soul."
"Ah," Alastor hummed, his smile returning like the crescent moon on a cloudless night. "An enigma then. How tantalizing."
From the sidelines, Sera stepped forward, her celestial armor clinking softly. She cleared her throat, hesitant but resolute. "Emily will remain here to assist. To... guide those willing through this redemption. She's trained in the healing arts, a therapist of sorts."
"Is that so?" Alastor turned, his gaze landing on Emily who fidgeted under his attention. "Well then, Miss Emily, we must ensure your stay at our humble abode is both comfortable and conducive to your work."
With a flourish, Alastor motioned to Niffty, who scurried over with a stack of linens and a welcoming smile. He directed her with a slight nod toward one of the hotel's more luxurious suites, one that had remained vacant, gathering dust and echoes of laughter.
"Prepare the Sunset Suite for our esteemed guest," he instructed, his tone laced with authority and a hint of something softer, perhaps respect. "Make sure it's fit for an angel."
"Right away, Al!" Niffty chirped, dashing off with a trail of excitement in her wake.
"Thank you," Emily murmured, her voice steadying as she took in the grandeur of her new temporary residence.
"Think nothing of it," Alastor replied, tipping his hat in a mock salute. "After all, we're all in the pursuit of enlightenment now, aren't we?"
As the others busied themselves with preparations, Alastor's thoughts whirled like a carousel. Redemption, a concept so alien and yet now rooted in the very foundation of the Hazbin Hotel, had woven itself into the tapestry of their existence. And within him, the seed of curiosity had been planted, promising to burgeon into a quest for understanding the true nature of this mysterious salvation.
With a mischievous glint in his eye, Alastor seized the moment. The halls of the Hazbin Hotel reverberated with the clicking of his heels as he approached Charlie's room. Without knocking, he swung the door open and strode inside, finding Charlie ensconced amidst shadows and sorrow.
"Charlie, my dear," he began with a showman's flourish, "I have something you simply must see."
Before she could protest, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist hoisting her up into his arms and quite literally dragging her out of the room, his grip firm yet not unkind. Further protests died on her lips when she looked at his face, he was smiling, of course, but… it was so full of whimsy, curiosity gnawed at her. Down the grand staircase, they went, across the now-hushed lobby, until they reached the hotel's once ostentatious ballroom, now the stage for Sir Pentious's revelation.
"Behold," Alastor announced almost gleefully, releasing Charlie to witness the spectacle before her, she continued to stare at him for a moment longer, until he made gestures with his scarlet orbs to turn around, his grin softer, so Charlie heeded his command.
Sir Pentious stood there, not with his usual bombast but with an air of humble triumph. His clothes had been traded for heavenly garbs, and the tone of his scales took on new hues, black traded for nearly iridescent dusty indigo, white, and gold. A golden Halo floated above his head, behind him, Emily was bouncing up and down in glee and Sera, looked resigned, and displeased with her surroundings. Seven indiscernible angel guards stood behind them vigilantly. A soft gasp escaped Charlie's lips, her eyes widening with disbelief. As the reality set in, a cascade of tears broke free, each one a sparkling testament to her fragile hope being restored.
"Charlie... I—" Sir Pentious began, his voice tinged with an unfamiliar warmth.
"Oh Pent, I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" Charlie blurted out between sobs, stumbling forward to throw her arms around him.
"Pleasse we do not need to sstart with ssorry," Sir Pentious said, returning the embrace so happy to see the princess, "there'ss no need. It is I who owe you gratitude. You've ssshown me a path I never knew existed." His words were sincere, wrapping around Charlie like a comforting blanket.
Alastor watched from a distance, a rare hint of confusion mingling with intrigue upon his features. He had expected many outcomes, but the genuine exchange unfolding before him was not among them.
As Charlie pulled away, wiping the moisture from her cheeks, her eyes sparkled with a newfound determination. "This..." she gestured towards Sir Pentious, "this is what the Hazbin Hotel can do. This is our purpose!"
Her excitement was infectious, and even Alastor couldn't help but be caught in its wake. "Indeed," he conceded with a shake of his head, though whether he was humoring her or truly convinced remained unclear.
"Alastor," Charlie's voice carried a fierce resolve that demanded attention, "if we can save him, we can save others, everyone! We can save... you."
The declaration struck Alastor like a bolt of lightning, leaving him momentarily dazed. No one had dared suggest such a possibility before, let alone believe it. To be the recipient of such an offer—it was unsettling and yet oddly thrilling.
"Me?" His smile wavered as he regarded her with newfound curiosity. "Now, isn't that a fascinating thought?"
Their gazes locked, and in that instant, something shifted between them. An understanding, delicate yet undeniable, bridged the space where their worlds collided. They stood at the precipice of change, the tapestry of redemption weaving its first golden thread through the fabric of their fates.
Charlie's exuberance lingered in the air like an electrifying charge. Her proclamation, "I can save you!" hung there, a testament to her unyielding belief in the transformative power of the Hazbin Hotel. It was a sentiment so foreign to Alastor, the Radio Demon accustomed to playing puppeteer with the denizens of Hell, that he found himself momentarily at a loss for words.
As the realization settled, Charlie's hands reached out, gripping Alastor's shoulders with an intensity that bordered on fervor. "Al! Do you know what this means?" Her eyes sparkled, a reflection of the newfound hope pulsating within her.
Caught off guard by her sudden proximity and the sincerity in her gaze, Alastor simply blinked in mild astonishment. Charlie's excitement radiated like a beacon, breaking through the layers of cynicism that typically shielded him. "It means that the hotel works, Alastor!" she exclaimed, her voice resonating with unbridled enthusiasm. "I can save them. I can save everyone! I can save you!"
The words hung in the air, a potent declaration that reverberated through the ballroom. Charlie's revelation carried weight, not just in its audacity but in the genuine belief that redemption could extend even to one as enigmatic and seemingly irredeemable as Alastor.
The room, a witness to both despair and redemption, seemed to hold its breath. Sir Pentious, still basking in the glow of his own salvation, watched the unfolding exchange with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. The sinners, once resigned to their fates, dared to entertain the notion that salvation might not be an elusive dream.
Alastor's smile, a signature expression of confidence and amusement, played on his lips once more. However, this time, it held a subtle nuance, a flicker of something beneath the surface—a realization, perhaps, that the game board had expanded to include a player he hadn't anticipated.
With a theatrical flourish, Alastor extended an arm towards the grand staircase. "Shall we continue this discussion in a more private setting?" The ballroom, still charged with the residue of revelations, seemed to acquiesce to his suggestion, the echoes of the past retreating to the shadows.
Charlie, her resolve unyielding, nodded in agreement. As they ascended the staircase, the sinners and the celestial guests exchanged uncertain glances. The Hazbin Hotel, once a realm of predictable damnation, had become an uncharted territory where the boundaries of possibility blurred.
The Sunset Suite, now prepared for Emily the Seraphim, awaited as a backdrop to the unfolding dialogue. Niffty, ever the effervescent caretaker, had adorned the room with touches of celestial comfort as if trying to bridge the gap between Heaven and Hell within its confines.
As they entered the suite, the atmosphere shifted from the hallowed echoes of the ballroom to a more intimate space, bathed in the warm hues of twilight. Alastor, the enigmatic puppeteer, took his place with casual elegance, while Charlie, the hopeful architect of change, stood poised with a determination that belied her youthful visage.
Sera, lingered by the door, a silent observer of the unfolding collaboration between Heaven and Hell. The Sunset Suite, caught in the crosscurrents of two realms, became a stage where the fate of the Hazbin Hotel and its inhabitants would be determined.
"Redemption is not a straightforward path. We know very little about it. One could assume that the serpent was able to attain redemption due to his selfless sacrifice, however, it could also be the emotional growth that he was able to attain at this… hotel," Sera began, her gaze shifting between Charlie and Alastor. "It requires understanding, empathy, and a willingness to confront the depths of one's own nature. This hotel, it seems, holds the potential to be a catalyst for such transformations."
The last slivers of the dying sun clawed through the crimson curtains, splashing onto the opulent carpet of the Sunset Suite as if trying to escape the inevitable darkness. Emily stood, a celestial figure against the encroaching night, her wings unfurling to cast a kaleidoscope of shadows across the room's gathered denizens. The murmurs hushed; all eyes fixed upon her.
"Tonight," Emily began in charge of announcing what her plan entailed to the sinners, Now officially Angel and Cherry, her voice a soothing melody that belied the gravity of her words, "we unveil a chance for atonement, a gift of twenty-four hours granted to those who've earned it—a passage back to the living realm."
A collective gasp rose, and then silence settled like ash. Sinners exchanged glances, some with flickers of excitement igniting in their eyes, others with brows furrowed in skepticism. Hotel staff leaned closer, the weight of potential salvation pressing into their chests.
Emily continued, her gaze sweeping over them like a lighthouse beam in treacherous waters. "This is not an end but a beginning. A step toward redemption for souls brave enough to take it." The tension twisted, hope threading through the uncertainty.
As the suite surrendered to night, the landscape of Hell itself seemed to shift beneath their feet.
—-
The room Cherry used when she crashed at the hotel, her room now she guessed, was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, casting elongated shadows that danced upon walls adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of infernal splendor.
Amidst the velvet drapes and silken sheets, two figures lay entwined; Chaotic Cherry Bomb and a heavenly Sir Pentious had surrendered to an embrace that defied the sulfurous drafts wafting through the crevices of their abode.
Sir Pentious, whose aspirations had often soared higher than the smog-choked skies of Hell, now found his ambitions dwarfed by the rapture he discovered in Cherry's arms. The fusion of their bodies was a symphony of pleasure and perplexity, punctuated by the playful laughter that escaped Cherry's lips as they navigated the idiosyncrasies of his dual anatomy. It was a dance of desire and discovery, where each touch unraveled new secrets of flesh and fervor.
As their passions ebbed into tender whispers, the room seemed to hold its breath, the very air charged with the electricity of their connection. Cherry, her fiery locks splayed across the pillow like a halo forged in the heart of a dying star, watched the flickering light play across Sir Pentious's face. His scales, once symbols of his cunning nature, now shimmered with an angelic vulnerability that only she had been privy to witness.
"Cherry," Sir Pentious began, his voice a sibilant caress that resonated in the stillness, "What are your plan-sss for the future?" The inquiry hung between them, not merely a question, but an invocation of dreams yet to be woven into reality. "Would you ssstay at the hotel, ssseek peace and redemption... ssso we can be together?"
His words were a testament to his transformation—a once ruthless schemer now seeking solace in the hopes of shared salvation. He laid bare his soul, his longing for companionship transcending the infernal machinations that had once consumed his every thought.
"Get Sober?" Cherry echoed her first thought, the concepts as elusive as the morning mist that never graced this forsaken realm. It was a proposition laced with the sweetest poison, for to dream of absolution in the depths of damnation was both a cruel irony and a beacon of hope.
She felt the weight of his gaze without judgment of her question, the intensity of his desire for an answer that would chart the course of their intertwined destinies. In the quietude that followed, the world outside their sanctuary ceased to exist; there were no tormented cries, no clashing of demonic egos—only the fragile heartbeat of a love that dared to defy the chaos of Hell itself.
Cherry's heart hammered against her ribcage, a frantic rhythm that drowned out the serpentine hiss of Sir Pentious's tender inquiries. The fabric of her bed tangled around her limbs, a silken prison that seemed to tighten with each breath she drew. The warmth of their shared intimacy still lingered on her skin, but it was quickly cooling in the air that now felt thick with expectations she could not fulfill.
"Stay at the hotel... find peace and redemption..." The words echoed in Cherry's mind, a haunting refrain that sent a surge of panic through her veins. She had never been one for commitments, her soul a tangle of thorns that repelled any notion of attachment. How could she, a creature born of brimstone and wicked whimsy, dare to dream of such lofty ideals as peace and redemption?
The walls closed in, the space between them charged with an intensity that left her breathless. She jerked upright, clawing at the sheets to find her discarded clothing flung haphazardly across the room in the throes of their passion. Her fingers trembled as she snatched up her garments, a desperate attempt to armor herself against the vulnerability that threatened to swallow her whole.
"I can't," she whispered, though no sound escaped her lips. "I can't do this..."
Her movements were frenzied, a chaotic dance of fear and denial as she struggled into her clothes. Each article felt like a shackle, a reminder of the reality she fought to escape. Could she truly stand beside him, beneath the scrutiny of those who would judge her every step towards redemption? The very thought constricted her throat, and she gasped for air that refused to come.
But before she could flee, before she could vanish into the night and leave behind the chaos of what-ifs, a touch halted her escape. Strong hands, unbothered by their own nakedness, grasped her shoulders with a gentleness that belied the strength within them. Sir Pentious's touch was both an anchor and a lifeline, grounding her amidst the storm raging in her soul.
"Cherry," he breathed, and the world stilled.
His kiss came as a surprise, a bolt of lightning that shattered the encroaching darkness. She was swept off her feet, and dipped low in a motion that mirrored their first encounter—a memory etched in fire and defiance. His lips met hers with a fervor that spoke of promises and a future unwritten in heaven, a single moment that defied the eternity of damnation she resided in.
In the depths of her turmoil, Cherry found herself anchored by the sincerity of his affections, by the steadfast resolve in his eyes that saw beyond her fears. It was a kiss that spoke not just of desire, but of understanding and acceptance, of a connection that transcended the infernal landscape they called home.
Sir Pentious pulled back, his gaze locked onto hers with an intensity that burned hotter than the hellfire surrounding them. Their breaths mingled, a shared whisper against the silence that enveloped them. And in that gaze, Cherry recognized the reflection of her own tumultuous heart—a mirror of longing and trepidation, a silent plea for something more profound than either had ever known.
"Cherry, I love you."
The words halted her in an instant, a simple phrase that wielded the power to cleave through the tempest of her doubts. Sir Pentious' touch was gentle against her cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing her skin with an affection that belied the chaos of their realm. His gaze, intense and unwavering, pierced the veil of her uncertainty and fixed upon her singular red eye, a beacon in the dimness.
"I want to be with you, and I'm sorry that I sprung this all on you right before... leaving. And I know that it'sss going to be hard. Only ssseeing each other once a month, long-distance relationships sssuck, I hear... but I want thisss. I want you."
His confession was a symphony of sincerity, each word resonating within the hollows of her soul. He stood there, unabashedly nude and vulnerable, embodying the paradox of Hell itself—capable of both damnation and salvation. It was in this dichotomy that Cherry discovered an unexpected truth: even amidst the perpetual torment, love dared to flourish like a defiant bloom.
"Alright, double dick," she muttered, her voice a blend of exasperation and tenderness, a defense mechanism crumbling to reveal the raw honesty beneath. She lightly punched him in the upper arm, a playful gesture that spoke volumes more than words could convey. "I'll be your girlfriend or whatever, we'll give this a shot."
In that moment, as he smiled—a radiance that seemed to outshine the ever-burning fires around them—Cherry felt the fortress she had meticulously built around her heart begin to fracture. A warmth spread through her, a sensation alien and yet deeply craved, as though the very essence of his smile had the potency to thaw her long-frozen vulnerabilities.
Sir Pentious pulled her into an embrace, one that defied the infernal heat and desolation surrounding them. It was an embrace that promised sanctuary, a haven amidst the relentless storm of Hell. Enveloped in his arms, Cherry allowed herself to sink into the sentiment, to let the angelic current of his love erode away the jagged edges of her fears. Here, held within the serpentine coils of her lover's embrace, she glimpsed the potential for redemption, not only for herself but for the bond they now shared.
In the silence of their union, the cacophony of Hell seemed to fade into a distant whisper, as if the universe had paused to honor the gravity of their connection. In the depths of despair, they found each other—an anomaly, a contradiction, a testament to the enigmatic nature of emotion in a world governed by chaos.
And so they remained, two souls intertwined, discovering solace in the heart of pandemonium, where love, against all odds, had staked its claim.