Chapter 6: The Red Means I Love You.
Peace of mind is cutting through marbled meat without the ache of a hungry belly.
Praise be to Satan for recovering my lost strength, forever grateful to have been blessed with nourishment to fuel my gluttony. Through me, I share your generosity in this morning's breakfast, for power is to be shared, love is to be consumed, and death is to be embraced. If we are born to be burned, then we shall eat like Gods and should this be our last meal, let this be a guilty pleasure worth dying for.
Amen.
Hardly would I call myself a woman of prayer, as they tend to fall on deaf ears for most. This was the first time I'd done it in a while. I felt the need to thank someone, something, for my inexplicably good mood. No dreams of the past, no hatred of the self, no sorrow to drown myself in. Just pure satisfaction and divine alchemy in the kitchen.
After the presentation, I decided I wanted to show my thanks with my more than excellent cooking, and that required shopping for only the best ingredients. The butcher had a mouth-watering selection of pork this morning. His cheeks went a bit red when I told him he had an exceptionally handsome eye for premium meat. I was feeling rather bold and the flattery bought me a large cut imported from the best farms of the Wrath Ring at half the usual price. The sizzle of maple coated bacon strips and the aroma of cinnamon French Toast summons everyone from their rooms one by one, each with a messier bedhead than the next. I was on the final touches now, the rest of the varying breakfast items already spread across the long dining room next to the kitchen. It all smelled delicious, and yet I craved none of it. I was content, full to my heart's desire from last night's feeding. I've never left a hunt feeling as refreshed as I did last night, as I felt today, as I hoped to continue feeling tomorrow and the rest of my days to come.
"Wow, this smells delicious, Thorne," Charlie praised, still so obviously bogged down by sleep. I smiled and hummed my appreciation.
"Do you need help with anything," she asked. I put the last of the cooked bacon on its assigned plate, then handed it to her and pointed to the dining room table. She nodded at my wordless command and did as instructed.
I didn't agree with the idea of television in a room meant for eating. It took away the experience all together, dulling your taste buds and pulling your attention from the sacrifice that came with being provided a delicious meal. To consume was a ritual in and of itself, labor and blood in exchange for blissful sustenance. They were lucky to even be able to open their mouths, to savor flavors with their tongues, and to chew with their teeth. All things I never thought I'd miss until I could no longer do it. I pitied them, but shrugged the thought away and I started my eggs, half-listening to the television while gently humming to the tune of my radio sitting on the counter.
"Good morning, sinners! I'm Katie Killjoy!"
"And I'm Tom Trench, coming to you live with breaking news!"
"That's right, Tom! It seems the flames of wrath are hotter than ever, as reports have been made of multiple deaths throughout our neighboring Wrath Ring! Multiple animals were found dead this morning across several farms, concerning residents of the volcanic waste land!"
Well, it seems I've made the news.
The corners of my lips played tug-a-war until they formed a smile, hearing the mixed comments of the ring I visited for dinner. I admit, it wasn't my cleanest work, but I had to take the risk of leaving the poor creatures where they died. I wouldn't have had time to hide them all myself. And luck was on my side, nature taking its course in what was the ugliest, misshapen circle of life. Vultures, wild canines, bugs and other hellish scavengers mutilated most of the corpses by morning. It all worked out in the end.
As I flipped the eggs in the skillet, I caught snippets of farmers' reactions to finding the unexplained phenomenon. Some expressed shock and dismay, lamenting the loss of their livelihood. Others seemed resigned, acknowledging the harsh reality and accepting that they would have died, anyway. After all, I only killed the ones I knew were dying. A few were angry, blaming unseen forces for their misfortune and loss of potential profit. Despite the range of emotions, there was an underlying sense of unease permeating their voices, a collective anxiety born from uncertainty and fear of what might come next. It was a reminder of the fragility of life in Hell, where death could strike at any moment, whether by natural causes or something more sinister. Something like me.
"Holy shit," I heard Angel say, his mouth clearly full of food.
"Holy shit is right," Tom says enthusiastically, as if hearing Angel through the screen. "But the horror doesn't end there, folks! In a shocking turn of events, two children have also been discovered amongst the casualties."
My movements faltered then, taken by surprise by this discovery. My brows furrowed and my humming stopped, now fully listening to what was left of this new development.
"Authorities are in absolutely no rush to uncover the truth behind these senseless deaths. No suspects have been identified and the cause of death remains shrouded in mystery, leaving residents of the Wrath Ring on edge and demanding answers."
"They might as well write a letter to Santa for that information, eh Katie?"
"Fuck you, Tom! This has been Katie Killjoy with 666 News!"
"That's awful… That poor family," I heard Charlie say, but I could only half-agree.
My chest relaxed with the release of a breath I didn't realize I was holding. And I couldn't for the life of me understand why. Those animals were dead by my hand, yes, but the children? That had to simply be a coincidence. Since the marring of my mouths, I have not consumed the life of another demon. So why was I beginning to feel guilt weighing on me for a crime I didn't commit?
I shook my head, as if that would erase my thoughts like an Etch-a-Sketch, and slid the eggs off the skillet and into the last empty plate on the counter. With the last of my cooking complete, I brought it out to the table and chose an empty seat between Angel and Alastor. The Radio Demon hummed to his own musical tune as he ate and the rest of the table thanked me for breakfast. Whatever guilt I was feeling before was replaced with pride, my head swelling bigger and bigger with each praise and compliment.
I could feel Angel staring at me, and I looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Something's different about you today…," he said slowly.
"Hmmm," I hummed in a questioning tone.
After studying me in silence for a bit, a wide grin spread across his face. "You got laid last night, didn't you?"
My eyes widened at the question and felt the blood rush to my cheeks. There was a microphone screech and a few coughing fits. Niffty only grinned, boring her single eye into me from across the table.
"Well, did you," she asked excitedly. I shook my head so furiously, I gave myself a headache.
"Awww, no need to be shy, baby," Angel teased. Bacon snapped into his mouth and he wriggled his eyebrows at me as he added, "I was wondering where you went last night. I know an afta' glow when I see one."
All I could do was cover my face and sink in my seat. Angel had unknowingly just created alibi for me. I could play along and let this be my cover story for yesterday's absence. And even if that didn't work, I was just another sinner in the Pride Ring to them. As long as that narrative remained, there was no way I could have traveled to another Ring.
"Angel, for fucksake! We're eating," Vaggie scolded.
"I don't wanna hea' that shit from you! You and Charlie nearly woke up the whole damn Ring!"
As the conversation at the breakfast table continues, Charlie tries to deflect Angel's teasing with a playful retort. She quickly changes the subject, redirecting the attention to the delicious meal I've prepared. The rest join in the conversation, sharing anecdotes and jokes, gradually easing the tension that lingered after the news report and Angel's uncomfortable probing of our sex lives.
Amidst the laughter and banter, my mind still lingered on the news of the dead children. Guilty or not, I was in the clear for now, but made a mental note to keep an eye on any further developments. If there was one thing I knew I could rely on, it was a demon's own malevolence and selfishness. No one cared enough to actually put work into solving the case, and it was no secret that law enforcers in Hell were just another pawn in the melting pot to further the agenda of Overlords, Sins, and even the Ars Goetia.
It seems the news is not only on my mind, but on Charlie's as well. She sighs, bringing me out of my thoughts for a moment so I can focus on what's troubling her. "I just wish there was something we could do, you know? That poor family must be so heart broken…," she says.
At that moment, this blessed brain of mine gave me a brilliant idea. 'Maybe there is something we can do,' I sign.
Eyebrows rise at my comment. "What are we gonna do? Go down there? You know we can't travel beyond the Pride Ring," Husker argues.
'But Charlie can.' The realization stuns him. 'And probably Vaggie too.'
"I hadn't even thought of that…," Charlie said slowly. "It never occurred to me to try leaving the Pride Ring. But it's not like I could do much for them if I get there."
'You could offer to fund the funeral for the children,' I suggested. 'Kind of like a charity event, though it may fall on deaf ears. But you can personally interact with the community, listening to their concerns and showing your support directly. It would be more than appreciated, I'm sure.'
There was that sparkle in her eyes again. She stood up abruptly, fueled by new found determination. "Oh my goodness! I'll go get ready!"
Vaggie sighed, but not of annoyance. It wasn't easy to keep up with Charlie's excitable attitude, but she loved her for that same reason. I saw in it her smile as she followed Charlie out the dining room. Not before mouthing a quick 'thank you' to me. I gave her a wink and they were off. I suppose polar opposites do attract, at least, it did in their case.
With breakfast finished and the mood lightened, the rest of my hotel mates began to disperse, each going about their day's tasks. There was still plenty of food left, and I asked Niffty to help pack them in containers. In the theme of 'charity', I planned to distribute leftovers to the Pride Ring's more unfortunate batch of sinners, the homeless. While she ran to the kitchen, I remained seated, lost in thought, before a black and red gloved hand waved in front of my face.
"Anybody home," he asks, a bit more flamboyant than usual.
'No, but the lights are on,' I responded jokingly.
"I beg to differ. That was a clever suggestion just now. Cunning little thing, aren't you?"
'Meaning?'
"You knew that if Charlie went to the Wrath Ring herself, it may boost support for the hotel in exchange for her charity. And it boosts her status as Princess of Hell, too."
'Part of ensuring the hotel's success is building upon Her Majesty's skill to rule. And Hell hasn't had a suitable ruler since Lilith disappeared.' I stood up and began stacking the empty plates from around the table. 'Someone has to step up.'
There is a brief moment of silence and suddenly, to my surprise, he also begins collecting the empty plates. "You made quite the spread this morning," he says, changing the subject. Then, hesitantly, he asks, "Though, Angel's suggestion is not true, now is it?"
"Hmm?" Our eyes meet from across the table and my mischievous smile challenges his own. 'Why do you say that?'
"Because you and I are the same," he says simply. He breaks contact with my eyes and stacks the last of the plates. "I don't favor touch either."
I pause, caught off guard by his unexpected admission. So I was right after all. I hum something that sounds like "really?", my tone tinged with curiosity. Alastor nods, his expression unreadable behind his ever-present grin.
"Indeed. Physical contact has never been my forte, you see. It tends to... overwhelm me, as you put it yesterday."
A flicker of understanding passes between us, a silent acknowledgment of the burdens we both carry. 'Trust does not come easily in a place like this,' I sign to him.
"Ah, but therein lies the beauty of this," Alastor muses, gesturing around himself as his gaze remains fixed on some distant point beyond the confines of the dining room. "In a world where deceit reigns supreme, finding someone you can truly trust is a rare and precious thing."
I consider his words for a moment, the weight of their implications settling over me like a heavy cloak. I find it funny how he of all people took it upon himself to give me such a lesson. 'And yet, you trust no one,' I tell him.
"Quite the contrary. I trust very few."
'You believe in such a bond? Even here?'
He meets my gaze with a knowing look, his smile widening ever so slightly. "I believe it's possible, my dear. For those who are willing to look past the surface, to see the soul beneath the sin."
His words strike me, and there's a warmth it spreads throughout my body, uncovering a sense of validation I hadn't realized I'd been craving. He almost has me convinced, daring to entertain the belief that there's more to Hell than meets the eye. And maybe more to him, as well. But if he truly believed what he told me, he wouldn't be here helping Charlie, would he? I had trouble figuring out if this was of his own belief or if he was farting shit out of his mouth so I could let my guard down. His smile kept me guessing like that.
Still… His words struck a chord in me all the same. I offer him a grateful smile.
'Thank you, Alastor. I will keep that in mind.' And I carry the stack of plates to the kitchen to join Niffty.
With a nod of understanding, he picks up his own stack and joins us in the kitchen, the conversation now shifting to lighter topics as we all clean up the remnants of breakfast together. Alastor never asked about my whereabouts last night, and I was thankful for his respect for my privacy. Or maybe he just didn't care to know. Either way, it saved me and I was able to let it go. As we work side by side, I can't help but feel a sense of camaraderie between us, a silent bond forged in the fires of Hell.
Katie Killjoy never spoke on the issue again, and from what I've studied on her channel, news of another demon's good deed was not news worth reporting. Nothing in Hell is done without the price of equal exchange, and if a story wasn't giving her massive ratings, then it wouldn't see the light of day. Luckily for us, we didn't need 666 News. There were other means of sharing Charlie and Vaggie's visit to the Wrath Ring, and its success. And we found it.
I reveled in my new confidence, grateful that it had yet to abandon me as the days rolled by. It was the quiet kind that simmered beneath the surface of one's own appearance, and I wanted - no, needed to look the part as I set out on my mission. I learned my lesson during my presentation four days ago, realizing the importance of dressing appropriately for the occasion. The fullness of my wardrobe increased by at least 20% with my last shopping spree, and while spending money on myself was not something I was used to, it was more than necessary. And I seemed to have taken a new liking to fashion. Orchestrated correctly with equal parts of confidence and posture, and it was a wordless display of power.
I liked having power.
One last inspection of myself and I was ready for our meeting. For once, I'm not flinching at the exposure of my scars, doing well to remember Alastor's words about showing my strength, my tenacity. I loved the way the midnight blue of my jumpsuit matched my broken horns. My locs are tied neatly into a low bun and the soft fabric gently hugged my waist, flaring out into professionally creased, wide legged slacks that matched my pointed midnight blue heels. Silver threading decorated the collar of the backless halter top around my neck, laced around to my left hip and continued down the left leg. I threw on some shades for privacy, short gloves, and was out the door.
If any of this was going to work in our favor, we needed more media coverage, more influential allies, that would help not just to promote the Hotel, but to further elevate Charlie's name and status as Princess. Alastor suggested we look into working with Pentagram City's best newspaper publishing team, Pandemonium Press. Considering our shared disdain for television (more him than I, really), I thought it was a fantastic idea that would accelerate our reach to the less fortunate souls. And if we could get the vast majority of poverty stricken demons talking about our work, it was bound to trigger someone's curiosity. Perhaps even reawaken lost desires for more than what they may be living through now. The pieces of this jigsaw puzzle were slowly coming together and I knew once the foundation was laid, the real fun can begin and forbidden fruits of our labor would blossom.
"Ah, there she is." Alastor's announcement of my arrival draws attention to me from the rest of my hotel mates, and I am only shaken for a moment before I force a tight lid on the feeling. Anxiety will not rule me today. I can't afford to let it.
Angel lets out a long whistle at the sight of me. "Oh, Velvette would kill to have you in her department."
'Shame. It'd be a waste of food,' I signed smartly. A deep chuckle from the Radio Demon made smile, proud that my little joke could make him laugh. I looked between Alastor, Charlie and Vaggie, who would accompany me during this endeavor. 'Ready to go?'
"Let's fuckin' do this," Vaggie said, with as excited of pitch as her monotonic voice can get.
We stepped out of the Hotel and into the luxurious black limousine Alastor summoned with a snap of his finger. I liked his better than Charlie's, it was more sleek and less flashy than the white and pink one Angel and I took on our shopping trips. I opened the window and let the air in Pentagram City cool me, despite its thick scent of the usual blend of sulfur and smoke. A cacophony of distant screams echoing through the streets. In my short time here, I learned to love the loudness of this blood-tinted Ring, as stark contrast to the deafening silence of living underwater for half my life.
As we pulled up to our destination, the building loomed before us, a towering structure of ebony stone adorned with ornate gargoyles and twisted spires that seemed to reach towards the blood-red sky. A neon red sign flickered 'PANDEMONIUM PRESS' above the entrance, casting an eerie glow over the bustling streets below. This beautiful empire was where stories were born and legends forged in ink and paper. I removed my shades, straightened my back and took a deep breath through my nose to settle my rising nerves, a sense of purpose in our stride as we made our way into the headquarters of the most renowned newspaper company in the Pride Ring.
Upon entering the building, the atmosphere shifted from the chaos of the streets to the controlled chaos of a bustling newsroom. Reporters hurried past, clutching notebooks and shouting into phones, while editors barked orders from behind towering stacks of paper. And yet, everyone seems to thrive in it, knowing exactly where to go, what to do, and how to dodge other employees. We didn't even need to state our reason for being there, already being ushered off to the office of the enigmatic editor-in-chief.
I don't know what I was expecting of Peter Inkwell, but a large Panda was not the demon I was expecting to be faced with. It was like a scene right out of Sin City, the large bear facing the even larger floor to ceiling windows. A small fan stacked on top of a mountain of papers rotated a cool breeze throughout the dimly lit office, filling the room with the unusually satisfying scent of a lit cigar resting in an ashtray on his desk. And when he turned around to finally face us, he was as striking from the front as he was just looking at his back. Black and white fur and eyes that gleamed like shards of obsidian. Despite his imposing presence, there was a certain charm to him, a twinkle of mischief in his gaze that hinted at a deeper intelligence lurking beneath the surface.
"Greetings," he said gruffly, and I felt the blood rush to my cheeks.
'Oh no, he's hot,' I thought pathetically to myself.
"G-Good afternoon," Charlie stammered, obviously nervous about the meeting. "Thank you for meeting with us today, Mr. Inkwell. My name is-"
"I know who you are, princess," he interrupts, taking a seat in his worn, brown leather chair. He gestures between Charlie, Vaggie and Alastor as he continues. "I know all three of you, especially Big Red here."
"You do," Vaggie asked curiously. "How?"
"'Cause that's my job. You guys were the talk of the town for after that heavenly fiasco. Sold more papers then than ever before, but pissed me off that Katie got to the news before me. Only person in this little group I don't got a clue on is you."
His dark eyes meet mine and I remember not to lock my knees. "So… You got a name, miss?"
I swallow and spell 'T-H-O-R-N-E' with my fingers, and continue with, 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Inkwell.'
He looks me up and down, studying me with an unreadable expression as he picks up and takes a long drag of his cigar. I feel restless under his pinned gaze and I'm screaming in my head for him to stop staring before I swoon.
"Pleasure's all mine, Ms. Thorne. Have a seat."
I obey without question, Charlie and Vaggie following me in the other empty leather chairs to my left. Alastor stands behind Charlie at the center and wastes no time getting down to business. "I assume you know why we're here," he asks.
"I'm sure I can guess," Peter says coolly. "You want another page or somethin'?"
"Actually," Charlie started, "We were hoping you'd be interested in partnering with us at the Hazbin Hotel."
"No."
There was an awkward silence and I could practically hear Vaggie boiling in her seat.
"What do you mean 'No'," she asks, clearly trying not to let her agitation get the best of her.
"I mean exactly what I said. No."
"But-but why," Charlie asks frantically.
"Because I'm not risking the reputation of my company over some shitty hotel that don't work," he says sternly.
"But it does work!"
"Oh yeah? Prove it."
The room fell silent and as the weight of Peter's refusal settled over the room like a heavy blanket, I could feel the tension rising. Vaggie's frustration was palpable, and even Charlie seemed at a loss for words. We had absolutely no proof that the hotel works, even though we knew for a fact that it did. We were asking a businessman to invest in an idea that, through his eyes, was doomed to fail. It would take all of our persuasive skills to convince him that the rewards far outweighed the dangers, but I was confident that with Alastor, ever the master manipulator, on our side, we could sway even the most skeptical of souls.
I crossed my legs and leaned forward a bit, a gentle hum reverberating off my throat and I had his attention. Time to go to work.
'If I may,' I started slowly. 'I understand your concern, but I'm afraid your ignorance may cost you your life if you refuse our proposal.'
He narrowed his eyes at my bold statement. "You think threatening me is gonna make me change my mind?"
'Of course not, and I have no reason to threaten you. But I know Heaven does. I'm simply warning you of Hell's future and asking your assistance in preventing our final cleanse.'
"Bullshit," He spits.
'Do I look like I'm bullshitting you, Mr. Inkwell?'
He raises an eyebrow at this and when he sighs, cigar smoke blows from his nostrils and the fan sweeps it away before it hits me. His eyes are searching for truth, and he looks to my colleagues to find any hint of a lie. When he can't seem to find one, he leans back in his chair and looks back to me.
"What do you mean 'final cleanse'," he finally asks. I smile and look up to Alastor, silently asking him to take the floor.
The next 30 minutes or so consisted of a long winded discussion and a series of questions regarding the events after the war and the impending doom of Hell itself. Charlie told him everything; about her last meeting with Sera, how Heaven refused to provide us with the tools necessary to prove the hotel works in an effort to sabotage us, the three year deadline, all of it. Vaggie told him about their trip to the Wrath Ring after the sudden deaths of multiple farm animals, along with visiting the parents of the two children found amongst the casualties to extend direct support. All of which he recorded on a tape recorder. He listened intently, but even though he heard us out, his expression was as blank as Alastor's, and I almost wasn't sure if this was going to help.
When we finally finished, he stopped the recording and sat in silence, thinking and processing everything he heard. He lifted his head, looking Charlie right in the eyes, and she sat up straighter, bracing herself for whatever may come her way.
"Why didn't you go to 666 News about this? Or the Vees?" It was a question I wasn't expecting, but I knew why he asked. "You'd get the news around faster and while I run a good business, I ain't exactly the most influential, even for the biggest publishing site in Pentagram City."
"Let's just say we're not in good standing with either of them," Charlie said sheepishly. She looks at him with those big ol' eyes of hers that could make anyone fold. "Mr. Inkwell, The Hazbin Hotel is more than just a place to crash when you're down on your luck. It's more than just seeking redemption and a place of refuge. Above all else, it's a testament to a human soul's willingness to change. It's our beacon of hope in a realm already consumed by so much chaos."
Peter's ears twitch at the word "chaos", and I feel proud of Charlie for holding her own. She had a knack for inspiring anyone, no matter who they were, as long as they were ready and able to listen. She balls her hands into fists as she continues. "My people deserve an honest chance to prove themselves without the threat of another senseless death. And you seem like an honest man. That's why it has to be you."
"Not to mention, it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement, Mr. Inkwell," Alastor added. "I'm quite the fan of your tabloids, myself. You'd have the pleasure of working so closely with both the King and Princess of all of Hell. You'd have exclusive access to our operations and premium insider scoops, beating your competitors to the punch before they've even caught wind of it. What better way to cement the Pandemonium Press legacy than to be our first responder, at the forefront of history?"
I chimed in then with my own addition to the argument. 'We're offering you the opportunity to be a part of that change. To be remembered as the visionary editor who challenged all controversy and embraced the future.'
His expression shifted, growing more and more interested. But there was still a hint of down lingering in his eyes. "And… What's in this for you?"
"We gain a powerful ally," Alastor replied smoothly. "Together, we can begin to shift the narrative of Hell itself. Think of the possibilities, the headlines, Mr. Inkwell."
Despite the rotating breeze, the air felt still and thick as we waited for a response. A good majority of the Hotel's success was riding on this, and even if it didn't work out, I'm sure we could think of something else. But if we could get Peter on board, we'd be off to an incredibly strong start. Deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that if he did agree, this would be the beginning of a much larger game. When millions of lives are on the line between two opposing realms, the stakes were much higher than any of us could possibly imagine. All of our lives were at stake.
So when Peter let out a deep, roaring laugh, I knew we were in the clear.
"You guys make one hell of an argument," he laughed. He grinned and stood from his chair, towering over Charlie as he stuck a hand out to her. Her own grin was victorious.
"So, when do we start, partner?"
"Denizens of Hell,
I extend a warm invitation to each of you, urging you to step through the solemn doors of a manor that promises an end to our eternal suffering. This is the divine vow bestowed upon us by the miracle that is the Hazbin Hotel.
In the face of controversy, this establishment continues to emanate its celestial light, piercing even the darkest depths of our abyss. Amidst adversity, the Hazbin Hotel stands tall, serving as a midway point, a safe refuge, for all who dare to dream of more.
Fellow Sinners, contemplate this truth: Chaos and Order are intertwined, two sides of the same coin, disguised as demons and angels themselves. They are the cosmic balance gifted to humankind by our gracious King, Lucifer Morningstar. Now, history teeters on the brink of repetition as Princess Charlie Morningstar shakes the realms with her fervent passion and cataclysmic efforts to carve a new future for Hell. She forges a path free from senseless bloodshed, a path of honest change. Within the Hazbin Hotel lies a miracle—a beacon of hope amid the despair that has long shrouded our people and our city.
I do not delude myself into thinking this message will reach every ear. Yet, I implore you to ponder: When the clocktower that threatens our existence crumbles to dust, and time slips away along with our souls, will you be content? As you draw breath and walk among the graveyard of your memories, can you face yourself and still show your teeth?
Will you depart this realm, knowing your gift of salvation remains unclaimed?"
She was beautiful.
Our first major tabloid, sparkling like a diamond on the crimson wall of the front desk. We marveled at it, ogling at the two framed pages with amazement. One frame of our Hotel, in color, on the front page. It's headline in big bold letters: HELL'S SECOND CHANCE: SALVATION GIFTED TO THE DAMNED. The other frame held the beautifully written excerpt, along with an entire page dedicated to our recent and upcoming charities, our mission, and the truth behind the 939 days left upon the clock tower. We'd have to prepare ourselves to face whatever storm this publication would bring to our doorstep.
"It's almost too good to be true…" Charlie struggled not to croak, but the lump in her throat did not make it easy. She turned to Peter, who leaned against the bar and marveled at his own work with us. He was stupid good with words. And stupid hot. I did my best not to stare at the muscular bear in his white button up and tan suit. Angel didn't believe me when I told him weeks ago, but now he was as googly eyed as I was.
A deep laugh escaped him at Charlie's incredulous state. "Believe it, princess! This is the start of something revolutionary. I can smell it," he told her.
Husker had poured us all a drink, and gave me a fat plastic syringe full of liquor to fit into the small gap I could manage to make beneath my stitches. It burned in my throat, spreading throughout my chest and pooling in my stomach, and I immediately felt woozy. I was always a lightweight.
"I'd like to make a toast," Vaggie called out, a bit more expressive now that she herself was properly tipsy. "All of this wouldn't have been possible without the lucky Thorne in our sides."
'Funny,' I signed, and the room laughed at my sarcasm.
"No, no, but seriously." The fallen Angel wraps her arm around my shoulders and I try not to tense, even in my slightly impaired state. "I honestly don't know if any of this would have been possible without your help. So everyone, raise your glasses! To Thorne!"
'Not just me. To all of us,' I corrected. I raised my empty syringe and smiled. 'To The Hazbin Hotel.'
The room echoed my words. "To The Hazbin Hotel!"
I smiled and lowered my arm, watching my peers connect amongst themselves, proud of our recent accomplishment. We made sure to celebrate each one, no matter how small. Music filled the room and the hotel felt more alive than in my two months of living here. There was so much change in such a short amount of time. It was so refreshing. How could anyone doubt the awesome strength that was one's own willpower?
As everyone danced and mingled, we were interrupted by a knock at the front door. The room paused, confusion shared between all of us. When no one moved, the wall next to the bar suddenly exploded open, scaring us half to death.
"What's the point of a fucking door if no one answers the bitch?!"
Angel recognizes the accent immediately. "Holy shit, Cherri Bomb?!"
"What did we say about blowing up that fuckin' wall," Husker scolds.
This 'Cherri Bomb', a rather beautiful cyclops, pretends to be offended and gasps dramatically. "After all the trouble I go through to come here, this is how you treat your new guests? I'm so hurt, kitten," she purrs, gracefully flipping him the bird.
Her words shock me and I'm about to ask what she means, but we are stunned as two new faces emerge from the dust and smoke of the explosion. A young rabbit demon and larger, elderly turtle demon step foot into the hotel. My eyes widen and I quickly look at Charlie, who quickly looks to me, then we both look at the two new arrivals.
"Pardon the intrusion," the old man says politely, "But I read about your establishment in the paper, you see. I don't suppose you have room for two more?"
KA-CHICK!
The sudden flash pulled us out of our stunned gaze and we turned to see Peter walking towards the door, playfully waving a disposable camera in the air.
"You goons party without me," he said, then looked over his shoulder with a rather cocky grin. "I got a paper to write."