Helluva/Hazbin: Community Service
(AKA: An early Halloween present for @weapon13whitefang)
The morning following the annual Extermination, the residents of the Happy Hotel were, per Charlie's orders, told to engage in a sort of "community service" project. Surely helping rebuild their community would equate to some sort of redemption brownie points?
Alastor himself was yet to be convinced, but did as he was told. Or rather, he tried. Survivors scurried away from his very silhouette. He'd offered to broadcast the all-clear in Charlie's stead but the Princess of Hell was smarter than she looked. Even she knew damn well how his last broadcast went.
The Radio Demon hummed a nonsensical tune to himself as he approached a dilapidated building. Demon and impling children alike shrieked and raced inside, shepherded by the elderly female imps that, Alastor surmised, must act as caretakers of the place.
An orphanage...
Even here, he thought, I can't escape it even here...
"The Executioners did enough damage, as you can see," barked one of the wheezened imp crones. She thrust a small bundle into Alastor's arms and shoved him back.
Caught off guard, Alastor clutched the bundle to his chest, a small crackle of radio static escaping him. A small whimper emanated from the bundle, followed by a pair of tiny glowing yellow, slightly cat-like eyes staring back at him.
"If you want your pound of flesh, Radio Demon, take the runt and go!"
At any other moment, Alastor would never tolerate such disrespect. Instead, he found himself intrigued, even...captivated by this tiny creature in his arms. The male impling was little more than a newborn. A few months old at the most. Tiny curved horns framed the child's head that was crowned with a puff of white hair. And then came the near violent urge to protect the boy.
Alastor may not have had the best father in life but perhaps, in death, he could prove to be a better one.
"Very well, madam. Have a lovely day!"
The impling cooed at the sound of his voice and reached in curiosity for Alastor's monocle. With a content chittering sound, he put the eye piece in his mouth, tiny fangs struggling to grip the glass.
"Now now, mon petite, none of that," he said, wiping the glass clean and putting it back on. "Hmmm..."
His sojourn through town next led him to a gutted toy shop. Items scattered among burning debris and corpses. A lovely sight in Alastor's mind.
Though he had no love of the demon jester, a Robo-Fizzarolli doll was the only thing relatively undamaged. It would suffice for now. Alastor dusted it off before tucking the toy into the blanket. The child cried out in a half hiss, half giggle, promptly pulling one of the toy's jester tails into his mouth.
"When will people learn I am not fond of veal?" Alastor said, looking down at the impling. "Ah, we'll discuss the finer points of the culinary arts when you're old enough. You and Husker will get along swimmingly until you're old enough for proper spice."
The child cooed and snuggled against him, yawning. Alastor was unsure of how the others would react, but he supposed it was now or never.
"Come along...Orson. Let's go home."
