The lobby of the Hazbin Hotel buzzed with nervous energy.
Charlie stood center stage—well, center lobby—surrounded by scattered promotional materials, half-finished banner designs, and what appeared to be three different versions of the same pamphlet.
Her hair was slightly disheveled, her eyes bright with manic enthusiasm, and she clutched a stack of index cards covered in talking points.
Diax entered through the main doors, impeccably dressed as always, carrying a leather briefcase and wearing an expression that mixed amusement with professional concern.
He stopped, surveyed the chaos, and set down his briefcase with a soft click.
“Princess,” he said smoothly, the faintest trace of an accent softening his words, “what are you doing?”
Charlie spun to face him, cards flying from her hands like confetti.
“Practicing!
I need to be ready with my pitch when we start receiving sinners, and I was thinking I could start with the history of the hotel, then move into the philosophy of redemption, then maybe—”
“Charlie.” Diax held up one hand.
“Breathe.”
She took a breath.
He glanced at the floor, took in the mess, the various papers and pamphlets, and locked eyes with her.
“How long is this pitch?”
“Um.” Charlie glanced at her remaining index cards.
“Maybe about forty-five minutes?”
Blinking once, Diax shook his head.
“Make it eight.”
“EIGHT?!”
From the bar area, Husk snorted into his drink.
“You want to entice new sinners into the hotel, not hold a time-share seminar.” Diax picked his briefcase back up and came over to survey the mess more closely.
“The hook needs to be at the beginning–catch their attention, lure them in, and finish with flair!”
“In eight minutes?
But there’s so much to explain.” Charlie pouted.
From the main hallway, Vaggie appeared, carrying an armful of folders, which she set down behind the reception desk.
Dusting her hands, she asked, “Everything okay?”
“We’re workshopping, apparently,” Diax explained, picking up Charlie’s scattered index cards and quickly flipping through them.
“The princess has prepared a comprehensive dissertation on redemption theory.
I’m suggesting we aim for something more… digestible.”
“I need to explain everything!” Charlie protested.
“They need to understand the philosophy, the methodology, the evidence from my time on Earth—”
“What they need,” Diax interrupted gently, “is to feel hope.
Not to be lectured at for eternity.”
Charlie’s demon features flickered briefly.
“But how can they have hope if they don’t understand—”
At that moment, the door to the basement opened and Kevin stepped through, his eyes fixed on a tablet in his hand.
Looking up, he spotted Diax.
“Hey, Diax.
Back from the pitch meeting with Mammon?”
The showman nodded, his expression wry.
“And it went just as I expected.
We’ll have to go to Asmodeus next.”
Kevin’s expression said he’d expected the same.
Then, noticing the mess in the lobby, he quirked his lips up, humor tinging his tone.
“Charlie?
What’s this?”
“I’m just trying to get my notes straight,” Charlie sighed.
“I want to be prepared.”
Diax smiled, and it was the smile of a showman who’d done this a thousand times before.
“Let me hear your pitch.
Kevin, Vaggie—you two are her audience.
Charlie, pretend they’re potential guests who just walked through that door.
Show me vhat you’ve got.”
Kevin set the tablet down on a table and shrugged.
“I’ve played worse roles.” Vaggie’s hand found his shoulder in response, her grip firm and reassuring.
He smiled, meeting her gaze to show it was meant in humor.
“Excellent.” Diax gestured grandly to the lobby’s open space.
“Charlie, whenever you’re ready.”
Charlie took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and faced Kevin and Vaggie with determined enthusiasm.
“Okay.
Right.
Here goes.” She cleared her throat and began speaking quickly:
“Step right up, come one, come all!
The Hazbin Hotel is here to—wait, no, that’s too casual.
Let me start over.” She shuffled through mental notes.
“No matter what you’ve done before, redemption is—actually, I should explain what redemption means first, because sinners might not understand the theological implications of—” She paused, her confidence crumbling.
“Um.
Your past is done, let’s rearrange—no, that sounds like I’m minimizing trauma, I need to acknowledge the weight of their sins while also offering hope that change is possible through structured therapeutic intervention and—”
She stopped, her face flushing with frustration.
The words that had flowed so easily in her head now tangled on her tongue like knots.
“Charlie,” Vaggie asked gently.
“What’s wrong?”
“I—” Charlie gestured helplessly at the scattered index cards.
“I wrote it all down!
I had it all planned out so I could explain the hotel succinctly!
I had the perfect opening, the key talking points, the emotional appeals, the logical arguments—” Her voice rose in pitch.
“But now that Diax wants it to be condensed, it’s all jumbled, and I can’t remember if I should start with the mission statement or the success metrics or the personal testimonials, and what if they ask questions I haven’t prepared for, and—”
“Babe,” Vaggie interjected softly, stepping forward.
“Remember what you told me once?
When you were trying to explain your feelings about the hotel to your dad, and you kept getting frustrated because the words weren’t coming out right?”
Charlie looked at her, confused.
“I… what?”
“You said you express yourself best through song.” Vaggie’s smile was encouraging.
“That when you sing, everything you’re feeling just… comes out the way you mean it.
Without having to think so hard about it.”
“But this is a business pitch,” Charlie protested weakly.
“I tried presenting the hotel in song at Studio 666 and got laughed out of the building.
Next time I tried, I attracted an army of cannibals!
I don’t think it’s the right way to go, now.”
“Why not?” Diax asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.
“Isn’t that what you asked me here for?
To put a spin on the hotel, to give it spectacle?
What better way than a grand performance by the princess of Hell herself?
After all, you did promise I’d get to hear you sing at some point.”
Charlie opened her mouth to argue, then closed it.
She looked down at the scattered promotional materials, the carefully prepared talking points, the structured arguments she’d spent hours crafting.
Then she looked at Vaggie and Kevin—her consorts, who knew her better than anyone.
“I suppose I could wing it?” She shrugged, offering a weak smile.
“Maybe use my impeccable improv skills, instead?”
Then, the main doors opened.
Standing on the threshold, looking around with skeptical eyes behind large gold-lensed glasses, stood a small fish-like sinner.
He had fin-like ears and a long antenna over his head, and was dressed in a long, charcoal-colored lab coat and carried a bag that had, from what everyone could see, eyes and legs—some kind of living organism.
As his eyes scanned the lobby, they fell upon the group.
Adjusting his glasses, he cleared his throat.
“Ahem!”
Charlie’s scattered thoughts coalesced instantly.
This wasn’t practice anymore—this was real.
She stepped forward, her voice warm and welcoming despite her earlier nervousness.
“Hi!” She gestured to the lobby around them.
“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel.
I’m Charlie Morningstar, founder.
And what is your name?”
Grinning as he approached, the fish-sinner puffed up his chest.
“My name is Baxter, Miss Morningstar.”
“Ooh, Baxter!
That’s a fun name!
Welcome!
Are you checking in with us?” Charlie asked in a hopeful voice.
“I intend to, yes!” He nodded confidently, almost conspiratorially.
“Oh, that’s great!” Charlie exclaimed, then her eyes swept over him, and she tilted her head.
“Oh, nice lab coat!
Are you an inventor?”
“Don’t belittle me, woman!” Baxter scoffed.
“I am not an ‘inventor’, I am a scientist!
There’s a difference.
A BIG difference.” The last was said with a hint of distaste, but his sneer turned into something almost manic.
“Some could classify me as a mad—hehehe—scientist!”
But by that time, Charlie’s eyes had somewhat glazed over, and she gasped.
“Oh.
Pentious was an inventor!” She grinned at Baxter.
“That’s so cool!
So you’re like him?”
“If you’re referring to that pompous snake, I’d like it known that I am nothing like him!”
Yet, Charlie was already turning toward the others.
“Guys!
Guys!
We have a guest!
Meet Pentious!”
“Baxter!” The fish-demon snapped.
“Right!
Baxter!” Charlie shook her head, embarrassed.
The morning was getting to her, and the excitement of a new guest tripped her up.
Shaking her head, she mentally righted herself and went on, “And you’re here to be redeemed, Pe..I mean, Baxter!
Shit, I’m so sorry!
It’s been a long morning!”
Shrugging, Baxter clarified his intentions.
“I am here to study this fascinating concept of redemption.
My hypothesis is that it is impossible.” He folded his arms with a smug look on his face.
Charlie’s smile faltered slightly, and she laughed nervously.
“Uhh, heheh, okay…?”
Kevin leaned close and whispered in her ear, his voice gentle and encouraging, “That’s your cue, princess.”
She looked at him, then Vaggie, who smiled confidently and nodded in agreement.
Turning to Baxter, Charlie cleared her throat.
“Well….”
By now, Kevin understood one of Hell’s peculiar truths: Lilith had given demon-kind the power to express themselves through song.
When the familiar hum of music rose in the air, he wasn’t surprised.
Charlie took Baxter’s hand, guiding him through the hotel as she began to sing.
🎵 CHARLIE: Come on in!
Take a look around!
We’ve got something here you won’t find anywhere else in town— A shot at being better, A chance to turn it around, And I know what you’re thinking: “This princess has lost her mind!”🎵
As she sang, Charlie moved through the lobby with natural grace, gesturing to the hotel’s features—the elegant architecture, the warm lighting, the promise of something better.
Her enthusiasm was infectious, her belief absolute.
Baxter followed, notebook already out, scribbling observations.
🎵But listen— Every soul in Hell got sent here for a reason, Every sinner’s got a story, got regrets they can’t stop feeling, What if I told you That you don’t have to stay that way?
What if redemption isn’t just some fairytale?🎵
She pulled a promotional banner from the pile and unfurled it with a flourish, the words “REDEMPTION AWAITS” visible in elegant script.
🎵We can help you change!
We can show you how!
Heaven’s gates could open—they could open right now!
All you gotta do is want it bad enough.
Sign up today and we’ll—🎵
Diax stepped in and put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, and she turned, confused.
The music shifted, becoming smoother, more measured.
🎵 DIAX: Whoa, whoa, hold on— Let me stop you right there.
You’re making promises that aren’t yours to share.🎵
As Diax sang, he moved around the lobby with suave showmanship, producing promotional materials from thin air—a pamphlet here, a business card there.
🎵You can’t guarantee Heaven, Can’t promise they’ll ascend, Can’t tell them how their story’s gonna end.
What happens when they stumble?
When they fall back down?
You’ve set them up for heartbreak when they’re already drowned.
CHARLIE: (defensive) But they need hope!
DIAX: They need the truth.
CHARLIE: Without a promise, they won’t even—
DIAX: Then promise what you CAN.
🎵
The tempo picked up, the back-and-forth becoming almost argumentative but building together.
🎵 CHARLIE: Fine!
Then what do I tell them?
DIAX: Tell them you’ll be there.
CHARLIE: That’s it?
DIAX: That’s everything.🎵
Charlie paused, processing, the music hovering in anticipation.
🎵CHARLIE: So I promise them… what?
DIAX: Give them a chance, Show them you’ll try, Swear that you’ll stand with them—
BOTH: Not where they’ll arrive.🎵
As the performance grew, the main doors opened, and six sinners stood in the archway, drawn by the power of Charlie’s singing and the intense curiosity of what the hotel could offer.
A tall, lanky figure with thick-rimmed glasses and a toothy grin—Nodius—stood at the front, dressed in a denim shirt and jeans.
Beside him, a female demon with spike-shaped feet—Isabell—tried to hide a cigarette behind her back.
Behind them, an iron-clad figure in medieval armor—Matthew—surveyed the scene with what could only be described as noble bearing.
Next to him stood a peculiar demon with a whiteboard for a head—Wriase—whose inky features shifted nervously.
A gentle-looking demon—Thorns—stood with quiet dignity, while at the back, a hunched figure with roach-like features—Kayra—peered around the others with obvious interest.
When Charlie saw them, she turned to Kevin expectantly, the music still swelling around them, her eyes bright with hope that he’d join in and back her up.
The magical energy in the air practically pulled at him to add his voice to the performance.
Kevin met her gaze and said flatly, “I don’t sing.”
The music didn’t stop entirely, but it faded—like someone had turned down the volume on reality itself.
The swelling orchestral background became a gentle hum, still present but waiting.
Charlie’s face fell slightly.
She gave him her best pleading look—the one that had convinced him to stay in Hell, the one that had talked him through his darkest moments, the one that made it nearly impossible to say no to her.
Kevin held her gaze for a moment, then sighed and stepped forward.
The music shifted, becoming an understated accompaniment rather than a driving force.
“Look,” he said, his voice carrying through the lobby without theatrical embellishment, just honest conviction.
“I’ve done this before.
Sold missions to soldiers—good people who trusted me to lead them somewhere dangerous.”
He paused, and something in his expression shifted—a flicker of discomfort as he heard his own words falling into rhythm.
He pushed through.
“And I never lied about the cost, or made it seem like something easy to cross.”
Kevin’s eye twitched slightly at the accidental rhyme.
He cleared his throat and continued, more carefully.
“What I promised them was honesty.
The real odds.
The actual stakes.” He paused, fighting the musical pull, then gave in slightly.
“And you know what they respected?
That I didn’t dress it up or make it neat—they wanted truth, not promises I couldn’t keep.”
His jaw clenched at another unintentional rhyme.
He looked directly at Baxter, then at the gathered sinners.
“Same thing here.
No sugarcoating.
No false hope.” A beat.
“Just… the real deal.”🎵
He glanced at Charlie, who was grinning at him, and muttered under his breath, “Life isn’t supposed to be a damn musical, girl!”
The music, which had been hovering in the background, began to swell again—not for Kevin, but rising to meet the next voice.
Vaggie stepped forward, and when she sang, her voice carried both strength and tenderness:
🎵 VAGGIE: When I fell— When I lost everything I knew, When Heaven threw me out And Hell burned through, Charlie didn’t promise I’d get wings back, didn’t say I’d be redeemed or get on track,
She just said: “You’re not alone.”🎵
She moved to Charlie’s other side, taking her hand, her voice growing stronger.
🎵And sometimes that’s the only promise worth making— That when your world is breaking, When you can’t see the road, Someone’s there to share the load.
So, if you’re asking what we’re offering tonight?
It’s this: We won’t leave.
We won’t quit.
We’ll be here.
🎵
Charlie’s eyes glistened with emotion.
She looked at the gathered sinners—now seven of them, including Baxter, all watching with various expressions of confusion, curiosity, calculations, and cautious hope.
She sang, softer now, more vulnerable:
🎵 CHARLIE: So… no guarantees?
No “you’ll make it to Heaven” speech?
No promising things that are out of my reach?🎵
She looked at Diax, at Vaggie, at Kevin, understanding dawning across her features.
🎵Just… us?
Just showing up every day?
Just helping them find their own way?
🎵
Diax stepped forward, and this time his showmanship served a different purpose—not to dazzle, but to teach.
He addressed both Charlie and the sinners, the energy building:
🎵 You give them the tools— Show them how to grow, Vow you won’t judge them For what they did years ago, Offer compassion, Show them you care, Swear that come what may— You’ll be there.
You can’t promise salvation—🎵
The music swelled as other hotel residents began joining in.
Husk set down his glass and raised his voice from behind the bar.
🎵HUSK: But you can promise a drink!
ANGEL DUST: (appearing on the stairs) A place to crash when you’re too tired to think!
CHERRI: (Popping her head out of the kitchen) Three meals a day!
NIFFTY: (Jumping up on the bar) And a room that’s clean!
VAGGIE: A second chance—
KEVIN: (reluctantly, speaking, not singing) “To become who you should have been.”
DIAX: See?
That’s the promise!
Not the destination—
CHARLIE: (understanding flooding her face) The journey!
🎵
Charlie’s face lit up completely.
She turned to the sinners, and her voice grew stronger, more confident, building with the ensemble:
🎵 CHARLIE & DIAX: We can’t promise you’ll be saved, Can’t guarantee you’ll make the grade, Can’t say that Heaven’s waiting there, But we promise that we’ll care!
CHARLIE: We’ll give you hope!
DIAX: We’ll give you tools!
VAGGIE: We’ll help you break your old rules!🎵
The lobby transformed into a proper stage, the hotel’s residents performing not for show, but with genuine belief in what they were building.
The gathered sinners found themselves caught up in it—Isabell swaying along, Thorns watching with genuine hope in his eyes, even Kayra straightening up slightly.
Baxter was taking notes furiously, and Wriase’s whiteboard features kept shifting between skepticism and curiosity.
🎵ALL BUT KEVIN: Every step you take, Every choice you make, Every time you fall— We’ll be there through it all!
That’s the Hazbin Promise!
🎵
Kevin remained where he was—not singing, but present.
Though, for one fourth-wall breaking moment, his attention turned toward you, the reader, and he shook his head with a promise of his own: Don’t get your hopes up, it’s never gonna happen.
The energy built to a crescendo, all voices joining in a powerful finale:
🎵 ENSEMBLE: We can’t promise you’ll be saved, Can’t guarantee you’ll make the grade, Every step you take, Every choice you make, Every time you fall— We’ll be there through it all!
🎵
The music held for one perfect moment, everyone frozen in tableaux—Charlie center stage with her arms spread wide, Diax beside her with a showman’s flourish, Vaggie on her other side in fierce support, Kevin standing slightly back but solid as a rock, the residents scattered throughout adding color and life, and the sinners caught in the middle of it all.
Then Charlie stepped forward, away from the grand finale pose.
The music faded completely—orchestra gone, leaving only silence.
In that silence, Charlie sang one final line—soft, intimate, directly to the gathered sinners: 🎵 CHARLIE: (a cappella) That’s the Hazbin Promise.
🎵
Silence fell.
Diax subtly looked at the large grandfather clock and noted with a satisfied grin that eight minutes had passed.
Nodius was the first to speak, his toothy grin widening.
“Well, that was quite the pitch-perfect performance.
Though I have to say, the note-worthy part was the honesty.” He adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses.
“Get it?
Pitch?
Note?
Because you were singing?”
“That was terrible,” Wriase’s voice emerged from somewhere within the whiteboard-headed demon, his inky features drawing an exasperated expression to match his words—eyes rolling, mouth turned down in a grimace.
“I thought it struck the right chord,” Nodius defended, his crinkled skin wrinkling further with amusement.
Charlie laughed, relief flooding through her as she stepped up to the group.
“So… you’re interested in checking in?”
“Verily!” Matthew’s voice boomed from within his iron-clad armor.
He stepped forward with medieval gravitas.
“The princess’s words ring true as a knight’s honor.
I hath witnessed many a false prophet in mine travels through this infernal realm, yet thou speakest with genuine heart.” He placed a gauntleted hand over his chest.
“Mine quest for redemption shall begin within these hallowed halls.”
“I wouldn’t call them hallowed,” Husk muttered from the bar.
Feeling giddy, Charlie pulled Kevin over.
“It worked!
My pitch worked!”
“Told you to just let go, be yourself,” Kevin gripped her hands in his.
“And it is always a pleasure to watch you sing.”
“Well,” she leaned in and kissed his cheek, “you came pretty close to adding your voice, too.”
Before Kevin could respond, Matthew bowed to him with respect.
“Thou art the warrior who forsook the celestial realm to protect the princess?
A true Knight if thou ever there was one.”
“Thank you,” Kevin said simply, the verbal equivalent of a nod.
To the side, Charlie gave him a knowing smile.
He winked at her, then addressed Matthew again.
“I hope you’ll find your way here at the Hazbin Hotel.
Now, if you’d excuse me?”
Isabell stepped forward nervously, spike-shaped feet clicking on the floor.
“Um, excuse me, Miss Morningstar?” She was blushing, her hands fidgeting.
“I… I’d like to try too.
If that’s okay, ma’am.”
“Of course!” Charlie beamed.
“And please, just call me Charlie.”
“Yes, ma’am—I mean, yes, Charlie.” Isabell’s blush deepened.
She pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, looked at it, then reluctantly tucked it back in her pocket.
“I know I need to… work on things.
The smoking, and… other stuff.”
“We’ll help you with that,” Vaggie said, her tone softer than usual.
“One step at a time.”
Wriase’s whiteboard head tilted, the inky features shifting to form a hesitant expression—eyebrows raised in question, mouth a wavy line of uncertainty.
“I’m… not sure this will work for me,” his voice said quietly, the sentient ink drawing and redrawing emotions as he spoke.
“But I suppose I could try?”
“It’s okay,” Charlie said gently, approaching the peculiar demon.
“You don’t have to decide right now.
Would you like to come in and at least hear more about what we offer?”
The ink drew a slow, deliberate nod on the whiteboard face even as his voice answered, “Yes.
I can…I can do that.”
Thorns stepped forward with quiet dignity, his expression genuine and kind.
“Princess Morningstar,” he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of sadness.
“I’m… not technically a sinner.
I was expelled from Heaven for… for….” He couldn’t finish.
Charlie’s eyes widened with immediate sympathy.
“You were expelled?
Not damned, just… sent away?”
Thorns nodded.
“Yes.
I don’t know if your program can even help someone like me.
I haven’t sinned the way others here have.
I just want to get back to Heaven… to my mother.”
“If you want to find a way back to Heaven, to reunite with your mother, then we’ll help you,” Charlie said softly, stepping closer.
“Even if the path isn’t clear yet, even if you’re not a ‘traditional’ case—everyone deserves a chance to reunite with the people they love.” Her voice grew quieter, more personal.
“I miss my mother too.
I understand.”
“I… thank you,” Thorns whispered.
At the back of the group, Kayra finally spoke up, her voice hissing with roach-like qualities, though she was quiet, gentle, and very curious.
“Is there food?
I heard there might be food.”
“Three meals a day,” Cherri called out as she came from the kitchen to plop some quickly made appetizers on the bar for the new guests.
She pointed to them with a toothy grin.
“Plus snacks if you behave.”
“I can behave,” Kayra said earnestly, moving to the bar and picking up two pieces.
“For food.”
Off to the side, Baxter had pulled out some kind of recording device and was muttering observations into it, completely absorbed in documenting the scene.
“…fascinating group dynamics… emotional manipulation through musical performance… will need to run statistical analysis on conversion rates…”
“And the cost?” Nodius asked, adjusting his glasses.
“You truly require no soul contracts?
No monetary compensation?
No hidden clauses?”
“Well,” Charlie bit her lip, “we had discussed charging a small room fee?
Just so we only have those serious about trying…”
“Which,” Kevin interjected, “was ultimately discarded.”
Surprise showing on her face, Charlie gave Kevin a look of confusion—he’d been adamant about charging during their talk in her office the first morning after he moved in, but now?
He gave her a wink, silently promising to explain later that she had ultimately been right to offer free sanctuary, and they’d find other ways to fund the hotel.
He turned to the others.
“What we want from all of you is your honesty, that you intend to try your best to face your past, admit your sins, and grow from them.”
“Honest effort,” Vaggie reaffirmed as her eyes locked onto Baxter’s.
“And your willingness to actually try.”
“Woman!” Baxter snipped.
“If it will help with my experiments, I will attend meetings, but don’t think for one second I believe in this nonsense!”
“As long as you cooperate with hotel rules,” Kevin added with a louder voice for all to hear.
“Which includes no violence, no territory disputes, no stealing, and attending scheduled group activities.”
“Rules, structure, scheduled activities…” Nodius adjusted his glasses thoughtfully.
Though I have to say, I’m already feeling pretty logged in to the whole concept.” He grinned at his own wordplay.
“Unbelievable,” Wriase’s voice said dryly, his whiteboard face drawing an expression of amused exasperation.
“What can I say?” Nodius shrugged.
“Old habits are hard to debug.”
Charlie giggled despite herself.
“Okay!
So let’s get everyone checked in.
Vaggie, can you handle the paperwork?”
“On it,” Vaggie confirmed, already moving toward the reception desk.
She caught sight of Baxter still recording.
“Baxter—since you arrived first, why don’t you come sign in?
We’ll get you processed before the others.”
Baxter looked up from his device, blinking behind his gold-lensed glasses.
“What?
Oh.
Yes, I suppose that would be the logical sequence of events.” He tucked away his recorder and approached the desk somewhat reluctantly.
“Do you have space in the basement?” He requested.
“I prefer a cooler working environment.”
“I..?” Vaggie looked to Kevin for help.
“We can arrange something,” Kevin agreed.
“Something secure.”
As Vaggie began processing Baxter’s paperwork, Charlie moved among the other new guests, welcoming each personally.
She listened as Nodius explained his hacking background (“I was just trying to access better opportunities, you know?”), as Isabell shyly admitted her struggles (“I just… I want to be better, ma’am—I mean, Charlie”), as Wriase’s ink drew hopeful expressions on his whiteboard face while his voice quietly shared concerns, as Thorns quietly expressed his desire to return to Heaven, and as Kayra simply asked again about meal times.
“Princess!” Matthew’s voice called from near the reception desk.
“I require assistance with this… parchment of registration.
The script is most peculiar.”
Vaggie looked up from processing Baxter with barely concealed irritation.
“It’s a form, Matthew.
Just fill in your name where it says ‘name.'”
“Mine name or mine title?
For I am Sir Matthew of—”
“Just.
Matthew.
Is.
Fine.” Vaggie’s eye twitched slightly.
“But mine honor demands—”
“Your honor can wait until AFTER you write your name,” Vaggie snapped, her patience clearly wearing thin.
Matthew drew himself up with offended dignity.
“Thou art most discourteous, maiden.
Surely one who hath fallen from grace herself would show more patience to a knight seeking redemption.”
Vaggie’s grip on her pen tightened dangerously.
“Listen here, Sir Matthew—”
“Vaggie,” Charlie interjected quickly, sensing the escalating tension.
“Why don’t I help Matthew with his form?
You finish up with Baxter.”
“Fine,” Vaggie muttered, turning back to the fish-demon scientist who was now questioning every single item on the intake form.
“Is the cause of death truly relevant to the redemption process?” Baxter asked skeptically.
“It seems like an invasion of privacy.”
“It helps us understand your background,” Vaggie explained through gritted teeth.
“But correlation doesn’t imply causation.
My manner of death may have no bearing on my sins.”
Vaggie closed her eye and took a deep breath.
“Just.
Fill.
Out.
The.
Form.”
Meanwhile, Nodius had somehow gotten into a debate with Wriase about communication methods.
“You see, your approach is quite illustrative,” Nodius said with a grin.
“Though I’d argue verbal communication has its own draw.”
“Stop,” Wriase’s voice said flatly, even as his whiteboard features drew an unamused face—flat line for a mouth, narrowed eyes.
“I’m just trying to sketch out the possibilities,” Nodius continued, clearly enjoying himself.
“I will find a way to hurt you,” Wriase’s voice threatened, his inky features drawing increasingly annoyed expressions.
Isabell had found Niffty and was nervously asking about cleaning protocols.
“I don’t want to make extra work for you, ma’am.
I can clean my own room.”
“Oh, but I LOVE cleaning!” Niffty’s single eye sparkled maniacally.
“It’s so much FUN when things are DIRTY and then I get to 🎵Clean it up!🎵”
“That’s… great,” Isabell backed away nervously as Niffty dashed off to chase a fleeing rat, singing… in Japanese?
Thorns stood near the portrait of Sir Pentious, studying it with quiet reverence.
“This snake demon,” he said softly when Charlie approached.
“Did he… did he make it?
To Heaven?”
Charlie’s expression grew wistful, tinged with sadness and hope.
“I… I don’t know.
He died protecting us during the battle with Heaven.
We never got to complete his therapy, never got to see if…” She paused, looking up at the portrait.
“But I like to think he did.
He gave everything to save his friends.
If anyone deserved redemption, it was him.”
“Then there’s hope,” Thorns whispered.
“Even for those who’ve fallen.”
“There’s always hope,” Charlie said gently.
“That’s what this place is all about.”
Back at the reception desk, Matthew was still arguing with Vaggie about the intake form.
“But the question about ‘greatest sin’ is most vague!
Mine sins are many and varied!
How am I to choose but one?”
“Pick the WORST one!” Vaggie’s voice rose.
“But that requireth deep contemplation!
Perhaps days of meditation and—”
“Matthew, so help me—”
“Mine liege!” Matthew turned to Kevin desperately.
“Surely thou understandeth the weight of such a question!”
Kevin looked up from his security tablet with an expression that clearly said Don’t drag me into this.
“Answer the question, Matthew.”
“But—”
“Pick one.
Write it down.
Move on.” Kevin’s tone left no room for argument—not harsh, just final.
Matthew deflated slightly.
“As thou sayest, mine liege.” He turned back to the form, muttering about the lack of chivalry in modern proceedings.
Vaggie shot Kevin a grateful look.
He nodded back then caught Charlie’s eye across the lobby and gave her a small, proud smile.
She’d done it.
Without her index cards, without her forty-five-minute dissertation, without her carefully structured talking points—she’d reached them with exactly what Diax had said: hope.
From the bar, Husk raised his glass in a mock toast.
“To the princess who finally learned how to sell hope without bullshitting.”
Angel Dust draped himself across the bar dramatically.
“I don’t know what was better—the song or watching Charlie try to get Kevin to sing.
His face was priceless.”
“I meant what I said,” Kevin replied evenly.
“I don’t sing.”
“But you give good speeches, toots.
Very inspiring.
Very… fatherly.”
“I’m also not a dad.” He clipped the words with a slight tug of a smile on his lips.
“But you still give off dad energy!” Cherri added as she dropped another tray of snacks onto the bar, then hopped onto a seat and motioned to Husk for a drink.
Kevin shot her a look that all but said, Don’t go there.
Cherri smirked and popped open the beer Husk sat in front of her.
As the lobby gradually returned to organized chaos—sinners being shown to rooms, paperwork being filed (with varying degrees of difficulty), Niffty already inspecting the new guests for cleanliness—Diax approached Charlie with a satisfied smile.
“Now that,” he said, “is how you sell redemption.
Und you found your voice when you stopped trying to recite a script and just… felt it.”
Charlie laughed, slightly breathless from the excitement.
“My consorts helped,” she said, glancing at them with affection.
“They reminded me that I don’t have to explain everything perfectly.
I just have to believe it.”
“Faith.
Hope.” Diax agreed.
“Und a path to redemption.”
“And it’s thanks to you, and your showmanship.” Charlie beamed.
“A good show needs a shining star,” Diax countered.
“Und no one shines more than you do, dear princess, when you sing from the heart.” With that, he bowed.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go prepare for my meeting with Asmodeus tomorrow.”
Charlie nodded and watched him leave.
The lobby hummed with new energy.
In just a few short minutes, the hotel had gone from a concept to reality.
It felt surreal, almost a dream.
Suddenly, from the floor next to her, Alastor manifested with Eryn by his side.
His eyes scanned the busy lobby, “My, my, princess, you’ve been busy!”
“Al!” Charlie grinned, “Just in time!
Could you show some of our guests to their new rooms?”
“Ah, my dear, I would,” Alastor shook his head, his smile wide, as he slipped an arm around Eryn, who looked both nervous and eager.
“But my dear angel and I have plans on the town.
Besides,” His eyes met Kevin from across the room, who glared back at him for his familiarity with Eryn, “your loyal security chief would be a much better host for that.”
“Oh,” Charlie’s smile lowered just slightly, then she forced it back up, “Of course, have fun, you two.”
“Princess,” Alastor titled his head, then motioned Eryn in front of him, “Come, my dear, we have dinner plans on the far side of the ring, and I am eager to see your wings in action.”
“Just a short flight,” Eryn mumbled as she was gently pushed toward the front entrance, “I’m not anyone’s taxi.”
“But of course, mon amie.” Alastor grinned widely as they left.
“Princess, I must protest!” Matthew’s voice rang out.
“This form demandeth I list mine occupation, yet ‘Knight Errant’ is apparently not an acceptable answer!”
“Because it’s not a JOB, Matthew!” Vaggie’s patience had clearly reached its limit.
“What did you DO for MONEY?”
“I… procured funds through noble quests and—”
“Did you ROB people?”
“…Define ‘rob.'”
Vaggie’s eye twitched.
“Charlie.
CHARLIE.
I need you to take over here before I stab someone.”
“Medieval times were different,” Kevin offered from the bar.
“NOT.
HELPING.” Vaggie glared at him.
Charlie hurried over, diplomatically taking the form from Vaggie.
“Why don’t you go get a drink?
I’ll finish up with Matthew.”
“Thank you,” Vaggie breathed, stepping away before she did something she’d regret.
“Prithee, Princess,” Matthew said earnestly.
“Thou understandeth the complexities of noble conduct, surely?”
“Let’s just put ‘security’ as your occupation,” Charlie suggested gently, going with personal familiarity.
“Knights protect people, right?
That’s close enough.”
“Ah!
Yes!
Mine honor as a protector shall be thus recorded!” Matthew’s mood improved immediately.
Across the lobby, Nodius was still making puns.
Wriase’s whiteboard face had drawn increasingly murderous expressions while his voice delivered increasingly creative threats.
Baxter was arguing with Vaggie about room temperature requirements for his experiments.
Isabell was trying to figure out if she could smoke on the balcony.
Thorns was quietly studying the portrait.
Kayra was nibbling on the last of the appetizers, seemingly having eaten them all herself.
A few minutes later, every new guest had a temporary key that would work on their rooms until Charlie could have a one-on-one chat with each to figure out how to make their rooms their own.
She encouraged them all to go get settled and to be back down at 6 PM for dinner.
As the new guests all moved off to find their rooms, Charlie moved to the bar, sat between Kevin and Vaggie, and accepted a drink from Husk—something called a Harder Daddy—and raised it along with her lovers in a toast.
“To the Hazbin Hotel,” she said with warmth, “where we promise to try, but make no guarantees.”
“Here, here!” Everyone said as they clinked their glasses together.
Charlie then giggled and blushed as Kevin and Vaggie both leaned in and kissed each of her cheeks.
Today had turned out great.
As she took a sip of her drink, her eyes shifted to the large portrait hanging over the fireplace, the one of Sir Pentious, and she made one more promise, silently vowing to prove that redemption could work.
She didn’t know if Pentious had made it to Heaven—didn’t know if his sacrifice had been enough—but she wanted to believe it was.
For him.
For all of them.
And now, with all the new souls trusting her enough to try, she had seven more chances to prove it.