Charlie waited for a moment.
Not a sound followed; the atmosphere remained cold.
The wind chased a flyer across the street, making it rustle and flap against the pavement.
Moon stepped on it to keep it still.
Printed on the paper was a slogan: “Hazbin Hotel: A Shortcut to Heaven.”
Vaggie immediately reached for the small of her back.
In this hellhole, even the slightest extra movement was often a precursor to an attack; one had to be constantly on guard against hidden snipers, drawn blades, or magic bombs with unpredictable effects.
Moon didn’t reach for a weapon.
He leaned down, picked up the flyer, brushed off the dirt, and tucked it into his pocket.
Then, he bowed toward Vaggie.
His etiquette was composed, carrying the elaborate formalities of a bygone era.
“Moon.
A pleasure to meet you.”
Vaggie’s hand stayed on her folding knife, though she didn’t draw it.
“Is this guy for real?” She turned to Charlie, jerking her thumb back at the man.
“Where’d this antique come from?
Did he fall out of the Victorian era?”
Moon wasn’t offended; he simply smiled.
“If I said it was my upbringing, would you find that reason a bit too dull?”
“I’d find it pretentious.”
“Then your judgment is quite keen.”
Vaggie was momentarily choked by his bluntness, but her hand finally moved away from the knife handle.
After all, it was hard to justify attacking someone who had just offered a deep bow; it gave her a guilty sense of bullying the mentally impaired.
Charlie hurried to smooth things over.
“Alright, alright!
We already lost one guest today, let’s not scare off a second one.”
She pulled Vaggie back a little and smiled at Moon.
“She’s not usually like this.
Well, actually, she’s usually exactly like this, but she’s a really good person.”
“I can tell,” Moon said.
Vaggie crossed her arms and said stiffly, “Since you can tell, then I’ll make things clear.
Once you step through those doors, you follow the rules.
No fighting, no destruction, and no bringing in shady characters.”
She paused, eyeing his tie.
“Most importantly, don’t cause trouble for Charlie.
If you dare use her kindness to pull any stunts, I’ll rip your intestines out and use them as a necktie.”
Moon: “I shall keep that in mind.”
Vaggie clicked her tongue.
She still didn’t like the look of him.
But at least the guy didn’t seem like the type to spit at the door and leave.
“Vaggie…!”
Charlie drew out her name, looking at Moon with a helpless expression.
“She’s joking—occupational habit.
It’s really fine.”
She clutched the sliding flyers to her chest and stepped aside to clear the doorway.
“You asked how to achieve redemption…
well, we have a lot to talk about.
Why don’t you come inside and have a seat?
The wind is strong out here and the smell is quite heavy.
There’s hot coffee inside.
The lobby is still being renovated, but there are sofas to sit on.”
Vaggie added from the side, “If the coffee tastes like ashy water, that’s not your imagination.”
The two of them led Moon into the building.
As Moon followed them inside, the cursing and shouting from the street were largely cut off by the wooden door.
The interior wasn’t much more high-end than the outside; it was just a different kind of broken.
The air smelled of paint mixed with a cloying, sweet perfume—the owner seemed to be using them to cover up a musty odor, but it only served to make it more obvious.
The floor was a bit sticky.
Every step made a “squelch-pop” sound.
Moon glanced down but said nothing.
The lobby was large and empty.
The chandelier overhead was missing several crystal droplets, swaying precariously in the draft.
The wallpaper was peeling at the edges, exposing the bricks beneath in some spots, yet several crayon drawings were taped up nearby.
Charlie walked quickly ahead, kicking a stray paint bucket toward the wall, and stopped in front of an old sofa, giving it a pat.
“Please, have a seat.”
She realized only after patting it that she had kicked up a cloud of dust.
She tried to act like she hadn’t noticed and continued her damage control: “This one is very soft, really.
Just don’t sit on the left side.
There’s a spring that pokes you.”
Vaggie leaned against a nearby pillar.
Seeing how happy Charlie was, she didn’t bother speaking up.
A muffled clicking sound came from behind the bar in the corner.
Moon turned to look.
Slumped behind the bar was a winged cat-demon, clutching a bottle of booze and picking his teeth with his pinky.
He didn’t look toward the door once; it seemed as if an extra person in the room wasn’t worth the effort of lifting his neck.