Moon sat down as instructed.
The sofa was sturdier than expected; at the very least, it didn’t swallow him whole.
Vaggie walked to the other side of the lobby and leaned against a pillar.
It was a perfect spot—she could see both the door and Moon clearly.
Charlie had already circled behind the bar, rummaging through the cabinets above Husk’s head.
The clatter of glass was punctuated by her quiet mumbling.
Husk didn’t move the entire time.
He didn’t even lift an eyelid.
A moment later, Charlie ran back carrying two mugs of coffee.
She thrust one printed with a cartoon duck into Moon’s hand and sat down in the opposite armchair, clutching a skull-shaped mug of her own.
She took a deep breath, psyching herself up.
“Okay.
Let me introduce you to what we’re doing here.”
“This hotel is designed to help the residents of Hell achieve redemption.
I know it sounds crazy.
But someone has to keep a door open for them, right?
As long as they’re willing to change, this place can give them a place to stop and breathe.”
She finished and waited a moment, presumably giving Moon time to have a “You must be insane” reaction.
When none came, she felt a bit awkward and added, “You can laugh.
Everyone who’s heard this so far has laughed.”
Moon merely nodded, gesturing for her to continue.
This actually caused Charlie to stall.
She had a script for mockery.
But someone quietly waiting for her to finish?
She hadn’t practiced for that.
She had no choice but to carry on.
“Many people think this is a pipe dream, of course.
Seeking redemption in Hell is like…
uh…”
“Asking an arsonist to put out a fire,” Husk interjected dully from behind the bar, still without looking up.
Charlie glanced over and muttered, “I was going to say it more poetically than that.
But that’s the gist.”
She set down her mug and leaned forward slightly.
“The souls here…
they aren’t beyond saving.
Many have just resigned themselves to their fate.
They think they’re trash, so they figure it’s easier to just keep being trash.
I want to give them a different path.
A waypoint, or rather—”
Vaggie finally spoke: “Charlie.
Don’t beat around the bush.
Tell him the truth.”
Charlie let out a sigh of defeat.
“Fine.
The truth is that the current number of successful redemption cases is zero.
The total number of guests, including you, is two.
The other one is three months behind on rent, comes back at four in the morning, and sometimes shows up with a few extra bite marks.”
She didn’t let the words defeat her.
“But I still believe it can work.
I don’t have proof, but…
but if even the daughter of Lucifer won’t try, then who will?”
Husk let out a snorting laugh from his nose—his standard response to this speech.
Vaggie didn’t interrupt.
She had heard it so many times she practically knew exactly where Charlie would pause.
Moon took a sip of the coffee.
It was indeed terrible, but it was hot enough.
“Thank you for your candor, Your Highness.”
Coming from him, the title didn’t sound like mockery or flattery; instead, it sounded like the most ordinary form of address.
He set the mug down.
“You said something outside the door: you don’t want the story to end at Chapter One.
It was a beautiful sentiment.
But if you’ll forgive my bluntness, most of your subjects probably don’t even want to turn the first page.”
Charlie didn’t argue.
She listened intently as he continued.
“Change isn’t about persuasion, nor is it about promises.
Real change is often accompanied by the agonizing pain of tearing away the old self.
It’s like ripping out something that has grown into the flesh.
It hurts, it bleeds, and it might not show results immediately.
Do you think they are willing to endure that suffering?”
Charlie opened her mouth, then closed it.
The idealist had hit the brick wall of reality.
After a moment, she said, “Pain is still better than numbness.”
Moon pressed further.
“But they might not see it that way.
Do you think those people actually want to be saved?”
This time, Charlie was quiet for even longer.
She looked down at her own reflection in the mug; hollow eye sockets stared back at her from beneath the liquid’s surface.
“Most of them don’t,” she finally admitted.
“Then what do you plan to do?”
“Keep saving them anyway.” This answer came quickly.
Moon looked back at her in silence.
Outside the door, this princess’s flyer had fallen to the ground; she had leaned down to pick it up, and then another had fallen.
He had picked it up for her the second time.
“People who don’t want to be saved are the hardest to deal with,” Moon said.
“Yeah.” Charlie’s mouth quirked; the bitterness outweighed the smile.
“You think I don’t know?
I grew up in Hell.
My dad is the one who kicked them all down here.”
Moon understood.
He then looked at the wall behind Charlie.
A family portrait hung there.
The Morningstar royalty wore magnificent clothes, smiling perfectly yet distantly, like a carefully staged advertisement.
But in the corner of the frame, someone had drawn a large smiley face with a red pen, beside which was scrawled: “Don’t give up!”
Moon turned back.
“Your Highness, you are well aware of the situation outside.
The Extermination has just passed, and the blood on the streets hasn’t even dried.”
Charlie’s expression darkened for a moment.
“And I find myself in need of a place to stay.
If you don’t mind, I would like to reside here for a while.
Since your establishment is still in its infancy, I imagine you wouldn’t mind an additional tenant who keeps relatively normal hours and can occasionally provide a different perspective?”
Charlie didn’t process it at first.
“What?”
“I mean…
if there is a vacant room, I believe I shall trouble you all for a period of time.”
Charlie blinked twice.
“To stay?”
“Yes.”
“Stay here?”
“Yes.”
“At the Hazbin Hotel?”
“…If it is convenient.”
Charlie let out a squeal that only a bat could fully receive.
She leaped up, rounded the coffee table, and moved to pounce on him, but a heavy clearing of a throat came from the pillar.
Charlie screeched to a halt, changing her pounce into a frantic shaking of Moon’s hand.
“You’re a new guest!
An official one!
This is too—this is just—”
She gave up on finding the right words and just shook his hand harder.
Moon allowed his hand to be flailed about.
Outside the door, when Charlie had reached out, he hadn’t taken it.
This time, he didn’t manage to dodge.
He thought about pulling away but felt it might be inappropriate given the timing, so he let her have her moment.
Vaggie had walked over by then.
Her knife was back in her pocket, but her vigilance hadn’t dropped an inch.
“How are we handling the rent?” she interrupted coldly, trying to pull the conversation back to reality.
“Vaggie!” Charlie turned to glare at her, but it lacked any real intimidation.
“What?
Since this gentleman is dressed so decently, surely he won’t default like a certain spider.”
“Don’t talk about money!
It’s so tacky!” Halfway through her sentence, Charlie lost her nerve and scratched her hair awkwardly.
“Though we…
really are…
currently…”
She looked back at Moon, trying to twist the embarrassment on her face into a proper smile.
“Um, Mr.
Moon, regarding the rent…
we’re actually very flexible!”