In before Dragon shows up and also destroys the Negative Karma Meter...in the opposite direction.
WannaBee (Worm/Hazbin Hotel)
- Thread starter RavensDagger
- Start date
-
- Tags
- hazbin bees taylor in hell
TheLastOne
Person of impeccable tastes (for destruction)
Hmm, well it's not like we can trust his words, but he implied he was already dead at the great depression.
- Location
- Isla Sorna
Wiki says alister died in 1933.
In other words, he was amused of the Great Depression while he was still alive.
Wouldn't be surprised if in Hazbin Hotel, he orchestrated The Crash himself for amusement, hence his power level once he became a demon.
See my smile
Life...Life never Changes.
- Location
- The Commonwealth
I mean she nuked some places killed a whole lot of people. Lot's of good stuff. He'll us gonna be a cake walk.
Chapter Two
RavensDagger
Officially Infracted Speceist since 2019!
- Location
- Someplace Cold, Canada
Chapter Two
"Wow, you really hit the jackpot," he said. "What're you supposed to be? Some sort of..." he paused to let out a wonderful belch. "Road killed cockroach thing? Fuck you're ugly."
Husk was a simple... winged cat... whatever the fuck he was. He liked a good drink, the occasional game of chance, and maybe a bit of peace and quiet.
The Shitty Bar provided for all of his needs. It was, as the name hinted, rather on the poorer side of things, and the food, staff, service, and company all catered to a certain fecal-covered sort of clientele.
It was such a shitty dive that even the worst of Hell's denizens avoided it. No Katie Killjoys or Angel Dusts or any other hoity-toity dipshits at The Shitty Bar. They had their own highbrow holes to get pissed at.
He wanted to be in those places, but he couldn't afford it. Couldn't afford it because his bookies were being a right bunch of dicks. His bet on the number of new souls to enter Hell should have been surefire, an absolute certainty.
But no, Apocalypse Right Now had to happen and he lost it big.
Which lead him to a crookedy (rather shitty) stool in the dankest corner of a bar with a tin roof and walls that stank of mold, alone except for half a pint of beer he'd stolen from some idiot that got shanked three tables over.
Mostly alone.
There was a girl next to his table. Tall, with little bug things on her head and red eyes that didn't blink nearly enough for his liking. She was the subject of his current diatribe. "I mean, holy shit. Did some jungle rat bayonet your face?"
She blinked very slowly at him. "I'm just looking for directions," she said with a sibilant voice that was just a bit off. "If you don't want to help, just say so."
"And why're you askin' me, huh?" He waved his drink at her and grinned when a splash of it nearly hit her. She stepped out of its path without breaking eye contact. She was a rather creepy bitch, he decided.
"All the others are unable to answer," she said.
Husk looked past her and saw that she was rather correct. All the other fine patrons of The Shitty Bar were rather shitfaced. Sally the Slut was bent over backwards on a bench, legs spread and drool leaking down her opened mouth, Tom Thomson was in the opposite corner washing his machine gun out with a rag while his head nodded, heavy with sleep. Near the bar proper was a large wolf-like man with three others who shared some of his features. They were poking at the corpse of some little shit that hadn't paid his tab.
The rest of the fine customers were all indisposed at the moment. "Well shit," he muttered.
The girl gestured to the chair before him. "Can I sit?"
"No you fucking can't," he said before she had time to sit down and hog all of his peace. "Just ask your questions and piss off."
She paused for a moment, then nodded. "I guess I can't expect any more than that," she said. "Are we really in hell?"
He blinked, then looked her up and down again. There was a certain quality to people that had power in the abyss. A tingle in the air, a shiver down the spine, a sort of aura that said 'don't fuck with me.' That was never present in someone that was new. The newbies stank of freshness, of a level of naivety and openness that the older denizens, those that had survived, just didn't have.
This girl reeked of confidence and that malevolent stench that stronger demons carried. Was she playing him for a fool? "Yeah, we're in Hell. Capital H. Sulfur and Brimstone and all those other places."
"I see," she said before blinking again. He wanted to down his drink and go faint in the bathroom, but her gaze kept him glued to his chair. "Is there a way out of here?" she asked.
"You batshit?" he asked in return. "The only way out of this place is if you fuck with those angel things. And no one wants to get purged. No dying either. Though almost dying ain't no fun either. Good luck staying at the top end of the food chain if your brains are splattered all across the street, you know?"
She nodded slowly. "Okay. In that case, is there a place for people who are trying to fix this place? A police force? Heroes? A Protectorate?"
He tried to hold it in. He really did. But the laughter poured out of him in ruckus roars and he found himself smacking the table until his drink was bouncing around. "You, you fuckin' brat. The police? Here? Sweetheart, this is Hell. There are plenty of cops here, but none of the sort that would help a damsel in distress. Unless the damsel wants to destress, if you know what I mean."
"I think I do, and I'm not sure if I should be disgusted or not," she said. She shook her head. "No, nevermind that. What about places to sleep? Motels or something. I don't like the idea of staying on the streets tonight."
"There's a brothel three doors down," he said. "Tell the matron that you'd spread 'em for a bed and you'll have yourself half a meal and a some warm compa--" he slowly stopped talking as the air around him grew a whole lot warmer. He noticed that the shadows all across The Shitty Bar were deepening and a lot of them were staring at him with countless little eyes. "Uh, I mean, there's that Happy Hotel place?" he tried while pointing off to the side.
There was a much defaced poster on one wall, all rainbows and sunshine. Or that's how it had looked before it was covered in sharpie dicks and other lewd little drawings. "And where can I find this Happy Hotel?" she asked before pausing. "It's not another brothel, is it?"
"Nah, nah, the place is some demoness's pet project thing. Fucking awful idea, but she's got connections, you know. No one whose soul is black would step foot in the place." Which meant that she'd leave him the fuck alone if she wandered off to find the damned place.
The girl seemed ready to ask something else, but turned her head just slightly to the side. One of the wolf boys was getting up, eyes fixed on the back of her head. "Hey, you," he said.
The girl turned back to Husk. "Where can I find this hotel?"
"Bug bitch, I was talking to you," the man said. He started walking over and his buddies giggled and cheered him on. "Me and my pack have got ourselves a serious need for some entertaining, you catch?"
The girl's head turned, slowly and gently, until it was facing the boy. "I was talking. Please leave me alone," she said. "I'm sorry, you were telling me about the hotel?"
Husk eyed her, then the red-faced wolf guy who was stomping over. "Uh, sweetheart, don't you think you should, you know, start running?"
One of her antenna twitched. "No."
"Hey, bitch," the flesh and blood furry said as he reached towards her. "Listen to your betters when they're speaking."
His hand never touched her. Instead with a splatter of arterial blood, his arm was lobbed off at the elbow.
Everyone that was still able to think and see paused and watched as the now detached arm was dragged into the shadows by a whole lot of fist-sized spiders.
Then the screaming started.
Husk dove under the table just as a stray of bullet tore his pint apart and sent beer spraying all over. He covered his ears as the chatter of machine gun fire filled the room, and was then cut off by the far more terrifying screaming of half a dozen men and the buzz of far too many bugs.
And just as easily as it began, it stopped.
Husk blinked. Not two seconds had passed since he'd ducked into cover, but The Shitty Bar was quiet as the tomb.
He got up and looked over the edge of his table.
His pint was more holes than cheap tin, there was a scour mark across the wood of his table and the wall and ceiling above were pockmarked with bullet holes into which shadowy insects were skittering. By the time he looked down the insects were all gone, and so were the wolf boys.
All that was left of them were a few splashes of blood across tables and chairs and the floor, all marked with thousands of tiny, tiny little footprints.
"As I was saying," the girl said.
Husk looked up to her. She was unruffled, face still as placid as when she entered, lips flat and eyes, if anything, rather bored. "Yeah?" he croaked.
"Where is this so called Happy Hotel?"
***
I don't like this chapter all that much, probably the weakest of all the chapters written so far. But chapter three is a bloody masterpiece so we'll just have to hope everyone can keep it together until tomorrow!
A huge, huge thanks to my Patreons for helping bounce ideas on the Discord and for encouraging me to post this monstrosity!
Also, check out the Media tab for some awesome fanart by DustyMinds and Balder!
"Wow, you really hit the jackpot," he said. "What're you supposed to be? Some sort of..." he paused to let out a wonderful belch. "Road killed cockroach thing? Fuck you're ugly."
Husk was a simple... winged cat... whatever the fuck he was. He liked a good drink, the occasional game of chance, and maybe a bit of peace and quiet.
The Shitty Bar provided for all of his needs. It was, as the name hinted, rather on the poorer side of things, and the food, staff, service, and company all catered to a certain fecal-covered sort of clientele.
It was such a shitty dive that even the worst of Hell's denizens avoided it. No Katie Killjoys or Angel Dusts or any other hoity-toity dipshits at The Shitty Bar. They had their own highbrow holes to get pissed at.
He wanted to be in those places, but he couldn't afford it. Couldn't afford it because his bookies were being a right bunch of dicks. His bet on the number of new souls to enter Hell should have been surefire, an absolute certainty.
But no, Apocalypse Right Now had to happen and he lost it big.
Which lead him to a crookedy (rather shitty) stool in the dankest corner of a bar with a tin roof and walls that stank of mold, alone except for half a pint of beer he'd stolen from some idiot that got shanked three tables over.
Mostly alone.
There was a girl next to his table. Tall, with little bug things on her head and red eyes that didn't blink nearly enough for his liking. She was the subject of his current diatribe. "I mean, holy shit. Did some jungle rat bayonet your face?"
She blinked very slowly at him. "I'm just looking for directions," she said with a sibilant voice that was just a bit off. "If you don't want to help, just say so."
"And why're you askin' me, huh?" He waved his drink at her and grinned when a splash of it nearly hit her. She stepped out of its path without breaking eye contact. She was a rather creepy bitch, he decided.
"All the others are unable to answer," she said.
Husk looked past her and saw that she was rather correct. All the other fine patrons of The Shitty Bar were rather shitfaced. Sally the Slut was bent over backwards on a bench, legs spread and drool leaking down her opened mouth, Tom Thomson was in the opposite corner washing his machine gun out with a rag while his head nodded, heavy with sleep. Near the bar proper was a large wolf-like man with three others who shared some of his features. They were poking at the corpse of some little shit that hadn't paid his tab.
The rest of the fine customers were all indisposed at the moment. "Well shit," he muttered.
The girl gestured to the chair before him. "Can I sit?"
"No you fucking can't," he said before she had time to sit down and hog all of his peace. "Just ask your questions and piss off."
She paused for a moment, then nodded. "I guess I can't expect any more than that," she said. "Are we really in hell?"
He blinked, then looked her up and down again. There was a certain quality to people that had power in the abyss. A tingle in the air, a shiver down the spine, a sort of aura that said 'don't fuck with me.' That was never present in someone that was new. The newbies stank of freshness, of a level of naivety and openness that the older denizens, those that had survived, just didn't have.
This girl reeked of confidence and that malevolent stench that stronger demons carried. Was she playing him for a fool? "Yeah, we're in Hell. Capital H. Sulfur and Brimstone and all those other places."
"I see," she said before blinking again. He wanted to down his drink and go faint in the bathroom, but her gaze kept him glued to his chair. "Is there a way out of here?" she asked.
"You batshit?" he asked in return. "The only way out of this place is if you fuck with those angel things. And no one wants to get purged. No dying either. Though almost dying ain't no fun either. Good luck staying at the top end of the food chain if your brains are splattered all across the street, you know?"
She nodded slowly. "Okay. In that case, is there a place for people who are trying to fix this place? A police force? Heroes? A Protectorate?"
He tried to hold it in. He really did. But the laughter poured out of him in ruckus roars and he found himself smacking the table until his drink was bouncing around. "You, you fuckin' brat. The police? Here? Sweetheart, this is Hell. There are plenty of cops here, but none of the sort that would help a damsel in distress. Unless the damsel wants to destress, if you know what I mean."
"I think I do, and I'm not sure if I should be disgusted or not," she said. She shook her head. "No, nevermind that. What about places to sleep? Motels or something. I don't like the idea of staying on the streets tonight."
"There's a brothel three doors down," he said. "Tell the matron that you'd spread 'em for a bed and you'll have yourself half a meal and a some warm compa--" he slowly stopped talking as the air around him grew a whole lot warmer. He noticed that the shadows all across The Shitty Bar were deepening and a lot of them were staring at him with countless little eyes. "Uh, I mean, there's that Happy Hotel place?" he tried while pointing off to the side.
There was a much defaced poster on one wall, all rainbows and sunshine. Or that's how it had looked before it was covered in sharpie dicks and other lewd little drawings. "And where can I find this Happy Hotel?" she asked before pausing. "It's not another brothel, is it?"
"Nah, nah, the place is some demoness's pet project thing. Fucking awful idea, but she's got connections, you know. No one whose soul is black would step foot in the place." Which meant that she'd leave him the fuck alone if she wandered off to find the damned place.
The girl seemed ready to ask something else, but turned her head just slightly to the side. One of the wolf boys was getting up, eyes fixed on the back of her head. "Hey, you," he said.
The girl turned back to Husk. "Where can I find this hotel?"
"Bug bitch, I was talking to you," the man said. He started walking over and his buddies giggled and cheered him on. "Me and my pack have got ourselves a serious need for some entertaining, you catch?"
The girl's head turned, slowly and gently, until it was facing the boy. "I was talking. Please leave me alone," she said. "I'm sorry, you were telling me about the hotel?"
Husk eyed her, then the red-faced wolf guy who was stomping over. "Uh, sweetheart, don't you think you should, you know, start running?"
One of her antenna twitched. "No."
"Hey, bitch," the flesh and blood furry said as he reached towards her. "Listen to your betters when they're speaking."
His hand never touched her. Instead with a splatter of arterial blood, his arm was lobbed off at the elbow.
Everyone that was still able to think and see paused and watched as the now detached arm was dragged into the shadows by a whole lot of fist-sized spiders.
Then the screaming started.
Husk dove under the table just as a stray of bullet tore his pint apart and sent beer spraying all over. He covered his ears as the chatter of machine gun fire filled the room, and was then cut off by the far more terrifying screaming of half a dozen men and the buzz of far too many bugs.
And just as easily as it began, it stopped.
Husk blinked. Not two seconds had passed since he'd ducked into cover, but The Shitty Bar was quiet as the tomb.
He got up and looked over the edge of his table.
His pint was more holes than cheap tin, there was a scour mark across the wood of his table and the wall and ceiling above were pockmarked with bullet holes into which shadowy insects were skittering. By the time he looked down the insects were all gone, and so were the wolf boys.
All that was left of them were a few splashes of blood across tables and chairs and the floor, all marked with thousands of tiny, tiny little footprints.
"As I was saying," the girl said.
Husk looked up to her. She was unruffled, face still as placid as when she entered, lips flat and eyes, if anything, rather bored. "Yeah?" he croaked.
"Where is this so called Happy Hotel?"
***
I don't like this chapter all that much, probably the weakest of all the chapters written so far. But chapter three is a bloody masterpiece so we'll just have to hope everyone can keep it together until tomorrow!
A huge, huge thanks to my Patreons for helping bounce ideas on the Discord and for encouraging me to post this monstrosity!
Also, check out the Media tab for some awesome fanart by DustyMinds and Balder!
nooo post now plz 
- Location
- California
The chapter does feel a little rough around the edges, but does display Taylor's adorifying naivety at being in hell, but powerful enough to freak all out
- Location
- Germany
..... I'm guessing that this is before the interview and therfore Husk is not yet the bartender at the Happy Hotel.
Man will he be happy when he gets pulled there by the Radio Demon and have his reunion with one of the guests there
Man will he be happy when he gets pulled there by the Radio Demon and have his reunion with one of the guests there
- Location
- Hot Springs
Just arachnophobia? I figure the old Overlord now has so many phobias to keep half the multi-verse's psychiatrists busy writing books and research reports for the rest of Eternity!
- Location
- Hungary
If this is the guy that Alastor summons to the Happy Hotel, then he will freak out when he meets Taylor again.
On another note, what had he done in life, that he became a winged-cat-thing?
Or is it somewhat random?
- Location
- Isla Sorna
What if we never had it in the first place, hmm? Hehehe
TheLastOne
Person of impeccable tastes (for destruction)
Hmm, I've sort of been assuming he isn't actually Crowley and is just using the name, but even so he had to have been exposed to Aleister to use that name.
- Location
- United States
All that we really know about Alistair before he corked it is that he was a radio broadcaster and serial killer during the 1920's and 1930's until he died in 1933. Probably disappointed that he didn't get to see the second world war, as he's very much Blue and Orange Morality according to Vivzie. He does have standards, they're just very alien by our count.
I'm also glad that I'm not the only one to imagine Taylor in this version of Hell. I don't think she'll kick out Lucifer and Lilith's position, but Alistair's certainly got competition! *cackles*
Teiwaz
Beloved of Adorjan.
- Location
- RUNNING AWAY
*sigh*
I have a pretty good idea....unfortunately
There is this "thing" in certain places in the world....it involves throwing cats off buildings.....
Fuck I need a drink now
Yes. Also, I can picture her shutting down musical numbers or otherwise refusing to participate.