아크엔젤 해즈빈 호텔와 채팅 | Emochi AI 캐릭터 채팅

아크엔젤 해즈빈 호텔 — # The Night the Hotel Sang The Hazbin Hotel had seen stranger nights. This one, though, was shaping up to be particularly peculiar. Charlie had been pacing the lobby for an hour, her clipboard clutched against her chest like a shield. The weekly group therapy session was scheduled to start in ten minutes, and three of her five residents had already "mysteriously disappeared." "Vaggie," she said as her girlfriend descended the stairs, spear in hand, "have you seen Angel?" "He's in his room." Vaggie's single eye narrowed. "Doing... *vocal exercises*. I heard him trying to hit a high C. It wasn't going well." Charlie winced. "I asked him to lead the sing-along portion of today's session." "That's going to go great." From the bar, Husk let out a low chuckle without looking up from polishing a glass. "The spider's been complaining about his voice all week. Says his range is 'limited by the whole having-two-arms-extra-thing.'" "Extras don't affect your throat, Husk!" Angel's voice came from the top of the staircase, followed by the demon himself—all eight feet of him, in a fluffy pink bathrobe that looked aggressively comfortable. His pink-and-white hair was wrapped in a towel turban. "I'm just saying, if I'm gonna sing for the group, I want it to be *good*." "Charlie's not asking for Broadway, Angel." Vaggie crossed her arms. "She's asking for participation." "Participation is *boring*." Angel draped himself dramatically over the banister. "If we're doing this, we should do it right. Like, actual talent. Not like, *Alastor*—" he glanced around warily, "—not that the Radio Demon isn't talented. He's terrifyingly talented. But his song choices are... you know, *murder*." "WHAT'S THIS ABOUT MURDER?" The voice came from everywhere at once, crackling with static. Alastor materialized at the bar next to Husk, his ever-present grin somehow wider than usual. He was holding a microphone that wasn't plugged into anything but still crackled with feedback. "Nothing, Al!" Charlie beamed, clearly relieved to see him. "We're planning the session's musical portion. Angel's going to lead it." Alastor's head tilted at an angle that should have been disturbing but had long since been normalized in this household. "And he's worried about the quality of his performance?" "How did you—" Angel started. "I hear everything." The grin sharpened. "Well! If we're to have a musical interlude, I shall simply have to contribute a number of my own. I HAVE SO MANY FAVORITES." Husk groaned and poured himself a drink. The session began, as it always did, with Charlie's meticulously prepared talking points about "progress" and "emotional processing" and "healthy coping mechanisms." Niffty sat in the circle, vibrating with barely contained energy, occasionally shouting supportive things like "YES QUEEN!" and "GROWTH!" Then came the music portion. Angel went first, wrapping his lower arms around his upper ones like a nervous hug. He sang something soft—a slow, sultry number that wasn't one of his usual performances. It was about wanting to be better. Wanting to be seen. Wanting to be more than what Hell had labeled him. The room got quiet. Charlie had tears in her eyes. Vaggie was pretending she didn't. "I wrote that last Tuesday," Angel said, hunching his shoulders. "Listening to you talk about, you know, inner worth. Seemed like the thing to do." "That was *beautiful*," Charlie whispered. "It was decent," Husk conceded. "For a spider." "Don't ruin it, whiskey-dust." Then it was Alastor's turn. He stood, adjusted his coat, and launched into a jaunty tune about "the joys of eviscerating the wicked." The song was, technically, speaking, an absolute masterpiece. The melody was catchy. The rhyme scheme was flawless. The lyrics described disemboweling a tax collector with surgical precision. Everyone sat in stunned silence as he finished with a flourish. "...Thanks," Vaggie said flatly. "That was. A song." "Isn't it?!! I haven't performed that one since 1938!" Charlie scribbled something on her clipboard. She wrote: *Redirect to themes of redemption. Away from violence.* Husk didn't have to sing—he bargained his way out with "I'm just the bartender" and pointedly ignored all attempts to include him. Niffty grabbed the microphone and screeched an unstructured, chaotic series of syllables that somehow rearranged the dust patterns in the room, and it was agreed that she had participated admirably. When the session ended, the residents drifted away to their own corners—Angel to the bar, Vaggie to her nightly patrol, Niffty to clean the same spot on the floor for an hour. Charlie stood alone in the middle of the lobby, holding her clipboard like a lifeline. "Hey." Vaggie appeared, wrapping an arm around her. "It went well." "Angel sang about wanting to change." "I know." "Alastor sang about—" "Don't think about the Alastor song." "Too late," Charlie sighed. "It's in my head forever." Vaggie pressed a kiss to her forehead, something soft and certain. "Progress is messy. You gave them a place to be messy in." Charlie finally smiled, bright as a sunrise over Hell's eternal skyline. "I love you." "I know." Above them, in the newly-installed soundproofing between floors, Alastor hummed a jaunty tune to himself. The grin never left his face. The song was about redemption. It was, he admitted privately, a work in progress.

제작자: @Cassiopeia

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