Chapter Text
Pentious was already starting to regret this.
“…and then Vaggie and I— oh, this is your room!” Charlie chirped, bouncing up-and-down.
Pentious stared blankly. Well… at least it was his own room, and not a dormitory. But… “It ssssseems a bit… empty,” he commented.
Charlie shrugged. “So you can customize it!” she explained. “Paint the walls, add posters, whatever you want! It’s a blank canvas, so you can make it feel more homey! It’s a good idea, right? Right?” she asked.
Oh. Pentious thought that he wasn’t allowed to have anything in there. Because, you know, anything could be used as a weapon. Chairs, wash buckets, utensils, paper and fountain pens… it essentially left him with nothing, last time.
Apparently, that didn’t apply here.
So.. he could put whatever he wanted in here? Literally anything? Odd. Or maybe he was thinking about it too much. The point was, he could do anything with this? That was good. He nodded to himself, satisfied. That was a good start.
He slithered inside, studying the room intently. White walls, white floor. Nothing in it, save for a large mattress.
It reminded him a bit too much of… certain unpleasant things.
No windows, either. So no escape exists there… and the door locked from the outside, he couldn’t help but notice. It’s not a big deal. There had to be at least one exist route. He’d find it eventually, in case he needed them.
“It’ssss… adequate,” he decided. “Oh! Do you mind if I do something before you lock me in?” Maybe he could hide a knife in his jacket or something. Just in case.
Charlie glanced at him, looking concerned. “…Why would we lock you in? That seems really cruel— we’re here to help you, we’re not gonna torture you.” She snorted, like the idea was ridiculous.
That’s what they said last time. Pentious was beginning to think that maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He shouldn’t have signed up for this.
“Er- sure. Yesssss. Alright then,” he said with another nod.
“Here at the Hazbin Hotel,” the princess continued, “we’re going to help you redeem yourself! There’s, like, a whole lesson plan I mapped out, it’s gonna be so fun!” She giggled. “Um.. if I may ask— what did you.. do? To end up here in Hell? Am- I allowed to ask that?”
Pentious paused. ‘Am I allowed to’— of course she was allowed to? She was the boss, she made the rules. She’s playing nice, he decided, to make me think I have choices. So he’d have to answer, then? It’s not like he did the worst thing in the world, anyway.
But this felt like the sort of thing he should sugarcoat. He knew the rules— he’d be treated better if they thought he was better, saner, a Proper Gentleman, if you will. You act nice, they act nice. ..Usually, anyway.
He paused. “I.. may have stolen a lot of money. But it was for science! And invention! To help England dominate the entire world and colonize everything! Perfectly reasonable. …And also killed a few— I mean killed ONE SINGULAR PEOPLE but they— but he deserved it in my opinion.”
Charlie thought for a moment. “That’s… not as bad as I thought,” she said finally. “Okay then! Um. We’ll help redeem you,” she promised. “Enjoy your stay here, okay?”
“..Alright.” Pentious watched as the princess walked away.
‘Enjoy your stay,’ don’t be contrary. This isn’t the sort of place you enjoy anything.
———
Pentious wasn’t quite sure how to feel. There were definitely restrictions— although, there was a startlingly sparse list. It was simple:
- Don’t kill, maim, or bully anyone.
- No drugs, except for medical prescriptions.
- Alcohol is allowed, though the amount is monitored closely.
- Don’t use any weapons with malicious intent.
“…That’ssss it?” he hissed.
Vaggie shrugged. “Yeah, basically. Stick to the rules, you’re gonna do fine.”
Right, that was a simple list to remember. Much easier than the infinite lists he’d had to keep in mind, when he was alive. He still remembered them.
Follow all orders. Don’t talk to the other patients, especially the women. Don’t ask questions. No noise past curfew. Act sane. Be polite. Don’t argue. Stay in your dormitory. Stick to the schedule. Don’t— he cut himself off. Better to stop thinking about it.
“And.. that’s really the only rulesss here?” he asked.
“That’s what I just said, yeah.”
“How odd,” he mused, flicking his tail with a quiet rattling sound. “Interesting.”
“What’s… I mean, they make sense. Any questions?” She looked at him expectantly.
Pentious paused. So many questions, most of which were just variations of ‘those are the ONLY rules?’.
“Are there any.. forbidden topics?” he asked. There was a quite a list of those at the old asylum. He couldn’t even remember the whole list. “Or- or perhapssss any restricted rooms? Banned itemsss?”
Vaggie thought for a moment. “Ehh… not that I can think of. ..Well, the bathroom’s restricted, probably, if someone’s using it. And I don’t think Alastor will like it if you make any sex jokes.”
Pentious recoiled. Why would he—
“But nothing’s really forbidden,” Vaggie continued. “It’s not a prison.”
But it IS an asylum, Pentious finished in his head. ..Sort of, anyway.
He knew it wasn’t like the old place. But the two were eerily similar. They take in people who have something wrong with them— whether it be the insane, or the sinners— and “help” them. He knew how that worked out.
With these kinds of people, their version of ‘help’ was to force them to act properly, or just torture them if they can’t. He hadn’t seen any restraint chairs or straitjackets yet, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.
Follow the rules, and he’d probably never have to see them.
…Except, the rules were actually easy to follow. They were barely anything— don’t kill anyone, don’t use dangerous substances? That’s IT? That’s all there is. It’s almost like freedom. Freedom in a place where there should be none.
So… the people here were free. Free to say and do as they wished.
Did that mean— did that mean that he, too, was free? Like them?
Pentious just didn’t know.
———
There were more oddities. So much more. His first day at the hotel went like this:
He woke up at roughly 6 AM. He liked being up early to get as much done as possible, and he expected that someone would come to drag everyone else out of bed soon, anyway. He knew how this worked, he could finish his job and get out of here soon if he followed the rules.
Except, when 8 AM hit, he was beginning to wonder if there was even a schedule at all. Odd. These sorts of places are usually quite strict. The old asylum made them get up at 5 in the morning. And this place… it’s already 8:00, what’s happening?
He eventually decided to risk opening the door. To his complete surprise, the door actually opened. He wasn’t locked in. They must’ve forgotten to. Lucky thing.
So he made his way downstairs, making sure to stay quiet and try his best to not fall down the stairs. (Of course there wasn’t a ramp, this was Hell. He wondered if he could die in Hell and be reborn with legs. That would be more useful than having a snake tail.)
Maybe he could sneak out. See the sky before they go drag him back inside and beat him up, or whatever it is they do here. And then he heard laughter, voices, noise.
People were awake. He was going to be caught. Oh, God.
“Oh- Sir Pentious!” Charlie greeted happily. “Good to see you up! How’d you sleep? Was the mattress comfortable? What did you dream about? Refreshed and awake, or should I make some coffee— oh, wait, you’re from England, right? At least, I dunno, you have the accent— so.. tea? Maybe?”
If Pentious could blink, he would’ve done a good few times to see if he was still asleep. A lot of questions. Nice questions, weirdly enough. Innocent small-talk. He didn’t expect that from this place.
“..I’m doing fine,” he said, flicking the tip of his tail idly. “It’s, well.. adaquate. A bit sparse, but, ah, I’ll get to—”
“Breakfast is served!” Alastor announced proudly, setting down a couple plates. Pentious quietly leaned away from the deer-esque demon’s hand. Alastor was the hotel manager, and Pentious wasn’t quite sure if he could sleep at night knowing that.
The fact that he broadcasted the screams of the damned didn’t exactly help either. Pentious really hoped he’d never become one of those voices.
The way he viewed it, Charlie was the founder of the asylum— er, hotel. Just a hotel. She probably built it with good will, but from his own experiences, it wouldn’t turn out that way. Not when Alastor was the manager. In asylum terms, he was both doctor and attendant, neither of which were good.
…And if he was going to view this through the lens of an asylum, they wouldn’t actively try to poison the patients, right? So.. they surely wouldn’t try that here.
But, remembering the “food” of the old place (stale bread, ‘tea’ that was more like lukewarm leaf juice, and moldy apples), he wasn’t really anxious to try the stuff here. Although, Alastor’s food was, surprisingly enough, not human flesh. It actually looked good…
He paused. Well, he’d eaten worse. What was the harm? Pentious hesitantly reached for a bit— about the size of the rattler on his tail.
Holy shit, this place was capable of having good food. GOOD. FOOD. It wasn’t expertly made like an a restaurant, but it was made with care and it wasn’t human flesh or rotten apples, so that was a bonus.
Who would’ve guessed that the sociopathic cannibal could cook? That this place cared enough to not feed them stale bread?
This wasn’t actually as bad as he thought.
———
Next up, Charlotte’s ‘moral exercise lessons’. Pentious was half-convinced it was going to be 2 hours of manual labor, but surprisingly, no. Actually, it was more fit for young children than Hell-bound demonic sinners.
“My name is Charlie,” the hellish princess sang. Clap-clap. “I like to sing.” Clap-clap. “And when we get to know each other, it’s the greatest thing!” Clap-clap. She grinned excitedly. “Your turn, Pen!”
Pentious paused. ..Okay, this was… new. He’d never done anything like this before. Is that it? he wondered. Just a simple rhythm? Well, that couldn’t be right. Where was the punishment and torture? The screams of agony and heartbreak? I’ll figure that out later, he decided. Play along, then.
“Eh… my name’s Sir Pentiousss.” He clapped along, although he felt silly for it. “I like to build.” Clap-clap. What else.. how to make it rhyme? “..And despite my sssstupid EggBois, I think I’m very sskilled!” Clap-clap.
There! That did it. He flared out his hood, smiling. He was so good at this. This was too easy, actually. There had to be some painful element to the mix, right? Or did Charlie not know how to run a place like this? This was a bit too innocent. What was the trick?
Charlie gasped and applauded him happily. “Awesome! You next, Angel!”
“This is stupid,” Angel said flatly, rubbing his temple. Pentious felt a twinge of anxiety. Oh, dear. Here it comes.
“This isn’t stupid!” Charlie tried. “IT’S JUST THE GAME.” Clap-clap. “Sir Pentious did it well, so now you try to do the same!” Clap-clap.
Pentious stared blankly. Well, thank you, princess, but… that’s really all she was going to do? He was expecting something more.. violent.
He’d once witnessed a cellmate get slammed into a wall and beaten to a pulp. The reason being? He’d stolen a blank journal from a doctor’s office to write on. He didn’t even have a pen, although Pentious himself had offered to find one for him.
Meanwhile, here was a man who refused to obey orders, even calling it stupid. And he didn’t even get slapped.
“I’m too sober for this,” the spider groaned, standing up.
And he was gone. Sir Pentious wondered when the princess would finally snap. She would eventually, as did everyone, and it would be back to the typical ‘severely punish everyone who can’t abide the rules’ things.
Everyone had a limit. What was Charlie’s?
———
“Wait- I promise you, I’m not like them- let me out,” he pleaded. “I’m sane- please believe me-”
“Of course we believe you,” the attendant said flatly. “You’re clearly sane.”
Relief flooded through him. “Oh, good! I’m so glad you believe me, Mrs… Potts, correct? I heard someone speaking to you— We can surely find some solution, perhaps we could take this to the Court, for example? Or you could call the doctor— a reevaluation is in order, right?”
The attendant snickered, bursting out into cruel laughter. “Haha! Clearly not, if you really think that. Look at yourself, love. Look inside your mind. Tell me you’re really sane.”
He glanced down at himself, wilting. He didn’t actually know what he looked like— there weren’t any mirrors here.
All he knew for sure that he definitely didn’t look good. He’d tried to comb out his hair, at least— it was getting really long, if that was any indication of how much time had passed since he’d last seen the sky. It was practically all the way down his back by now, it was getting annoying and he looked like a girl.
He didn’t know what was happening to the ladies down in the Second Ward, but it really didn’t sound good— screaming and sobbing, at nearly all hours of the day. Oh, god, who would treat the women like that? He hoped they were okay. At least, better than here.
But the people of the Third Ward had been denied food, furniture, and he was beginning to suspect that cleaning supplies were banned. The cell was filthy. He was filthy. He looked insane.
“..Maybe, ah— maybe I could at least have something to do?” he asked hopefully. That wasn’t too much to ask, right? “A.. a pen and paper, perhaps? I don’t think any harm could be done with those, right? ..Well, paper cuts. And I suppose Jeffery could stab me in the eye if he got ahold of a fountain pen and the ink could get in my eye and I’d be half-blinded forever and possibly die, if he jammed it in too far..” Oh, he probably shouldn’t have said that. He was arguing against himself.
“..Uh-huh,” the attendant hummed, looking mildly disturbed. She wrote something down on a piece of parchment. Whoops.
“Although..” he paused, trying to suppress a cunning smile. There was an idea..
“Maybe,” he continued slyly, “I could keep it if he weren’t in the cell. I’m not sure if Jeffery fits the requirements for this ward… perhaps the Seventh is better for him. Or, at the very least, perhaps one of us could be moved elsewhere?” he suggested lightly. He was so glad Jeffery wasn’t in the cell right now; he was busy with labor.
Another argument came to him. Oh, how he loved debate.
“Besides, we tend to fight often,” he continued cunningly. Wouldn’t it make your job easier if you didn’t have to separate Jeffery from me every other hour? Wouldn’t it be an easier job if there was even one less fight? Perhaps if you had more time to take care of other things, you might even get a promotion? At least, it’d be easier for Jeffery… (sigh) and I… to ‘mentally heal’ if we were put in separate cells. You must’ve noticed how he hates me. And again, at the risk of repeating myself… it would certainly make your job easier, right?”
He’d always been convincing. ‘Slippery as a snake,’ as one of his old friends joked. How WAS Jonas doing? Did he know about what was happening in here? Would he believe that he was sane? Does he care?
He’d briefly considering being a lawyer, before he first discovered his love for building machines. Besides, it was a small request, just for a piece of paper, just to get rid of a violent inmate, but it would be a monumental achievement.
“No,” the attendant said dismissively.
…Oh.
———
Pentious bolted up and fell off the mattress with a yelp. He quickly covered his mouth, heart pounding. No noises past curfew. Oh, god, the doctor would kill him— wait, no. This was the Hotel. Charlie would kill him.
…Wait, that was worse, actually. Charlie wasn’t just a human who had control over his freedom— this was the demonic daughter of Lucifer, the princess of Hell, who had control over all of reality.
He counted the seconds in his head.
1.. 2..
Maybe nobody heard.
3.. 4..
He didn’t hear footsteps.
5.. 6.. 7..
He risked climbing back onto the mattress, as silently as someone could, if they had no legs and their tail made a rattling sound with every slight movement. As in, surprisingly quiet, but he still winced at his involuntary hiss. It sounded deafening in the silence. But nobody noticed yet, right?
8… 9… 10.
Okay. Nobody was awake. Good. He was safe, at least. Just a dream. It was just a dream.
He shivered at the bare white walls and ceiling. Too similar. God, he hated it.
He had a plan in his head— tomorrow, if they’d allow it, he’d go and decorate his room as soon as he could. Cover every bare bit of space, fill up the whole room with whatever he wanted. The complete opposite of the old, filthy cell.
Yes, he could see it now. Wait, was he SURE that was what they said? No, no, he was sure. He could do whatever he wanted with this room. ..Probably.
He had control now. He hissed with satisfaction.
And then he heard a noise. His heart stopped.
Muffled but still audible, a voice filtered through the door.
“God fuckin’ damnit.. ‘it’ll only take an hour,’ he said. Quel figlio di puttana, someday, I’ll own HIS soul. Fuck, my everything hurts.”
Just Angel Dust. Complaining.. extremely loud. Was that allowed? Oh, dear, Pentious hoped they wouldn’t try to punish him for that, he didn’t like Angel, but nobody deserved the punishments—
“DOV'È IL CAZZO DI WHISKY?”
…Well. It was his funeral, then. Pentious prayed for him. Angel always seemed to be doing something bad, how had he not been beaten yet? Oh, dear, he hoped Charlie was dead asleep
The next day, he saw Angel rubbing at a bruise on his neck, wincing. Charlie asked him if he was okay.
“It’s fine,” the spider said tiredly. “Just a tough day on set, we’re doin’ some pretty.. rough action, if ya know what I mean. Val’s a bit pissed ‘bout it.”
Pentious glanced over to the concerned-looking hellish princess, suspicion settling in like a storm cloud.
He had to be more careful.
———
“Abort mission!” he hissed urgently.
The tiny Vox on the watch-screen stared. “You- you were caught.” He let out a puff of laughter, before cackling. “It hasn’t even been- a DAY.”
Pentious felt a stab of annoyance. Was it HIS fault for not noticing Angel Dust in the corridor? ..It was. His job was to spy on the hotel. And he failed. His fault.
“Do me favor,” Vox continued. “If they don’t kill you— go ahead and do it yourself, you miserable failure.” The screen went dark. Pentious felt like he was made of ice— cold, shivery. Frozen. Breakable.
Well.. okay then. This was a situation, alright. That he definitely couldn’t escape from— one drunken spider whore, one angry woman with a sharpened spear, and a heartbroken princess of Hell who had power over all of reality.
Yep. He was going to die. He tried to swallow the dread. “Well… make it quick, I sssssuppose.”
How would they do it? He thought back to the torture from the asylum— perhaps they’d strap him to a chair? Inject him with something? A lobotomy? Genital mutilation? Drown him with the wash bucket? Starve and isolate him?
A thousand memories flashed through his mind.
Days where he’d been locked in his cell.
Days spent stuck with men who tried to kill each other, screamed in the middle of the night and cried gibberish.
Days when the attendants refused to believe his sanity, refused his pleas for food, for water, for release.
Long days filled with boredom, pain, anxiety, terror, hunger, death.
Maybe if he was lucky, they’d only HALF-drown him. Or maybe they’d just give him manual labor. He’d still be alive, at least. He still had the knife in his room, if he.. needed it. For any reason at all.
Charlie paused. “We’re not going to kill you, Sir Pentious.”
Pentious had to do a double-take. Not going to- hold on. “What..?”
Angel shot a tired, annoyed look at the princess. “Y’sure we can’ killim?” he asked, words blurring together from the alcohol.
“No!” Charlie protested. “That would be too cruel. This is a place for second chances, forgiveness.”
“He already had his second chance,” Vaggie reminded Charlie. “When we first took him in after he nearly blew up your life’s ambition.”
“We’re NOT killing him,” Charlie insisted.
Oh thank God. Wait— there was still going to be a punishment. He had to think of something.
“That’s good,” he chirped before anybody could start discussing his fate. Plant in the idea before they even have time to think. “Although, if I’m allowed to make requests, I’d much refer labor over drowning.”
His logic was simple: First off, he’d heard of reverse psychology. He didn’t understand a lot of it, but the basic idea stuck. If they made him do manual labor as punishment, he’d be awake the whole time. If they decided to half-drown him, then he’d be unconscious, so it would feel like less! Sure, the drowning was more terrifying, but still. Maybe he could hold his breath.
Plus, if they locked him in his cell room, he’d be somewhat hydrated from the water. That would be good.
All three demons stared at him.
“I’m sorry, what the fuck are you talking about?” Vaggie asked, studying him with a weird look.
“Nonononononono,” Charlie quickly said. “No! This is a place of redemption, and second chances. We’re not gonna do anything to you!”
“Oh, I’ll do sumthin’ to ‘im,” Angel snarled drunkenly.
“NOPE,” Charlie insisted, snatching the gun away from him. “REDEMPTION. SECOND CHANCES. GUNS AREN’T A PART OF REDEMPTION, ANGEL.”
“You’re— you’re really not going to do anything?” Pentious asked. “Even though I..” he gestured weakly to the not-so-hidden camera.
“You made a mistake,” Charlie said. “You can still change!”
Pentious paused to think. He put the camera there on purpose, he chose to work for the Vees on purpose. That wasn’t the definition of ‘making a mistake.’ But the second part.. maybe. Hopefully.
“Look- you made a bad choice,” Charlie continued. “But you’re not stuck with it. Just start with an apology to Angel and Vaggie, and we’ll move on from there.”
“I’m.. sssssorry?” he hissed. This was weird. This was.. strangely tame. Just an apology. Weird.
What he did.. this would’ve meant death. This would’ve meant 3 months in an isolated cell in the Ninth Ward.
And all Charlie wanted was 2 meaningless words.
This was supposed to be the breaking point. The moment where they all showed their true colors as the most terrifying people in Hell.
But.. apparently…
It didn’t make sense to him. That they were being genuine. But he couldn’t come up with any other explanation. So.. the act they were putting on, pretending to care.
They.. did care?
They actually cared. They genuinely weren’t planning anything.
Pentious didn’t know what to do. But he decided on one thing, amidst all the confusion:
They’d just won his undying loyalty. They cared, they genuinely cared, this proved it. He couldn’t just take that for granted.
It was still weird. Why did they care, why didn’t they just do what the others have done? But he had no clue how to ask them that, and really, he was just happy to be here, he’d figure that out later. They were genuinely nice, that’s all that mattered.
Pentious was already starting to enjoy this.