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The cheshire grin on Alastor’s face seems to glow a brighter gold in the firelight, but his teeth parted around his reply, so at least he wasn’t angry.
An angry Alastor could probably rip you in two if he pleased. You still tense and catch your breath between your teeth when, without warning, the Radio Demon’s claws skitter up one of your shoulders, laying one sharp finger at a time and gripping until he has you firm against his side like a cherished companion.
“Isn’t that what the hotel is all about, ‘Lu’? Making ‘friends’?”
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Alastor seizes any opportunity to aggravate Lucifer. It just so happens that you are that opportunity.
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