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“Welcome back to our program. If you're just now tuning in, that's quite rude, but I suppose that's par for the course here in Hell! Ah well, no matter. The important thing is you're here now. Whether that be through means of coercion or free will, I'm glad to have your ears. In between the usual songs of torture, I've been tasked with spreading 'holiday joy' and 'inspirational quotes' to 'bring cheer'. Folks, if you would, direct any angry glares Miss Charlie's way.”
Everyone surrounding the radio did just that, but Charlie was undeterred. “Guuuuuys, this is gonna be great, you'll see! It'll be a good distraction from all the misery around here.”
“I murdered a guy on Christmas and then Santa murdered me like right after so nothing could make me feel cheerful in any kind of way around this time,” a demon said.
Charlie cocked her head. “...Santa murdered you? As in jolly St. Nick?”
The demon nodded solemnly. “The very same.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“To make your living space more festive, you can use blood to paint your collection of skulls. Radioactive sludge from all the pollution often has a nice green color. Red and green for Christmas, how quaint.”
Charlie brightened up. “That's what we can do! Arts and crafts! We can make this sad state of affairs way less sad!”
Angel groaned. “None of us are even fucking Christian. This is Hell. I mean what the actual-”
“Hey! This is a Christmas fic. You only get ONE F-bomb!”
“You gotta be f***ing kidding me! I'm being f***ing censored?? In f***ing b**ch a** H**???”
“I didn't say you had to censor those other words....”
She cleared her throat. “ANYWAY, let's make some snowflakes or something. Does anyone have an idea on what we could use?”
Lucifer materialized in the room. I bet he has that power and so many others. Through the power of fiction, anything is possible. He came bearing bags of craft supplies.
“Hi Charlie, I've brought these things because I'm a good dad who does nothing wrong xoxo.”
“Daddy!” She beamed. “What all did you bring? Did you stop at a Michael's on the way over?”
“Joann's actually. That one went to Capitalism Hell. You know, on the other side of town.”
He dumped out the contents of the bags and out spilled bones, poison ivy, driftwood, so many eyeballs. At least there was construction paper so all hope wasn't lost.
“Folks, some denizens of Hell have way less than the more reputable among us so they have to make do with what they have. You too can find what you have around your prison chambers and make use of those items. An old rusty pipe and some crack spoons can become a swell mug tree in a jiffy as an example. You can also take barbed wire and make a lovely necklace for the one you hate most.”
“Well you tried, dad, and that's all that matters.”
Lucifer gave Charlie a big thumbs up and they set to work making snowflakes. The eyeballs made for great ornaments, but they still had no tree for the lobby and that made Charlie very sad even though the lack of one wasn't mentioned at all earlier in the story. Angel offered to be the tree once he was high enough, but it turned out a LOT of other guys ALSO wanted to be the tree once THEY were high/wasted on Hell Nog ™ . Thus, an incredible, bloody fistfight ensued. Teeth were knocked out; hair was yanked; Alastor seemed to encourage this by playing fight music; it was just an entire mess like this very paragraph you're reading. But in the end, it was decided they could all take turns being the tree, that again, no one cared about prior to this.
“Hazbin Hotel has never looked more festive!” Charlie cried with glee. “I hope we can make this a yearly tradition!”
It never happened again.
“I hope you're enjoyed our program, folks. We now go back to our usual broadcast of terrorized screaming and nightmares. Thank you and goodnight.”
The End