It has been a couple of days now since they landed in hell. They've since grown to live normally in the harsh environment— It wasn't as if the doctor didn't live through such things.
But over the days, they grew tired of the constant lack of money. Sure, stealing was pretty easy. They were sure even children could do it— and with where they are currently situated, that is a true statement.
But the hard part was getting away with it. They were never a pickpocketer when they were alive, at least in the way you'd think it was.
In their time in hell, whenever they got caught stealing, the response was either blatant ignorance or retaliation.
In the times when the sellers and workers could careless about their obvious theiving is something the doctor has taken granted for. When they came to take something from the wrong store, their adrenaline is placed on survival rather than excitement. It didn't help that the citizens living in hell were insane.
The first time the doctor tried to steal something were gloves. One of the employees saw them snatch away a pair of black gloves, so they responded by trying to burn them alive with fire spewing out of their mouth.
The second time was for a hat, and they just had to choose a store with a cannibalistic inhabitant for its owner. The store owner then chased them out of the store while delightfully trying to chomp off their arm.
It had been a hectic couple of days, and they needed a job. Stealing was becoming more of a hassle to them than they had hoped it would.
That is why, currently, they were propped behind a bar wiping mugs.
The doctor never really worked around how they exactly got this job in the first place, but they could care less.
Although they missed the days when they would get paid hefty sums from the government, they didn't complain all too much with their current status. They were going to get paid, and that is all that matters right now.
They placed the mug they were wiping on its shelf behind the bar before looking up to be met with beer being splashed on their face.
"What the fuck is this!?" An angry customer yelled.
"This is sour!" He continued.
The doctor looked at them through the black lenses of their mask.
They weren't too sad about their coat and mask as the coat was waxed, and their mask (face? if you could call it that?) was leather-like, so the beer rolled off with no effort.
Their hat, unfortunately, was not spared the same fate.
The doctor quietly mourned their hat.
They half-listened to the customer berating them for the beer they didn't make while trailing their thought to a wall behind the customer until he finally stopped his ranting.
The customer then slammed his mug on the bar before going back to his table with his other peers, leaving the doctor with a soaking hat and an empty mug.
The doctor caught a grumble about how it smells strong of something balsamic.
Shrugging, they took the mug and walked to the distillery in the back to fill it with beer.
On the way to one of the barrels set on the shelves, they came across some big hellish-equivalent of rats drawing near them.
They stomped on the ground to scare away the pests.
After the brief interaction with the rats, they walked out of the brewery. They set the new mug of beer on the customer's table before going back behind the bar. On the way, they overheard them making a snide remark towards them.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
Myrrh and Camphor (Hazbin Hotel + PlagueDoctor!reader)
FanficThey were a plague doctor from the 17th century. Ironically enough, they died of the plague. To add to that, they became the very thing they were fighting against. OR plague doctor reader in hazbin hotel. Hazbin hotel & plaguedoctor!reader (3rd POV)...
