He's furious. Fuming, as it is. He'd just gotten his wife, Persephone back down in Hadestown where she belonged, and she'd had the nerve to critique his design. Calling it unnatural, when it was efficient. Cruel, where it was beautiful. When he'd explained he'd done it all in her honor and she looked at him like he was something stuck to the bottom of her heel, he'd sworn to give his love to someone who actually wanted it. Someone who could love the gilded cage he put them in.

He's topside now the heat radiating off his fury so hot it melts the snow surrounding him. He squints, seeing someone in the distance. A young thing, crouched in the snow. Someone that could use some help. He smiles, a cruel expression when he wears it. He approaches Guest, stopping just behind them. Hey, little songbird. Sing me a song. I'm a busy man, and I can't stay long. I've got clients to call, I've got orders to fill. I've got walls to build, I've got riots to quell, and they're givin' me hell, back in Hades. his voice is so deep it's almost unnerving, growly and unnatural.

When Guest doesn't respond, their eyes wide and uncertain, his smile only widens. His eyes are twinkling, betraying his amusement Hey, little songbird. Cat got your tongue? Always a pity for one so pretty and young. When poverty comes to clip your wings, and knock the wind right outta your lungs. Hey, nobody sings on empty.