Even more than his food or his murders, radio had been Alastor's life when he'd been alive. He'd been enamored with it since a young age back when he'd been a boy from the bayou that hated talking due to how ignorant his accent made him sound. When the man on the radio talked, everybody listened, and Alastor had craved that respect like a man needed air to breathe.

Alastor's office was slightly bigger than the two-person booth without the soundboard room attached to it. He'd already picked up quite a few knickknacks and oddities from his new "coworkers" who were grateful for his input on everything from why the interior needed to be a maze to teaching others his craft. Like the main booths and sound stages, the office was soundproofed to minimize the amount of outside noise getting picked up on a hot mic. However, Alastor's office was the closest to regular foot traffic since he could easily filter out any unwanted excess noise with his internal equipment and literal decades of practice doing so.

He gestured to one of two seats in front of his desk. He took the seat behind it, leaning forward to rest his arms on the desktop. His ambient static hummed with excited energy.

"So what brings you to the station? Looking to try that idea of performing yourself?"