Alastor finished checking to see if his nose had been broken before staring at Vox cackling like a madman. When he saw the bandages turning red, something inside of him snapped.
Unaware that his eyes had turned to radio dials and his antlers were branching out, Alastor reached Vox in a few quick strides, grabbed his shoulder with one hand and the top of his stupid flat head with the other, and realigned them.
"Are you an idiot?! Your head's going to fall back off!"
Vox's hands raise and catch Alastor's head, too, his eyes peering into those radio dial eyes.
Stunning.
"Bₑaᵤₜᵢfᵤₗ," Vox warbled, the words clearly causing more bleeding - another little chuckle, and a little mute icon appeared in the corner of the new screen. No words until that regenerated, got it.
Alastor had no idea if it was just his imagination but the world seemed to dissolve into static as his ears flattened out.
"Did you even have a plan for how to attach your new head after you removed the old one and would be blind as a bat?!" he raged, unsoothed by the compliment. He paused. "Blink twice for 'yes' and three times for 'no'!"
...There was a lot going on in this moment. Vox's smile finally fell.
What... was the radio doing? The static felt wrong. This power coming from Alastor felt-- well. Like it was too strong, for a man that didn't have any deals. Vox's claws dropped from Alastor's head to his shoulders, gripping them... in wariness? In warning?
He doesn't blink, rather, his eye flashes - Vox can't provide a command, but he needs Alastor to calm the fuck down. Why is he mad?? Why isn't he celebrating??
Alastor locked eyes with the hypno eye. Without a command, it didn't really do anything more than his anger relaxing at the swirling colors.
The world returned to normal as his antlers shrank back down, eyes returning to normal.
Alastor blew out a breath, whisper-counting to himself "One, two, three, four..."
He kept going, body relaxing a bit more with each number. It was a trick a senior radio host had taught him at his old radio station back when he was alive.
He shut down those memories before he could get lost in his own head. At around fifty-two, he finally stopped.
"I'm sorry. You scared me. I felt your distress call and came as fast as I could only to find you headless and..." He shook his head. "Your bandages are bleeding. You're still injured."
Vox gave Alastor's shoulder a pat, but then waved dismissively - completely blowing off the concern and fear Alastor was expressing for him. He tugged at the turtleneck, visibly disappointed in losing it, but moved to pull it off over his newly attached head.
"Let me do it. If you're not careful, your head's going to fall off," Alastor said, frustration starting to mount again.
He tried mentally counting as he started pulling the sweater up over his shoulders. He carefully removed Vox's arms from the sleeves before pausing to study the new issue.
"I'm going to go slow for this part. I don't want to rip your head off."
The nausea churned away but he ignored it for the moment. Once Vox was done, then he could vomit.
It's definitely a lot harder to get around the sharp corners of the widescreen - especially as it pulls. More blood. Vox holds onto his neck, as if literally holding it together.
After this he needed. A drink. And to sleep off the regeneration.
The sweater might be salvageable. (Big might.) Alastor had gotten blood out of a lot of different fabrics while alive.
However, once it came off, it wasn't likely it was ever going back on again. Not unless the turtleneck was changed into something wider. Or it all became a button-up shirt.
"There."
Alastor folded the bloodied sweater and set it on a cleaner spot of the workbench. Then he calmly walked over to the trashcan, picked it up, and proceeded to lose the lousy catered lunch he'd had on set.
This isn't the energy he wanted after a successful transformation. He wanted to either fuck up and die, or clean himself up, hide until he healed for good, then make a dramatic reveal.
Instead here he was, stuck on mute, he'd gotten assistance but he'd mortified his best contractee. With a sigh (that sounded more wet than probably was healthy), Vox followed to where Alastor was and gave him a few pats on the back.
Alastor's heaving calmed after a few rounds. Then he put the trashcan down.
"I'm sorry. I just...You were completely headless. I know you wanted to have this grand reveal of your new head, and I ruined it for you."
He reached up, pausing as he automatically moved to place a hand on the side of Vox's head. However, there was a screen there now. He settled for resting Vox's lower part of the screen in one hand.
"You look lovely, my dear. The flatscreen suits you."
He was going to miss the old CRT, but if this was what made Vox happy, then Alastor would keep his thoughts to himself.
As if Vox couldn't tell Alastor was acting at him, right now. He gave a wry smile. His cameras were crystal clear, now... Alastor was really stunning. Lightly, Vox ran a (bloody) blue claw down Alastor's cheek. Those radio dials... the antlers... that'd been quite a sight.
Alastor was gonna forget his place, at this rate.
Words flashed as Vox "spoke" - subtitles instead of a voice.
Vox's hand withdrew from touching Alastor's face. He seems... incredulous. Confused.
Was Alastor lying to him? He was a stunning actor, but that ruse would've been elaborate - it made more sense if it was true. Why else would Alastor have been that furious with him?
...No. Even if it's sincere, he can't have Alastor realizing how powerful he's getting and getting bold enough to yell at him. That's-- that's a fast track to Alastor deciding he didn't want to deal with Vox anymore. To them fighting, and only one surviving that scramble.
The electric blue chain and collar appear, and Vox pulls it taut, pulling Alastor up against his chest. His claws grabbed at the small of Alastor's back, controlling exactly where Alastor stood and how.
It was a good thing his body could contort so easily in ways it really shouldn't. If it wasn't able to do that, the way he was being positioned would really hurt.
He didn't dare argue. It might not have been his intention to doubt his overlord, but fear was a form of doubt.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, ears flattening in fear.
Vox was very good to. Far more than he deserved, really.
But that also meant he knew the best ways to break Alastor if need be.
Good boy. Fear was a good look on him. Subservient, fearful, gorgeous.
Vox dismissed the chains, relaxing his hold and resting his other hand on the small of Alastor's back, holding the man in a loose embrace as he swayed. Not from passing out, though his body threatened it, but in a gentle dance.
Alastor automatically moved in perfect synchronicity with Vox. He relaxed a bit that Vox didn't seem too upset by him. However, he was still on edge, fully knowledgeable that another misstep would not be appreciated.
Even if he did want to tell Vox to sit down, he bit his tongue. He'd gotten lucky this time. Best not to press it.
Perfect. That's more like it. That's the way things should be.
Now he can be sure that Alastor won't leave him, or stab him in the back. But really-- this radio of his was growing stronger! He just needed to figure out how to really boost himself from that power, how to harness it... hmm. He needed to improve himself even more.
Vox smirked, spinning Alastor in a slow, steady move before bowing in a performance of classic respect - for a dancing partner.
Hey, if nothing else, it looks like his new head isn't about to fall off from Vox bending over!
Oh, Vox. Alastor would never leave or backstab you. He'd rather have an Exorcist run him through.
Alastor gave a bow in return as was only right. Not just as a sign of respect to his dancing partner but as an additional show of apology for doubting his overlord for ever a moment.
"Is there anything you need from me?"
Eager. He wanted to make his lapse up to Vox. He wasn't more trouble than he was worth. Please oh please don't throw him away...
Hmm... Vox folded his arms behind his back - his usual stance when thinking things through. There's an initial thought to have Alastor clean up the mess, but he'd reacted so bad it'd be more trouble than it's worth - and maybe too harsh on someone that responded immediately when his signal called, even when he expressly said he wasn't going to be there.
...Hmm.
He beckons with a finger for Alastor to follow, abandoning the gory work station for someone else to clean up.
Alastor didn't hesitate, didn't ask questions. He simply followed.
He'd wondered if he'd have to clean up the mess. Somehow it unsettled him to clean up Vox's blood and throw out the remains of his old head. Though perhaps he needed to get used to it. Just because Vox was happy with the current generation of flatscreens didn't mean he wouldn't upgrade in the future.
Vox stopped only once, when one of the assistants crossed paths with them both - the wide-eyed sinner trembled, Vox gestured at the phone in their hand, and the assistant nodded after seeing the message. They took off, hurrying towards the grotesque room, clearly assigned as the stooge to clean it.
For Alastor, though. He'd been a good boy answering his Overlord's distress signal, however unintentional and unwanted it was. He didn't want to completely disincentivize that. So it was back to Vox's room they went, the TV headed man opening the door for Alastor and gesturing politely. Come in.
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Unaware that his eyes had turned to radio dials and his antlers were branching out, Alastor reached Vox in a few quick strides, grabbed his shoulder with one hand and the top of his stupid flat head with the other, and realigned them.
"Are you an idiot?! Your head's going to fall back off!"
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Vox's hands raise and catch Alastor's head, too, his eyes peering into those radio dial eyes.
Stunning.
"Bₑaᵤₜᵢfᵤₗ," Vox warbled, the words clearly causing more bleeding - another little chuckle, and a little mute icon appeared in the corner of the new screen. No words until that regenerated, got it.
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"Did you even have a plan for how to attach your new head after you removed the old one and would be blind as a bat?!" he raged, unsoothed by the compliment. He paused. "Blink twice for 'yes' and three times for 'no'!"
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What... was the radio doing? The static felt wrong. This power coming from Alastor felt-- well. Like it was too strong, for a man that didn't have any deals. Vox's claws dropped from Alastor's head to his shoulders, gripping them... in wariness? In warning?
He doesn't blink, rather, his eye flashes - Vox can't provide a command, but he needs Alastor to calm the fuck down. Why is he mad?? Why isn't he celebrating??
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The world returned to normal as his antlers shrank back down, eyes returning to normal.
Alastor blew out a breath, whisper-counting to himself "One, two, three, four..."
He kept going, body relaxing a bit more with each number. It was a trick a senior radio host had taught him at his old radio station back when he was alive.
He shut down those memories before he could get lost in his own head. At around fifty-two, he finally stopped.
"I'm sorry. You scared me. I felt your distress call and came as fast as I could only to find you headless and..." He shook his head. "Your bandages are bleeding. You're still injured."
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He tried mentally counting as he started pulling the sweater up over his shoulders. He carefully removed Vox's arms from the sleeves before pausing to study the new issue.
"I'm going to go slow for this part. I don't want to rip your head off."
The nausea churned away but he ignored it for the moment. Once Vox was done, then he could vomit.
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After this he needed. A drink. And to sleep off the regeneration.
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The sweater might be salvageable. (Big might.) Alastor had gotten blood out of a lot of different fabrics while alive.
However, once it came off, it wasn't likely it was ever going back on again. Not unless the turtleneck was changed into something wider. Or it all became a button-up shirt.
"There."
Alastor folded the bloodied sweater and set it on a cleaner spot of the workbench. Then he calmly walked over to the trashcan, picked it up, and proceeded to lose the lousy catered lunch he'd had on set.
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Instead here he was, stuck on mute, he'd gotten assistance but he'd mortified his best contractee. With a sigh (that sounded more wet than probably was healthy), Vox followed to where Alastor was and gave him a few pats on the back.
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"I'm sorry. I just...You were completely headless. I know you wanted to have this grand reveal of your new head, and I ruined it for you."
He reached up, pausing as he automatically moved to place a hand on the side of Vox's head. However, there was a screen there now. He settled for resting Vox's lower part of the screen in one hand.
"You look lovely, my dear. The flatscreen suits you."
He was going to miss the old CRT, but if this was what made Vox happy, then Alastor would keep his thoughts to himself.
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Alastor was gonna forget his place, at this rate.
Words flashed as Vox "spoke" - subtitles instead of a voice.
You're looking at the future.
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He smiled softly at Vox, expression more genuine.
"The future's certainly bright," he quipped.
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I thought you were a serial killer in life?
Thought you'd be used to a dismembered body or two.
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1/2
Was Alastor lying to him? He was a stunning actor, but that ruse would've been elaborate - it made more sense if it was true. Why else would Alastor have been that furious with him?
...
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The electric blue chain and collar appear, and Vox pulls it taut, pulling Alastor up against his chest. His claws grabbed at the small of Alastor's back, controlling exactly where Alastor stood and how.
You DOUBTED me.
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He didn't dare argue. It might not have been his intention to doubt his overlord, but fear was a form of doubt.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, ears flattening in fear.
Vox was very good to. Far more than he deserved, really.
But that also meant he knew the best ways to break Alastor if need be.
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Vox dismissed the chains, relaxing his hold and resting his other hand on the small of Alastor's back, holding the man in a loose embrace as he swayed. Not from passing out, though his body threatened it, but in a gentle dance.
Alastor just had to remember to keep in step.
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Even if he did want to tell Vox to sit down, he bit his tongue. He'd gotten lucky this time. Best not to press it.
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Now he can be sure that Alastor won't leave him, or stab him in the back. But really-- this radio of his was growing stronger! He just needed to figure out how to really boost himself from that power, how to harness it... hmm. He needed to improve himself even more.
Vox smirked, spinning Alastor in a slow, steady move before bowing in a performance of classic respect - for a dancing partner.
Hey, if nothing else, it looks like his new head isn't about to fall off from Vox bending over!
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Alastor gave a bow in return as was only right. Not just as a sign of respect to his dancing partner but as an additional show of apology for doubting his overlord for ever a moment.
"Is there anything you need from me?"
Eager. He wanted to make his lapse up to Vox. He wasn't more trouble than he was worth. Please oh please don't throw him away...
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...Hmm.
He beckons with a finger for Alastor to follow, abandoning the gory work station for someone else to clean up.
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He'd wondered if he'd have to clean up the mess. Somehow it unsettled him to clean up Vox's blood and throw out the remains of his old head. Though perhaps he needed to get used to it. Just because Vox was happy with the current generation of flatscreens didn't mean he wouldn't upgrade in the future.
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For Alastor, though. He'd been a good boy answering his Overlord's distress signal, however unintentional and unwanted it was. He didn't want to completely disincentivize that. So it was back to Vox's room they went, the TV headed man opening the door for Alastor and gesturing politely. Come in.
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