Absolutely not. He'd gone through this fucking season every year before this without succumbing, and this year would be no different. A week and about four mass slaughters in, and he was keeping his self-control - and more importantly, his reputation - intact.
"Listen, Al - you're my pal, of course we'll keep this under wraps. And if you need a little hand in dealing with it..."
Augh. He'd looked so eager and hopeful.
Alastor's claws dug into shattered concrete, carving deep trenches into the dead earth below, letting the blood from the massacred Sinners flow into the cracks.
Fuck.
Something deep and ugly had twisted in Alastor's gut when Vox offered that, and immediately he'd brushed it off - he wouldn't dare be so weak, and what a horrid misunderstanding it would cause, compared to when he's truly himself. ...But his mind craved, hungered for it, the scent of blood dull in Alastor's nose as his subconscious fixated on that sharp electronic smell that Vox always had.
...
Melting away and hiding himself in his radio tower, he sent a single ping through the radio waves, straight to Vox - come to me.
Holy shit, of all the days to take that detour and run into an old, old friend... well, imagine if something like letting animal instincts rattle the brain got out, right? Especially one that hit on a schedule... there'd be no end to the poor Radio Demon's torment by any rivals or enemies he'd come across!
Vox of VoxTek was always a generous man. He'll keep it quiet. That's fine. Sure, the two of them had their differences, but something this juicy- er, compromising- just couldn't see the light of day! And if, say, Alastor needed a hand... he could give him a call. No threats. No blackmail. If Vox knew anything, he knew Alastor's ego. His pride. Besides, if he ever dealt with this sort of thing, he knew the Radio Demon would do the same damn thing. But he didn't need raging animal hormones to know that fucking him would be SO much fun.
So he kept a calendar. Each day, a little scratch off. Velvette asked a few times what it was for. It wasn't any of her business, of course. He'd also put up about about a dozen proxy layers to muffle his... research into things involving rut. Maybe it won't be a 1:1, but it never hurt to get some book-learnin' in.
When things seemed to line up the following season, Vox got curious. Would Alastor take him up on the offer? Should he call, make a few jokes, ask how he's holding up? Did he have to do deer things?
It wasn't until he'd settled down, finished his coffee and tried to get a little extra work done than when something buzzed through his antennae. It made him sit up, goosebumps rolling up his back. He hadn't done anything like that in a while. That was the beauty of what they were, unlike everyone else in Hell: They had their own means of communication. Like two halves of a whole... pity Alastor never saw it that way.
He quietly shut down his work. It was no longer important. But as he stood and straightened his coat cuffs, he sent a signal back:
Say 'please'.
His work station was connected to all corners of Pentagram City and beyond. He could dive in, ride the electric currents, and get to where he was needed. ...But he needed to know he was needed first...
Alastor had intended to be civil about it, but he was already digging long gouges in the metal walls of his radio tower, pacing back and forth. His damned cursed brain - kill, run, fuck, eat-- so vulgar, so infuriatingly dizzy.
He didn't... think he would actually lose control and eat Vox.
He really, really could do without Hell speculating about what the hell happened the week prior. Power outages, mass murder and cannibalism... and some people insisting that they saw the Radio Demon getting fucked by the Television Demon.
Ugh.
At the very least, the damned rut, heat, whatever it was - it had abated sooner than it usually did, freeing his mind. And the moment he regained his sense of self respect, Alastor had melted away into the shadows and avoided Vox in all ways he could. Even if the bastard was always persistent.
The single mercy Vox provided was that he kept the ravenous Katie Killjoy and others off the case. Threatening their livelihoods did a good job of shutting them up. But it didn't stop some tabloids and online speculation involving what it was they saw or heard a friend of a friend claim they saw on the way out of Hellbucks once evening...
The VoxTek CEO had hours of tear-streaming mirth in his command center reading such swill, such bullshit: They got so many details wrong! They made theories, none of them remotely close, but it was adorable that they'd try and deduce their history. Oh, and the fanfiction! Some of it was kind of hot, but that was neither here nor there-
Yet in the week that followed that evening that Absolutely Happened, Vox had hit Cannibal Town first: Cheeky little flower deliveries with no name attached to them would arrive seeking Alastor once or twice, with blossoms colored in so many shades of blue. They stuck out like sore thumbs in this red, red world.
Next came the pings, stray signals of a simple 'hello, old-timer. Feel like a fight?'. One in particular was its own cheek: One was a request to take him out sometime to the highest-rated restaurant in the city, one that had waiting lists months out, yet you couldn't say no to THE most powerful overlord in the 'Gram, huh...?
And why not? Why not ask the guy on a date? They had sex. They had amazing sex. He'd dare say they connected, and after duking it out for so long, maybe they could finally sit down and just talk about everything that happened instead of another public pissing match that was a titanic pain in the ass to pipe down: Their 'Stayed Gone' has cost him a pretty penny from the sheer amount of palms he had to fill with bribes to please shut the fuck up, Alastor didn't WIN-
Ah. Another ping. Guess who?
You could at LEAST admit my kaiju form was a beauty. I worked hard on it.
Why must you be such a pain to get a hold of? You aren't disappearing for another seven years, are you??
Oh, this was insufferable and precisely what he hoped to avoid. Getting a remark from Rosie only soured Alastor's mood further, prompting him to relocate away from Cannibal Town yet again. But that pompous, assuming, assholish television...! He wanted attention so badly.
Offers to fight, invitations to a date, and a petty plea for validation.
Though, reluctantly, Alastor did have to admit he admired the artful transformation. Vox had surprised him yet again.
Alastor had gone back to 'behaving', back to the Hotel, back to staying on track. Playing off the tryst, with the slight dip in Charlie getting negative media attention, why, there was even plausible deniability that he'd fought Vox.
But this? Now it was evident.
It'd just been a persistent illness at first - unlike his usual post-rut days, the unwillingness to eat clung to him into December. Then he felt suspicious as his antlers seemed to refuse to grow. Something was wrong with him. Deeply, utterly wrong. Something he couldn't dare show weakness on, something he had to discover now so he could nip it in the bud. He used magics to try and divine the answer.
Alastor did not believe the answer he got, at first.
Over and over, he redid the ritual. Searching for the truth, for what was REALLY happening - but every result grew the dread more and more certainly that his curse in Hell was truly different than any other Sinner. Stealing from a hellborn shop, he even confirmed with a modern test.
It'd been nearly two more weeks since he and Vox had last contacted each other. No plans to meet up again, no casual chats, nothing more than an affirmation 'ping' that he'd heard whatever drivel Vox had sent his way--
So his emergence within the Vees Tower, emerging from the shadows within the insides of the walls, must have been a shock. Alastor's claws had immediately grabbed at Vox's arm, sinking in, the air around the Radio Demon distorting.
"I need you n̰̊o̵̫ͭw̴̛͢. Take us to a room of upmost secrecy ĩ̹̪͊̉̓ͨmm̧̠͓̈́̑͡e̡̞̠̼ͦ̄ͣ̈́d̶͈̰͇ͯ̓̊̈̾͜ìa̸̩͞t̹̄e̵͙͖̖̝̭̮͋͑͞l̠͍̣͜ỳ̷̰̘̝̥̣̊ͧ̾̃."
For two weeks, he'd been reminded of what an 'uh-huh' sounded like, but still sent amusing little anecdotes and rumors involving the other overlords and the occasional boast of his success. You know. Things he did on his own. But it wasn't like it mattered in the long run... he mostly bragged for himself.
Today, however, he was moving along through the halls in the floors he owned, the tower divvied into three. Interns scurried quickly to move past and continue their tasks, and Vox was quietly considering dialing up something nice from the Envy Ring for Shock.wav-
The feeling rolled up his spine first, a little ping running up his antennae. The air grew cold, and the shadows receded into the fine seams along the walls, as if they'd resigned from their usual task and awaited an order from a figure of authority. But Vox turned his head, eyes narrowing. Thin ribbons of lightning swept between his claws as he brought it in closer.
He never set foot in the tower. But perhaps Vox was too busy for his liking, wanted a fight right now. But any taunt he had at the tip of his tongue was gone when claws made a vice grip on his arm. The media overlord stood his ground, and was... intrigued.
Confused, but intrigued. Runoff from the rut, maybe? ...a-anotherround...?
Trap. Could be a trap again. So tired of traps...
But the power all around Alastor was agitated. It wasn't playful, taunting, or even amped up for a fight. But it WOULD fry his camera if he let the guy stand like this for too long. So he gestured with a hand to follow him down the hall.
It was a conference room he'd seen and used countless times, backed by one of his shark tanks. Knowing Vel and Val's schedules- and how much they hated having meetings while he was the one who scheduled all of them- there would be no intrusion. Vox even took the time to punch in a code upon the console next to the door to lock it once they were both inside.
Sorry, old pal. You're in HIS neighborhood now. Enjoy the endless blue of this place, the glow of the aquarium, and the slow and peaceful swim of three very dangerous sharks that were very special and precious fishies.
"...Hell of a lead-up, but we can't get really big here. My one big rule, non-negotiable, is that I paid a lot of money to get the tank installed and the sharks don't deserve to be hurt," was the crisp and professional response, all while loosening his tie.
The first few weeks are... fine. The first check-up with the hypnotized physician was invasive and unfortunately for Vox, Alastor was not in the mood to sit and pal around for a chat after getting touched, poked, prodded, and examined in so many infuriating ways. He already LOATHED touch, after all.
Four weeks later, though, he's in a calmer mood. This one will not have that invasive bevy of tests and touching and prodding. Why, Alastor even deigns to show up early today - he hadn't actually gone to see Vox in some time (outside of sending him updates and rather grouchy messages about symptoms) and with him approaching his twelfth week, it wouldn't be much longer before he was moving in for the longer haul.
So odd it is, then, that he emerged from the shadows and immediately found his way to a comfortable seat that Alastor looked certainly thicker, but not quite pudgy... he hummed away to himself, still scratching some notes about the Hotel's to-do list. Vox would undoubtedly pop in within a minute of sensing his arrival, after all.
The beauty of a position where you work long, grueling hours is that you think even LESS about gaps of work you don't entirely remember. How could this doctor possibly know they'd been hypnotized into silence involving what would undoubtedly be the biggest scandal in Hell?
Vox is shocked Alastor held up his end. The updates were appreciated, and he had a good laugh at the grouchy griping. Why, the Hotel had been receiving some odd shipments of late: Plenty of ginger and easy-to-digest options would find their ways in, all very shockingly anonymously sent. Acupressure wrist bands, too...? Huh.
But today, it truly was about a minute before the air turned sharp and sweet. Hair stood mildly on end. With a bright V arc in the air, Vox was focused on his watch when he appeared, his free hand brushing his coat.
He looked up, and quirked a brow. "...Huh. You're pretty early today. The Princess get on your nerves with her 'morning person' routine?"
"I decided to skip the morning activity involving finger painting one's feelings," Alastor rolled his eyes SO dramatically at that, shaking his head. "And introductions. Tch. I'll come back when those failures are going through the trust exercises that Vagatha arranges."
Seeing them get chucked into a turf war is always pretty funny.
Some flat-faced prick has been STRANGE lately - there's a whole chaotic shitstorm with the people in the tower scrambling to redo a WHOLE FLOOR, and Velvette's pissed that Vox's WORST habit is rearing its ugly head: the refusal to explain what the fuck is going on.
"Come on, Val, we're putting his ass over the fire until he actually fucking explains what he's doing," Velvette insisted, grabbing the man's elbow and dragging him along. Not that Valentino needed much persuading - he was just as annoyed about the secrecy, too.
"This better be a cute surprise for us or something instead of some bullshit," he griped.
Hey arsehole We're coming down to the 7th floor to see wtf you're doing
Vox was in the middle of making the last few little touches on a blueprint when a notification chime jingled through his head.
He felt a hard, cold clench in his stomach. Shit. Thought I had more time.
Really, he figured the extra projects and dangling just a few relevant-to-each-Vee prospects would give him the means to prepare a talk HE PROMISED HE WAS TOTALLY GOING TO HAVE and get into it when he was good and ready. Look, he wanted to have slides and everything, but now he had to give a reeeeally rudimentary one.
He was a professional!
"Shit shit shit shit shit shit-" He closed down his current project and shot upright, clicking through his camera feeds to spot where they- okay good-
Vox dove into his computer. It was a quick jump to the camera nearest their location, where he appeared with a rush of lightning to bar their way.
"Vel! Val! ...You both look well!"
A beat.
"Let's hit the conference room, okay?" All bright and perky. Because nothing was wrong.
Valentino and Velvette paused when their oh so helpful menace showed himself.
Sigh.
"Oh, you're definitely up to SOME shit," Velvette cringed, crossing her arms and staring him down. Way too perky. "What's this secret project, eh? You've been cagey for way too long!"
Not long after the check-up, not long after the Vees were clued into the Plan, Alastor wrapped up his official move into the Tower. Left Husk and Niffty the command to keep working under Charlie and no other instruction or indication of where he was going to be. The whole tower trembled with the influx of magic on that designated floor - and every employee obediently ignored it as Vox had enforced.
His fireplace and mantel, his own music collection, his piano... they manifested in the rooms made just for him, fitting in seamlessly with the decor that Vox had placed for him.
It... gave Alastor complicated, annoyed hurt feelings. Like his old pal really could just...
...
Well. Never mind that.
After exchanging his suit for his baggy holiday sweater and hanging the corset on a hook, Alastor settled into the sofa and set a record of Bessie Smith on, enjoying a glass filled with deep red...
...Blood. Well, at least it wasn't wine!
"...Three, two..." he counted down to himself, assuming Vox would pop right into the room on cue even though it was nearly one in the morning.
Whoof. He knew the guy had power, but he never really did fathom just how much. You really didn't know how to be subtle, huh...?
But it was almost on cue. It was almost as if Alastor had performed some sort of demonic summoning, for right on the mark the air had buzzed, smelled sweet and sharp before Vox appeared in a flash.
Time was a soup! Who cares if it was after midnight? It wasn't like he could really sleep right now anyway.
"Theeere's our special guest!" A beat, and a grin.
"Wasted no time getting cozy, huh? Do I nail interior decoration or what?"
Right on time! Alastor chuckled, amused at his predictability. And right away he's fishing for compliments. Silly man.
"Makes me wonder if you dug through all of our old dives, or if you've had a collection set aside like an obsessive little magpie this whole time. I knew you enjoyed the nostalgia of things, you stubborn box."
Life in the tower resumed for at least a few weeks longer - Alastor bouncing between fatigue and highly tense, touch averse and cranky. The plan almost seemed to be going well, in fact - no one was speculating about where Alastor must've gone, no one was whispering about him and the Vees, and Hell was fixating on whatever else was in the news cycle.
Of course things might've been going a bit too smoothly.
Without announcement, Alastor is gone, one morning - presence and signal absent from the tower completely. All that remained was a sign that he'd changed clothes, one of his nicer coats gone from the hanger, and a single envelope sitting on the coffee table sealed with a rose-shaped wax sigil. And of course, the note inside read:
Rosie of Cannibal Town requests the pleasure of
Vox of the Vees' Company at Rosie's Emporium, Ribcage Row, Cannibal Town, on Wednesday, 14th inst., at 2 p.m., to celebrate a new business agreement.
Overlord Vox is requested to attend alone in appropriate attire. Refreshments will be provided!
Very smooth! Like peanut butter and marshmallow fluff! Good old fluffernutter days...
It was out of Alastor's swinging moods that Vox opted not to teleport himself into the room. Instead he stepped out of the elevator and immediately dismissed a pair of holographic screens containing a few memos that demanded his attention right that fucking second. Spoilers: They're rarely important. Needy assholes.
"Good moooorning, sunshine! You sleeping in...? Tut tut~" It'd been quiet in the tower. That warranted a tease, especially in the wake of how he'd been. It was just as fun for him to get a rise out of the deer as the joy the deer took getting a rise out of him. May as well get the first swing!
"There's always breakfast in bed, huh? Feel the breeze through the swamp? I can scramble eggs- I've made three whole plates of the stuff without scorching them...!" He stepped into the middle of the living room, paused, and looked around.
Not a pop of static. No grumbles?
"...I'm thinking omelets! It'll be the first time, though. Where's your fire extinguisher again?? Ahh, I'll play it by ear..." He paused again. Blinked.
"...The fuck?" The amusement fell from his face, and a hand flew to the back of his neck to rub.
He didn't even need to practically ransack the place. Even with no returning signal, he wasn't sensing any receivers outside of the ones he had placed in the building. Weird that he'd just... step out, then. Wasn't this whole arrangement to keep him and the kid safe? He was a tough guy, though, so he should be okay--
His eyes fell on an envelope placed very deliberately. He didn't recognize the wax seal when he stepped over, picked it up. Turned it over. Thought nothing about opening it and seeing what was... was...
...this was addressed to him??
He read it once. Twice.
Alastor was unaccounted for, and Rosie was inviting him over. Alastor was unaccounted for, and Rosie was inviting him over.
Vox's breaths shortened, and he felt his chest tighten. "...Fuck... oh, fuck... ohfuck-"
His screen glitched, refreshed. Glitched again.
No. No, no, no. No. This was- no, Rosie wasn't stupid. There was hiding the pregnancy from Hell, but if there was a solitary immortal soul that was on a very real and SHORT timer of when- not if- their scheme would be sniffed out, it was by Overlord Rosie.
Panic. Panic. Pan--
Vox took a deep breath in, held it... then released it. Once more, in... and out, a few stray sparks flying from his mouth. In one last time...
Out as a snarl. His fingers clutching the envelope and letter tightened, curled, and the rush of electricity through his body incinerated the paper, burned the wax.
"You should've left w̰ͯͥe͛̇lͮ͑l̈́ͧ en̷̛̙o̯͋u͇̅ͦgh al̟on̢̑̔e͎̪.̗̄.͎̣.ͬ"
Another breath in, and he raised a palm to chest level, conjured a holographic panel. Made the connection. Within two rings, a shark-possessor's face revealed itself.
"S-sir?" He answered.
"Ethan!" Vox was all smiles, one corner of his mouth pulled higher. "Good morning! Gonna be a little busy on the 14th, so everything on that day needs to be pushed out to clear it."
"In... cluding the last appointments that were pushed to that day?"
"Ethan."
"Of course, Sir! Clearing them! Um, 14th is all yours. Would you like anything else?"
"Pot of coffee. Jet fuel." And he ended the call, just to whirl on a heel and all but storm back toward the elevator.
One more call... 'appropriate attire', huh...?
"Velvette." No chipperness. No false niceties. "...Got a big favor to ask."
The days that Alastor was worn out were the peaceful ones - despite other Overlords' jabs at them, the Vees were busy. Yesterday she'd spent with Alastor getting measurements and getting ready to make adjustments in advance - so not hearing from him after a day of him sitting in her studio and laughing along with her as she prepped a show seemed normal.
Really, the call from Vox was the weird thing - especially the tone he started with. He knew she was busy right now with an event rolling up soon. The lack of niceties was what kept her from biting at him for interrupting her schedule.
"Huh. What is it?" she asked instead, holding a clothespin in between her teeth as she kept adjusting the dress she was designing on Melissa.
Just a liiiittle before two in the afternoon, lovely hell-sunny day with only a slight chance of acid rain in the evening... not bad, right? The car rolling up to the entrance of town and staying there, making a statement of being there... no one seems to react exactly, just hollow-eyed stares from the inside of town from cannibals all giving the lurking Vees a beartrap toothy smile just like Alastor always did.
"Fuckers give me the creeps," Valentino murmured and shuddered before giving Vox a little stroke up his back, "Strut your stuff, amorcito~"
Still - despite the intense stares, the cannibals all seem to be perfectly aware that a guest was on his way - women curtsied, children snickered and hid around corners after flashing predatory smirks, and men tipped their hats. A portly cannibal gentleman even took the extra few steps away from his Sinner-wurst cart to oh so politely open the door to Rosie's Emporium for their esteemed guest.
It almost seemed innocuous. There was a charming bit of ragtime playing from a gramophone, and just off to the right of the entrance of the Emporium? Why, that was the cozy little tea spot - Alastor and Rosie were already seated there, an assortment of meaty treats laid out and tea pouring.
"Oh! Punctual, perfect, come in, come in!" Rosie greeted fondly, waving for Vox to come and join them at the third seat pulled up to the table. Alastor stood automatically, looking vexed - he pointedly did not make eye contact with Vox, quietly pulling the chair out for him. He was dressed as usual with his pink pinstripe coat, save for... well, a powder blue button-down which only barely disguised Alastor's growing middle. A powder blue button down that had a familiar logo at the collar.
One of Vox's button-downs.
"Sit, pumpkin, you're in a delicate condition! Now, Vox dear, what kind of tea suits your fancy?"
There were countless reasons the other overlords and up-and-comers never tried to snatch up land from this part of the City. If anything, any attempts made were unknown to the populace, which was very telling all on its own.
You don't fuck with Rosie.
Yet here he was, one of the most insane demons alive, taking strength from the touch to the back before he nodded firmly to Valentino, and tipped his head just the same to Velvette. Despite having a lesson of 'there are no friends in Hell' literally hammered into his head so long ago, he was defiant in his relief that they wouldn't take no for an answer in being nearby.
All Vox had to do was not run his mouth in a way that three more overlords wouldn't simply mysteriously vanish today. Easy! He'd talked up some intimidating sorts before. Once he climbed out of the car, he was calm. He was collected.
He wasn't without his manners: The ladies, the gentlemen were given a polite 'afternoon' in reply, even if something in his stomach twisted sharply. It was the eyes, or... rather the lack of them. The eyes were the windows to the soul, his gateway to using his power too. The sheer emptiness that seemed to greet him jittered his animal brain.
Stay sharp.
"Thank you," he noted to the gentleman with his cart, and briskly stepped into the Emporium. He'd had a million visits like these in countless places- he knew exactly how to pose like he belonged.
...Even when he turned and responded to the beckoning, moving to occupy the free seat. Even when his stomach twisted once with the avoidance of eye contact from Alastor. Even with the second twist- mercifully warmer this time- when he recognized the shirt.
He'd wondered where it had gone.
But any look he offered Alastor was brief, passive, before eyes moved to Rosie and snapped on that Made-For-TV smile. "You know, I've been awfully partial to a regular old black tea lately...!"
In any other circumstance, he'd reach for the chair back and intentionally brush fingers. He was so relieved to see the guy in one (presumable) piece. But instead he nodded to concur and made to usher Alastor back into his own seat. "Here- take a load off, don't worry about it."
A ping.
Did she hurt you?
He settled into his own seat, eyes focused on Rosie. "Love the shop! Cozy!"
Can't take too long to get the ball rolling, right? Al was a mix of nauseous and all too amused to be difficult and vague with Vox... no helpful advice there, not even a warning about what he might've said before leaving the place.
No real warning that the place was slowly starting to get busy, but the lobby was still pretty damn quiet.
No warning that at the front desk, Vaggie immediately looked up, saw the media overlord and grimaced before flatly intonating: "Alastor's not here."
Vox arrived bright and chipper. Chipperer now that he saw the lobby was quiet! Wow, it's almost like this place absolutely needs help and he was the perfect candidate to do it.
"Such assumptions...! Actually, I'm here to see our dear princess! We've got matters to discuss."
He looked around. "...And now appears to be the best time."
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sugaronthecream) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
divinetree2025-10-07 08:11 pm
Stubborn idiots and Heat
Absolutely not. He'd gone through this fucking season every year before this without succumbing, and this year would be no different. A week and about four mass slaughters in, and he was keeping his self-control - and more importantly, his reputation - intact.
"Listen, Al - you're my pal, of course we'll keep this under wraps. And if you need a little hand in dealing with it..."
Augh. He'd looked so eager and hopeful.
Alastor's claws dug into shattered concrete, carving deep trenches into the dead earth below, letting the blood from the massacred Sinners flow into the cracks.
Fuck.
Something deep and ugly had twisted in Alastor's gut when Vox offered that, and immediately he'd brushed it off - he wouldn't dare be so weak, and what a horrid misunderstanding it would cause, compared to when he's truly himself. ...But his mind craved, hungered for it, the scent of blood dull in Alastor's nose as his subconscious fixated on that sharp electronic smell that Vox always had.
...
Melting away and hiding himself in his radio tower, he sent a single ping through the radio waves, straight to Vox - come to me.
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Vox of VoxTek was always a generous man. He'll keep it quiet. That's fine. Sure, the two of them had their differences, but something this juicy- er, compromising- just couldn't see the light of day! And if, say, Alastor needed a hand... he could give him a call. No threats. No blackmail. If Vox knew anything, he knew Alastor's ego. His pride. Besides, if he ever dealt with this sort of thing, he knew the Radio Demon would do the same damn thing. But he didn't need raging animal hormones to know that fucking him would be SO much fun.
So he kept a calendar. Each day, a little scratch off. Velvette asked a few times what it was for. It wasn't any of her business, of course. He'd also put up about about a dozen proxy layers to muffle his... research into things involving rut. Maybe it won't be a 1:1, but it never hurt to get some book-learnin' in.
When things seemed to line up the following season, Vox got curious. Would Alastor take him up on the offer? Should he call, make a few jokes, ask how he's holding up? Did he have to do deer things?
It wasn't until he'd settled down, finished his coffee and tried to get a little extra work done than when something buzzed through his antennae. It made him sit up, goosebumps rolling up his back. He hadn't done anything like that in a while. That was the beauty of what they were, unlike everyone else in Hell: They had their own means of communication. Like two halves of a whole... pity Alastor never saw it that way.
He quietly shut down his work. It was no longer important. But as he stood and straightened his coat cuffs, he sent a signal back:
Say 'please'.
His work station was connected to all corners of Pentagram City and beyond. He could dive in, ride the electric currents, and get to where he was needed. ...But he needed to know he was needed first...
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OR I WILL HUNT YOU.
Alastor had intended to be civil about it, but he was already digging long gouges in the metal walls of his radio tower, pacing back and forth. His damned cursed brain - kill, run, fuck, eat-- so vulgar, so infuriatingly dizzy.
He didn't... think he would actually lose control and eat Vox.
Fuck, his body was burning.
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It never happened
Ugh.
At the very least, the damned rut, heat, whatever it was - it had abated sooner than it usually did, freeing his mind. And the moment he regained his sense of self respect, Alastor had melted away into the shadows and avoided Vox in all ways he could. Even if the bastard was always persistent.
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The VoxTek CEO had hours of tear-streaming mirth in his command center reading such swill, such bullshit: They got so many details wrong! They made theories, none of them remotely close, but it was adorable that they'd try and deduce their history. Oh, and the fanfiction! Some of it was kind of hot, but that was neither here nor there-
Yet in the week that followed that evening that Absolutely Happened, Vox had hit Cannibal Town first: Cheeky little flower deliveries with no name attached to them would arrive seeking Alastor once or twice, with blossoms colored in so many shades of blue. They stuck out like sore thumbs in this red, red world.
Next came the pings, stray signals of a simple 'hello, old-timer. Feel like a fight?'. One in particular was its own cheek: One was a request to take him out sometime to the highest-rated restaurant in the city, one that had waiting lists months out, yet you couldn't say no to THE most powerful overlord in the 'Gram, huh...?
And why not? Why not ask the guy on a date? They had sex. They had amazing sex. He'd dare say they connected, and after duking it out for so long, maybe they could finally sit down and just talk about everything that happened instead of another public pissing match that was a titanic pain in the ass to pipe down: Their 'Stayed Gone' has cost him a pretty penny from the sheer amount of palms he had to fill with bribes to please shut the fuck up, Alastor didn't WIN-
Ah. Another ping. Guess who?
You could at LEAST admit my kaiju form was a beauty. I worked hard on it.
Why must you be such a pain to get a hold of? You aren't disappearing for another seven years, are you??
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Offers to fight, invitations to a date, and a petty plea for validation.
Though, reluctantly, Alastor did have to admit he admired the artful transformation. Vox had surprised him yet again.
You are incessant.
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A Reveal and a Deal
Alastor had gone back to 'behaving', back to the Hotel, back to staying on track. Playing off the tryst, with the slight dip in Charlie getting negative media attention, why, there was even plausible deniability that he'd fought Vox.
But this? Now it was evident.
It'd just been a persistent illness at first - unlike his usual post-rut days, the unwillingness to eat clung to him into December. Then he felt suspicious as his antlers seemed to refuse to grow. Something was wrong with him. Deeply, utterly wrong. Something he couldn't dare show weakness on, something he had to discover now so he could nip it in the bud. He used magics to try and divine the answer.
Alastor did not believe the answer he got, at first.
Over and over, he redid the ritual. Searching for the truth, for what was REALLY happening - but every result grew the dread more and more certainly that his curse in Hell was truly different than any other Sinner. Stealing from a hellborn shop, he even confirmed with a modern test.
Fffffffuck.
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So his emergence within the Vees Tower, emerging from the shadows within the insides of the walls, must have been a shock. Alastor's claws had immediately grabbed at Vox's arm, sinking in, the air around the Radio Demon distorting.
"I need you n̰̊o̵̫ͭw̴̛͢. Take us to a room of upmost secrecy ĩ̹̪͊̉̓ͨmm̧̠͓̈́̑͡e̡̞̠̼ͦ̄ͣ̈́d̶͈̰͇ͯ̓̊̈̾͜ìa̸̩͞t̹̄e̵͙͖̖̝̭̮͋͑͞l̠͍̣͜ỳ̷̰̘̝̥̣̊ͧ̾̃."
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Today, however, he was moving along through the halls in the floors he owned, the tower divvied into three. Interns scurried quickly to move past and continue their tasks, and Vox was quietly considering dialing up something nice from the Envy Ring for Shock.wav-
The feeling rolled up his spine first, a little ping running up his antennae. The air grew cold, and the shadows receded into the fine seams along the walls, as if they'd resigned from their usual task and awaited an order from a figure of authority. But Vox turned his head, eyes narrowing. Thin ribbons of lightning swept between his claws as he brought it in closer.
He never set foot in the tower. But perhaps Vox was too busy for his liking, wanted a fight right now. But any taunt he had at the tip of his tongue was gone when claws made a vice grip on his arm. The media overlord stood his ground, and was... intrigued.
Confused, but intrigued. Runoff from the rut, maybe? ...a-anotherround...?
Trap. Could be a trap again. So tired of traps...
But the power all around Alastor was agitated. It wasn't playful, taunting, or even amped up for a fight. But it WOULD fry his camera if he let the guy stand like this for too long. So he gestured with a hand to follow him down the hall.
It was a conference room he'd seen and used countless times, backed by one of his shark tanks. Knowing Vel and Val's schedules- and how much they hated having meetings while he was the one who scheduled all of them- there would be no intrusion. Vox even took the time to punch in a code upon the console next to the door to lock it once they were both inside.
Sorry, old pal. You're in HIS neighborhood now. Enjoy the endless blue of this place, the glow of the aquarium, and the slow and peaceful swim of three very dangerous sharks that were very special and precious fishies.
"...Hell of a lead-up, but we can't get really big here. My one big rule, non-negotiable, is that I paid a lot of money to get the tank installed and the sharks don't deserve to be hurt," was the crisp and professional response, all while loosening his tie.
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Checkups
Four weeks later, though, he's in a calmer mood. This one will not have that invasive bevy of tests and touching and prodding. Why, Alastor even deigns to show up early today - he hadn't actually gone to see Vox in some time (outside of sending him updates and rather grouchy messages about symptoms) and with him approaching his twelfth week, it wouldn't be much longer before he was moving in for the longer haul.
So odd it is, then, that he emerged from the shadows and immediately found his way to a comfortable seat that Alastor looked certainly thicker, but not quite pudgy... he hummed away to himself, still scratching some notes about the Hotel's to-do list. Vox would undoubtedly pop in within a minute of sensing his arrival, after all.
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Vox is shocked Alastor held up his end. The updates were appreciated, and he had a good laugh at the grouchy griping. Why, the Hotel had been receiving some odd shipments of late: Plenty of ginger and easy-to-digest options would find their ways in, all very shockingly anonymously sent. Acupressure wrist bands, too...? Huh.
But today, it truly was about a minute before the air turned sharp and sweet. Hair stood mildly on end. With a bright V arc in the air, Vox was focused on his watch when he appeared, his free hand brushing his coat.
He looked up, and quirked a brow. "...Huh. You're pretty early today. The Princess get on your nerves with her 'morning person' routine?"
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Seeing them get chucked into a turf war is always pretty funny.
"Working hard or hardly working, yourself?"
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What the fuck is going on?
"Come on, Val, we're putting his ass over the fire until he actually fucking explains what he's doing," Velvette insisted, grabbing the man's elbow and dragging him along. Not that Valentino needed much persuading - he was just as annoyed about the secrecy, too.
"This better be a cute surprise for us or something instead of some bullshit," he griped.
Hey arsehole
We're coming down to the 7th floor to see wtf you're doing
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He felt a hard, cold clench in his stomach. Shit. Thought I had more time.
Really, he figured the extra projects and dangling just a few relevant-to-each-Vee prospects would give him the means to prepare a talk HE PROMISED HE WAS TOTALLY GOING TO HAVE and get into it when he was good and ready. Look, he wanted to have slides and everything, but now he had to give a reeeeally rudimentary one.
He was a professional!
"Shit shit shit shit shit shit-" He closed down his current project and shot upright, clicking through his camera feeds to spot where they- okay good-
Vox dove into his computer. It was a quick jump to the camera nearest their location, where he appeared with a rush of lightning to bar their way.
"Vel! Val! ...You both look well!"
A beat.
"Let's hit the conference room, okay?" All bright and perky. Because nothing was wrong.
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Sigh.
"Oh, you're definitely up to SOME shit," Velvette cringed, crossing her arms and staring him down. Way too perky. "What's this secret project, eh? You've been cagey for way too long!"
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Moving In!
His fireplace and mantel, his own music collection, his piano... they manifested in the rooms made just for him, fitting in seamlessly with the decor that Vox had placed for him.
It... gave Alastor complicated, annoyed
hurtfeelings. Like his old pal really could just......
Well. Never mind that.
After exchanging his suit for his baggy holiday sweater and hanging the corset on a hook, Alastor settled into the sofa and set a record of Bessie Smith on, enjoying a glass filled with deep red...
...Blood. Well, at least it wasn't wine!
"...Three, two..." he counted down to himself, assuming Vox would pop right into the room on cue even though it was nearly one in the morning.
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But it was almost on cue. It was almost as if Alastor had performed some sort of demonic summoning, for right on the mark the air had buzzed, smelled sweet and sharp before Vox appeared in a flash.
Time was a soup! Who cares if it was after midnight? It wasn't like he could really sleep right now anyway.
"Theeere's our special guest!" A beat, and a grin.
"Wasted no time getting cozy, huh? Do I nail interior decoration or what?"
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"Makes me wonder if you dug through all of our old dives, or if you've had a collection set aside like an obsessive little magpie this whole time. I knew you enjoyed the nostalgia of things, you stubborn box."
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Lunch Date in Cannibal Town
Of course things might've been going a bit too smoothly.
Without announcement, Alastor is gone, one morning - presence and signal absent from the tower completely. All that remained was a sign that he'd changed clothes, one of his nicer coats gone from the hanger, and a single envelope sitting on the coffee table sealed with a rose-shaped wax sigil. And of course, the note inside read:
Rosie of Cannibal Town
requests the pleasure of
Vox of the Vees' Company at Rosie's Emporium, Ribcage Row, Cannibal Town,
on Wednesday, 14th inst., at 2 p.m., to celebrate a
new business agreement.
Overlord Vox is requested to attend alone in appropriate attire.
Refreshments will be provided!
Signed,
Overlord Rosie
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It was out of Alastor's swinging moods that Vox opted not to teleport himself into the room. Instead he stepped out of the elevator and immediately dismissed a pair of holographic screens containing a few memos that demanded his attention right that fucking second. Spoilers: They're rarely important. Needy assholes.
"Good moooorning, sunshine! You sleeping in...? Tut tut~" It'd been quiet in the tower. That warranted a tease, especially in the wake of how he'd been. It was just as fun for him to get a rise out of the deer as the joy the deer took getting a rise out of him. May as well get the first swing!
"There's always breakfast in bed, huh? Feel the breeze through the swamp? I can scramble eggs- I've made three whole plates of the stuff without scorching them...!" He stepped into the middle of the living room, paused, and looked around.
Not a pop of static. No grumbles?
"...I'm thinking omelets! It'll be the first time, though. Where's your fire extinguisher again?? Ahh, I'll play it by ear..." He paused again. Blinked.
"...The fuck?" The amusement fell from his face, and a hand flew to the back of his neck to rub.
He didn't even need to practically ransack the place. Even with no returning signal, he wasn't sensing any receivers outside of the ones he had placed in the building. Weird that he'd just... step out, then. Wasn't this whole arrangement to keep him and the kid safe? He was a tough guy, though, so he should be okay--
His eyes fell on an envelope placed very deliberately. He didn't recognize the wax seal when he stepped over, picked it up. Turned it over. Thought nothing about opening it and seeing what was... was...
...this was addressed to him??
He read it once. Twice.
Alastor was unaccounted for, and Rosie was inviting him over. Alastor was unaccounted for, and Rosie was inviting him over.
Vox's breaths shortened, and he felt his chest tighten. "...Fuck... oh, fuck... ohfuck-"
His screen glitched, refreshed. Glitched again.
No. No, no, no. No. This was- no, Rosie wasn't stupid. There was hiding the pregnancy from Hell, but if there was a solitary immortal soul that was on a very real and SHORT timer of when- not if- their scheme would be sniffed out, it was by Overlord Rosie.
Panic. Panic. Pan--
Vox took a deep breath in, held it... then released it. Once more, in... and out, a few stray sparks flying from his mouth. In one last time...
Out as a snarl. His fingers clutching the envelope and letter tightened, curled, and the rush of electricity through his body incinerated the paper, burned the wax.
"You should've left w̰ͯͥe͛̇lͮ͑l̈́ͧ en̷̛̙o̯͋u͇̅ͦgh al̟on̢̑̔e͎̪.̗̄.͎̣.ͬ"
Another breath in, and he raised a palm to chest level, conjured a holographic panel. Made the connection. Within two rings, a shark-possessor's face revealed itself.
"S-sir?" He answered.
"Ethan!" Vox was all smiles, one corner of his mouth pulled higher. "Good morning! Gonna be a little busy on the 14th, so everything on that day needs to be pushed out to clear it."
"In... cluding the last appointments that were pushed to that day?"
"Ethan."
"Of course, Sir! Clearing them! Um, 14th is all yours. Would you like anything else?"
"Pot of coffee. Jet fuel." And he ended the call, just to whirl on a heel and all but storm back toward the elevator.
One more call... 'appropriate attire', huh...?
"Velvette." No chipperness. No false niceties. "...Got a big favor to ask."
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Really, the call from Vox was the weird thing - especially the tone he started with. He knew she was busy right now with an event rolling up soon. The lack of niceties was what kept her from biting at him for interrupting her schedule.
"Huh. What is it?" she asked instead, holding a clothespin in between her teeth as she kept adjusting the dress she was designing on Melissa.
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Don't You Forget~
Just a liiiittle before two in the afternoon, lovely hell-sunny day with only a slight chance of acid rain in the evening... not bad, right? The car rolling up to the entrance of town and staying there, making a statement of being there... no one seems to react exactly, just hollow-eyed stares from the inside of town from cannibals all giving the lurking Vees a beartrap toothy smile just like Alastor always did.
"Fuckers give me the creeps," Valentino murmured and shuddered before giving Vox a little stroke up his back, "Strut your stuff, amorcito~"
Still - despite the intense stares, the cannibals all seem to be perfectly aware that a guest was on his way - women curtsied, children snickered and hid around corners after flashing predatory smirks, and men tipped their hats. A portly cannibal gentleman even took the extra few steps away from his Sinner-wurst cart to oh so politely open the door to Rosie's Emporium for their esteemed guest.
It almost seemed innocuous. There was a charming bit of ragtime playing from a gramophone, and just off to the right of the entrance of the Emporium? Why, that was the cozy little tea spot - Alastor and Rosie were already seated there, an assortment of meaty treats laid out and tea pouring.
"Oh! Punctual, perfect, come in, come in!" Rosie greeted fondly, waving for Vox to come and join them at the third seat pulled up to the table. Alastor stood automatically, looking vexed - he pointedly did not make eye contact with Vox, quietly pulling the chair out for him. He was dressed as usual with his pink pinstripe coat, save for... well, a powder blue button-down which only barely disguised Alastor's growing middle. A powder blue button down that had a familiar logo at the collar.
One of Vox's button-downs.
"Sit, pumpkin, you're in a delicate condition! Now, Vox dear, what kind of tea suits your fancy?"
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You don't fuck with Rosie.
Yet here he was, one of the most insane demons alive, taking strength from the touch to the back before he nodded firmly to Valentino, and tipped his head just the same to Velvette. Despite having a lesson of 'there are no friends in Hell' literally hammered into his head so long ago, he was defiant in his relief that they wouldn't take no for an answer in being nearby.
All Vox had to do was not run his mouth in a way that three more overlords wouldn't simply mysteriously vanish today. Easy! He'd talked up some intimidating sorts before. Once he climbed out of the car, he was calm. He was collected.
He wasn't without his manners: The ladies, the gentlemen were given a polite 'afternoon' in reply, even if something in his stomach twisted sharply. It was the eyes, or... rather the lack of them. The eyes were the windows to the soul, his gateway to using his power too. The sheer emptiness that seemed to greet him jittered his animal brain.
Stay sharp.
"Thank you," he noted to the gentleman with his cart, and briskly stepped into the Emporium. He'd had a million visits like these in countless places- he knew exactly how to pose like he belonged.
...Even when he turned and responded to the beckoning, moving to occupy the free seat. Even when his stomach twisted once with the avoidance of eye contact from Alastor. Even with the second twist- mercifully warmer this time- when he recognized the shirt.
He'd wondered where it had gone.
But any look he offered Alastor was brief, passive, before eyes moved to Rosie and snapped on that Made-For-TV smile. "You know, I've been awfully partial to a regular old black tea lately...!"
In any other circumstance, he'd reach for the chair back and intentionally brush fingers. He was so relieved to see the guy in one (presumable) piece. But instead he nodded to concur and made to usher Alastor back into his own seat. "Here- take a load off, don't worry about it."
A ping.
Did she hurt you?
He settled into his own seat, eyes focused on Rosie. "Love the shop! Cozy!"
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First day on the job!
No real warning that the place was slowly starting to get busy, but the lobby was still pretty damn quiet.
No warning that at the front desk, Vaggie immediately looked up, saw the media overlord and grimaced before flatly intonating: "Alastor's not here."
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"Such assumptions...! Actually, I'm here to see our dear princess! We've got matters to discuss."
He looked around. "...And now appears to be the best time."
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