divinetree | It's not that complicated, no matter what they say

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.

You are incessant.

You had to respond eventually, old pal. Maybe Al didn't want to fight! Maybe he didn't like flowers! He knows he did. Good food was always a common draw, but he just wasn't BITING. What more could he--

THERE he is!! I thought you skipped town again or something.

Vox may be in the middle of an important presentation and a little extra scheming, but he perfected being able to prattle on and on using plenty of buzzwords and making people nod while his real attention was elsewhere.

How's the ol Radio Demon, huh? Tuckered out? Sore? ...Or maybe thinking about another round...? Deer rut lasts for a couple of weeks at least, doesn't it?

Keep it jabby. Keep that 'rival' energy. Actual concern is what drives him further away...

Of course he had the wrong idea. Of course-- the man's persistence would be admirable if it wasn't also painfully FRUSTRATING. The idiot doesn't even realize the target he's painted on his own back!

...But perhaps now, he really is strong enough to not be taken hostage.

Ah, no, that way lies a trap - Alastor is still bound, still entrenched in Deal after Deal - that just puts the weakness onto him, makes him a piece on the board to be captured in order to claim Vox.

I'd suffered through the majority of it already. We won't be doing it again, you understand.

"Gentlemen! I think that's all for today. We've all got time tables to keep. You know how to get in touch if you have any questions after today." No, seriously. Get the FUCK out.

He watched so many suited, faceless assholes file their way out. Walking piggy banks... he'll remember their names eventually. If he cared to. But he was sure they'd come through by the end of the week... or he'd simply have to remind them, as he had with others before. The sharks always loved an extra treat, especially his biggest and most special baby...

Ahem. On to talking to people who mattered.

Held out on me, huh? Shame. You know, I kept all that quiet for you! I gotta say, it wasn't easy, Al! Killjoy's a pirahna.

He snapped his fingers and his assistant sprung to attention, hurrying over to tuck the notes he'd brought back into its folder to usher it back to where it belonged. No use having a messy conference room. Looked unprofessional.

Vox crossed his arms behind his back and strolled to the door. He wouldn't let that last part do more than cause a tiny, bitter little twist in his stomach.

Hey, you called for me. When that rut hits you again, when all that stuff just burns away inside of you, do you think you'll stick to your guns...?

Would he answer the call again? Absolutely. But maybe he'll finish his coffee first, take a little extra time, even if it risked a deer monster crashing through the tower trying to eat him. ...Ahh, that'd be fun.

I'm even more insane in November than I am for the rest of the year. It hardly counts for anything.

It didn't mean they could be something. It couldn't mean that.

Was he sore... pah. Of course he was. Funny how a persistent dull ache low in the belly could be more annoying than decades of scars and injuries on crackling barely-joined bones.

The form factor does have pizzazz. I'll grant you that.

Vox was alone in the hallway, or so he thought. He pumped a fist before him and had a cackle with the assessment. "Oh, fuck YES! HAHAHAHAAH!"

Vox looked up. He was not alone in the hallway, a pair of interns passing him in the hall with a brief confused look. When they were noticed, they ducked their heads and began a speedwalk to put as much distance between them and their boss.

He cleared his throat and smoothed down his coat.

Pretty great, right? Just a little secret something I'd been working on, and never had the chance to show it off. So I suppose I should thank you for the little... test run~

Which reminds me! You ought to be getting a notice in the mail at some point to cover the structural damages to the Hotel sometime this week. Dear Charlie sent it in the mail shortly after the hubbub.

What a mercy that either the hotel residents never found out what was going on with him and Vox then or have wisely chosen to keep their trap shut - he'd thought for sure he'd hear from Angel if anyone, but Vox must've put a better lid on it than he thought.

I went ahead and fixed up where I'd slashed into the stone, it's only fair.

He froze.

Wait, WHAT?? Are you- ...you're fucking with me, aren't you?

Say sike right now. His arms dropped to his sides.

Lucifer's kid is loaded! She can't snap her pretty little manicured fingers and someone struggling for clout can't just fix that shack up? Part of that hotel gets blown up every week!

...Or so he heard!

Are you saying you won't take responsibility~?

"...Uuugghh-" He ran his hands down his... screen. He tried to recall where his cables went, embedding into the walls as he climbed his way down the hotel after Alastor that night. Did he really do THAT much damage...?

Maybe it'd be peanuts. He had the cash. Just why of demon royalty, he was the wealthiest Sinner in Hell.

Fuck you. ...Fine. I can't exactly whip out a credit card on a whim; I have people I need to contact for funding allocation, claims adjusters to assess the damage...

I'm afraid "fuck you" is precisely why you're in this predicament, old pal.

At least those are the only real consequences - some property damage and buying silence.

As I was saying, though. I don't fornicate when I have my wits about me. What happened during a rut does not affect anything between us.

So many phone calls... he had to make so many phone calls, talk to so many more people now, and it'd dig into his schedule for sure. Could he simply throw a wad of cash at Blondie and be done with it? Sure.

...But if VoxTek went through the typical bureaucratic-but-boring motions, if anyone asked, it wouldn't put a smear on the reputation on everything he built. In fact, helping with repairs for the hotel could only make for a VERY good spin, chips he could cash...

This was a way of getting back at him, he just KNEW it. But if Alastor thought something like a little property damage and money lost was going to sway him away or make him regret anything, he had another thing coming!

Besides, it was just a little embarrassment, a little soreness in the end. Vox would wear the remnants of scarring on his chest and shoulder with pride! The year would go without a hitch, and next season, Alastor will come craaawling back.

Oh, loosen your grip on those pearls, old man- Casual sex was a thing back in your time, y'know. This doesn't mean we're married or even in love.

Then, added with a laugh:

I've got reliable sources on which sinners here have been feuding for centuries and absolutely run off to blow steam together! This isn't new.

Some days, he wished he didn't run his mouth- or in this case, his signal- so much. But acting as hurt as he would never admit he felt the tiniest sliver of would just get this guy laughing at him again and completely sour what was a manageable mood this week.

He won't be "pissy" again.

Oh, and there's another flower delivery coming your way that I'm afraid I just can't cancel. You can always send them along to the princess or something, can't you? Consider it a gesture of goodwill for the whole... property damage thing. Keeps this whole thing low profile.

Though Alastor was better at keeping his composure, he felt the dark twist in his chest all the same. The gestures, the invitations... there's no denying he wanted that closeness they used to have.

And... bah. He wasn't in the mood to tear Vox down at the moment. He was physically aching and emotionally tired - he'll spare them both for another day.

Nothing to do with you, old pal. The old ticker simply doesn't beat for anyone - I figure that's the big divine joke in me having a rut! Can't feel drawn towards anyone or anything until some animal switch is flipped. You've got awful taste in men.

He knew, deep down, that the gestures were ultimately pointless. They liked to fight. They traded jabs, quips and pushed buttons. Alastor always knew how to piss him off, and he knew how to get Alastor to decide their match was over and to melt away into the shadows to bother someone else and return again someday.

Those were the days. The old days were better, if you asked him, but... Alastor had spoken his piece. He'd made his stance known. Vox had long gotten mostly used to the sting of seeing him again and again after, while the Radio Demon acted like nothing that happened before ever occurred.

Like he'd just... erased it.

Vox turned his gaze to one of his cameras and let himself dissolve. Rather than make use of elevators or flights of stairs, pass by more employees or someone that could flag him down and waste his time, he opted to ride through Vee Tower's electrical system.

He zipped along the string of lights that topped the tower, sparks dancing along the line and amid the metal frame of the large satellite dish that topped the structure. There was where he sat when he materialized, and took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the night sky contrasted by countless spotlights.

The old ticker simply doesn't beat for anyone, he'd said.

"Yeah. I know, asshole," he quietly groused. He reached into his coat and retrieved a small case made of silver. He reserved these for when he wanted to butter up someone whose ear needed tugging upon that had the vice, but when he opened the little thing and the earthy sweetness of tobacco hit his nose, he decided he'd just need the one.

It wasn't something he did often, but he didn't feel like drinking right now, something to numb him. Cigarettes left a smell that lingered on the coat; wasn't appealing when you had to speak to the press often. But who... who fucking cared today?

The cigarette nestled between his lips as he placed the case back into his coat pocket. A small spark flit from one of his antennae to the end, igniting the paper, the leaf. That first deep draw of breath brought with it the relief of the numbing, the lingering sweetness that rolled in his lungs. He leaned back, his breath slow as it left him in curling, silvery plumes.

"...Just wish mine worked like yours."

Awful taste in men? Please. Like he'd ever lowered his standards.

Same goes for you... old pal.

Edited 2025-11-04 01:57 (UTC)

I don't have any taste in men, but I will commend you for being a proper monstrous gentleman about all of this.

A 'thank you' of some sort is the least he could do. For the physical needs being met and utter silence on the matter guaranteed, of course, but...

Well. Even now he was lightly stroking the blue petals from the last bouquet, the phantom of sensation from Vox holding onto his hand in such sharp contrast still burning in his mind.

The sex didn't mean anything to him - just a rare physical hunger difficult to satiate. It was no more dirty and foul than diving his hands into an open ribcage, after all. Still, somehow the thought of it made him apprehensive in a way he could never admit.

At least... not more than he just did.

I hardly imagine any of the dime whores your moth keeps would be even remotely likely to have ANY sense of dignity or self preservation.

I like to think I have some dregs of morality left.

'Monstrous gentleman', the sheer irony of it, elicited a scoff despite himself. Old-fashioned medium though he personified, he had a way to keep up and give something snappy. He did it with an ease akin to breathing. He reached for the cigarette and pulled it free of his lips, let the heat of lights, of Hell's fetid air replace the cooling that had been on the tongue before.

Warm and cool. Warm and cool. The steady pattern always had a way of mellowing him, far more than the nicotine or the satiated oral fixation. It kept him from being agitated that he'd been speaking to Alastor at such a length now, and without much of the usual dick-waving, shit-talking and bravado.

Vox would take the semi-thank you. He will even cherish the kudos for the monstrous form he'd been working on. Oh, how he wanted to just rush through Pentagram City again, let himself shift and change, then shriek and wreak havoc with no end goal in sight than to just celebrate being a crazed beast.

A crazed beast that was noticed. A crazed beast that was enjoyed.

His eyes stung. Vox huffed and curled his fingers into claws, snarled, "Come the fuck on! I'm nearly a century old, I'm not a god-damned teenager...!!"

A breath in, then out. Feel the breeze. Listen to the shrieks of someone being murdered a few blocks away. The CEO took another drag of the cigarette. Warm to cool again.

He quirked a brow.

It's why he sticks to the newbies, the ones that don't know any better yet. ...My moth?

"...Hmm. You know what... fuck it," Alastor mumbled to himself, plucking a blue flower from the bouquet. It shriveled, a little, under his touch - but that's fine, Vox undoubtedly knew that centuries old curse too. Before it completely lost its hue, he tucked it into the chest pocket beneath his lapel, letting it sit and pop in contrast with his red scheme.

Just for today. Just for now, in secret - he wanted that touch again. Something akin to the old days he missed so dearly.

You certainly keep him from causing as many scenes as his feeble mind likely prompts him to. What a handful he must be! He makes you worse, you know.

There was an old place in Vox's territory. He could melt into shadows, go there - and so he did, disappearing out of the tower and dashing through the Vees territory until he found what he was looking for. One of the old basement speakeasies - one of the few left abandoned after a purge night instead of converted into another porn studio or night club. It had part of the first floor caved in, but it'd do nicely.

He leaned his head back, watched as a few more hapless fools that likely still reeked of earth fell from high above. That first fall was the worst... the day you find out you died, the day you find out you're damned to Hell, and the day you learn you're immortal. The impact hurt like a bitch, and many fell apart, dashed to pieces. Then you needed to piece yourself back together, the first big test of how you'll do down here.

Vox knew he had people out there. They'd find the hapless souls, offer a helping hand, and draw them into the fold. He just hoped these ones would be worth a few bucks.

He fidgeted, the little cylinder of paper and tobacco slowly rolling between two fingers.

He makes good money and produces whatever fucked up trash the people pay for without question. Keeping him on a leash is a fair trade, even if he has his moments of... fixation.

Pot? Kettle? ...No? Alright.

But I'm sure your current allegiance to Princess Bleeding-Heart is doing wonders for your image. I'm sure you've read the articles.

A beat.

Not to mention the fanfiction...

It's been a hoot! Better curated than your Killjoy's slop running your propaganda.

Vox might notice that the signal from Alastor is very abruptly not coming from the direction of the Hotel tower - instead it's much closer, abundantly clear that the Radio Demon has slinked into the Vees' territory.

And yet, he hums a little tune, snapping and scurrying some cursed dolls to run around and tidy up the area enough. Hmmm... riiiight here, on the old bar counter - Alastor placed a radio and drummed his claws on the wood of it.

Ah, yes, the lewd fiction writing. I haven't bothered looking, who knows how much is contributed directly from dear Niffty herself! Hardly worth taking to heart.

You can call it propaganda, but I prefer to call them opinion pieces.

Hmm. That's odd. He's not in the Morningstar shack any more. He was considerably closer, well past the clearly-marked edges of Vee turf. Velvette didn't care much for whenever the deer all but danced on their land so long as he didn't muddle up her projects, but Valentino always loved a good fight. Especially after figuring out Vox had been distracted by Alastor for the umpteenth time.

He just won't let go that time he left right after sex, huh? It wasn't like they were going to continue, and the guy doesn't cuddle, so who gives a flying fuck-

Hm. You never did tell me how the hell you scooped that little bug up. That 'Husker' makes sense, but Niffty...? Then again, you always were soft for the fairer sex.

Mimzy comes to mind. How he puts up with her is anyone's guess. Most folk tend to cut their ties when they drop into hell and- on rare occasions- find each other and recognize the other beyond the cursed forms.

...What are you doing...? Pretty sure Val threatened to skin you the next time he finds you in the territory. That area's just a burned out husk anyway.

L.O.L. Valentino is more than welcome to try. I wouldn't mind a little snack.

The dust from the moth's wings were more of a threat than Alastor was letting on, but... he really has been feeling relentlessly peckish lately. But no, that's not the purpose of this little excursion - instead, he's tapping at the ceiling lamps with his cane until one of them finally crackles and sparks to light with a bit of help from Alastor's magic. There we go, not pitch dark...

At any rate - I decided to keep little Niffty because she is hilarious. Her little mind is even more twisted than mine!

You know, if we went by the original rules of overlord succession, that would put you in charge of his industry. Wanna get bankrolled as the next smut peddler?

One last drag. Then, holding the smoke in his lungs, he flicked the rest of the cigarette away from him. Can't let the guy get complacent, at any rate, skulking around in Vee turf. His presence seemed to be enough to drive the Radio Demon away, so he would quietly weigh weaponizing Alastor's desire to put distance between them.

He reached behind him, grasping the steel girder and aiding to pull himself upright. He enjoyed heights... enjoyed being able to be up high and look down at this little fish bowl that was Hell.

No, yeah, that tracks. ...You only ever did keep people around as a source of laughs and nothing else.

I've never kept territory even 'traditionally'!

Such a fuss to care about and defend, and for what? When he had his tricks to get the kills or the Deals he wanted, he didn't have to defend a population to keep prime pickings.

Hmm... yes, a few more mood lights, the gentle jazz coming from the radio, the floor mostly cleared of debris...

This'll do. With a snap, Alastor dismissed the minions and then pinged Vox once more - this time, with coordinates. A blatant invitation, even if he knows Vox probably already pinpointed his location by now.

Yeah... weird, that. All that power, and yet there wasn't any 'turf' to speak of that was overseen by the guy. Even his radio tower attached to the goody-goody hotel was so small against the grandiose building. Even Zestial had an iron grip on a whole hell of a lot of land.

What's his secret?

God, that was pointless. He'd been asking that for decades, and was no closer to the answer than the first time he'd asked that back in the fucking fifties.

Well, whatever. He should get back to wor-

A ping. A location, confirming approximately where he suspected he'd be. He'd have a finer pinpoint, but the guy had a way of scrambling up his cameras, and a prolonged gaze simply fried them. You've cost him SO much money that way, you know that?

He hated how much his heart flew at the thought of an invitation. Even just a flip was enough to sour his mood as it clashed against realism.

This was a setup.

This was a setup.

This was a setup.

This was a setup-

He disappeared, an arc of lightning along the steel and so many wires despite the silent scream of frustration with himself in his mind.

THAT'S ME. VOX. THE DUMBEST GENIUS IN EXISTENCE.

It's fine. He can just stay frosty. So in moments when he materialized, treading over the remnants of another one of the stupid purges, he kept his back straight and rigid. Four cords emerged from his back, remaining aloft in case he needed extra limbs, and one got the remains of the door. With a loud THUNK, it simply came off what was left of the hinges and kicked up a cloud of dust as he stepped through.

"Alright. Game on. You're lucky I can shift my own schedule on a whim, but if you needed a fight so badly, you should have lead with that-"

Alastor doesn't bat an eye at Vox coming in ready for blood, keeping his composure and just smiling, perched lazily on one of the dusty old barstools. The radio kept playing a jaunty tune, unperturbed.

"Oh, I think I swallowed enough of you last week. No, old pal, since you've done me a favor I figured I owed you at least one night like old times."

With a swivel, Alastor hopped off of the stool and walked to the center of the room under the light, extending a hand for Vox to come join him.

"Let's see how well you remember your lindyhop."

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