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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
He'd paused, struck dumb. The bar stools, countertops, the music... even hints of the smell of old oak barrels and bourbon that even an exorcist's spears couldn't wipe away. As the cables receded, disappeared, his mind's eye was momentarily sent back decades, right back to the phantom shoulder ache of bearing that bulky CRT and never quite knowing how to stand and allow it to be comfortable. It was his curse... one that he'd overcome with his own power, he remembered, his own innovation.
He only mostly came back to the present day as Alastor spoke. Maybe a part of him would... never... leave those days, no matter how much he fought to stomp them out and forget. He could do all the drinking, smoking and taking lovers into his bed all he liked, but some things would linger like a bad scar.
Alastor stood then, tread under the light. His hand lifted, wanted to clutch at his chest. But he caught himself and adjusted his tie instead with a scoff. "...Favor for a favor, huh...?"
Then he visibly bristled, and the red of his eyes brightened. A challenge. He snorted and stepped forward. He took the offered hand, but gave the Radio Demon a tug in closer with a wicked grin.
"Hmhm... you know, once I get started, I never did know when to stop. So tap out when you've had enough."
Oh, Al knew Vox would get fired up with a little challenge - with a dramatic flair, Alastor let himself be yanked closer, his outfit shifting to something more party-like in a rush as if Vox had 'pulled' Alastor out of his red suit.
Just as quickly as he was pulled, Alastor swung himself and pulled Vox into a spin in time with the music, the tune riding their combined frequencies and filling the room despite only coming from a small radio.
"Hah! You don't do nearly enough practicing, pal, too busy hooked up to your screens and gloating! Hahahah!" he taunted, dancing without abandon. He was sore, sure - but he'd danced far harder with open bleeding wounds before, so a bit of tiredness and ache wouldn't be denying him his fun tonight.
He could change outfits, but... oh, what the hell- with a rush of static sparks, he let his color scheme blend better with his dance partner's. He entered that spin and kept up, an electric thread dancing between his antennae as he pulled the two of them apart before drawing back together again in a swing out. His steps weren't entirely clean, but he was light enough.
What flit was a spark of joy that he couldn't suppress, no matter how hard he may try. Though Alastor would claim his own ticker didn't work like anyone else's, Vox's was his greatest weakness, his deepest flaw. In a battle against one's own heart, Vox could never even dream of winning.
"Hey- it's designated screen and gloating time, okay- There's a difference! If you don't scheme and plot enough, your valves get clogged, you know."
"Hah! Too true! The moment you stop planning is the moment you bare your belly to the beasts, after all," Alastor laughed, the electricity dancing between them. Mercifully, harmless static charge rather than their more vicious and angry bouts in the street.
Grasping Vox's hands, swinging him around - this time for the thrill of twirling on the old half-shattered dance floor, instead of trying to fling the tellie-head into the wall. Hopping and kicking out his legs not to maneuver for his life, but to revel in the excitement of the song and to follow its tune. Giving Vox a playful twirl instead of trying to strike his head hard enough to spin it on his neck.
He missed this.
There was no doubt that he loathed the dogged persistence and pathetic need to grasp and climb that Vox had - it meant far too many things for him to NOT hate it - but damn the consequences tonight. Something had possessed him of late, and while he'd never fucking admit it, maybe for a little while things could simply calm. Maybe for a little while, it could be playful jabs and picking each other up to toss around the dance floor.
Back before Vox didn't want anything out of him except his company.
Look at them, just a couple of crime lords frolicking in a burned out building in the realm of their eternal damnation! What was a little scheming, murder and blasphemy when the night was unusually lovely and demanded a little dance?
Maybe it was the nicotine in his system, but despite his initial frostiness when he arrived, he... actually needed this.
"Gotta stay the biggest shark in the tank! Also keeps you sharp. Wasn't easy getting to where I am... 70 long, long years."
But I learned from the best, said that hopeful, CRT-headed moron that still existed somewhere in him, before he was gagged and shoved back into the proverbial burlap sack. That fucking... weak, pathetic, STUPID-
His focus locked into giving Alastor a twirl, drawing him in, and settling a hand upon a hip.
"Speaking of the decades, can you believe the stupid fucking dances the kids have going on these days?? They're like-" He laughed incredulously. "-Fucking seizures!"
"HAH! Hahahah! Now who's being an old man?" Alastor guffawed, shaking with laughter - real laughter, that slightly unhinged mirth he had when he got the giggles for real. "That's exactly what old toadies always said about the lindyhop and us scoundrels in the speakeasies!"
Alastor laughed until the hand landed on his hip, the giddiness drawn out with a hum. Tired? Certainly not anxious - with his wits about him now, the idea of being pulled into another illicit encounter--
Bah. Vox wouldn't dare.
Forcing himself to relax, Alastor leaned back in the dance, trusting his dance partner to not let him drop completely on the floor.
"Why, back when we practiced regularly, you were tossing me halfway across the room! For the fun of it!"
"HAHahah, oh come on, fuck you!!" But it was spoken in the mirth. "Alright, then- I await your grand debut hitting the griddy sometime, if you're just so fucking hip!"
God, even Velvette would cringe out of her skin, though-
He easily widened his stance and kept a steady hold. Have a dip, jackass.
"Don't think I wouldn't still give you a toss! This place is just drowning in tetanus, I'm sure that'll be a gas-"
A dip! Alastor will pointedly not think about how he's reminded of wires coiled around his hips before, holding him down, the hand grasping his amidst the chaos--
No, he'll trust his balance to Vox for the dance, and trust the man has good sense to keep following the rhythm. Once upright again, Vox's comment invoked an amused, dubious cocking of the brow from Alastor.
"You think I don't know how to hit the griddy? Puh-lease, Vox," Alastor guffawed, twirling Vox and spinning him a distance so he could easily switch gears.
A simple heel-toe hop, the swinging arms? He was made for dancing, you fool, he could do this all day!
He couldn't deny that it felt good to be in touching distance again. For as much as he kept his arms behind his back, gestured sparingly during broadcasts and let his sound cues add that little pop and pizzazz, he was once a very touchy-feely kind of guy.
He would later curse how much his skin buzzed from the contact it craved, and having it bear nothing related to his own electric power. God fucking damn it.
Vox startled momentarily from the peanut gallery thought when Alastor began to move. Then-
Then he just lost it. He corpsed completely, his first breath-stealing belly laugh in a long, long time from the reference. He needed to double over and clutch himself.
"NO! Not the- not the krumping- ffFFFUCK-" Mercy. MERCY. But if you think he won't catch even a small clip of Alastor moving like one of those tube men in those shitty old car lots, you didn't know Vincent Vox very well.
Aww, Alastor can never resist an adoring audience - almost as much as he adores a terrified one. Or a fucking FURIOUS one. Ahh, a good mob is a good time too...
Alastor guffawed as well, easily switching from a griddy to a krump, completely unabashed. Oh, he KNEW people would cringe out of their skin just seeing this - oh to see them recoil and their skin crawl from secondhand embarrassment!
The specific belly laugh - a different tone from the sadistic cackle - was a treat. How long had it been?
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sugaronthecream) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
divinetree2025-10-07 08:11 pm
no subject
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.
no subject
...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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
'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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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...
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
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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!
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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.
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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.
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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-"
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"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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He only mostly came back to the present day as Alastor spoke. Maybe a part of him would... never... leave those days, no matter how much he fought to stomp them out and forget. He could do all the drinking, smoking and taking lovers into his bed all he liked, but some things would linger like a bad scar.
Alastor stood then, tread under the light. His hand lifted, wanted to clutch at his chest. But he caught himself and adjusted his tie instead with a scoff. "...Favor for a favor, huh...?"
Then he visibly bristled, and the red of his eyes brightened. A challenge. He snorted and stepped forward. He took the offered hand, but gave the Radio Demon a tug in closer with a wicked grin.
"Hmhm... you know, once I get started, I never did know when to stop. So tap out when you've had enough."
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Just as quickly as he was pulled, Alastor swung himself and pulled Vox into a spin in time with the music, the tune riding their combined frequencies and filling the room despite only coming from a small radio.
"Hah! You don't do nearly enough practicing, pal, too busy hooked up to your screens and gloating! Hahahah!" he taunted, dancing without abandon. He was sore, sure - but he'd danced far harder with open bleeding wounds before, so a bit of tiredness and ache wouldn't be denying him his fun tonight.
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What flit was a spark of joy that he couldn't suppress, no matter how hard he may try. Though Alastor would claim his own ticker didn't work like anyone else's, Vox's was his greatest weakness, his deepest flaw. In a battle against one's own heart, Vox could never even dream of winning.
"Hey- it's designated screen and gloating time, okay- There's a difference! If you don't scheme and plot enough, your valves get clogged, you know."
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Grasping Vox's hands, swinging him around - this time for the thrill of twirling on the old half-shattered dance floor, instead of trying to fling the tellie-head into the wall. Hopping and kicking out his legs not to maneuver for his life, but to revel in the excitement of the song and to follow its tune. Giving Vox a playful twirl instead of trying to strike his head hard enough to spin it on his neck.
He missed this.
There was no doubt that he loathed the dogged persistence and pathetic need to grasp and climb that Vox had - it meant far too many things for him to NOT hate it - but damn the consequences tonight. Something had possessed him of late, and while he'd never fucking admit it, maybe for a little while things could simply calm. Maybe for a little while, it could be playful jabs and picking each other up to toss around the dance floor.
Back before Vox didn't want anything out of him except his company.
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Maybe it was the nicotine in his system, but despite his initial frostiness when he arrived, he... actually needed this.
"Gotta stay the biggest shark in the tank! Also keeps you sharp. Wasn't easy getting to where I am... 70 long, long years."
But I learned from the best, said that hopeful, CRT-headed moron that still existed somewhere in him, before he was gagged and shoved back into the proverbial burlap sack. That fucking... weak, pathetic, STUPID-
His focus locked into giving Alastor a twirl, drawing him in, and settling a hand upon a hip.
"Speaking of the decades, can you believe the stupid fucking dances the kids have going on these days?? They're like-" He laughed incredulously. "-Fucking seizures!"
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Alastor laughed until the hand landed on his hip, the giddiness drawn out with a hum. Tired? Certainly not anxious - with his wits about him now, the idea of being pulled into another illicit encounter--
Bah. Vox wouldn't dare.
Forcing himself to relax, Alastor leaned back in the dance, trusting his dance partner to not let him drop completely on the floor.
"Why, back when we practiced regularly, you were tossing me halfway across the room! For the fun of it!"
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God, even Velvette would cringe out of her skin, though-
He easily widened his stance and kept a steady hold. Have a dip, jackass.
"Don't think I wouldn't still give you a toss! This place is just drowning in tetanus, I'm sure that'll be a gas-"
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No, he'll trust his balance to Vox for the dance, and trust the man has good sense to keep following the rhythm. Once upright again, Vox's comment invoked an amused, dubious cocking of the brow from Alastor.
"You think I don't know how to hit the griddy? Puh-lease, Vox," Alastor guffawed, twirling Vox and spinning him a distance so he could easily switch gears.
A simple heel-toe hop, the swinging arms? He was made for dancing, you fool, he could do this all day!
"I could even krump with you, sweetheart!"
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He would later curse how much his skin buzzed from the contact it craved, and having it bear nothing related to his own electric power. God fucking damn it.
Vox startled momentarily from the peanut gallery thought when Alastor began to move. Then-
Then he just lost it. He corpsed completely, his first breath-stealing belly laugh in a long, long time from the reference. He needed to double over and clutch himself.
"NO! Not the- not the krumping- ffFFFUCK-" Mercy. MERCY. But if you think he won't catch even a small clip of Alastor moving like one of those tube men in those shitty old car lots, you didn't know
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Alastor guffawed as well, easily switching from a griddy to a krump, completely unabashed. Oh, he KNEW people would cringe out of their skin just seeing this - oh to see them recoil and their skin crawl from secondhand embarrassment!
The specific belly laugh - a different tone from the sadistic cackle - was a treat. How long had it been?
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