"...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?
There's even a snort as he struggled to breathe, and he slapped a knee. The krumping only worked exceptionally well because, as Vox knew for decades, that Alastor always enjoyed being bendy and weird for greater effect.
"God, that's awful!! Here, here, look at this-" He managed to recover just enough to hop into a rather popular little trend, the hopping Shoot, but he couldn't do it for very long before he needed to grab a ruined counter to lean on to recover from the last of his laughter.
"Oh, but then you've got the other side of it, right? That bouncy Korean stuff with all the marketable dances, like-" Let's see... step, bounce, shoulder shimmy... definitely a dance performed by a number of ladies, but Vox didn't seem to care, he was all amped up on Not Giving a Shit right now-
"Could barely get any idol groups off the ground, though! Verosika Mayday keeps crushing 'em on the charts!"
"HAH! Of course she did, what mere Sinner can compete with a proper succubus?"
Would Vox be surprised if Alastor took only a moment to look at the dance before practically hopping to Vox's side, picking up and copying the moves easily? Because one of the few things Alastor did so dearly love was peeking around to see how people reveled and partied - the world is such a wide place of entertainment!
"Beautiful pipes! The genre may not be my favorite, but it takes a woman of skill to pull at the heartstrings even when a listener has absolutely no shared experiences whatsoever!"
"That's the thing- I even tried hiring a number of Asmodeus' little winged honeypots, like a competing boy band or something! No bites."
Of course Alastor was killing it, but that only left Vox a bit... distracted. He fell out of rhythm until he pointedly looked away, despite the pale blue snow on the monitor.
"Wha- what about you then, huh? I'm curious- You immune to the siren songs, too?"
Oop, routine dropped. Well, Alastor will keep dancing either way - settling into a more conversational shimmy of the hips. "The siren songs! Hmmhmm. Well, I've never had a physical reaction, not the way I suspect most do. At most I've felt hungry in a very much not euphemistic way."
He laughed! Three long, breathy haws.
"Their meat is decadent! A deep black with only a slight shimmer of red - though who knows, maybe that's just the shimmer most things get under the skies here! I'd say the flesh was more... tender! But rich, like biting into an organ. Why, I'm hungry just thinking about it!"
Okay, hunger and not the sexy kind. Fine. But talk of the meat had him make a slight face. This is what he gets for asking, anyway, but by the end of it, and as a guy who actually didn't mind- enjoyed, really- a good liver dish, he somehow made it sound... enticing.
What was wrong with him?
"Yeah, well, if you're hungry, you're not exactly gonna get a Dante's Inferno experience in this old shack."
Despite the dancing, he couldn't mask the nostalgic sigh. "This place was great too... fuckin' angels... this was one of my favorite spots. Amazing crab cakes!"
"Tell me about it! One of the only places in hell with a proper Creole cook - the blackened crab cakes felt like home."
A wistful sigh! Alas, the chef hadn't been much of anybody and had gotten slaughtered like so many other souls did. Alastor didn't really mourn the man himself so much as miss the touch of Nawlins he'd bring.
"If I get truly ravenous, maybe I'll just take another bite of shark! Hah hahaha!"
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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
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.
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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...
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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.
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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!
no subject
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!"
no subject
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!"
no subject
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
VincentVox very well.no subject
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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"God, that's awful!! Here, here, look at this-" He managed to recover just enough to hop into a rather popular little trend, the hopping Shoot, but he couldn't do it for very long before he needed to grab a ruined counter to lean on to recover from the last of his laughter.
"Oh, but then you've got the other side of it, right? That bouncy Korean stuff with all the marketable dances, like-" Let's see... step, bounce, shoulder shimmy... definitely a dance performed by a number of ladies, but Vox didn't seem to care, he was all amped up on Not Giving a Shit right now-
"Could barely get any idol groups off the ground, though! Verosika Mayday keeps crushing 'em on the charts!"
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Would Vox be surprised if Alastor took only a moment to look at the dance before practically hopping to Vox's side, picking up and copying the moves easily? Because one of the few things Alastor did so dearly love was peeking around to see how people reveled and partied - the world is such a wide place of entertainment!
"Beautiful pipes! The genre may not be my favorite, but it takes a woman of skill to pull at the heartstrings even when a listener has absolutely no shared experiences whatsoever!"
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Of course Alastor was killing it, but that only left Vox a bit... distracted. He fell out of rhythm until he pointedly looked away, despite the pale blue snow on the monitor.
"Wha- what about you then, huh? I'm curious- You immune to the siren songs, too?"
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He laughed! Three long, breathy haws.
"Their meat is decadent! A deep black with only a slight shimmer of red - though who knows, maybe that's just the shimmer most things get under the skies here! I'd say the flesh was more... tender! But rich, like biting into an organ. Why, I'm hungry just thinking about it!"
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Okay, hunger and not the sexy kind. Fine. But talk of the meat had him make a slight face. This is what he gets for asking, anyway, but by the end of it, and as a guy who actually didn't mind- enjoyed, really- a good liver dish, he somehow made it sound... enticing.
What was wrong with him?
"Yeah, well, if you're hungry, you're not exactly gonna get a Dante's Inferno experience in this old shack."
Despite the dancing, he couldn't mask the nostalgic sigh. "This place was great too... fuckin' angels... this was one of my favorite spots. Amazing crab cakes!"
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A wistful sigh! Alas, the chef hadn't been much of anybody and had gotten slaughtered like so many other souls did. Alastor didn't really mourn the man himself so much as miss the touch of Nawlins he'd bring.
"If I get truly ravenous, maybe I'll just take another bite of shark! Hah hahaha!"
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