"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!"
He did a double take, and couldn't help the little flip in his chest. "...What makes you think the shark won't try and bite back, get a little venison for his troubles, huh?"
No way he'd eaten actual shark. Shit was bland! Look, he- he was curious, okay-
"Because you can't," Alastor sneered. That bite he got before - the way his throat had been torn out...
He'd allowed it.
And right now, it was JUST him and Vox here. No Velvette, no Valentino... and between the two of them, without his crutches, Alastor knew he could wrangle the media overlord easily.
"You can't even keep up on the dance floor with me! So distractable."
"Please. That's dancing!" He finished his step, pivoted on a heel, and straightened out the front of his coat as he made his approach.
"But you've loved every- last- fight- we've had." The faint imprints his shoes left, always so finely polished, danced with lingering sparks. Faintly playing over his own airwaves was a distant clashing, something of theirs from forever ago. There was shouting, swearing on his part, and that mocking guffaw over radio pops and crackles.
"Every struggle, every little bit of blood," he continued, his voice entering a lofi growl.
"I think I've... kept up... well enough so far, don't you think...?"
He chuckled, though a hand briefly flew to where his neck met a shoulder. His healing factor helped take care of what had happened, but MAN did it hurt and itch like a bitch for a day or two.
"That right...? No wonder you didn't let up. I always liked to call myself a dish, so I'll take that compliment. And you...?"
He decided to step around, behind, because turnabout was fair play. His hands went to red-cloaked shoulders and the audio channel changed. There was a whole hell of a lot of distant screaming, that section of the city hitting its blackout with the slowing whine as many generators died, and the growl of a beast.
"I see the appeal of what you do, old pal. A rare treat, considering I don't see you as the guy who lets anyone get a shot at taking a bite!"
Alastor tilted his head, turning it unnaturally around to peek at the media demon trying to butter him up again. Alastor's own throat still had the fresh scars, not so deep as the ones from brutal exorcist wounds, but there nonetheless like a jagged collar.
The visceral, burning, terrifying moment... but he'd known in that moment, in that heat, that he wouldn't die. Something that should've been hair-raising and humiliating instead just left a bit of a tingle along the back of Alastor's neck.
Interesting...
"Certainly not in my right mind. Are you circling, little shark, looking for another nibble?"
Trap! It's a trap. It's a trap. Stop doing this to yourself. It's going to happen again. There was that small, solitary voice in him, dressed in that sweater and vest, sporting that CRT monitor.
But he hushed it. No. Tonight was like old times. A little gabbing, a little fun was fine.
He was ready this time.
"Giving credit where it's due." He leaned closer, unperturbed by the strange angle of Alastor's gaze or the method. "Time and place, and I'll be sure to take an even bigger bite."
Then Vox stepped back, expression swiftly neutral as he reached into his coat and retrieved his phone.
"Damn, I'm thirsty! Never liked a dry bar. We left the Prohibition behind for a reason, right? Need some whiskey, stat..." He tapped away. May as well call one of his drones, save the trouble of someone annoying finding them.
Alastor wordlessly chuckled - that tap, that signal for one of the drones? Why wait that long, honestly!
With a snap and a flourish, a wave of the arm, Alastor conjured a bottle of whiskey and two glasses - figuring it ought to be cleaner than what remained unshattered on the dusty shelves. He'll pour for the both of them, humming along to the little tune that slowly re-emerged from the radio waves.
So many nights where they chatted or danced in the bars. Laughing at spectacular failures together, taunting each other, bantering...
...As Alastor watched the other man grow powerful through grit and determination. All by himself, without compromising his pride.
It still burned at him that Vox never valued that. Fool. Disappointing.
"I've gone decades through my Novembers without fuss before," he countered. Not that the last time was bad, but he couldn't just admit that. Nor could he ever imply that he wasn't strong enough to control his own broiling instincts granted to him by that curse.
His finger paused over the prompt, he owlishly blinked at the display of power. Feeling foolish? Maybe. But what was he gonna do, ask, 'Pretty please can you use your freaky shadow magic to rustle us up something to wet the whistle?' Alastor was a cockhead, but he wasn't a garçon-
"...Or that works." He recovered with an amused scoff, set the phone to sleep and tucked it back into a pocket. Vox moved to take a seat- after kicking this stool a few times to check and see that it wasn't inches from collapsing and impaling him (that's gonna eat a lot of PTO)- and would accept a glass.
"No shit... so from the start, huh?" Fascinated, he tried to recall even back at the start. Alastor did like to mysteriously disappear sometimes to do a few broadcasts, do a little quiet work, but never did he think it would be to run off and wait things out.
...Did he ever think about asking for my help before everything happ-- SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP.
He took a much bigger drink than normal. Maybe he'd drown the little fucker, shut it up for a another night. But after the evening of chasing, biting, fucking, it was much noisier of late.
Rather than taking a seat, Alastor just leaned against the bar and rested on his elbows. He swirled the whiskey - no ice, but he didn't mind a bit of extra kick to the heat going down.
Can't drink much. Have to keep sharp - just in case.
He wasn't a fool, after all - he knew that animosity burned in Vox even if his desperate little desire to prove himself kept popping up. From the start... yes, those early heats were the hardest. The first year was...
Banishing the thought, Alastor kicked back his glass with a smooth, silent gulp. Let the head burn and coil in his belly, making him feel ill even with only a single swig from the glass.
"Much less troublesome than your struggles with your head."
Vox blew out a sigh. "Tell me about it! God- the migraines, the shoulder aches, the way the pain shot up into the eyes some days..."
He slowly rotated his glass between his hands. "No idea how I never went insane. Talk about your damnation, or... what, your punishment for being a naughty boy up top or whatever. Has to be nice to be able to make your deer bits adjust size on a whim."
He paused, vaguely gestured toward his antennae. "Up top. They can't be light when you go full Prince of the Forest."
"Oh, it's not so noticeable until only one of them's shed for the season!" Alastor scoffed and laughed. "Then my already twisted neck gets stuck at a tilt. At least until I pull the damn thing out like a bad tooth."
Wouldn't be long before they shed again, even - rut just ended, and his body was probably going through its obnoxious beastly processes. Idly, he started to fidget with an antler - it already felt loose, sparking pain as he wiggled it until it popped off and into Alastor's hand. He didn't seem to flinch, even as blood started running from his scalp down the side of his face.
With a chuckle, he gripped it in his fist until the antler grew out with his magic - then offered the large branching thing to Vox. "There, see? Hardly weighs a thing."
"What's next, a craving for some succulent moss on occasion?" Lulled by the music softly playing, he could already smell the wood polish and the kegs in their prime again. Not even dust and the faint smell of dried blood long aged could remove such vivid old memories.
A brow furrowed. He made a face when Alastor simply snapped off the antler and watched the blood run. His fingers briefly tightened against his glass, and before he could stop himself, he remembered how that blood had tasted while deep in the throes.
Sigh. God damn it.
He sat up straighter with the offered antler. Wait, what? No fucking way. He's full of it. But when Vox relinquished his glass to accept it, he'll see whether the guy was full of it or not.
"Now now, don't get too sexually charged by it, old pal," Alastor chided, though sure enough - he let go of the antler and went to fiddle with and remove the other, leaving Vox to keep a hold of the branching horn offered to him.
It didn't have velvet on it like a real antler... it was more... bark-like, if anything. Like a dense branch. Terribly imbalanced, gangly and awful - really, every bit as monstrous as his stretched out, stitched-up form always was.
"Oh, kink-shaming, Al? You don't even know half of the shit I'm into, for one." Huh. This was like a fallen branch in some haunted woods somewhere, just as spooky as the rest of the guy.
With a smirk, he added, "I'm sure some Etsy witch will love this, though. Won't even need a bullshit story- if they know it's from the Radio Demon they'll fight me for it."
But don't mind if he fidgets with it, tending tines as best as he could, tapping it against the countertop.
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divinetree2025-10-07 08:11 pm
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!"
no subject
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!"
no subject
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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No way he'd eaten actual shark. Shit was bland! Look, he- he was curious, okay-
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He'd allowed it.
And right now, it was JUST him and Vox here. No Velvette, no Valentino... and between the two of them, without his crutches, Alastor knew he could wrangle the media overlord easily.
"You can't even keep up on the dance floor with me! So distractable."
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"But you've loved every- last- fight- we've had." The faint imprints his shoes left, always so finely polished, danced with lingering sparks. Faintly playing over his own airwaves was a distant clashing, something of theirs from forever ago. There was shouting, swearing on his part, and that mocking guffaw over radio pops and crackles.
"Every struggle, every little bit of blood," he continued, his voice entering a lofi growl.
"I think I've... kept up... well enough so far, don't you think...?"
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With every spark, every recollection of every fight, drawing blood, tasting blood.
"Take the training wheels off and we'll see. By the by - did you know your flesh and blood has a unique taste? Unlike anyone I've bitten before."
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"That right...? No wonder you didn't let up. I always liked to call myself a dish, so I'll take that compliment. And you...?"
He decided to step around, behind, because turnabout was fair play. His hands went to red-cloaked shoulders and the audio channel changed. There was a whole hell of a lot of distant screaming, that section of the city hitting its blackout with the slowing whine as many generators died, and the growl of a beast.
"I see the appeal of what you do, old pal. A rare treat, considering I don't see you as the guy who lets anyone get a shot at taking a bite!"
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The visceral, burning, terrifying moment... but he'd known in that moment, in that heat, that he wouldn't die. Something that should've been hair-raising and humiliating instead just left a bit of a tingle along the back of Alastor's neck.
Interesting...
"Certainly not in my right mind. Are you circling, little shark, looking for another nibble?"
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But he hushed it. No. Tonight was like old times. A little gabbing, a little fun was fine.
He was ready this time.
"Giving credit where it's due." He leaned closer, unperturbed by the strange angle of Alastor's gaze or the method. "Time and place, and I'll be sure to take an even bigger bite."
Then Vox stepped back, expression swiftly neutral as he reached into his coat and retrieved his phone.
"Damn, I'm thirsty! Never liked a dry bar. We left the Prohibition behind for a reason, right? Need some whiskey, stat..." He tapped away. May as well call one of his drones, save the trouble of someone annoying finding them.
no subject
With a snap and a flourish, a wave of the arm, Alastor conjured a bottle of whiskey and two glasses - figuring it ought to be cleaner than what remained unshattered on the dusty shelves. He'll pour for the both of them, humming along to the little tune that slowly re-emerged from the radio waves.
So many nights where they chatted or danced in the bars. Laughing at spectacular failures together, taunting each other, bantering...
...As Alastor watched the other man grow powerful through grit and determination. All by himself, without compromising his pride.
It still burned at him that Vox never valued that. Fool. Disappointing.
"I've gone decades through my Novembers without fuss before," he countered. Not that the last time was bad, but he couldn't just admit that. Nor could he ever imply that he wasn't strong enough to control his own broiling instincts granted to him by that curse.
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"...Or that works." He recovered with an amused scoff, set the phone to sleep and tucked it back into a pocket. Vox moved to take a seat- after kicking this stool a few times to check and see that it wasn't inches from collapsing and impaling him (that's gonna eat a lot of PTO)- and would accept a glass.
"No shit... so from the start, huh?" Fascinated, he tried to recall even back at the start. Alastor did like to mysteriously disappear sometimes to do a few broadcasts, do a little quiet work, but never did he think it would be to run off and wait things out.
...Did he ever think about asking for my help before everything happ-- SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP.
He took a much bigger drink than normal. Maybe he'd drown the little fucker, shut it up for a another night. But after the evening of chasing, biting, fucking, it was much noisier of late.
no subject
Can't drink much. Have to keep sharp - just in case.
He wasn't a fool, after all - he knew that animosity burned in Vox even if his desperate little desire to prove himself kept popping up. From the start... yes, those early heats were the hardest. The first year was...
Banishing the thought, Alastor kicked back his glass with a smooth, silent gulp. Let the head burn and coil in his belly, making him feel ill even with only a single swig from the glass.
"Much less troublesome than your struggles with your head."
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He slowly rotated his glass between his hands. "No idea how I never went insane. Talk about your damnation, or... what, your punishment for being a naughty boy up top or whatever. Has to be nice to be able to make your deer bits adjust size on a whim."
He paused, vaguely gestured toward his antennae. "Up top. They can't be light when you go full Prince of the Forest."
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Wouldn't be long before they shed again, even - rut just ended, and his body was probably going through its obnoxious beastly processes. Idly, he started to fidget with an antler - it already felt loose, sparking pain as he wiggled it until it popped off and into Alastor's hand. He didn't seem to flinch, even as blood started running from his scalp down the side of his face.
With a chuckle, he gripped it in his fist until the antler grew out with his magic - then offered the large branching thing to Vox. "There, see? Hardly weighs a thing."
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A brow furrowed. He made a face when Alastor simply snapped off the antler and watched the blood run. His fingers briefly tightened against his glass, and before he could stop himself, he remembered how that blood had tasted while deep in the throes.
Sigh. God damn it.
He sat up straighter with the offered antler. Wait, what? No fucking way. He's full of it. But when Vox relinquished his glass to accept it, he'll see whether the guy was full of it or not.
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It didn't have velvet on it like a real antler... it was more... bark-like, if anything. Like a dense branch. Terribly imbalanced, gangly and awful - really, every bit as monstrous as his stretched out, stitched-up form always was.
no subject
With a smirk, he added, "I'm sure some Etsy witch will love this, though. Won't even need a bullshit story- if they know it's from the Radio Demon they'll fight me for it."
But don't mind if he fidgets with it, tending tines as best as he could, tapping it against the countertop.
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