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.
"Your Velvette won't be able to make any useful potions from it, love or otherwise," Alastor rolled his eyes as he gave Vox a very pointedly accusatory tone. And then took another sip before setting the whiskey down - it was curling in his gut a bit harsher today, making the decision to stay more sober much easier.
"Besides, I suppose fair is fair - I've absconded with something of yours as well. Makes a pretty little trophy."
Vox winced. "Ooh, Vel's not gonna like being compared to other witches of any caliber outside of, what, fucking Lilith?"
Velvette would want NOTHING to do with this. Too craggy, too weird, too 'I don't want to know what Vox did to this before handing it to me', because nobody has faith in him. He's not going to be weird about the antler!!! Holy shit!!
He really did keep it... Bound and gagged. Bound. And. Gagged.
He played it off with a half-shrug. "Antler's a nice trophy, but your staff or your coat are more my speed."
Vox paused, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe photo evidence of a tail."
"Oh? What makes you certain I have a tail like this?"
Frustratingly, Vox had seen him when he was almost feral with hunger, but.... he could play coy about whether that tail Alastor had still can show on the human guise.
Vox barked out a laugh, and after setting that antler aside- he's totally taking that, he'll accept a trophy- he took up his drink. Neat was nice, but he enjoyed his whiskey on the rocks a lot more. Made for a nice crunchy little treat at the end.
"Here's my thought process, work with me: I put out there that I have photo evidence that answers what burns in the minds of conspiracy theorists and your lesser fans everywhere. Does he have a tail? Or doesn't he? The people will clamor for a chance to quell that curiosity, and I can play coy, let those imaginations spin while I alone hold the the key. The entertainment I'd get from that ALONE is worth having a polaroid of something that may or may not exist! The most priceless prize!"
"I never understood the broiling need to know that so many people had about something like that. Do they want to think that I'm more of a beast than a man? Does me having a tail make me somehow less frightening? Would it be funny, imagining the Radio Demon with a ratty little tail, hmm?"
As Vox leaned back, Alastor leaned in, eyes glowing a subtle red.
"No, I think that's funnier that they'll never know. What a thing to agonize about - does one lay awake at night, tossing and turning and wondering? Well?"
His stomach twisted into a knot, but he stuck to his guns and reached up to press a finger to the nose. "I'm hurt. No credit at all, no sight into my vision...! But then again, I've spent nearly a century perfecting how a business is run; how to lead the flock into my pen."
Fine, then. Keep your secrets.
"But tails are hot! You'd actually incite envy. When you can't pick your form- save for yours truly, of course, haha- you see others and smolder when they don't have tails, wings, extra eyes, the ability to shift...?" He gestured to Alastor.
"Honestly, I think you should lord it over others more."
The spark flit between his antennae despite the souring of his screen. "I'm stating a fact! I have people who research this sort of thing: What trends, the strength of them, how long they've lasted in search of patterns and how to keep interest. You're also popular, though I can't exactly fathom why, so mash the two data points together, and there you go."
He drank, let the chilled liquor soothe a throat that was feeling raw and dry, especially as the nicotine was leaving his system.
"...You did far more drooling than me last week, anyway," he added coolly, and swirled the glass.
The last comment earned an angry bit of feedback and pop, but nothing sharper.
"Yes, well, my particular brand of degeneracy doesn't grant me insight to the degeneracy rampant in the Sinner population at large, I suppose," Alastor rebuffed, reaching for his glass again and scratching at the lip of it instead of drinking. "The beastly Novembers aside. Ugh. Pathetic."
He tipped the glass enough to relieve it of one of its ice cubes, and quietly crunched away as he listened. Then he shrugged a shoulder. "You know they'd probably stick you with the same shit if you went upstairs after you died, too. If they're not all boy scouts and mormons or whatever up there, anyway."
But he blinked and looked over. Guy could hold his liquor, but he was nursing it. He was usually three deep by the time he finished his first, something he'd note with a laugh way back when.
"...Blondie get you practicing some kind of sobriety purity crap now? How am I outdrinking you?"
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sugaronthecream) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
divinetree2025-10-07 08:11 pm
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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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"Besides, I suppose fair is fair - I've absconded with something of yours as well. Makes a pretty little trophy."
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Velvette would want NOTHING to do with this. Too craggy, too weird, too 'I don't want to know what Vox did to this before handing it to me', because nobody has faith in him. He's not going to be weird about the antler!!! Holy shit!!
He really did keep it... Bound and gagged. Bound. And. Gagged.
He played it off with a half-shrug. "Antler's a nice trophy, but your staff or your coat are more my speed."
Vox paused, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe photo evidence of a tail."
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Frustratingly, Vox had seen him when he was almost feral with hunger, but.... he could play coy about whether that tail Alastor had still can show on the human guise.
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"Here's my thought process, work with me: I put out there that I have photo evidence that answers what burns in the minds of conspiracy theorists and your lesser fans everywhere. Does he have a tail? Or doesn't he? The people will clamor for a chance to quell that curiosity, and I can play coy, let those imaginations spin while I alone hold the the key. The entertainment I'd get from that ALONE is worth having a polaroid of something that may or may not exist! The most priceless prize!"
He paused. Then he leaned back.
"...So do you-"
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As Vox leaned back, Alastor leaned in, eyes glowing a subtle red.
"No, I think that's funnier that they'll never know. What a thing to agonize about - does one lay awake at night, tossing and turning and wondering? Well?"
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Fine, then. Keep your secrets.
"But tails are hot! You'd actually incite envy. When you can't pick your form- save for yours truly, of course, haha- you see others and smolder when they don't have tails, wings, extra eyes, the ability to shift...?" He gestured to Alastor.
"Honestly, I think you should lord it over others more."
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"I see your game now. You're looking for more from me to drool about like a dog. Aren't I enough, old friend?"
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He drank, let the chilled liquor soothe a throat that was feeling raw and dry, especially as the nicotine was leaving his system.
"...You did far more drooling than me last week, anyway," he added coolly, and swirled the glass.
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"Yes, well, my particular brand of degeneracy doesn't grant me insight to the degeneracy rampant in the Sinner population at large, I suppose," Alastor rebuffed, reaching for his glass again and scratching at the lip of it instead of drinking. "The beastly Novembers aside. Ugh. Pathetic."
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He tipped the glass enough to relieve it of one of its ice cubes, and quietly crunched away as he listened. Then he shrugged a shoulder. "You know they'd probably stick you with the same shit if you went upstairs after you died, too. If they're not all boy scouts and mormons or whatever up there, anyway."
But he blinked and looked over. Guy could hold his liquor, but he was nursing it. He was usually three deep by the time he finished his first, something he'd note with a laugh way back when.
"...Blondie get you practicing some kind of sobriety purity crap now? How am I outdrinking you?"
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