He wasn't sure what he expected, but he knew it wasn't this. Alastor's words were met with a stare that flattened, and his hands fell away from the other man's shoulders.
"...Fuck you," he muttered. The fidelity of his voice dimmed.
"Just... fuck you. You spit in my face almost a hundred years ago, and continually remind me of that fact again, and again, and again, and again, and..." He paused, took a moment to take a deep breath.
He turned his back on the Radio Demon. "...And for some reason, I agreed to help you with your problem. And for what...? Silence? Fine. I held my end of the bargain on that. Then you wanted to forget that it happened. ...Just like how you wanted to let the years that we had just..."
Vox crossed his arms behind his back, fists balled tight. A few sparks rolled off of him.
"I spent almost a century wondering when you went from enjoying my company to simply tolerating me. Or if there was ever a point where it wasn't a lie when you said you respected me in the first place." Tighter still. Metallic claws bit into his own flesh.
"And now you have the fucking gall- the a̢͕͔̋u̫͛d̳̮͘a̮̖͙͎̾c͍̒͡ity̳̲ͪ- to ask me for some manner of assistance. I just... god, I seem to remember a little something I heard once. What was it-"
His head swiveled the perfect 180 degrees. Amid the furious snow upon the monitor were two red eyes bearing tuning dials for pupils. The voice was clear as day, a recording but 70 years old:
"...And here I thought you might be approaching my level, but asking for assistance? A partnership?? I am quite disappointed in you."
He turned his body to match his head. He leaned closer, his mouth gone, eyes only burning red as his voice was tinged with a little more buzzing, like too many furious hornets.
Anger. Every ounce of it perfectly in Vox's right - Alastor's expression darkened at seeing his own face spouting those cruel words. So fresh in the man's mind, even now...
"Then you wanted to forget that it happened. ...Just like how you wanted to let the years that we had just..."
It's not that simple...! It was NEVER that simple. But that's why he'd broken it off before, because...
...No, it hadn't been solely noble intentions to save his pal. It'd been a bone-deep fear, a twisted revulsion at the idea of someone caring for him that way, of being vulnerable because of it. He'd been disgusted at the proposition. At seeing the other demon fall straight into the same wretched folly, throwing away his potential--
"You aren't helping me," Alastor clarified, hackles raised but nothing more. No powers, no hand. This was it - the point of no return. "It has to be you. Because you aren't bound by a Deal with her."
Right. Right... this isn't about him, anymore.
"It has to be you because you are the one that's fathered them."
It had been a long time coming. He'd been so angry at every opportunity and they would fight, Val and Vel wanting a little blood in their scrap too. But this time, this time was letting it all hang out and addressing the heart of the issue. Why did it take Alastor needing him for something to get him to turn his ear and actually LISTEN to him for once?
But did it matter in the end? Alastor liked to laugh. He liked to laugh at him the most, each guffaw a knife in his chest, and he knew it. It twisted Vox up inside, struggling with wanting to scream at him to vent this betrayal, even knowing it was ultimately pointless. It wouldn't change anything. Would it even make him feel better? Perhaps it would leave him hollow, and it was probably preferable to the burning hole that grew in his stomach from all of the burning pitch that was a helplessly nurtured fury.
Alastor's words led the snow to soften, and an eyelid twitched. When his mouth reappeared, it was at a sneer. 'Her'? Deal with 'her'? He wasn't bound by a Deal to anyone.
...Which meant Alastor owed someone something. And he felt tied to it, desperate enough to turn to him for help? Why? To appeal to his feelings? 'Oh, Vox is an easy one to crack, he always DROOLED over me and all, the silly, weak, pathetic man'-
The snarl that he wasn't going to be the Radio Demon's convenient little toy anymore was interrupted by that last part. Fathered? He was to help someone he'd somehow-
"...This is a new low, even for you." He stood upright again.
"You usually come up with, dare I say, a good joke now and again. But this is poor material. If you wanted to dupe me into helping some little pawn of yours because of whatever shit you let yourself get into, you need a better lie than something we all know Sinners can't do." Fathered. Please. Despite what the courts on earth declared involving the multiple partners he kept when he was at his peak in life, he'd taken a few wives but never sired. Too dangerous. Too much risk.
He wasn't Carmilla Carmine, either. He didn't take some poor little things off the street and take them under his wing, either. To think: They had Carmilla and her greatest weakness to thank for the knowledge that Heaven and its denizens weren't as perfect as they claim...!
"Do I look like I am J͇ͦ͒ͤͧO̪̟͋͜K̷̤͔̓̑̊͒̑ͯ͗I̛͖̳͖ͮͭ̚ͅṊ̢̦̰͙͆ͩ͂̐̉̽G̩̦͂͐̅?̷͖̺̳̹̳̲̬̘̿̈?"
Despite knowing he had wronged Vox, white-hot anger burned in Alastor's chest as he snarled at the other. Anger and panic, maddening panic. The phantom sensation still burned and coiled in his belly - it was too small now, but knowing it was there, Alastor had never felt heavier.
Everything was falling apart.
"What's the JOKE? Oh, hah hah, look how pathetic the Radio Demon is - how he's A̖ͮ̎L̻̠̻̭ͨW̯̮_͠Å̢̳̄̅͒Y͕͚͒͌ͧ͟S̴͇͌̽ͤ BEEN! All his secrets dragged out, all plans and power crumbling like a house of cards, and for what? To frustrate you? Bringing myself to the belly of YOUR territory - to admit my shame?"
To Alastor's credit, Vox mildly backed off from the response. That bone-deep anger, his own hurt, was continuing to corrupt under a steadily-growing confusion in him. This... wasn't a joke? He'd never seen him like this.
It unnerved him. The big bad Radio Demon was afraid of someone. Someone to whom he owed something. After all the talk he'd made about not relying on others, this guy was a fucking hypocrite!
The growing uncertainty in his eyes froze. Then, it was like everything clicked into place: His shame. This secrecy. His current state, after talk of how he felt about everything two weeks ago.
The rut. Fathered. He distinctly remembered the things he taunted while a beast, Alastor's response. It was... it was all just for play, a kink thing he'd come to realize he really enjoyed, not-
...
Vox's screen glitched, flickered, and normalized. He took a step back.
"...Are you-" His tone was a quiet awe, what broke through the shock. He wasn't going to say the word. It was fucking absurd.
"That's- that's impossible. That- that doesn't happen down here!"
"And YET! Here I am! Oh, what a hilarious divine punishment, don't you think? A man that reveled in taking lives, a wretched cannibal and serial killer - carrying life! Hahah! Hahahahah!"
With a manic, humorless laugh and shaking claws, Alastor pulled the stupid fucking pregnancy test out of his coat's inner pocket - he'd not thought to collect what his spells had told him, had confirmed so solidly - and though he should have simply handed it over he chucked it against the floor in a fit as he spiraled.
"So-- you are going to help them. Whatever it takes. I will not let her have ownership of them because they're spawning from me."
The test clattered against the ground, and he didn't even need to retrieve it. It had landed face up, bearing the marks, and after so many of the upgrades he'd installed upon himself, his sight was sharper than almost anyone down here in Hell.
Struck dumb, Vox's gaze lifted. He could give the guy credit for one thing: The man was a gentleman, his demeanor nothing short of insp-- admirable toward the fairer sex. Alastor would never make such a joke of this. Not in a million years.
But the questions multiplied, filled his circuits. His hands were shaking now as well, lifted to gesture vaguely. "Help them... how, exactly? Money is no object for me. You have a place at the Hotel. Surely you don't need me to secure another one."
Vox paused, blinked. He raised a claw. No. No, it wasn't about any of that.
"...You're circling the point now. From whom am I helping keep the... the... the..." God, no. He can't say it. What even would it BE? A fawn? A shark pup? Human?? An imp? No, that didn't matter, did it.
Oh boy, Vince. You've really gotten yourself in it now.
"Who the fuck has the goddamn Radio Demon this shaken up?" His tone was incredulous. He was in too many places right now to mock. Give him time, of course, but-... who was tougher than - and he hated to admit it- the toughest sinner in this realm?
How is a very pointedly good question. Alastor hadn't figured that out yet himself... he nearly began pacing again when Vox finally asked the question that Alastor dreaded.
Damn it.
"...I'd made the deal with her when I was alive. Knew I was hellbound - agreed to offer my soul for bargain, I could take the decades to complete the task. I could endure the cost for what I was gaining."
But a hand of his dropped from where it was pulling on his hair to touching at his middle - slender only for now. The touch didn't last long before Alastor pulled his hand away like it burned him.
"It was just me. But this-- I can't be sure that Rosie won't want to keep them to extend our Deal. To control me further. To keep and groom as another pet or pawn."
"ROSIE!? Holy- holy shit, Al!" He burst out, and briefly, his claws clicked when he brought his hands to his own head. Of all the demons to commune with...
...Wait, why could she be communed with? Could any of them be summoned, rather than just the Goetia and the Morningstars-
As his hands fell back to his sides, he rattled a number of thoughts, possibilities in his head. Alastor wanted to protect it... keep it...
Even if it was his.
His. Wait-
He froze as a moment of genius struck him. Then he stepped closer, a grin growing, taking a moment to weave his tie back into place. "The solution is simple, then: If she likes to have deals, then I'll beat her to the punch."
Vox brushed down his sleeves, then decided to be a little cheeky and touch a tip of the claw against Alastor's stomach. "I'll lay claim to the little soul. Because this is mine, isn't it...? I chased you. I won. And if Rosie so much as thinks she can try to get one up on me on this, I'll f̥ͮ̋ee̢̦͊d͖ h̟̀e̗r t͕ͩ̍o̮̬͢ t̀̾h̿͜ȅ f̤̀̊ucki͕͆n͔g s̫̀̈́h̶̛aȑk̶s͈ͬͯ."
Alastor's fretting, hairpulling, fidgeting - it all froze as he heard the proposal. His ears had been pinned flat, but they swiveled forward again.
And he laughed. Low, stressed and unhinged, but energized.
"That's it."
Rosie was subtle, conniving, strategic - she wouldn't chase something that would take a fight to snatch up. Not with someone like Vox, who may or may not have the ability to fight her but certainly could give her unwanted attention.
That's the perfect plan. Vox... this one would take a chance to gut Alastor eventually, enough lines crossed. But Alastor knew that old CRT-head was in there - knew that even if perhaps the child was completely confiscated, they'd grow well protected into a little bastard. That. Was fine.
"Perfect. Perfect. I cannot hold any claim to them-- not while I'm Rosie's. But they aren't mine, they're yours... hahahahah...! Vox, I think we have a Deal."
"Ha- I'm glad we're in agreement, old pal, but I'm not entirely finished." He'd looked over too many written contracts, read too much fine print to stumble into something one-sided. He could own the soul, certainly, but this was just diving right off into using Silly Old Vincent for something else yet again.
No. He won. Rosie was a problem and he already had a few plans starting to cook involving how best to observe the woman and her work, but there was something more important, unprecedented, occurring right this very moment.
"I will take ownership of the soul of this little one you have tucked away. I will also take measures of confidentiality, both for you and for them, even while you... ah... start having a little trouble keeping it subtle." He couldn't help the little grin. Oh, you are going to be so charming with a bump, aren't you...?
"...And my conditions are twofold: 1. Kid's an innocent, right? I don't need to ask a grown man to take care of himself better, but it's not just you you need to worry about, is it? And 2 is the big one..."
He planted his hands upon his hips and looked away. "2. I get to be involved."
Vox paused, frowned. "I'm not asking to date or get married or anything, but... don't fuckin' run off and blow me off for two weeks or seven years or whatever. We wanna flick Rosie's nose about all of this, we need to... ah, fuck, what's the word..."
Then he brightened, and papped a fist into an open palm. "Right! Work together! Wild concept, I know, right?"
Now, with that, he offered his hand. "With all this in mind: Now do we have a Deal...?"
There wasn't a single objection to those stipulations, even if he was chuckling under his breath at the first. Take care of himself? For the baby - of course he would. Not that Vox knew this side of Alastor-- but come now, sure he didn't deserve forgiveness for his cruelty towards others, even he drew the line at children. No child earned a rage like his.
Work together.
What a concept. The condescending tone was annoying, he wanted to pluck one of those antennae right off in retaliation - but instead Alastor conceded and drooped his ears. He held up a single finger.
"I will get called away, and sent to work. But when I have the choice, I will not leave you out of the loop. I have a soul belonging to you. Ideally only one."
Trying not to guillotine himself by creating contradictions that might give either side a reason to pull the chain tighter... once the child was born, he could resume his plans.
...Even if Vox knew them. Even if Vox was...
"...Don't go wasting my efforts in keeping you from her grasp, now."
So much in him wanted to say 'you're mine, too', and as much as that put a delightful little zing up his spine, this was an odd enough situation that he let some things remain rather... private, for now. Perhaps he was still a little sore about the 'drooling' comment.
"Oh, I'm sure Blondie will need someone to listen to her fluffy little songs and Rosie would get suspicious if you weren't right at her heels when she whistles, I'm sure. Best not alert them." He waved his other hand dismissively.
But with a chuckle, he canted his head and smirked. "I remember you'd said four or more... but we'll have to see, huh?"
Yes, well, four or more would be excessive. He hardly has the frame for it.
...The ask for clarification.
...
Wordlessly, Alastor offered his hand for the handshake. The Deal, first-- then everything else. In for a penny, in for a pound.
"We have a Deal, Vox. You gain immediate and indefinite ownership of any soul grown in my body, and I will comply in delivering them properly," he repeated the terms. A soul... or two, or four, he really has no idea. Even just one is unprecedented for Sinners, but this is simply his reality now.
He nodded, and his hand clasped with the other's. Yet despite how he looked, nothing even close to unreadable with thoughts of 'any' and 'them', the power surged like any other Deal met, something like a miniature storm briefly blowing through the conference room.
The sharks had even made a curious pass along the glass, tipping their bodies to peer as they made their way by.
Yet even as the power settled, quieted, Vox hadn't thought to let go.
Gloating. He should be gloating right now, but... that function had sort of fizzled and snapped today. Or something.
The flow of power, the intensity of the energy... it held certainty that a mere promise never could. Alastor had solidified a route for freedom for his...
...His child.
...Whether or not that future included him in it.
Still, the certainty of the Deal, of the guarantee... Alastor finally visibly relaxed as exhaustion and nausea caught back up with him. Damn pregnancy... it had him exhausted, much more than he ever should've been.
"I was disappointed... you were coming so far along without ever compromising yourself. Without beckoning for help. I wanted to see it," he explained, gripping Vox's hand in return since the other hadn't released his grip either, yet. "You were still weak then. Ambitious, foolhardy - what a waste it'd have been to see you tangled in the web. What a tragedy if your growth was cut short because someone sought to hurt me. How terrible if you became powerful enough to threaten to be the strongest Sinner - then you would have to die."
There was the smallest waver in his gaze, trying to read that face. The grin was doing what it did best, but Vox liked to think he could pick up something, anything at all.
"...I'm where I am now out of blood, sweat and tears, Al. I never owed anyone anything. I'm proof it can be done." He gripped tighter. Not to crush or harm, but to loan to his conviction.
"The Deal was power, then- The stipulation being that you'd be at the top...?" And if he had machinations kick off, was able to face off against the likes of Zestial, Carmilla Carmine, even Rosie herself... in comes Alastor, the faithful hound.
The bitterest pill to swallow: Getting hurt for... shit, his protection? Like he needed to BE protected?
"Sure enough," Alastor confirmed, tugging his hand out of Vox's grip. His smile stayed plastered on his face, it always did, but... his eyes were tired.
Turning away, Alastor moved and found his way to the chair behind the conference desk. Hah. Of course Vox kept the nicest chair for himself. Idly, he spun in it, closing his eyes and letting the dizzying feeling distract him.
"You sought me for my power."
It's a statement, or at least sounds like one... Vox had brought up friendship, had been so tearful. Even remembering it made Alastor's chest twist in funny ways.
There was something rather... comforting, in a way, in watching someone with the amount of infamy that Alastor had select a chair and just spin. It was human.
"Your power caught my attention." He crossed the room, casting a glance at the furniture still blocking the door. He opted to sit upon one corner of the desk, his back facing him in kind. "I mean, how could it not? It's..."
He gestured vaguely in front of him. The chuckle was incredulous. "You command a fucking room, Al. You draw eyes from moment one. It's effortless. I was... envious. In the years we spent together, I learned so much about how you did it, but you always had a way of improvising and surprising. I didn't..."
Vox's hands went to his lap, idly laced fingers. "...Want what we had to stop. I saw what you were missing, the... flaws. You intimidate. You frighten. That's fine toward enemies, but I brought an angle of being a face you could trust. Trust us. I'm the friendliest guy you'll ever meet! I'm practically family. And when people like you, feel like they're so close to you, they do..."
He chuckled darkly. "They would do anything for you. I wanted to bring that to the table. We'd be... not kings, but gods. We'd make even the Morningstars bend the knee and every last one of the sheep in the flock will think it was all their idea to begin with!"
A pause. Hesitation. "...I'd say you should have told me about Rosie before, but... knowing old Vincent, he would have marched into Cannibal Town and gotten nowhere but into a cookpot."
He chanced a look over his shoulder. "You've probably got an exit plan though, huh?"
All of that fluff was absolutely validating Alastor's suspicions, though... hmm. He's moved on, thinking ahead.
Interesting.
"Well, this certainly threw a wrench in the works and blew up the plan, but I'll worm my way out of it a different way now that the issue of the child is sorted. Ten months at most ought to fly by like a breeze far faster than seven years," he chuckled, though his smile was tight as he eyed Vox. Crossed his legs, rested his elbow on the chair, and hummed as he stared in thought.
"Even without any rights to them, I will make it a problem if your parenting is insufficient."
It'd been so long since he'd put any thought into any of that. After spending 70+ years here, what was less than one? There was a great deal to consider, people to consult, things to get his hands on-
Oh, immediately Alastor snorted a barely held-back laugh. "Vox, if you don't want me to laugh at you, you can't say completely moronic things! Hah!"
With a spin of the chair and swinging himself to his feet, Alastor approached Vox again, grabbing the bow-tie and tugging it.
"You use people. Every single person around you is a stepping stone and a means to an end. Just like every showtime producer I've ever known - every contribution from the brilliant talent beneath you only gets your name attributed to the credits," he chided, flicking Vox's screen with a claw.
"At least I make it abundantly obvious to my contractees that I'm using them. It's a little sick of you to parade around and insist on using the term 'partners' for those you treat as tools!"
Vox's expression soured. But before he could protest further, he was distracted for far too long of a breath with the tug of his tie. God help him, he hated how much it made his stomach flip. It didn't do this for Valentino, and it never hit for anyone else.
Why you? Why is it still you??
That little piece twisted, burned further, yet writhed as he was chided. Alastor spoke truths. He did use people, and enjoyed doing so. Nobody ever really mattered to him, especially not after...
"Oh, you're one to talk!" He reached up and seized the wrist. "With your pet cat and the bug maid, alongside countless others! Besides, I made the damn Deal, didn't I? Your keeper isn't gonna lay a finger on the kid!"
The grin was quick and sharp. The idea formed. Let's annoy the deer.
"You don't want the 'tool' treatment, as you put it...?" He canted his head curiously, making a show of consideration.
"You know what, old pal...? You are so right."
He stood. The grasped wrist was released with a run of fingertips across the palm, before he slowly laced their fingers. The other found his middle and pulled him close. He shifted a channel for a little ambient old jazz.
"We'll take a celebratory tone, then, for this special occasion."
Sorry, Alastor. He'll only keep saying moronic things. But this is a monster you have, one again, created yourself.
Just as Alastor intended to rebut that he better not see the child being treated as a tool, Vox's grasp became softer and embraced him.
The way their hands connected, threading like they did before...
Alastor scoffed to cover for the jolt of surprise, leaning into it as if it were just dancing. Just. Dancing.
"Don't tell me... have you been studying French all this time to throw it around our battles?" he chided, taking a few steps in time with the jazz to start them on actually dancing, even if it was something slow and close instead of the frenetic energy he was more fond of.
Damn, probably unwise to get into a full lindy-hop.
"Or to impress me. Embarrassing! Who learns a language to impress the man they're eager to kill?"
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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
To say... anything.
To admit anything.
...
"I... need your help," he admitted, his voice low, the radio distortion fading until it was nearly his natural voice again.
no subject
"...Fuck you," he muttered. The fidelity of his voice dimmed.
"Just... fuck you. You spit in my face almost a hundred years ago, and continually remind me of that fact again, and again, and again, and again, and..." He paused, took a moment to take a deep breath.
He turned his back on the Radio Demon. "...And for some reason, I agreed to help you with your problem. And for what...? Silence? Fine. I held my end of the bargain on that. Then you wanted to forget that it happened. ...Just like how you wanted to let the years that we had just..."
Vox crossed his arms behind his back, fists balled tight. A few sparks rolled off of him.
"I spent almost a century wondering when you went from enjoying my company to simply tolerating me. Or if there was ever a point where it wasn't a lie when you said you respected me in the first place." Tighter still. Metallic claws bit into his own flesh.
"And now you have the fucking gall- the a̢͕͔̋u̫͛d̳̮͘a̮̖͙͎̾c͍̒͡ity̳̲ͪ- to ask me for some manner of assistance. I just... god, I seem to remember a little something I heard once. What was it-"
His head swiveled the perfect 180 degrees. Amid the furious snow upon the monitor were two red eyes bearing tuning dials for pupils. The voice was clear as day, a recording but 70 years old:
"...And here I thought you might be approaching my level, but asking for assistance? A partnership?? I am quite disappointed in you."
He turned his body to match his head. He leaned closer, his mouth gone, eyes only burning red as his voice was tinged with a little more buzzing, like too many furious hornets.
"Wh̍y s̉h͢o̗ͫȗldͯ̃ I̲ he̕ͅl̩̇p y̌͑ǫ̶ų͘ͅ?̥͗͡ Y̪̗o̍̄ͭu s̄eem t̒o d̖ő̘̍ so̓ wë̖lͩl aͦll̃ o̡_̘n̖̜ y̆͟oͦ̇ùͫ̃ṙ̭ own̯~"
no subject
"Then you wanted to forget that it happened. ...Just like how you wanted to let the years that we had just..."
It's not that simple...! It was NEVER that simple. But that's why he'd broken it off before, because...
...No, it hadn't been solely noble intentions to save his pal. It'd been a bone-deep fear, a twisted revulsion at the idea of someone caring for him that way, of being vulnerable because of it. He'd been disgusted at the proposition. At seeing the other demon fall straight into the same wretched folly, throwing away his potential--
"You aren't helping me," Alastor clarified, hackles raised but nothing more. No powers, no hand. This was it - the point of no return. "It has to be you. Because you aren't bound by a Deal with her."
Right. Right... this isn't about him, anymore.
"It has to be you because you are the one that's fathered them."
no subject
But did it matter in the end? Alastor liked to laugh. He liked to laugh at him the most, each guffaw a knife in his chest, and he knew it. It twisted Vox up inside, struggling with wanting to scream at him to vent this betrayal, even knowing it was ultimately pointless. It wouldn't change anything. Would it even make him feel better? Perhaps it would leave him hollow, and it was probably preferable to the burning hole that grew in his stomach from all of the burning pitch that was a helplessly nurtured fury.
Alastor's words led the snow to soften, and an eyelid twitched. When his mouth reappeared, it was at a sneer. 'Her'? Deal with 'her'? He wasn't bound by a Deal to anyone.
...Which meant Alastor owed someone something. And he felt tied to it, desperate enough to turn to him for help? Why? To appeal to his feelings? 'Oh, Vox is an easy one to crack, he always DROOLED over me and all, the silly, weak, pathetic man'-
The snarl that he wasn't going to be the Radio Demon's convenient little toy anymore was interrupted by that last part. Fathered? He was to help someone he'd somehow-
"...This is a new low, even for you." He stood upright again.
"You usually come up with, dare I say, a good joke now and again. But this is poor material. If you wanted to dupe me into helping some little pawn of yours because of whatever shit you let yourself get into, you need a better lie than something we all know Sinners can't do." Fathered. Please. Despite what the courts on earth declared involving the multiple partners he kept when he was at his peak in life, he'd taken a few wives but never sired. Too dangerous. Too much risk.
He wasn't Carmilla Carmine, either. He didn't take some poor little things off the street and take them under his wing, either. To think: They had Carmilla and her greatest weakness to thank for the knowledge that Heaven and its denizens weren't as perfect as they claim...!
no subject
Despite knowing he had wronged Vox, white-hot anger burned in Alastor's chest as he snarled at the other. Anger and panic, maddening panic. The phantom sensation still burned and coiled in his belly - it was too small now, but knowing it was there, Alastor had never felt heavier.
Everything was falling apart.
"What's the JOKE? Oh, hah hah, look how pathetic the Radio Demon is - how he's A̖ͮ̎L̻̠̻̭ͨW̯̮_͠Å̢̳̄̅͒Y͕͚͒͌ͧ͟S̴͇͌̽ͤ BEEN! All his secrets dragged out, all plans and power crumbling like a house of cards, and for what? To frustrate you? Bringing myself to the belly of YOUR territory - to admit my shame?"
no subject
It unnerved him. The big bad Radio Demon was afraid of someone. Someone to whom he owed something. After all the talk he'd made about not relying on others, this guy was a fucking hypocrite!
The growing uncertainty in his eyes froze. Then, it was like everything clicked into place: His shame. This secrecy. His current state, after talk of how he felt about everything two weeks ago.
The rut. Fathered. He distinctly remembered the things he taunted while a beast, Alastor's response. It was... it was all just for play, a kink thing he'd come to realize he really enjoyed, not-
...
Vox's screen glitched, flickered, and normalized. He took a step back.
"...Are you-" His tone was a quiet awe, what broke through the shock. He wasn't going to say the word. It was fucking absurd.
"That's- that's impossible. That- that doesn't happen down here!"
no subject
With a manic, humorless laugh and shaking claws, Alastor pulled the stupid fucking pregnancy test out of his coat's inner pocket - he'd not thought to collect what his spells had told him, had confirmed so solidly - and though he should have simply handed it over he chucked it against the floor in a fit as he spiraled.
"So-- you are going to help them. Whatever it takes. I will not let her have ownership of them because they're spawning from me."
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Struck dumb, Vox's gaze lifted. He could give the guy credit for one thing: The man was a gentleman, his demeanor nothing short of insp-- admirable toward the fairer sex. Alastor would never make such a joke of this. Not in a million years.
But the questions multiplied, filled his circuits. His hands were shaking now as well, lifted to gesture vaguely. "Help them... how, exactly? Money is no object for me. You have a place at the Hotel. Surely you don't need me to secure another one."
Vox paused, blinked. He raised a claw. No. No, it wasn't about any of that.
"...You're circling the point now. From whom am I helping keep the... the... the..." God, no. He can't say it. What even would it BE? A fawn? A shark pup? Human?? An imp? No, that didn't matter, did it.
Oh boy, Vince. You've really gotten yourself in it now.
"Who the fuck has the goddamn Radio Demon this shaken up?" His tone was incredulous. He was in too many places right now to mock. Give him time, of course, but-... who was tougher than - and he hated to admit it- the toughest sinner in this realm?
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Damn it.
"...I'd made the deal with her when I was alive. Knew I was hellbound - agreed to offer my soul for bargain, I could take the decades to complete the task. I could endure the cost for what I was gaining."
But a hand of his dropped from where it was pulling on his hair to touching at his middle - slender only for now. The touch didn't last long before Alastor pulled his hand away like it burned him.
"It was just me. But this-- I can't be sure that Rosie won't want to keep them to extend our Deal. To control me further. To keep and groom as another pet or pawn."
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...Wait, why could she be communed with? Could any of them be summoned, rather than just the Goetia and the Morningstars-
As his hands fell back to his sides, he rattled a number of thoughts, possibilities in his head. Alastor wanted to protect it... keep it...
Even if it was his.
His. Wait-
He froze as a moment of genius struck him. Then he stepped closer, a grin growing, taking a moment to weave his tie back into place. "The solution is simple, then: If she likes to have deals, then I'll beat her to the punch."
Vox brushed down his sleeves, then decided to be a little cheeky and touch a tip of the claw against Alastor's stomach. "I'll lay claim to the little soul. Because this is mine, isn't it...? I chased you. I won. And if Rosie so much as thinks she can try to get one up on me on this, I'll f̥ͮ̋ee̢̦͊d͖ h̟̀e̗r t͕ͩ̍o̮̬͢ t̀̾h̿͜ȅ f̤̀̊ucki͕͆n͔g s̫̀̈́h̶̛aȑk̶s͈ͬͯ."
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And he laughed. Low, stressed and unhinged, but energized.
"That's it."
Rosie was subtle, conniving, strategic - she wouldn't chase something that would take a fight to snatch up. Not with someone like Vox, who may or may not have the ability to fight her but certainly could give her unwanted attention.
That's the perfect plan. Vox... this one would take a chance to gut Alastor eventually, enough lines crossed. But Alastor knew that old CRT-head was in there - knew that even if perhaps the child was completely confiscated, they'd grow well protected into a little bastard. That. Was fine.
"Perfect. Perfect. I cannot hold any claim to them-- not while I'm Rosie's. But they aren't mine, they're yours... hahahahah...! Vox, I think we have a Deal."
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No. He won. Rosie was a problem and he already had a few plans starting to cook involving how best to observe the woman and her work, but there was something more important, unprecedented, occurring right this very moment.
"I will take ownership of the soul of this little one you have tucked away. I will also take measures of confidentiality, both for you and for them, even while you... ah... start having a little trouble keeping it subtle." He couldn't help the little grin. Oh, you are going to be so charming with a bump, aren't you...?
"...And my conditions are twofold: 1. Kid's an innocent, right? I don't need to ask a grown man to take care of himself better, but it's not just you you need to worry about, is it? And 2 is the big one..."
He planted his hands upon his hips and looked away. "2. I get to be involved."
Vox paused, frowned. "I'm not asking to date or get married or anything, but... don't fuckin' run off and blow me off for two weeks or seven years or whatever. We wanna flick Rosie's nose about all of this, we need to... ah, fuck, what's the word..."
Then he brightened, and papped a fist into an open palm. "Right! Work together! Wild concept, I know, right?"
Now, with that, he offered his hand. "With all this in mind: Now do we have a Deal...?"
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Work together.
What a concept. The condescending tone was annoying, he wanted to pluck one of those antennae right off in retaliation - but instead Alastor conceded and drooped his ears. He held up a single finger.
"I will get called away, and sent to work. But when I have the choice, I will not leave you out of the loop. I have a soul belonging to you. Ideally only one."
Trying not to guillotine himself by creating contradictions that might give either side a reason to pull the chain tighter... once the child was born, he could resume his plans.
...Even if Vox knew them. Even if Vox was...
"...Don't go wasting my efforts in keeping you from her grasp, now."
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"Oh, I'm sure Blondie will need someone to listen to her fluffy little songs and Rosie would get suspicious if you weren't right at her heels when she whistles, I'm sure. Best not alert them." He waved his other hand dismissively.
But with a chuckle, he canted his head and smirked. "I remember you'd said four or more... but we'll have to see, huh?"
But the humor fell at the last. "...What...?"
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...The ask for clarification.
...
Wordlessly, Alastor offered his hand for the handshake. The Deal, first-- then everything else. In for a penny, in for a pound.
"We have a Deal, Vox. You gain immediate and indefinite ownership of any soul grown in my body, and I will comply in delivering them properly," he repeated the terms. A soul... or two, or four, he really has no idea. Even just one is unprecedented for Sinners, but this is simply his reality now.
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The sharks had even made a curious pass along the glass, tipping their bodies to peer as they made their way by.
Yet even as the power settled, quieted, Vox hadn't thought to let go.
Gloating. He should be gloating right now, but... that function had sort of fizzled and snapped today. Or something.
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...His child.
...Whether or not that future included him in it.
Still, the certainty of the Deal, of the guarantee... Alastor finally visibly relaxed as exhaustion and nausea caught back up with him. Damn pregnancy... it had him exhausted, much more than he ever should've been.
"I was disappointed... you were coming so far along without ever compromising yourself. Without beckoning for help. I wanted to see it," he explained, gripping Vox's hand in return since the other hadn't released his grip either, yet. "You were still weak then. Ambitious, foolhardy - what a waste it'd have been to see you tangled in the web. What a tragedy if your growth was cut short because someone sought to hurt me. How terrible if you became powerful enough to threaten to be the strongest Sinner - then you would have to die."
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"...I'm where I am now out of blood, sweat and tears, Al. I never owed anyone anything. I'm proof it can be done." He gripped tighter. Not to crush or harm, but to loan to his conviction.
"The Deal was power, then- The stipulation being that you'd be at the top...?" And if he had machinations kick off, was able to face off against the likes of Zestial, Carmilla Carmine, even Rosie herself... in comes Alastor, the faithful hound.
The bitterest pill to swallow: Getting hurt for... shit, his protection? Like he needed to BE protected?
Was it possible to be touched but STILL bitter?
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Turning away, Alastor moved and found his way to the chair behind the conference desk. Hah. Of course Vox kept the nicest chair for himself. Idly, he spun in it, closing his eyes and letting the dizzying feeling distract him.
"You sought me for my power."
It's a statement, or at least sounds like one... Vox had brought up friendship, had been so tearful. Even remembering it made Alastor's chest twist in funny ways.
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"Your power caught my attention." He crossed the room, casting a glance at the furniture still blocking the door. He opted to sit upon one corner of the desk, his back facing him in kind. "I mean, how could it not? It's..."
He gestured vaguely in front of him. The chuckle was incredulous. "You command a fucking room, Al. You draw eyes from moment one. It's effortless. I was... envious. In the years we spent together, I learned so much about how you did it, but you always had a way of improvising and surprising. I didn't..."
Vox's hands went to his lap, idly laced fingers. "...Want what we had to stop. I saw what you were missing, the... flaws. You intimidate. You frighten. That's fine toward enemies, but I brought an angle of being a face you could trust. Trust us. I'm the friendliest guy you'll ever meet! I'm practically family. And when people like you, feel like they're so close to you, they do..."
He chuckled darkly. "They would do anything for you. I wanted to bring that to the table. We'd be... not kings, but gods. We'd make even the Morningstars bend the knee and every last one of the sheep in the flock will think it was all their idea to begin with!"
A pause. Hesitation. "...I'd say you should have told me about Rosie before, but... knowing old Vincent, he would have marched into Cannibal Town and gotten nowhere but into a cookpot."
He chanced a look over his shoulder. "You've probably got an exit plan though, huh?"
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Interesting.
"Well, this certainly threw a wrench in the works and blew up the plan, but I'll worm my way out of it a different way now that the issue of the child is sorted. Ten months at most ought to fly by like a breeze far faster than seven years," he chuckled, though his smile was tight as he eyed Vox. Crossed his legs, rested his elbow on the chair, and hummed as he stared in thought.
"Even without any rights to them, I will make it a problem if your parenting is insufficient."
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Vox froze a moment, then turned fully.
"Insuff- oh fuck off, I'm dad material!"
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With a spin of the chair and swinging himself to his feet, Alastor approached Vox again, grabbing the bow-tie and tugging it.
"You use people. Every single person around you is a stepping stone and a means to an end. Just like every showtime producer I've ever known - every contribution from the brilliant talent beneath you only gets your name attributed to the credits," he chided, flicking Vox's screen with a claw.
"At least I make it abundantly obvious to my contractees that I'm using them. It's a little sick of you to parade around and insist on using the term 'partners' for those you treat as tools!"
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Why you? Why is it still you??
That little piece twisted, burned further, yet writhed as he was chided. Alastor spoke truths. He did use people, and enjoyed doing so. Nobody ever really mattered to him, especially not after...
"Oh, you're one to talk!" He reached up and seized the wrist. "With your pet cat and the bug maid, alongside countless others! Besides, I made the damn Deal, didn't I? Your keeper isn't gonna lay a finger on the kid!"
The grin was quick and sharp. The idea formed. Let's annoy the deer.
"You don't want the 'tool' treatment, as you put it...?" He canted his head curiously, making a show of consideration.
"You know what, old pal...? You are so right."
He stood. The grasped wrist was released with a run of fingertips across the palm, before he slowly laced their fingers. The other found his middle and pulled him close. He shifted a channel for a little ambient old jazz.
"We'll take a celebratory tone, then, for this special occasion."
Sorry, Alastor. He'll only keep saying moronic things. But this is a monster you have, one again, created yourself.
"Congratulations, mon cher~"
Monster. You. Have. Created.
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The way their hands connected, threading like they did before...
Alastor scoffed to cover for the jolt of surprise, leaning into it as if it were just dancing. Just. Dancing.
"Don't tell me... have you been studying French all this time to throw it around our battles?" he chided, taking a few steps in time with the jazz to start them on actually dancing, even if it was something slow and close instead of the frenetic energy he was more fond of.
Damn, probably unwise to get into a full lindy-hop.
"Or to impress me. Embarrassing! Who learns a language to impress the man they're eager to kill?"
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