divinetree | It's not that complicated, no matter what they say

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?"

But the humor fell at the last. "...What...?"

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."

Edited 2025-11-11 05:21 (UTC)

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?

Was it possible to be touched but STILL bitter?

"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-

Vox froze a moment, then turned fully.

"Insuff- oh fuck off, I'm dad material!"

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.

"Congratulations, mon cher~"

Monster. You. Have. Created.

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?"

The scoff made a corner of his lips twitch into an amused little smirk.

"De rien~" He purred in response, but it was muddled with the grin. You're welcome, old pal. The dance would remain easygoing, on the slower end of things. He was of the same mind: Perhaps it was best not to get into lindy-hopping right now.

"Shut up, I'm broadening my horizons! A guy can't be bilingual, huh? You own French now?"

"Maybe I do. Maybe I claim the right to mock you for your shoddy pronunciation - my teachers when I was a boy always rapped my knuckles for slurring my words too much," Alastor recalled, voice more edging on dangerous than nostalgic.

As he gave Vox a little dip in the dance, their faces close, it was clear that the slow radio static growl was very intentional - he knew full well that the intimidation made Vox's heart pound like crazy.

"Tu es prêt à manger..."

He gave a low, growling chuckle, pulling his dance partner upright out of the dip as suddenly as he'd lowered him.

"...If my stomach would agree with me, at least. At least I know why my body intends on rejecting everything - no point in wasting the meat."

Ah, the school days. He didn't miss those. But those were the furthest from his mind when he turned and was dipped. The growl seized his heart, the come-hither stroke of words whose meaning he needed an extra few seconds to comprehend putting his stomach in a vice.

You motherfucker. That's not fair.

His head felt like it was floating when he was righted again, and he wobbled momentarily in his own shoes.

Meat. Stomach? Meat, get back on topic, VINCENT-

"Hahaaawell! I'm sure I could drum up something light and snacky for you! I'm sure there's ginger and... shit, what else- crackers or something around here. And if not, I've got a few-odd thousand employees who can scour Hell itself for ya. In confidence, of course."

Ah, a classic - even with Vox knowing the truth, knowing his secret and having things in quite a bind... it was reassuring to see how much he still had little Vincent twisted around his finger.

Though the offer to fetch a snack took Alastor off guard anyway. Ginger, crackers...? Right... he wanted to prove he would be good daddy material. That he'd be oh so good at fulfilling his end of the bargain... no, not even that. Vincent was putty in Alastor's hands, always was, and for reasons he really never fathomed.

"Hmmm... a bit of water and some chips. I'll have something better when the body cooperates," he hummed, head tilting as he took in Vox's fluster. "Actually, some nice bread - if I'm eating plain, I may as well eat something nice. Shouldn't be too hard, right, Vox?"

Vox nodded quickly as Alastor listed options. Water. Chips. Bread?

"Fuck off, that's easy! I know who makes the best bread, too!" Electricity arced between his antennae as he made the connection, was already putting in the order. Water. GOOD water. Bread, and not the day-old crap from some chain... chips? Did- did he mean potato chips? Fries?

Both. Both is good. God, he was crushing this.

"Anything else~?"

Anything else?

Is he really in such a service mood? Or is he just eating this up right now? Alastor's eyes searched Vox's expression, trying to read into it.

He'd been shocked at first about the... pregnancy. Shocked, furious, but then he'd sounded so possessive.

And Alastor couldn't fathom why he was so possessive. Was it a triumph he refused to let go of? Leverage he wanted to maintain? What was Vox's game? ...Not that Alastor minded. No, he was simply here, tilting his head and fixing Vox with a quizzical look as they slow-danced and talked about tending to Alastor's needs.

"You've made such a habit of slaughtering others," just as Alastor himself had, "yet you're already so confident you could be a caregiver? Can you love anyone more than yourself, you pompous self-important television?"

His screen was always that softly gleaming blue, the grin not even shy of 'shit-eating'. Yet his dance continued unimpeded, keeping himself close. Yet the gaze was focused, unwavering, like they'd been so busy with all their plans and mingling at some fancy soiree but finally got to have their dance together. Was it not true enough to reality...?

"Slaughtering, tsk tsk tsk," he scoffed. "I like to think of myself as a remover of obstacles..."

But the grin tightened, darkening less as a sneer and more out of defiance with the rhetorical question.

I loved you more than you'll ever know.

"Look around you, Al..." His tone quieted, smoothed.

"VoxTek thrives. The city is mine, and countless sorry souls are safe, secure and warm thanks to my innovations."

He leaned closer. "You'll come to eat your words when I crush this."

Ah huh. That confidence... Vincent always had it, whether he'd earned it or not. It didn't inspire any confidence in Alastor, just made him roll his eyes.

"I am well aware you can care for things broadly. But more than yourself?" he pressed again. In Alastor's mind, he was already proving he would do the same for the child - he gave up his pride and his painful secrets, willed himself to vulnerability, all to get this child safely away from servitude.

Because even if he was pestering Vox... he knew this arrogant man wouldn't treat one of his own like a slave. He only ever spoiled those sharks rotten, after all.

"What happens if they don't become one of your sycophants?"

Edited 2025-11-23 23:20 (UTC)

The question had him give a short, spluttering laugh.

"What kind of question is that?? I mean, I'm a fucking serial killer- as are you, just to remind you- but I've loved, sure! I've loved plenty of- of people more than life itself!"

He snorted. "I've got to introduce you to SHOK.WAV."

Is that so? Alastor chuckled, under his breath - at the end of the day he'd made the hasty decision to drag Vox specifically into this Deal. Despite his misgivings, the child inside of him wasn't his - couldn't be his.

Not until he wiggled himself out of Rosie's grasp. Then he could come back and see what all he could do about this.

"I can practically hear how you've spelled it," Alastor rolled his eyes. "Give your child a proper name, Vincent."

"Fuck you! I can have name ideas all written down by the end of the week." But he said it with a laugh. "Shok.Wav is a proper enough name! Besides, he loves it. He's just..."

Vox is ear to ear, even if he didn't have ears anymore. "...I'm serious, he's great. Raised him from just a tiny pup, back when he was a sturdy fifty pounds or so. My best and biggest bab-"

Vox paused, averted his gaze to the tank, and quietly cleared his throat.

"Yes, well. ...At any rate."

Rolling his eyes at Vox's bluster and bragging, Alastor pulled away from the dance and in a single smooth motion, scooped up the trash can tucked under the desk and sat himself back behind the desk.

Nausea really was the worst thing to wrangle in the middle of a dance. Give him a moment to let the urge to vomit pass.

"I'm going to keep working at the Hotel as usual for now," he eventually chimed up again, "for as long as I can disguise the obvious signs. All of the boring trust falls and singing and crying ought to make for a safe environment for the riskiest part of the pregnancy anyway."

There's a brief ping after his pause as he sent the order. But Vox's expression faltered further when Alastor pulled away, and he couldn't help the small reach of a hand for him before he snapped that limb back. His brief observation was awkward, putting two and two together, wondering how quickly vomit can be cleaned and evidence hidden compared to the challenge of blood. To think he needed to consider such things, and yet there'd be questions if there was anything for someone to find all the same.

If he is sick, does he... does he look away? Pat the back? Wasn't much in the way of hair to hold back, was there?

He quietly pinged again in his sudden, helpless restlessness, wondering if there was a way to get these things faster, but Vox stood straighter when Alastor broke the silence.

He folded his arms again. "...And you always did have a weird diet anyway, so it's not like anyone would notice if you get the whole cravings thing."

A pause, and then he snorted. "...Ohhh, but if you start your own singing and crying, that's gonna be suspicious, isn't it...?"

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