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?
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?"
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.
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...?"
"I would certainly not be crying no matter how urgently Charlie attempted to involve me with the childish group therapy sessions. And I sing just fine, that won't clock as strange to anyone," Alastor clicked his tongue grouchily.
(Bratty.)
"They hardly pay me mind - I have Husk and Niffty doing the grunt work and they are more than enough to sufficiently capture the Princess' attention," he griped, though he was already getting annoyed at the idea of someone catching him being more irritable than usual. Or picking up stranger habits... or expressing concern for him.
Ugh. He would loathe that.
"I trust you'll be able to bind a Deal with your Vees to maintain secrecy. Since you're sloppy with keeping secrets."
The smile paused, then turned warm despite the smugness. It was amusing, as always, when he was a brat and it was a sign he was feeling a bit more like his usual self. Alastor vexed the ever-loving shit out of him, but he never could really shake the... the that.
It was something he couldn't bear to throw away, even if it hurt. Pride said throwing it away means Alastor wins. But something else- some small, pathetic thing in him- feared he was discarding a precious passion, a piece of humanity that was both boon and curse for his own sanity.
Vox opted to turn away. "Val and Vel rarely pay attention to my endeavors. But if they start to ask questions, it's easy enough to keep them quiet."
A beat. "...I kept us secret, didn't I? Did a lot of footwork doing it, too."
"Yes... yes, I suppose you did," Alastor conceded, sighing despite himself. Running a hand through his hair - his scalp was a bit patchy and still burned from how he'd scratched and pulled at it earlier. Now that the panic was settled, it sat coldly in his gut.
Pregnant.
This... changed too much. His identity, his plans, his desires-- his defenses.
A child with Vincent, of all people.
Then again, who else would have been remotely acceptable? Who would even consider letting him father a child like this, if not the man just as vile as Alastor himself was?
"Since you've made it clear you're to be involved, disappearing and hiding here once I start showing will have to be the plan. This is the most defensible area of your territory."
Despite the crossed arms, his hands were balled so tightly that his own claws threatened to bite into his own skin.
He'd... really done it now. He couldn't say he regretted it- he'd make the choice all over again- but he honestly couldn't see how things would be going from here on out.
He knew what he wanted. Oh, god, he always knew what he wanted. But the biggest point of his frustration, something that picked at a wound that should have been scar tissue but was still such a delicate scab he mercilessly picked at day in and day out for decades, was this man's insistence that Vincent- Vox- was just like anybody else.
He'd just have to do what he always did: Work to prove Alastor wrong. Though he dreamed of one day wiping the smug smile off of the guy's face, some part of him wondered if his face was just. Stuck. Like that.
No. Stick to the plan.
...THAT plan.
Of course. Of course. His fists loosened as he turned back, and he tread to the desk to lean upon both hands. "...You read my mind, old pal~! How sensible. Like I said before, there aren't many souls that can bust in easily. The one I can think of never really does anything, but the other...? Well..."
He shrugged a shoulder. "...I'm looking at him. I'll start making arrangements for your own slice of Vee Tower paradise."
Perhaps he'll show him what he missed by turning down the offer. But maybe he also wanted to defeat him by sheer virtue of exasperation. Every scoff, every eye roll would be its own victory.
The word immediately made Alastor's hackles rise, the corners of his smile twist unpleasantly - how could any prison, even one of his own making, be paradise?
...Vox wouldn't see whether the grimace was from the wording or not - Alastor grasped the sides of the trash can and curled over it, finally turning over his guts after fighting the urge for so long.
Blood and bile - but at least the blood wasn't his own. He'd just tried (and failed) to keep something down earlier. Ugh.
After a few retches, a moment to grimace and spit into the can as his mouth angrily salivated, Alastor chanced a glance up at Vox.
"...All of the worst parts of getting blackout drunk or slipped a mickey, and none of the fun leading to it," he rolled his eyes, tone as dry as sun-bleached bone.
The cockiness startled with that first wet retch, and the CEO stood rail-straight. His monitor's typically blue glow turned a faint shade of green.
His hand fumbled, flew to one side of his screen to tap twice. WHERE IS EVERYTHING?? Hurry it the fuck up or getting fired is the least of your worries.
Vox's legs moved before he could think better of it, moving around the desk as the last few retches fought their way through the other demon. One hand braced an arm rest, but the other was moving up and down his back.
"I've got mints as a holdover, I think-" His cords already moved, opening desk drawers and looking for the little tin. Come on, come on...!
The fussing over him. Alastor's back broke out in goosebumps, hair raising at the touch... far from the least pleasant touch and for once, Vox wasn't grabbing at his shoulders the way he habitually did.
No, it was... softer. The way it used to be.
Still-- Alastor gave Vox a look over his shoulder.
"Oh, I'll hardly fall apart from a bit of bile. We used to go harder at the alcohol and get even sicker back in the day, old pal."
He snorted, amused and unfazed by the look. "Oh yeah? Hit me with that line in a few weeks. You know I can read those ears of yours, right?"
Ah, there they are. Sometimes you wanted to kick the coffee breath, but when you felt occasional jitters over an upcoming presentation or sometimes decided on takeout that didn't agree with the stomach, you relied on a good old mint to settle a troubled gut.
The tin was an interesting little heart shape, labeled VelMints. The way the cable placed it atop the desk and pried open the lid without Vox even looking at it noted their increased dexterity over the decades. "Anyway, these are pretty good. Velvette's recipe! She whips up a damn good candy."
Vox paused, a spark flitting between the antennae. He looked up, and clicked his tongue. "Hm... Your stuff's just about here, but you barred the door since you're a dramatic brat. I gotta go get it."
He withdrew with some hesitation and straightened out his sleeves. There were no cameras in here, but there were outlets, plenty enough to allow him a swift exit to meet the delivery when needed.
"Oh yes, what trouble I could get up to in a minute. I'll have eaten one of your smaller sharks in that time and sicked them up by then," Alastor rolled his eyes, tone just as dramatic as he was accused of behaving - with the level of secrecy and the sad state of him, barring the door was perfectly reasonable.
With the worst of the nauseous urge aside, Alastor set the can down and away from him to pluck at a mint. Hardly a pleasant mix, stomach acid and mint, but whatever might calm his senses for at least a moment.
...Vox was... committed to the bit. Or at least full of energy to do even more than hold his end of the bargain, despite their bitter blood.
He turned away. "You've done a lot in a minute before. And don't eat my damn sharks, they're bonded."
Weird thing to say. But he slipped into the outlet and disappeared. The order took a handful of employees to scour Hell to obtain all at the same time. So accustomed to delivering these things themselves, they were altogether confused when their boss showed up from one of the cameras in a blink, grabbed the bags and takeout cups, and disappeared again.
"Are... are we fired?"
"He didn't -say- anything. Plus we got everything, sooo..."
"Who the fuck eats bread, fries, chips and tea, though...? AND water?"
Well, Vox isn't wrong... Alastor can do quite a bit in a minute.
But since he's feeling so well behaved and not particularly well appetite-wise, the sharks are left completely alone. There's only one thing off when Vox returns to Alastor, who's reclined as far back as the desks chair allows and resting his shoes on the desk and his hands neatly folded over his middle.
...The trash can is completely clean and empty.
"Psh - the accent is transatlantic, not Edenborough," he snarked, gesturing for Vox to come closer with a wave of his hand - any semblance of that panicked, terrified man was tucked away, only obvious by his disheveled hair and the dark circles under his eyes.
He had paused to give a brief, suspicious look around the room before he eased. Though he quirked a brow at the gesture, he conceded with a half-roll of the eyes as he stepped over to start setting down the cups and bags.
His eyes shifted, and he mimicked the other's voice to a T: "I always choose chaos! I like messing with that old picture box with a little word play!"
He cleared his throat. "Anyway, enjoy, you idiot. And if you don't finish the fries, I will."
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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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"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?"
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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."
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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."
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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?"
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"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~?"
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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?"
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"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."
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"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?"
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"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."
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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."
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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."
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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."
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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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(Bratty.)
"They hardly pay me mind - I have Husk and Niffty doing the grunt work and they are more than enough to sufficiently capture the Princess' attention," he griped, though he was already getting annoyed at the idea of someone catching him being more irritable than usual. Or picking up stranger habits... or expressing concern for him.
Ugh. He would loathe that.
"I trust you'll be able to bind a Deal with your Vees to maintain secrecy. Since you're sloppy with keeping secrets."
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It was something he couldn't bear to throw away, even if it hurt. Pride said throwing it away means Alastor wins. But something else- some small, pathetic thing in him- feared he was discarding a precious passion, a piece of humanity that was both boon and curse for his own sanity.
Vox opted to turn away. "Val and Vel rarely pay attention to my endeavors. But if they start to ask questions, it's easy enough to keep them quiet."
A beat. "...I kept us secret, didn't I? Did a lot of footwork doing it, too."
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Pregnant.
This... changed too much. His identity, his plans, his desires-- his defenses.
A child with Vincent, of all people.
Then again, who else would have been remotely acceptable? Who would even consider letting him father a child like this, if not the man just as vile as Alastor himself was?"Since you've made it clear you're to be involved, disappearing and hiding here once I start showing will have to be the plan. This is the most defensible area of your territory."
no subject
He'd... really done it now. He couldn't say he regretted it- he'd make the choice all over again- but he honestly couldn't see how things would be going from here on out.
He knew what he wanted. Oh, god, he always knew what he wanted. But the biggest point of his frustration, something that picked at a wound that should have been scar tissue but was still such a delicate scab he mercilessly picked at day in and day out for decades, was this man's insistence that Vincent- Vox- was just like anybody else.
He'd just have to do what he always did: Work to prove Alastor wrong. Though he dreamed of one day wiping the smug smile off of the guy's face, some part of him wondered if his face was just. Stuck. Like that.
No. Stick to the plan.
...THAT plan.
Of course. Of course. His fists loosened as he turned back, and he tread to the desk to lean upon both hands. "...You read my mind, old pal~! How sensible. Like I said before, there aren't many souls that can bust in easily. The one I can think of never really does anything, but the other...? Well..."
He shrugged a shoulder. "...I'm looking at him. I'll start making arrangements for your own slice of Vee Tower paradise."
Perhaps he'll show him what he missed by turning down the offer. But maybe he also wanted to defeat him by sheer virtue of exasperation. Every scoff, every eye roll would be its own victory.
Victory by cringe? What are we, 12?
...We'll take what we can get.
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The word immediately made Alastor's hackles rise, the corners of his smile twist unpleasantly - how could any prison, even one of his own making, be paradise?
...Vox wouldn't see whether the grimace was from the wording or not - Alastor grasped the sides of the trash can and curled over it, finally turning over his guts after fighting the urge for so long.
Blood and bile - but at least the blood wasn't his own. He'd just tried (and failed) to keep something down earlier. Ugh.
After a few retches, a moment to grimace and spit into the can as his mouth angrily salivated, Alastor chanced a glance up at Vox.
"...All of the worst parts of getting blackout drunk or slipped a mickey, and none of the fun leading to it," he rolled his eyes, tone as dry as sun-bleached bone.
no subject
His hand fumbled, flew to one side of his screen to tap twice. WHERE IS EVERYTHING?? Hurry it the fuck up or getting fired is the least of your worries.
Vox's legs moved before he could think better of it, moving around the desk as the last few retches fought their way through the other demon. One hand braced an arm rest, but the other was moving up and down his back.
"I've got mints as a holdover, I think-" His cords already moved, opening desk drawers and looking for the little tin. Come on, come on...!
no subject
No, it was... softer.
The way it used to be.Still-- Alastor gave Vox a look over his shoulder.
"Oh, I'll hardly fall apart from a bit of bile. We used to go harder at the alcohol and get even sicker back in the day, old pal."
no subject
Ah, there they are. Sometimes you wanted to kick the coffee breath, but when you felt occasional jitters over an upcoming presentation or sometimes decided on takeout that didn't agree with the stomach, you relied on a good old mint to settle a troubled gut.
The tin was an interesting little heart shape, labeled VelMints. The way the cable placed it atop the desk and pried open the lid without Vox even looking at it noted their increased dexterity over the decades. "Anyway, these are pretty good. Velvette's recipe! She whips up a damn good candy."
Vox paused, a spark flitting between the antennae. He looked up, and clicked his tongue. "Hm... Your stuff's just about here, but you barred the door since you're a dramatic brat. I gotta go get it."
He withdrew with some hesitation and straightened out his sleeves. There were no cameras in here, but there were outlets, plenty enough to allow him a swift exit to meet the delivery when needed.
"Behave for about sixty seconds, will you?"
no subject
With the worst of the nauseous urge aside, Alastor set the can down and away from him to pluck at a mint. Hardly a pleasant mix, stomach acid and mint, but whatever might calm his senses for at least a moment.
...Vox was... committed to the bit. Or at least full of energy to do even more than hold his end of the bargain, despite their bitter blood.
no subject
Weird thing to say. But he slipped into the outlet and disappeared. The order took a handful of employees to scour Hell to obtain all at the same time. So accustomed to delivering these things themselves, they were altogether confused when their boss showed up from one of the cameras in a blink, grabbed the bags and takeout cups, and disappeared again.
"Are... are we fired?"
"He didn't -say- anything. Plus we got everything, sooo..."
"Who the fuck eats bread, fries, chips and tea, though...? AND water?"
"Carb day? Anyway, I think I've got static buildup now. Hey Jake, think fast-"
"OUCH! Allie, you bitch-"
53 seconds, and Vox returned from the same outlet, materialized, and took a moment to look through the bags.
"...Ooo-kay, you said 'chips' but I wasn't sure if you were feeling British or whatever, so I got both definitions-"
no subject
But since he's feeling so well behaved and not particularly well appetite-wise, the sharks are left completely alone. There's only one thing off when Vox returns to Alastor, who's reclined as far back as the desks chair allows and resting his shoes on the desk and his hands neatly folded over his middle.
...The trash can is completely clean and empty.
"Psh - the accent is transatlantic, not Edenborough," he snarked, gesturing for Vox to come closer with a wave of his hand - any semblance of that panicked, terrified man was tucked away, only obvious by his disheveled hair and the dark circles under his eyes.
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His eyes shifted, and he mimicked the other's voice to a T: "I always choose chaos! I like messing with that old picture box with a little word play!"
He cleared his throat. "Anyway, enjoy, you idiot. And if you don't finish the fries, I will."
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