"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."
"Who doesn't? You're a hilarious target," Alastor admitted without a lick of shame as he reached for the bread first. If nothing else, it would come back up the easiest and make the acid burn far more bearable.
Even with a little taunt, Alastor simply relaxed in the seat, a hand still protectively cupped over his middle as he thought through what the future would hold.
His... if not at first, then certainly later. Would Vox still be bitter and angry with him, spiteful in keeping the child from him? Then again, that may be safer for everyone...
Hilarious target, huh...? Puh. His cockiness faltered a bit, but he clenched his jaw and pressed on.
Eyes on the prize. He's trying to get a rise.
He tread for the little liquor cabinet tucked away here. Alastor may not drink anymore what with his delicate condition, but don't mind if daddy has a little drink...
"Never did." He selected a glass, a bottle, and poured. Little whiskey was nice right now.
"But oh, did I have lines out the door to have a little piece of the God of Entertainment." He looked down into the drink, swirled it.
"I had piles of love letters. Some of the creepier ones would send locks of their hair; their used panties, twice. I took lovers, but... nobody ever really grabbed me in a way that had me heading out and buying a ring."
He finally drank. "Don't tell me you're so old-fashioned you're subtly asking to wife up for the sake of the kid..."
"Oh, heavens no! Our Deal is far more meaningful and reliable than any nuptial vows," Alastor laughed, waving off the idea entirely as he took another bite of bread. Trying to ignore the sad state of his appetite - done in by something microscopic keeping him from eating anything substantial, anything he wanted--
His other hand remained where it lay, fingers slowly drumming along the seam of his coat. Despite his anger, there was... a frustrating something else bubbling in his head emotion-wise over this... child. No longer his, but at least of his blood.
What would Maman have thought?
"I ask because I wonder if you have any idea what you're getting into! It's been far too long since I was a young boy watching my neighbor's even younger kid for an hour or two."
"Not a fucking clue!" He replied with a laugh. He can admit it. He never had kids, didn't have neighbors who had very young children to mind. Babysitting was what the young ladies did to make some extra money. He and the boys mowed lawns.
God, but what would his old man think? Maybe elbow him, snicker. Boys will be boys, sow their wild oats and all... oh, but his mother would absolutely tan his poor fucking hide. If you know what's good for you, Vinny, you'd best show some responsibility-
"But we've got the whole Information Superhighway at our disposal!" The cables extended, weaved around the chair like so many vines as he returned to the desk, seated atop and crossed one long leg over the other.
"Gotta wonder, though," he added breezily. "Is 'the glow' real...? Will the Radio Demon have an extra shine as our little bundle grows?"
"Your little bundle," Alastor corrected quickly, eyebrow quirking. It was a technicality, but he'd strictly adhere to it - not a chance of breaking that Deal until things were in the clear.
After a beat to consider the question, though, Alastor hummed in thought and scratched at his scalp where his antlers had yet to grow back.
"I wager there might be some changes. I'm already not growing my antlers back." Hopefully nothing too humiliating becomes obvious.
"Not a bad trade, I should think," he replied, and lifted his eyes to the massive window behind the desk, at the swimming creatures that drifted beyond within the immense tank.
"No forks, sure, but a glow that'll outshine this dingy-ass Ring and the prettiest little bump you've ever seen..." He chuckled low, but then with a brief startle, he quieted.
Cleared his throat, and masked his face- as much as he could, anyway- with his drink.
It takes Alastor a second to even understand what Vox is getting at, but it hits him after a beat with a radio feedback whine. Pallid cheeks flushed a bit darker against Alastor's will, an ear flicking.
But the things that Vox had growled at him, those feverish thoughts that had been so pleasant to hear to his heat-addled mind... even with his mind clear, they didn't seem SO bad--
"You sound entirely too pleased," Alastor growled, teeth glowing as he spoke through them clenched tight in an attempt to bite back the embarrassing feelings and replace them with a scowl.
Ever the cinephile, there were scenes he enjoyed privately. Some were of utmost domesticity, and despite knowing he would never, ever have anything remotely close to that for himself, it was nice to have a fantasy.
One of which probably involved running around Hell, jamming cigars in people's mouths and guffawing away in paternal pride, but others? Others involved rolling in after a hard day's work and winding his arms without a word around another's middle, getting the mental battery recharge that way. But he couldn't let people get too close in life; even reading through his adoring fans' letters, each of them promising the picket fence, the life he would have dreamed of, countless children, he knew that if they knew the truth and what he'd need to do to ensure the silence, these 'lucky ladies' would quickly change their minds.
...But it'd be easier if his partner was just as twisted as he was, right...?
Nah. Fantasies stay fantasies.
"Should I not be?" He shrugged a shoulder and the smirk was cocky. "I imagine there are plenty of Sinners out there who would KILL to be in our position right now. We're pioneers, you and I!"
Crackle, pop. Alastor wrestled his smile, trying to will the embarrassment away. But - a part of him was taking some... strange... pride and delight in how excited and proud Vox already was about this.
"We ought to be suspicious of this," Alastor warned, trying to pull himself out of those rosy thoughts. "Surely I am not the only Sinner to have such an animalistic curse. And moreover - we have no idea what sort of hellspawn we're making."
...But with the Goetia, the hellhounds, the imps... there's likely enough to assume it at least might not be an inherently Bad Seed. Maybe. Alastor is sure that their child is doomed to at least be a sinful, deranged fiend in their own right - but giving them the freedom to do so came first.
"...And if they have a television head, I am going to kill you. Repeatedly."
This was unprecedented as far as he knew... what COULD come of this? Still, he wasn't about to be a sourpuss about this. Radio and video was the perfect combination... they were going to be unstoppable.
Why? Because that's what he believed. This situation was insane, but he was more curious as to how this would all go. They were under his protection thanks to the Deal, and unlike the countless souls he owned, he needed to really look into this one. He needed to do some research. Because how the fuck does anyone raise a kid? He hardly remembers how his parents were.
But the thought was gone with his remark. Vox spluttered out a laugh. "Shit, promise me a good time, will ya...?"
The grin sharpened, and his voice smoothed. "...Besides, if my genes really won out...? I put a little shark pup in you~"
Alastor's claws gripped into his coat over his middle before he could stop himself, ears flattening back - those words shouldn't have sent a jolt up his spine the way they did. What's gotten into him? He hated it - hated the way he didn't have control over those reactions.
"A shark pup would be fine... but if a clone of your square head is what I have to content with, then I'm going to break your pelvis with my bare hands so you will suffer too."
Then again, Vox sounded like he'd probably enjoy that. Alastor stood from the seat, placing his claws on either side of where Vox was seated so he could loom closer.
"For every pain I'll take my pound of flesh from you. To remind you that I am no less the predator to your prey."
Oh, he saw that. He chuckled and offered a small wiggle of eyebrows before Alastor reiterated the threat. His hands planted atop the desk as the other rose, and he really, honestly hoped the deer's senses weren't quite so keen with the way the Media Overlord's pulse quickened, heart beating around like a bird in a cage.
Vox even scooted back an inch or two as the other loomed, and helplessly his eyes flicked down to the Radio Demon's mouth before swiftly moving back up to his eyes again.
The you promise? was right there on the tip of his tongue, waiting to fly free.
But he caught that bird, squeezed it tight for being a nuisance, and rammed it back into the cage.
A metallic claw reached up, slowly hooked against Alastor's bow tie instead as he took one breath, then another. He centered himself, even if there was brighter cyan across his screen, he managed a grin.
"...So moody," he replied at a near whisper, tone husky as he gave a small tug.
"You only just started this pregnancy, but if this is how you're gonna be? You really do wear it well."
One of Alastor's clawed hands reached up and grabbed at the monitor as he was tugged - he growled darkly, pressing the claw of his thumb against the thin glass with half a mind to just punch a hole straight through.
"Don't you d̴̯̐ì̶̹s̸͖̆r̶̹͊ȅ̶̳s̵̱̀p̴̼̈́e̸̝͊c̴͓͗t̸̤̽ me-- you little w̶̻͉̒̀ͅḧ̴͖́é̶̢̡͉̟̞͎̈̌̀̔͝ļ̸̛̺̹̦̗̟̔̈̇͑̏̚͝p̵̘̰̮̮͖̫̙̗̞̒̈̓̋͑͘!"
Crack, crack, crack...
That stupid, vulgar, ANNOYING smug look on Vox's face was PISSING HIM OFF - being called moody as if his rage was any different than it'd always been, just because of his state. He wanted to shatter that face and chew into it like rock candy, tear out wires, thrash until he worked all of that rage out of him...
The growl, the grab, the pressure against the seams of his monitor... myriad colors bloomed beneath the pin point of that claw, scattering liquefied crystal while pressuring each minuscule filter.
Vox should be recoiling in fear, begging for his life, knowing full well others had been killed for far less. Instead his bravado was fading... or was it amping up...? To a shallow, heated pant of excitement as Alastor's rage grew.
"...You're beautiful..."
It was out before he could stop it, the caged bird fluttering again in his ribs, tiny claws scratching at the walls.
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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
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
Even with a little taunt, Alastor simply relaxed in the seat, a hand still protectively cupped over his middle as he thought through what the future would hold.
His... if not at first, then certainly later. Would Vox still be bitter and angry with him, spiteful in keeping the child from him? Then again, that may be safer for everyone...
Hmm.
"You never took a wife or had a child in life?"
no subject
Eyes on the prize. He's trying to get a rise.
He tread for the little liquor cabinet tucked away here. Alastor may not drink anymore what with his delicate condition, but don't mind if daddy has a little drink...
"Never did." He selected a glass, a bottle, and poured. Little whiskey was nice right now.
"But oh, did I have lines out the door to have a little piece of the God of Entertainment." He looked down into the drink, swirled it.
"I had piles of love letters. Some of the creepier ones would send locks of their hair; their used panties, twice. I took lovers, but... nobody ever really grabbed me in a way that had me heading out and buying a ring."
He finally drank. "Don't tell me you're so old-fashioned you're subtly asking to wife up for the sake of the kid..."
no subject
His other hand remained where it lay, fingers slowly drumming along the seam of his coat. Despite his anger, there was... a frustrating something else bubbling in his head emotion-wise over this... child. No longer his, but at least of his blood.
What would Maman have thought?
"I ask because I wonder if you have any idea what you're getting into! It's been far too long since I was a young boy watching my neighbor's even younger kid for an hour or two."
no subject
God, but what would his old man think? Maybe elbow him, snicker. Boys will be boys, sow their wild oats and all... oh, but his mother would absolutely tan his poor fucking hide. If you know what's good for you, Vinny, you'd best show some responsibility-
"But we've got the whole Information Superhighway at our disposal!" The cables extended, weaved around the chair like so many vines as he returned to the desk, seated atop and crossed one long leg over the other.
"Gotta wonder, though," he added breezily. "Is 'the glow' real...? Will the Radio Demon have an extra shine as our little bundle grows?"
no subject
After a beat to consider the question, though, Alastor hummed in thought and scratched at his scalp where his antlers had yet to grow back.
"I wager there might be some changes. I'm already not growing my antlers back." Hopefully nothing too humiliating becomes obvious.
no subject
"No forks, sure, but a glow that'll outshine this dingy-ass Ring and the prettiest little bump you've ever seen..." He chuckled low, but then with a brief startle, he quieted.
Cleared his throat, and masked his face- as much as he could, anyway- with his drink.
"-Anyway, don't worry about it." Siiiiip.
no subject
But the things that Vox had growled at him, those feverish thoughts that had been so pleasant to hear to his heat-addled mind... even with his mind clear, they didn't seem SO bad--
"You sound entirely too pleased," Alastor growled, teeth glowing as he spoke through them clenched tight in an attempt to bite back the embarrassing feelings and replace them with a scowl.
no subject
One of which probably involved running around Hell, jamming cigars in people's mouths and guffawing away in paternal pride, but others? Others involved rolling in after a hard day's work and winding his arms without a word around another's middle, getting the mental battery recharge that way. But he couldn't let people get too close in life; even reading through his adoring fans' letters, each of them promising the picket fence, the life he would have dreamed of, countless children, he knew that if they knew the truth and what he'd need to do to ensure the silence, these 'lucky ladies' would quickly change their minds.
...But it'd be easier if his partner was just as twisted as he was, right...?
Nah. Fantasies stay fantasies.
"Should I not be?" He shrugged a shoulder and the smirk was cocky. "I imagine there are plenty of Sinners out there who would KILL to be in our position right now. We're pioneers, you and I!"
no subject
"We ought to be suspicious of this," Alastor warned, trying to pull himself out of those rosy thoughts. "Surely I am not the only Sinner to have such an animalistic curse. And moreover - we have no idea what sort of hellspawn we're making."
...But with the Goetia, the hellhounds, the imps... there's likely enough to assume it at least might not be an inherently Bad Seed. Maybe. Alastor is sure that their child is doomed to at least be a sinful, deranged fiend in their own right - but giving them the freedom to do so came first.
"...And if they have a television head, I am going to kill you. Repeatedly."
no subject
Why? Because that's what he believed. This situation was insane, but he was more curious as to how this would all go. They were under his protection thanks to the Deal, and unlike the countless souls he owned, he needed to really look into this one. He needed to do some research. Because how the fuck does anyone raise a kid? He hardly remembers how his parents were.
But the thought was gone with his remark. Vox spluttered out a laugh. "Shit, promise me a good time, will ya...?"
The grin sharpened, and his voice smoothed. "...Besides, if my genes really won out...? I put a little shark pup in you~"
no subject
"A shark pup would be fine... but if a clone of your square head is what I have to content with, then I'm going to break your pelvis with my bare hands so you will suffer too."
Then again, Vox sounded like he'd probably enjoy that. Alastor stood from the seat, placing his claws on either side of where Vox was seated so he could loom closer.
"For every pain I'll take my pound of flesh from you. To remind you that I am no less the predator to your prey."
1/2
Vox even scooted back an inch or two as the other loomed, and helplessly his eyes flicked down to the Radio Demon's mouth before swiftly moving back up to his eyes again.
The you promise? was right there on the tip of his tongue, waiting to fly free.
2/2
A metallic claw reached up, slowly hooked against Alastor's bow tie instead as he took one breath, then another. He centered himself, even if there was brighter cyan across his screen, he managed a grin.
"...So moody," he replied at a near whisper, tone husky as he gave a small tug.
"You only just started this pregnancy, but if this is how you're gonna be? You really do wear it well."
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"Don't you d̴̯̐ì̶̹s̸͖̆r̶̹͊ȅ̶̳s̵̱̀p̴̼̈́e̸̝͊c̴͓͗t̸̤̽ me-- you little w̶̻͉̒̀ͅḧ̴͖́é̶̢̡͉̟̞͎̈̌̀̔͝ļ̸̛̺̹̦̗̟̔̈̇͑̏̚͝p̵̘̰̮̮͖̫̙̗̞̒̈̓̋͑͘!"
Crack, crack, crack...
That stupid, vulgar, ANNOYING smug look on Vox's face was PISSING HIM OFF - being called moody as if his rage was any different than it'd always been, just because of his state. He wanted to shatter that face and chew into it like rock candy, tear out wires, thrash until he worked all of that rage out of him...
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Vox should be recoiling in fear, begging for his life, knowing full well others had been killed for far less. Instead his bravado was fading... or was it amping up...? To a shallow, heated pant of excitement as Alastor's rage grew.
"...You're beautiful..."
It was out before he could stop it, the caged bird fluttering again in his ribs, tiny claws scratching at the walls.
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