"Just remember it's not just you or I on the line for failure." Alastor warned, glancing over his shoulder. "For the child at least, put aside your Icarus and instead play Daedalus. I'll update you later this week."
Only lingering a moment longer to stare at Vox's back, Alastor melted away into the shadows - he and Vox both had many, many things to dwell on and think about without being at each other's throats much longer.
Again with the Icarus! When would he EVER try and fly toward the sun? He was measured. He knew what he could do, knew how high he could climb, become so much brighter.
It's why he always had plans. Alastor needed to worry about himself.
Vox offered a nod, and he turned his head to see Alastor go. The CEO paused, listened to the silence for a few more moments before he turned and staggered to his desk.
He sat heavy in his seat that the deer had occupied not long before, eased on his elbows, reached a shaky hand for his nearly forgotten drink.
"Fuck. ...Fuck." He drank, held the glass, drained every last bit of the whiskey in the hopes that it'd cool his hot, dry mouth.
It didn't.
As he lowered the glass and brought his forehead to his unoccupied, quaking hand, he listened instead to his unsteady breathing.
He should be arrogant. Cocky. Very HAW HAW about this whole thing, and in a way, he was.
But here, alone in the office, Vincent Whittman allowed himself to be terrified.
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divinetree2025-10-07 08:11 pm
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Only lingering a moment longer to stare at Vox's back, Alastor melted away into the shadows - he and Vox both had many, many things to dwell on and think about without being at each other's throats much longer.
no subject
It's why he always had plans. Alastor needed to worry about himself.
Vox offered a nod, and he turned his head to see Alastor go. The CEO paused, listened to the silence for a few more moments before he turned and staggered to his desk.
He sat heavy in his seat that the deer had occupied not long before, eased on his elbows, reached a shaky hand for his nearly forgotten drink.
"Fuck. ...Fuck." He drank, held the glass, drained every last bit of the whiskey in the hopes that it'd cool his hot, dry mouth.
It didn't.
As he lowered the glass and brought his forehead to his unoccupied, quaking hand, he listened instead to his unsteady breathing.
He should be arrogant. Cocky. Very HAW HAW about this whole thing, and in a way, he was.
But here, alone in the office, Vincent Whittman allowed himself to be terrified.