Of course, the answer immediately flit to mind. But he wasn't sharing the exact number, lest he risk Alastor taking the first shadow out of here. Instead he cleared his throat and focused on a quick check of his programming.
Namely, their programming. You see, he had the most sophisticated system to the point of simplicity nowadays, and once he confirmed that it was still working exactly as planned, he brushed imaginary dust off his sleeve.
Vox went from a mild fluster and back to crisp as he accepted the clipboard and looked everything over. Still checked out.
He quirked a brow when Alastor moved to help with the cart. His grip tightened on the clipboard as his head canted just an inch, studying. But he would... behave today, and not raise a fuss about it.
"Hah! Fortunate indeed. Why, I wouldn't be where I am today without so many busy bees dedicating their lives to the betterment of Hell and sharing my dream! And the trick to that is making sure they're fit as fiddles!"
The withering stare was met head on with the cheekiest grin, like a man who just ordered a long-awaited smoothie at their favorite shop.
Alastor huffed, ROLLING his eyes and looking away again - just in time for the candlehead to find their way right back to the sofa they'd been sitting on. "This'll do nicely, I think - go on and sit, miss Doe."
Fiiiine... Alastor sat obediently, letting the hypnotized nurse go about her job starting with measuring blood pressure and getting a check on Alastor's heart and lungs. Thankfully, for all of his dead-ness, everything seemed to be working fine...
"Stopped the drinking and smoking, and your lungs sound really clear, dear! Blood pressure is good... so far so good, huh? Go ahead and lay down, I'll get the jelly."
"Mm, riveting," Alastor grumbled, feeling embarrassed despite all of the praise. ...He's grateful Vox at least thought to get a woman for this. If he even thought about it and didn't just stumble into something considerate. "What're we expecting to see this time?"
"Let's see, you say you know your conception date... I'd say given the day you gave last time, you should be getting to your 13th week, so we'll be looking at making sure they're developing in the right spot and how many, since you said you were worried about multiples."
"A certain someone insists he can bankroll any number, at least," he scoffed, giving Vox another look. Even if this. Felt a LOT stranger with Vox actually in the room, this time.
He selected a spot to settle, flicking through to the appropriate channels to allocate funding, make approvals, and put his name on it. Making it normal, making it belong allowed the discretion to add another layer. He wondered how many hellborn bosses went around covering up for pregnancies they caused among employees? Sure was prevalent on earth, at least. Some things never change.
Right. Shit. The smoking thing. Vox masked a sigh as he swapped to another channel in his system and cancelled his next order of his favorite kind. Cold turkey. Consider it a challenge. What could go wrong?
He was just shutting those down, his attention back on in time for talk of bankrolling. Ah, yes, right-
Vox clicked his tongue for show, shook his head in mock dismay. "You really underestimate my net worth! Aw- Don't worry about a thing! You're covered, sweetheart~"
Anyway, fft, time to see a little gray blob or whatever and hope the head's not square-
The monitor is set up, the little wand is tested, and after Alastor flinched at how chilly the jelly was, he settled and relaxed enough for the nurse to hum along and start looking.
Despite his calm demeanor, Alastor's ears had drooped back - he didn't see what the nurse was looking at or really recognize organs at all through the guise of the wand, but... the anticipation still had his heart pounding a bit.
"Good news, dear - no ectopic pregnancy, so things are going smoothly so far!" the nurse encouraged before letting out a little 'ah hah!', holding the wand in place.
Through the monitor, there was a boosted steady thump, thump, thump, thump-- and as she pointed to the screen, Alastor immediately recognized the shape. Despite everything, it felt like a lead weight in his chest - it really was real.
"One for sure, looking about right for a little baby succubus... good steady heartbeat, and I'm not seeing any signs of any more just yet."
"Hah... nice round head," Alastor dryly joked, swallowing the anxiety a bit.
It wasn't until he heard the heartbeat that he'd been at full attention. The clipboard was set aside. He'd read plenty of those books over the weeks, but... the real thing was...
He was eventually hunched over one of the sofa's arm rests, wide-eyed fascination directed at the screen. He had the perfect opportunity to joke about his pelvis- and his own- being safe. But...
"Hmmmm... not getting the clearest picture, but I'm not seeing a tail developing yet... or any wings. But the main body is growing very nicely, and in a few months we can check again," the nurse hummed, pointing at the screen to little forming limbs. Alastor pressed a hand to his temple, almost as speechless as Vox was.
...Though the lack of some punchy joke was a bit of a relief. Gave him time to grasp things as the nurse checked for other siblings.
"I'm not worried about any of that, so long as they're healthy," he eventually said.
"I'm not seeing any siblings in here, but we'll only know for sure if we use the other equipment--"
"No."
"--or wait a few weeks. But you're looking great, miss Doe, and your little one's looking lively! It won't be much longer before you start feeling them moving around, too," the nurse encouraged, setting the screen back to the baby so she could get a few print-worthy pictures.
"...Well. It looks like you're off the hook, 'boss'," Alastor finally joked.
Is... is that all they can see for right now? No, no, of course not, it was still so early, but... look at the little limbs!! That's- that's just a little guy in there! Look at the little guy!!
Wait, he couldn't get EXCITED. Not like this. Not now, certainly.
Jokes? Jokes. Let's stick with those to mask his racing heart. Stay cocky.
He shrugged and was very 'aw shucks' with the shake of his head. "...Y'know what? I'm good with conceding genetics on that front. I guess they can have a regular old head. But they're going to appreciate a good movie and some bad ones, too. I'm calling dibs on that."
Alastor paused, gauging to see if the nurse caught anything obvious, but-- no, no. She was clearly hypnotized and not even perceiving that part of the conversation, busying herself with a pamphlet on symptoms at this stage that she passed to 'Jane Doe' along with a towel. Well, well.
"They're your child, after all. You get to decide how to raise them," he said softly. A bit fondly, even, staring at the screen where the still image still remained. The heartbeat wasn't audible anymore, but Alastor could practically hear it thrumming in his ears anyway.
"No tail so far. No sign of antennae. We'll see what else develops, I suppose."
"Perhaps. It will supposedly take a bit longer for you to feel them than for me. I'll be here and not doing much else anyway," Alastor feigned confidence and ambivalence as he sat up, wiping off the jelly.
Still... his hand lingered, for a little.
"You seem excited," he observed, tone light and approving.
Pressing buttons to look for an opportunity to have a giggle, Al? Not a chance!
"Outside of Lilith, we're the first. It feels... fitting... that Sinners of our caliber accomplish what's considered impossible." He tapped the screen.
"And we've got proof. ...I'm getting physical copies for my wallet. You should, too."
"I think I will. It'll make a charming keepsake in a timepiece, I think," Alastor chuckled, plucking his corset up from Vox's arm, preparing to fasten it.
"Oh, you'll need to let out the laces more than that, dear--"
"This'll be the last I wear it, don't you worry, doc," Alastor insisted, standing so he could suck his gut in just enough to wrap the corset around himself. Careful, slow, making sure not to squeeze himself too harshly... he'd been ginger before, but it felt almost sacrilegious to constrict the little one any longer.
"One evening to finish arrangements at the Hotel and gather my important belongings before I move into this tower."
He offered the corset up, and made a quick connection to start a print-off of the files sent. It wouldn't be a problem to send a signal to an intern, a command, to retrieve what's in this printer in this office, delete the queue, then slip the print-offs under a specific door before taking an early lunch.
Being your own boss was great.
Vox thought to offer the shirt, but instead couldn't help the little grin. Instead he stood, and without a word gave the garment a little shake out to straighten out before he set to the task.
No choice in the matter, old pal... he's dressing you. Buttons and all.
Alastor huffs a little laugh through his nose at that - but he'll play along, ignoring the nurse as she zoned out in her hypnosis and carted her things away with some canned excuse to leave. Instead, he watched those large talons deftly fasten his buttons, shocks of blue contrasted against deep red.
"You are ready for my arrival, I assume? I'm not sure whether to assume you forgot until the last moment or obsessed over the details relentlessly."
One sleeve at a time, and a smooth of the material. A little tug closer as it moved over the shoulders to cover, and a sweep of fingers to ease the collar into proper position.
The buttons were fastened from the top and down. He had no issue at all with them, even with claws as large as his, but took a little extra time at the last three over the stomach.
The last was where his hands remained, and he quirked a brow with the question. His eyes raised from his finished task to lock a gaze.
The grin was easy. "...I think you'll appreciate your accommodations. Would you like to have a little peek, or am I reserving that for the big day...?"
"I may as well see what I'm working with..." Alastor hummed, looking down at the hands lingering at his middle. Be patient, Vox, you'll get plenty of time with them...
"Hah! I figured you'd be a little curious, so I've had the changes done for a couple of weeks now!" The thread of electricity between his antennae rolled and flowed like lava in a lamp.
"You'll just have to see~" Well, now he was outright giddy. He looped an arm around one of his and moved along to the elevator.
"It's just a little something I've hashed together. I've taken a few liberties with the aesthetic, you understand, but you don't need to be married to it or anything! Hell, all three of us Vees have changed our look and brand just about every decade, so it's not too much of a stretch if you wanted to jazz things up whenever!"
Huh. He didn't press a button or anything. The doors just opened. But would anyone be surprised if he just had a hook up to the entire structure somehow...?
"It's just a couple floors up from here."
Had he wanted Alastor to join the team? Certainly. Had he been dreaming of introducing him to his very own slice of the tower? Oh my fucking god YES.
Wireless, connected, sleek, smooth... Alastor knew not to be surprised since nearly everything in Hell these days was either in this state or was utterly broken, but there was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind anyway. It makes you forget that you're on a lift.
It bothered him. Or maybe he was just hung up on the storm of feelings in his chest - he really was going to be unable to defend himself. And because of that, unable to freely roam or act however he pleased. He was trapped, again.
...Well... maybe not exactly. His mother wasn't trapped by his birth, was she? Obligated, responsible, but...
...
Alastor nearly asks aloud what do you think your mother would have thought of this?, but stops himself. He still can't know what Vox will want to use to try and pin him down, to blackmail him into owning him or... anything along those lines. Was he excited for his child? He seemed it... but then again, he and Vox were both actors.
...Well. It's best to assume for now that he was honest. And if so - that meant the good behavior should be met with a reward.
In the privacy of the elevator, Alastor unlooped his arm so he could turn that screen face towards him - and planted a little kiss to it, whether Vox was ready for a kiss or not.
"For the record, I like that you're enthusiastic about the baby."
Standing in the lift did nothing to settle the jitters. He hadn't had these weird butterfly feelings in... ages. Like he's a fucking kid again. It was weird, but it felt kind of good.
But he was driving himself insane, and he knew it. Too often, he felt himself pulled in two different directions: Wanting to gloat and rub it in just to see what he'd do, but also jump around and practically pass out over how real it all was.
The first was so easy, like breathing. The second was always so risky, practically opening his rib cage and painting a big target on his heart for a man who thrived on such games, who would happily reach in and carve the biggest piece for himself. And the part that twisted him up the most was that, deep down, he enjoyed that absolute freak immensely, for as much as he made remarks or scoffed about it.
It's fine. This is fine. He could roll out the red carpet, the bravado, reveal the arrangements he'd made while letting the thought of the photos that would be sitting in his coat pocket by the day's end burn a giddy little hole in his circuits. He could always wait until he was alone, look over them, admire them, wonder what more they'd become as they got bigger and--
Fingers seized his screen, and the growing snow over his monitor's background refreshed. He blinked his confusion. The red eyes widened- as if they needed to get any bigger- with the touch that followed.
He was not ready for a kiss. But there was no protest, only the owlish blink and his body going stiff.
...Wait...
What?
"You... you do?"
The problem with his ribcage analogy was that he was deeply fond of a man who had the means of prying that bastard open with his own two sets of claws, with little to no effort at all.
"I do!" Alastor affirmed, wiggling Vox's screen a bit for fun with the light pinch he had on the corner. "For all the joy I find in making people scream and squirm in terror, that doesn't apply to little innocents - however sinful and oafish you are doesn't matter so much if you adore them."
It's inherently practical, you see, right? Deeply practical. ...Even if it does admit that Alastor cares for the child in his own way, too. Then again, he feels that's rather obvious - he'd gone this far already.
The elevator slowed and stopped at the floor, so Alastor re-looped their arms and closed his eyes.
"So! Show me what you've come up with. I won't mince words, though, brace yourself!"
That was the impression that he got. It was curious: He'd mentioned not crossing that line he'd never come back from when he confronted Vox with the results of their... uh... night... and had even seemed to follow through on making sure the pregnancy proceeded without a hitch. Vox couldn't entirely wrap his head around Alastor feeling something like this, but the guy was still altogether mysterious.
But he was also a serial killing maniac, and HE was excited for the baby, so anything was possible, right? Hahah.. ha..
Arms looped again, he felt his heart skip. It was showtime. He couldn't fuck this up. Somehow, this was far more nerve-wracking than standing in front of millions to talk up a new product.
Vox took a breath, let it out slow, and walked them through the doors as they opened. A few yards in, aaaand... stop.
"...Alright. Feast your eyes, and don't mince a damn thing!"
So what happens when a man makes a living space for a guy he's known for close to 100 years, and has all the wealth in Hell to make a dream a reality?
He creates a space that blends personal parlor and lounge. All is dressed in rich and warm browns and leather, with furniture that bits people to sit and wile away the hours, rugs that are plush, and polished wood floors that a man clearly spared no expense in getting as right as he could think of.
Paintings dotted the walls, photographs of musicians both from earth and in Hell, including a signed print or two from Lilith herself from her hayday. But there were paintings hung up here and there, depictions of the French Quarter and sprinkles of Bourbon Street. Hanging plants draped vines over shelves stuffed with books and a smattering of movies along countless genres, and there in one corner was a record player with a neighboring, sizely collection of records to pick through. Closer inspection could spy speakers tucked in throughout the space for a surround sound... including in, yes, a fully stocked kitchen through one of the doorways here, filled with almost obnoxiously modernized appliances, and a hanging rack of copper cookware.
"Alright, bathroom is over through that door, bedroom is attached. Windows are all one-way- I trust heights don't give you the willies, huh?- and I think I went a little overboard with plants in the bedroom...?" He pulled away.
"...But only a little! Still, anything you want out of here or put in, I'd say use the phone and dial my line, but-"
...Come on. That's redundant.
He hopped a few steps back and opened his arms for a little ta-da.
"Muh... Ma maison... est votre maison...!" JAZZ HANDS. Fuck you, he's only been studying French for the last 48 hours for this.
It was, in a word, gobsmacking the absolute care and level of detail that Vox put in... and all for him. This wasn't some cozy nursery, after all, this was... full of memories, despite everything being rather new.
Still, Alastor didn't comment at first... he took his time, walking into the room and running his claws over things. Really, was this how the rich men of his time lived? Couldn't be that far off. He'd best remember not to let it get to his head the way those bastards did.
Records, paintings... his gaze did linger on the images of his old stomping grounds. Familiar, but foreign all at the same time - paintings depicting the place from a time after he'd been killed, with a few familiar buildings and those wonderful green trolleys mixed in amidst the 'new'. The plants, too... alive, and some smelled rather nice, their potted soil giving the room an earthiness the way his favorite window to the marsh always did. Briefly, he reached out to the appliances in the kitchen, assessing what information they were collecting and sending - and dug deep scratch mark Xes in everything except the fridge.
"You can keep track of what's stocked in here but nothing else," Alastor conceded. Plus, if the whim struck him, he could put something that would make Vox yell at him in there later.
"...Chez moi and chez toi if you want to sound less like a pretentious prick or a clumsy high-schooler, by the way. And you still sound European, hah."
He helped himself to one of the couches, lounging back as Alastor made his assessment. He wouldn't follow and try to read what he did and didn't like, but with the way one of his knees bobbed, he was definitely restless.
Vox cringed with the scratching. Yep. He knew the appliances would be a hard sell, but it wasn't exactly easy to get something a little less top-of-the-line... thought a man who spent a small fortune on paintings from earth. "Not everything is there to steal your identity or whatever else you're thinking. Only most of it."
He turned his head and shot a cheeky grin. It faltered with the language assessment.
"Well, shucks. Guess I'm fucked when it comes to any French-speaking shareholders, huh?"
"I'm still looking," Alastor rebuffed, checking the interior of the fridge. Hmm... the staples like milk and eggs, a good variety of bright green vegetables, and cuts of meat that made Alastor chuckle because they were very much meant to impress with how fine the cuts were. Did he find himself a butcher specifically for this? Cute.
"Missing celery - an important part of the holy trinity! Celery, onions and bell peppers," Alastor practically sang as he moved to the pantry. A glut of spices, some he'd never bothered trying to use before... QUITE the stock of prenatal vitamins, goodness gracious... oh? A little vase of flowers.
Without comment, Alastor chuckled, plucking one of the forget-me-nots out of the arrangement to give it a smell. Fresh... this fool probably spent a fortune just to get it from Earth from some hellborn doing their normal job in the meantime. Cute.
He tucked the flower into his breast pocket and checked the bathroom. "Mm! I'll need the bathroom floors with mats and the tub and shower with grips along the bottom - hooves are quite terrible on slick surfaces, and a slip actually matters now," he chimed. He never really fussed about bathing before, just taking a simple bath to wash off the gore at most and honestly preferring the convenience of magic to wick away grime.
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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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Namely, their programming. You see, he had the most sophisticated system to the point of simplicity nowadays, and once he confirmed that it was still working exactly as planned, he brushed imaginary dust off his sleeve.
Vox went from a mild fluster and back to crisp as he accepted the clipboard and looked everything over. Still checked out.
He quirked a brow when Alastor moved to help with the cart. His grip tightened on the clipboard as his head canted just an inch, studying. But he would... behave today, and not raise a fuss about it.
"Hah! Fortunate indeed. Why, I wouldn't be where I am today without so many busy bees dedicating their lives to the betterment of Hell and sharing my dream! And the trick to that is making sure they're fit as fiddles!"
The withering stare was met head on with the cheekiest grin, like a man who just ordered a long-awaited smoothie at their favorite shop.
Speaking of- "You like smoothies...?"
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Fiiiine... Alastor sat obediently, letting the hypnotized nurse go about her job starting with measuring blood pressure and getting a check on Alastor's heart and lungs. Thankfully, for all of his dead-ness, everything seemed to be working fine...
"Stopped the drinking and smoking, and your lungs sound really clear, dear! Blood pressure is good... so far so good, huh? Go ahead and lay down, I'll get the jelly."
"Mm, riveting," Alastor grumbled, feeling embarrassed despite all of the praise. ...He's grateful Vox at least thought to get a woman for this. If he even thought about it and didn't just stumble into something considerate. "What're we expecting to see this time?"
"Let's see, you say you know your conception date... I'd say given the day you gave last time, you should be getting to your 13th week, so we'll be looking at making sure they're developing in the right spot and how many, since you said you were worried about multiples."
"A certain someone insists he can bankroll any number, at least," he scoffed, giving Vox another look. Even if this. Felt a LOT stranger with Vox actually in the room, this time.
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Right. Shit. The smoking thing. Vox masked a sigh as he swapped to another channel in his system and cancelled his next order of his favorite kind. Cold turkey. Consider it a challenge. What could go wrong?
He was just shutting those down, his attention back on in time for talk of bankrolling. Ah, yes, right-
Vox clicked his tongue for show, shook his head in mock dismay. "You really underestimate my net worth! Aw- Don't worry about a thing! You're covered, sweetheart~"
Anyway, fft, time to see a little gray blob or whatever and hope the head's not square-
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Despite his calm demeanor, Alastor's ears had drooped back - he didn't see what the nurse was looking at or really recognize organs at all through the guise of the wand, but... the anticipation still had his heart pounding a bit.
"Good news, dear - no ectopic pregnancy, so things are going smoothly so far!" the nurse encouraged before letting out a little 'ah hah!', holding the wand in place.
Through the monitor, there was a boosted steady thump, thump, thump, thump-- and as she pointed to the screen, Alastor immediately recognized the shape. Despite everything, it felt like a lead weight in his chest - it really was real.
"One for sure, looking about right for a little baby succubus... good steady heartbeat, and I'm not seeing any signs of any more just yet."
"Hah... nice round head," Alastor dryly joked, swallowing the anxiety a bit.
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It wasn't until he heard the heartbeat that he'd been at full attention. The clipboard was set aside. He'd read plenty of those books over the weeks, but... the real thing was...
He was eventually hunched over one of the sofa's arm rests, wide-eyed fascination directed at the screen. He had the perfect opportunity to joke about his pelvis- and his own- being safe. But...
...
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...Though the lack of some punchy joke was a bit of a relief. Gave him time to grasp things as the nurse checked for other siblings.
"I'm not worried about any of that, so long as they're healthy," he eventually said.
"I'm not seeing any siblings in here, but we'll only know for sure if we use the other equipment--"
"No."
"--or wait a few weeks. But you're looking great, miss Doe, and your little one's looking lively! It won't be much longer before you start feeling them moving around, too," the nurse encouraged, setting the screen back to the baby so she could get a few print-worthy pictures.
"...Well. It looks like you're off the hook, 'boss'," Alastor finally joked.
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Wait, he couldn't get EXCITED. Not like this. Not now, certainly.
Jokes? Jokes. Let's stick with those to mask his racing heart. Stay cocky.
He shrugged and was very 'aw shucks' with the shake of his head. "...Y'know what? I'm good with conceding genetics on that front. I guess they can have a regular old head. But they're going to appreciate a good movie and some bad ones, too. I'm calling dibs on that."
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"They're your child, after all. You get to decide how to raise them," he said softly. A bit fondly, even, staring at the screen where the still image still remained. The heartbeat wasn't audible anymore, but Alastor could practically hear it thrumming in his ears anyway.
"No tail so far. No sign of antennae. We'll see what else develops, I suppose."
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He moved to sit on the arm rest, he shrugged a shoulder. "We'll see in a few weeks, huh? And moving soon, too. Shit. That'll feel a little weird..."
He'd read it was like bubbles.
There was a small ping in his system. Digital copies, right to his personal email account. Well. One of them, anyway.
"You'll... let me know when that starts happening...?"
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Still... his hand lingered, for a little.
"You seem excited," he observed, tone light and approving.
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"Outside of Lilith, we're the first. It feels... fitting... that Sinners of our caliber accomplish what's considered impossible." He tapped the screen.
"And we've got proof. ...I'm getting physical copies for my wallet. You should, too."
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"Oh, you'll need to let out the laces more than that, dear--"
"This'll be the last I wear it, don't you worry, doc," Alastor insisted, standing so he could suck his gut in just enough to wrap the corset around himself. Careful, slow, making sure not to squeeze himself too harshly... he'd been ginger before, but it felt almost sacrilegious to constrict the little one any longer.
"One evening to finish arrangements at the Hotel and gather my important belongings before I move into this tower."
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Being your own boss was great.
Vox thought to offer the shirt, but instead couldn't help the little grin. Instead he stood, and without a word gave the garment a little shake out to straighten out before he set to the task.
No choice in the matter, old pal... he's dressing you. Buttons and all.
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"You are ready for my arrival, I assume? I'm not sure whether to assume you forgot until the last moment or obsessed over the details relentlessly."
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The buttons were fastened from the top and down. He had no issue at all with them, even with claws as large as his, but took a little extra time at the last three over the stomach.
The last was where his hands remained, and he quirked a brow with the question. His eyes raised from his finished task to lock a gaze.
The grin was easy. "...I think you'll appreciate your accommodations. Would you like to have a little peek, or am I reserving that for the big day...?"
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"I get a kitchen at least, right?"
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"You'll just have to see~" Well, now he was outright giddy. He looped an arm around one of his and moved along to the elevator.
"It's just a little something I've hashed together. I've taken a few liberties with the aesthetic, you understand, but you don't need to be married to it or anything! Hell, all three of us Vees have changed our look and brand just about every decade, so it's not too much of a stretch if you wanted to jazz things up whenever!"
Huh. He didn't press a button or anything. The doors just opened. But would anyone be surprised if he just had a hook up to the entire structure somehow...?
"It's just a couple floors up from here."
Had he wanted Alastor to join the team? Certainly. Had he been dreaming of introducing him to his very own slice of the tower? Oh my fucking god YES.
God he hopes he likes it...
1/2
It bothered him. Or maybe he was just hung up on the storm of feelings in his chest - he really was going to be unable to defend himself. And because of that, unable to freely roam or act however he pleased. He was trapped, again.
...Well... maybe not exactly. His mother wasn't trapped by his birth, was she? Obligated, responsible, but...
...
Alastor nearly asks aloud what do you think your mother would have thought of this?, but stops himself. He still can't know what Vox will want to use to try and pin him down, to blackmail him into owning him or... anything along those lines. Was he excited for his child? He seemed it... but then again, he and Vox were both actors.
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In the privacy of the elevator, Alastor unlooped his arm so he could turn that screen face towards him - and planted a little kiss to it, whether Vox was ready for a kiss or not.
"For the record, I like that you're enthusiastic about the baby."
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But he was driving himself insane, and he knew it. Too often, he felt himself pulled in two different directions: Wanting to gloat and rub it in just to see what he'd do, but also jump around and practically pass out over how real it all was.
The first was so easy, like breathing. The second was always so risky, practically opening his rib cage and painting a big target on his heart for a man who thrived on such games, who would happily reach in and carve the biggest piece for himself. And the part that twisted him up the most was that, deep down, he enjoyed that absolute freak immensely, for as much as he made remarks or scoffed about it.
It's fine. This is fine. He could roll out the red carpet, the bravado, reveal the arrangements he'd made while letting the thought of the photos that would be sitting in his coat pocket by the day's end burn a giddy little hole in his circuits. He could always wait until he was alone, look over them, admire them, wonder what more they'd become as they got bigger and--
Fingers seized his screen, and the growing snow over his monitor's background refreshed. He blinked his confusion. The red eyes widened- as if they needed to get any bigger- with the touch that followed.
He was not ready for a kiss. But there was no protest, only the owlish blink and his body going stiff.
...Wait...
What?
"You... you do?"
The problem with his ribcage analogy was that he was deeply fond of a man who had the means of prying that bastard open with his own two sets of claws, with little to no effort at all.
no subject
It's inherently practical, you see, right? Deeply practical. ...Even if it does admit that Alastor cares for the child in his own way, too. Then again, he feels that's rather obvious - he'd gone this far already.
The elevator slowed and stopped at the floor, so Alastor re-looped their arms and closed his eyes.
"So! Show me what you've come up with. I won't mince words, though, brace yourself!"
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But he was also a serial killing maniac, and HE was excited for the baby, so anything was possible, right? Hahah.. ha..
Arms looped again, he felt his heart skip. It was showtime. He couldn't fuck this up. Somehow, this was far more nerve-wracking than standing in front of millions to talk up a new product.
Vox took a breath, let it out slow, and walked them through the doors as they opened. A few yards in, aaaand... stop.
"...Alright. Feast your eyes, and don't mince a damn thing!"
So what happens when a man makes a living space for a guy he's known for close to 100 years, and has all the wealth in Hell to make a dream a reality?
He creates a space that blends personal parlor and lounge. All is dressed in rich and warm browns and leather, with furniture that bits people to sit and wile away the hours, rugs that are plush, and polished wood floors that a man clearly spared no expense in getting as right as he could think of.
Paintings dotted the walls, photographs of musicians both from earth and in Hell, including a signed print or two from Lilith herself from her hayday. But there were paintings hung up here and there, depictions of the French Quarter and sprinkles of Bourbon Street. Hanging plants draped vines over shelves stuffed with books and a smattering of movies along countless genres, and there in one corner was a record player with a neighboring, sizely collection of records to pick through. Closer inspection could spy speakers tucked in throughout the space for a surround sound... including in, yes, a fully stocked kitchen through one of the doorways here, filled with almost obnoxiously modernized appliances, and a hanging rack of copper cookware.
"Alright, bathroom is over through that door, bedroom is attached. Windows are all one-way- I trust heights don't give you the willies, huh?- and I think I went a little overboard with plants in the bedroom...?" He pulled away.
"...But only a little! Still, anything you want out of here or put in, I'd say use the phone and dial my line, but-"
...Come on. That's redundant.
He hopped a few steps back and opened his arms for a little ta-da.
"Muh... Ma maison... est votre maison...!" JAZZ HANDS. Fuck you, he's only been studying French for the last 48 hours for this.
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Still, Alastor didn't comment at first... he took his time, walking into the room and running his claws over things. Really, was this how the rich men of his time lived? Couldn't be that far off. He'd best remember not to let it get to his head the way those bastards did.
Records, paintings... his gaze did linger on the images of his old stomping grounds. Familiar, but foreign all at the same time - paintings depicting the place from a time after he'd been killed, with a few familiar buildings and those wonderful green trolleys mixed in amidst the 'new'. The plants, too... alive, and some smelled rather nice, their potted soil giving the room an earthiness the way his favorite window to the marsh always did. Briefly, he reached out to the appliances in the kitchen, assessing what information they were collecting and sending - and dug deep scratch mark Xes in everything except the fridge.
"You can keep track of what's stocked in here but nothing else," Alastor conceded. Plus, if the whim struck him, he could put something that would make Vox yell at him in there later.
"...Chez moi and chez toi if you want to sound less like a pretentious prick or a clumsy high-schooler, by the way. And you still sound European, hah."
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Vox cringed with the scratching. Yep. He knew the appliances would be a hard sell, but it wasn't exactly easy to get something a little less top-of-the-line... thought a man who spent a small fortune on paintings from earth. "Not everything is there to steal your identity or whatever else you're thinking. Only most of it."
He turned his head and shot a cheeky grin. It faltered with the language assessment.
"Well, shucks. Guess I'm fucked when it comes to any French-speaking shareholders, huh?"
A beat.
"My pretentious prick French aside, soooo...?"
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"Missing celery - an important part of the holy trinity! Celery, onions and bell peppers," Alastor practically sang as he moved to the pantry. A glut of spices, some he'd never bothered trying to use before... QUITE the stock of prenatal vitamins, goodness gracious... oh? A little vase of flowers.
Without comment, Alastor chuckled, plucking one of the forget-me-nots out of the arrangement to give it a smell. Fresh... this fool probably spent a fortune just to get it from Earth from some hellborn doing their normal job in the meantime. Cute.
He tucked the flower into his breast pocket and checked the bathroom. "Mm! I'll need the bathroom floors with mats and the tub and shower with grips along the bottom - hooves are quite terrible on slick surfaces, and a slip actually matters now," he chimed. He never really fussed about bathing before, just taking a simple bath to wash off the gore at most and honestly preferring the convenience of magic to wick away grime.
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