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

Alastor lifted his head a little and, god damn it, the proximity was driving in a temptation to try and communicate something- everything- what would make him understand why he worried as much as he had, why he was so frustrated. For media demons, why the fuck was talking so hard...?

His arms felt so heavy to him, but in the radio demon's hands, they were so light, so easy to guide. Even if Alastor pulled his hands away, Vox's would remain where they were placed.

This... this was a connection. He didn't doubt that. He seemed to take great care of himself, even bristled against Rosie herself during their meeting in defense of the child they'd made. Vox had to do his part, too.

Another connection, perhaps, wouldn't hurt for right now. Even if he'd made his outburst known, he still adjusted his frequency, sought and connected to that passive channel for output as well as that input. With that buzz too low to hear by the naked ear, he sent along an unmistakable relief.

Relief that he wasn't in pieces. Relief that he was still one whole pain in his ass.

Relief.

...He knew that feeling. He knew it well - well enough to return the signal, to connect with his own emotions actually matching Vox's for once in his damned afterlife.

Relief that the child was safe. Was growing well enough, without issue. That Vox even seemed excited for them...

...And the feeling was always older than that. Because he could remember feeling the motes of relief when he picked up Vincent's scent after the other disappeared, potentially ambushed, potentially killed - but he'd always felt that little sigh of relief that his pal was strong, that his pal always came out on top.

...And when he didn't, Alastor made sure the offender would pay.

... ... ...

...Why were they so angry with each other? The frightened part of him hisses and snarls, insists that it's obvious, but...

Swallow the fear. Be strong for those relying on you.

It's what Alastor tells himself as much as he's telling Vox now. The other Vees were hovering, watching tentatively, uncertainly - disturbed by the two powerful demons having had a very emotional spat.

Afraid. ...He'd been afraid, and was still afraid, wasn't he? He knew they'd lucked out when it came to Rosie, and a good part of it surely had to do with the swift idea of Vox claiming ownership of the child's soul. But he was still curious as to what the hotel had to do with anything. Fortunately, his physical presence there meant he didn't need to rely on... as many... cameras. The hotel was going to be the key to getting Alastor out of that fucking Deal.

Then he really, truly would be the inspiration he saw countless decades ago: Unfettered chaos and violence unlike anything this world and others had ever seen. So, so beautiful.

Their angle tempted him once more. He was so close. But... not in front of the others...

Vox took a breath and did what had to be the most difficult maneuver he'd done in weeks: He drew away, raising his head. Then he seemed to notice the others, how they stood.

"...We're fiiiine...! Just a little- little bit of nerves from the meeting...!"

"Mustn't underestimate dear Rosie, after all," Alastor concurred. Velvette was watching him like a hawk (smart girl), and Valentino clicked his tongue and cooed, putting his hands on Vox to pull him up off of the floor.

"Come on, Amorcito, you look good on your knees but not like this," the moth attempted to joke.

There was a slight pop from Alastor, who was left to get on his feet himself - but other than the subtle sign he seemed at ease. Can't appear weak, after all! He waved his hand at Valentino, gesturing for him to move back. "Scoot."

"What?"

"I said scoot. Scoot over, both of you," he ordered, ignoring the creaky moth-squeaks from Valentino so that he could take a seat on Vox's other side rather than joining Velvette. If he had to be more overt for Vox's sake, then maybe he ought to do just that. "Hmm... I am a bit tired, so I guess I'll indulge in a burger tonight instead. See what all of the hype is for. I hope you don't mind, Valentino, Velvette."

"Psh. If you two fuck your feelings out at least that'll be something closer to functional."

"Not exactly what I was implying, but it has been quite an emotional few days."

The joke earned a small, amused snort. But an antennae gave a small twitch. Pop-?

Vox's blink was owl-eyed, but he scooted almost automatically. It's fine. No problem. Just framed on both sides by disturbingly attractive men, he'll survive. He recovered with talk of food.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He knew what place to call, but... could they make burgers that weren't. Uh. ...Suuuper sloppy?? Because this was Alastor, after all. Standards obnoxiously high! And he was eating for two-

Vox quirked a brow at Velvette and he leaned back, one leg crossed over the other. He grinned. "Oh...? Sounding like an expert in the field, Vel- what lucky lady have you been sharing your feelings with...? Anybody I know?"

"Ugh, I fucking wish-- I'm so busy with shows and keeping shit running that I haven't had a chance to pick someone out," Velvette griped, much to the amusement of Valentino.

"Well, my dear, you did claim the title of 'backbone of the Vees' - you should grab a few of the souls under your name, though, and delegate."

"Yeah right, all we have are dogshit prats that can't tell their asses from their elbows. Then I'd have to leave them to do the shit and then do it over for them."

"Hah! True, it's difficult to find competence here in Hell. And it really never gets any better. I'd say go prowling around Husker's old stomping grounds - gamblers are always desperate, and the card-counters can be quite useful."

"Huh. What's the story with you getting his soul, anyway?"

"I'll tell some other time!" Alastor promised - and with the limo finally coming to a halt, Alastor waggled his fingers at the other two Vees. "Tomorrow I'll have that gumbo done by the evening - come with your appetites, you hear?"

He nodded to concur. It really was hard to find good help in Hell- even Ethan had too many moments of 'why the fuck did I hire you', but even then he knew his options were exceedingly few... especially with confidentiality on the line. Especially especially now.

He'd be interested in hearing Husker's old tale. He knew the guy, was aware of his ownership, and even drank at one of his casinos. But he'd like to hear how it REALLY went down.

The limo pulled to a stop, and Vox was quiet before the doors were pulled open. All he needed was but a few seconds to double, triple, quadruple check security systems and if everything else was in order. Then he climbed out, and shared a passive look to the doormen.

Alastor was invisible.

He clapped his hands. "Welp! Home sweet home! I'm sure we've all got matters to attend to, but you all know my line is open if you need me for anything."

He offered a hand to aid the shorter V, the (much, much) taller V, then A from the car.

"As for you..." Vox didn't let go once Alastor exited the vehicle, however.

He played a quick electro-swing ditty over his speakers as he gave the red demon a twirl, a dip, and used the motion to hook his free arm under Alastor's knees.

The media demon is off like a shot, carrying the radio demon princess-style up the steps and into the tower proper. He's laughing like a madman.

A spin! He could roll with that. A dip, of course, Alastor almost instinctively wrapped his arms around Vox's shoulders for it.

Getting scooped up, though - that got a surprised bleat from him, one that Valentino made some remark about but Alastor could only stare as he was hurried away in a whirlwind of motion.

Stunned, he clung on, brain racing to catch up-- the overcoat could only hide so much when he was positioned like this...!!

(Not that there was an issue - not a soul in Voxtek would even perceive him or question their boss' jovial attitude, letting it all pass right by. The benefits of hypnosis!)

TOOK YOU BY SURPRISE, DIDN'T HE, FUCKER?? HAH!

The music continued to play, a triumph, as he scurried along with the other man and their bundle in tow. He'd quickly connected to the tower's network to open the doors remotely, activate the elevator...

His own whirlwind stopped when he was forced to pause in the elevator, which he stepped into and spun on the end of a finely-polished shoe before he came to a stop.

Well.

Not entirely. He was toe-tapping, shuffling along in place, as the doors closed and they made their way up. No risk teleporting when one wasn't sure how his electricity would affect the baby! Still, this just meant he could hold him like this for longer.

Once the deer-in-headlights moment passed, Alastor started laughing, going almost completely wall-eyed. A little deranged, a little whimsical - he'd never been carried like this--

Had he? ...Nope! His drunken escorts home usually involved a piggyback at the worst.

But this was a bit fun. This was the funny little picturebox he always knew and cut a rug with.

"Hahah! Hmm... I'm going to be sick," Alastor teased, though he clung tighter to Vox. Don't you dare put him down.

"Don't you dare! I like this coat!" He laughed back. "Vel will skin me!"

Okay, no more spinning, but he wouldn't dare set him down. Once out of the elevator, to that--

"Oh. Shit. Whoops."

This was his floor, an aquarist's wet dream: Soft blue lighting emitted from massive tanks that contained equally massive shapes in the distance that glimmered with LED lines and glowing, intelligent red eyes. Flitting along were flashes of color to contrast the blue, small fish from earth and Envy going about their day amid clusters of coral that were thriving with anemones and so many many-legged little critters.

The walls were stuffed with movie cases, many titles hard to see from a distance, lined precisely like a bibliophile would fill a library with books. Along some shelves, he housed an old projector, a vintage set of cameras, and a number of awards from local organizations for cinematography, Movie of the Year, and Best Writer among others.

In glass cases along another wall were... televisions, from a mechanical set to a transistor set, and an awfully familiar CRT among others.

The whole setup looked more like a personal theater than a room someone lived in, but there appeared to be doorways to other areas throughout this floor. But to have the theater and aquariums front and center spoke volumes of his priorities when coming home after a long and shitty work day.

"Eh, fuck it- my bathroom's just fine. I'm running you a bath!" He moved for the bathroom, and his cables stretched from his back. He needed the extra limbs to get things going.

"♫♪ Don't think I didn't hear that little 'pop' in the car...! Now where in the hell did I put that itty-bitty salt jar...? ♪♫ " Ad-libbed with the music, he kept the jam going, one cable running the water into an almost obnoxiously large bath tub, more going through his toiletries. Epsom salt, epsom salt... did a wonder for aching muscles-- ah-HA! Here's the little bastard...

Vox's space was so very, very blue. And while Alastor enjoyed the warmth of oranges and reds in a bar, the energy of yellow and white lights for dancing? He also loved his little reprieve of the bayou, giving a break from the relentless red skies. He could see why Vox would change his whole space to be such a calming color.

The little improvised song had Alastor chuckling, watching with interest as the cables explored the bathroom. Plus, this bathroom didn't seem much better slip-wise - may as well let his mate handle everything for him.

"♫♪ Seasoning me for a treat? Soup or stew, do you think-- nothing but salt won't get you far! ♪♫"

He never expected to have hoofed company!! But he had no intention of letting go anyway. Not when he was being grabbed onto like that...

♫♪ Gotta go with soup and salt, but I think that you'll agree ♪♫
♫♪ With an addition of THIS venison, the result'll be spicy! ♪♫

♫♪ Let's balance with some calming herbs, some bits what settle guts, ♪♫
♫♪ Come settle in, I'll cut you loose, no if's, ands, or buts... ♪♫

The next jar was tucked far, far away in a cabinet, a secret little stash. When you knew a witch, you had second-hand knowledge when it came to herbs. He wagered Alastor wouldn't be TOO bratty about the fact that he had a jar of chamomile and lavender for baths. It- it worked for REALLY shitty days, okay???

But all the while he pulled up a bench and set Alastor down, but with his hands now free, he'd handle the buttons and free him from this... godawful pink.

With a bit of bemused chuckling, Alastor undid the buttons on his cuffs as Vox handled the coat and overcoat. Shedding the layers felt nice, if a bit vulnerable, but... well, he'd been rather vulnerable since getting pregnant. He just had to remember that this was the plan that he made, so not to fret...

"You really have a craving for decadence," Alastor teased, reaching behind himself to unhook the simple cloth band he had over his belly. After getting chewed out by Vox over the corsets, he had to find another way to help ease the weight of his swelling body.

"♫♪ A good simmer to make the tense muscles tender... ♪♫"

"Live the life you feel you deserve," he drawled with a chuckle. As much as he disliked this pink- it clashed a bit with Al's usual color schemes, was too washed out- he still hung up what he discarded with considerable care.

But he paused with the borrowed shirt, the way it hung on Alastor's much slighter form than his. Paired with the belly, freed from the band (that he tried so hard not to negotiate away from, because he supposed it was better than those awful corsets), it was...

Distracting.

Vox had to swallow down his heart when the radio demon offered the next line, but he sank to his knees before him. It was definitely to give him a better angle in removing those shoes, the pants. And no other purpose. Not check the hooves for anything awry...

♫♪ Loans a soft and tender bite... ♪♫

Perhaps it was because he was having too much fun after a frightening, tense time that drove him to proceed apace, despite the spat in the car. Maybe he was just a convenience (to a degree, the hopeful voice in his thoughts added), but he wasn't about to abandon his duties as the man who was half responsible for Alastor's condition.

With lavendar, epsom and chamomile in, the tap was closed. Not too hot of a bath, he'd learned, but enough for cozy.

He hesitated, perhaps to etch the image of his loaned shirt in his mind a little further, before he helped to ease it off.

The bath and the warmth seemed luxurious... and with how his back and pelvis was already aching from the weight, it called to him. Not to hot, but warm enough to melt the strain away...

But oh, what's this? Alastor smirked a little, charmed and impish as he watched Vox's gaze. He'd stolen away with the man's shirt because he craved a familiar scent - something to calm him as he went to see what Rosie had planned for him - but this was a pleasant little detail.

Vox liked to see Alastor wearing blue. Perhaps, wearing his clothes. Duly noted - another possible reward for a father-to-be doing well. And speaking of rewards... and how his picturebox clearly needed his fears assuaged... Alastor leaned in and pressed a chaste little kiss to the top of Vox's screen as though he were kissing the man's forehead.

♫♪ A feast I'll give to you tonight... ♪♫

It was something he'd noticed more, some little pops of blue he'd noticed hidden away in Alastor's ensembles. Vox surely wasn't helping in that regard, sending flowers when he noticed the prior arrangements had started to dry and get sad. Did it stick out like a sore thumb, a cool set of colors among the abundant warm? Certainly... but Vox himself wasn't without tucking just a little red amid his own mix.

His screen was warm, and there was a small buzz of static with the touch to the top of his screen. Brighter cyan pixels rose as he shifted again, taking up the deer to eliminate any need for hooves to tread on rather slippy floor not made for them.

He was lowered into the water without a word, and once finished, Vox hurried to a control panel at the longest wall that merely bore a painting yet seemed... a little plain in comparison to the rest of the decor for his little sanctum. When he touched a couple of buttons, it was clear why: This panel slid upward, tucking away into a compartment built into the ceiling.

Truly, more than ever, there were no mysteries in how such a short-tempered man somehow found the time to get so much work done. Because who could be incensed when you could bathe and soak away your worries when practically flanked by a wide, dark tank filled with the lazy bob and float of glimmering jellyfish...?

The warmth of the water and the depth of the tub was a relief... Alastor let himself slide under the water just briefly enough to wet his hair, habitually shaking his head to clear water out of his ears. Glancing up at the ceiling, he started laughing - of all the things he expected, that was just 'extra', as the kids say.

"Hah... hahahah! Oh, you are too much, Vox..." he laughed, jovial and giddy. The stress of the limo shoved behind him, the anxieties about Rosie shoved aside - right now he was just having a laugh at how lavish and indulgent Vox's space was for himself.

The laughing surprised him, but soon he was grinning like an idiot, arms open imploringly.

"What?? Swimming in a jellyfish pool was a dream of mine when I was alive! Live the life you feel you deserve!" His arms lowered, and he walked to turn a chair around and sit, leaning forward against the back.

"I mean, shit- I liked media to take up a little meteorology to get my foot in the door at my local news station, but..."

He shrugged, quieted. "...I think if I had the cash then that I have now, I would've been Dr. Vincent Whittman, Head Marine Biologist."

"Hah! Then you could've had a hoot feeding your victims to the sharks you so adore. And when you inevitably got too friendly with one and got eaten, you'd come down here as a sad pile of living chum," Alastor speculated, amused.

"FUCK, I hope not...! Probably look like one of those possessor demons at least!" But he laughed. Yeah, he probably would have gotten too chummy, and became chum himself.

"So, what, you got kicked to death by a deer or were obsessed with deer or something? I always did wonder where the whole..." He raised his hands to his head, wiggled two fingers like ears.

"Your 'Prince of the Forest turned Sleep Paralysis Demon' shtick came from."

"Ugh."

Immediately pouty! "Aside from the occasional hunt to make sure Maman and I were fed, no, I didn't have any unique fondness for them. I enjoyed the gators if anything, but it pales to how you adore sharks."

He paused to snap, summoning some hellhound shampoo - it was one of the only kinds he'd found that made his hair tameable and not a complete wiry textured nightmare. Glowering at the hellhound on the bottle, he rolled his eyes.

"Were I killed the way I expected, hunted down by law enforcement and their hounds, maybe there'd be a cruel irony in my appearance there."

Admitting it still felt sour - Alastor poured the soap into his palm and started scrubbing at his scalp.

So it was a surprise, clearly- but NOT by the police? He didn't find any articles about a radio host from New Orleans in the 30s, so he did always wonder how Al died.

"Oh trust me- my death sucked. I sure as shit know about cruel irony, and I'm glad I'm able to upgrade myself due to being part machine."

He pressed his hands to the small of his back and let his back pop.

"Can't imagine you with gator features, though." He paused. Snorted back a laugh.

"...Floating like a log in the bayou, waiting for your next victim..."

"Lurking... waiting..."

Alastor rotated in the bath, submerging himself to his nose and speaking with his teeth locked shut.

"Eager to snap my jaws in a decisive blow. To roll and tear away flesh."

He had to clutch himself, unable to stop the laugh. "Ala... Alagator...! Alagastor...?"

No, this was too much. He can't...!

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