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

"There were no successful attempts," Alastor shrugged, the shadowy tendrils emerging from his back just to give the furniture around them a shove, making their dancing space a bit more open as he stepped in rhythm to the music. "The few that found out, Rosie aside... hah. Well, they're simply more voices on the broadcast!"

He hummed a bit as they settled into a pattern, discovering their pace and comfort in time with the song.

"Oh, men of all sorts have tried to have their shot at me. Phony charisma, shows of bravado, manipulations and traps, even trying to slip things into my drink! I caught each and every one of them. Men really are so vulgar."

"That's us, Al, nasty as Hell..." They circled, and the smile masked the small twitch at the corner of his mouth at the idea of roofies.

"But I can't help but feel disappointed! I didn't get the chance to do the mate thing and tie off some loose ends myself..." His voice had grown huskier with the thought and he drew the other man closer.

"...Though, I suppose if you just rattled off a few names of those who maybe tried to go sniff around before you chose me... I could always go and make sure."

Though Alastor turned his head away like Vox was being too much, a delighted little thrill shivered up his spine. Yes, he quite liked the idea of Vox getting that way over him.

"Anything to stake your claim, hmm? That's a little insecure, don't you think~?"

But Alastor loved that Vox was insecure. It made him easy and predictable, as simple to read and anticipate as the next step of a dance.

"You already left the most certain mark there is, Vox. It's growing in my belly at this very moment."

"Aww, don't be like that- it keeps the kid safe, too...!" Hook, line, sinker. He didn't like the idea of others- even ones that no longer lived- having tried. None of them were good enough. They should have known their fucking place.

But oh, the way he said that... it had a way of making his heart rush.

"A fact that makes my soul sing, make no mistake... but what of sport, Al? A message? What if I wanted to hunt? Bring you the heart of some hapless fuck who so much as entertained thoughts of getting you alone...?"

"Eager to provide, I see," Alastor chuckled. And nearly followed up with another comment-- why not give me your heart first, then-- and stopped himself before saying it.

Even he knew how easily that could be misconstrued.

"I've given you scavenger hunts and you've performed admirably, I'll admit. Should I crave a little blood, perhaps I'll recall a name or face - I hardly keep many to memory."

"Ouch. The poor bastards really didn't leave much of an impact, huh?" A gentle twirl.

"But y'knooow... I was thinking~" He chuckled darkly.

"I've got my power, and we've got our playground out there. We play our cards right, funnel in some mark and we can go hunting... together?"

Oh, how Alastor somewhat loathed the way his ears perked up with obvious interest. Hunting... he loathed having to hide himself away and read through his boredom for months. The seven year sabbatical was already MISERABLE... having to be even more extreme for safety was starting to grate.

It sounded lovely. Even with the idea of having to tolerate someone shadowing his movements, being a clumsy oaf, a worse hunter. Honestly, if Vox alerted the prey, then they could play longer.

With a low chuckle, Alastor stepped closer, chest-to-chest and his middle pressing against Vox's so that he could practically purr, "Que la chasse commence!"

That's the big question: How is Vox as a hunter...?

But as Alastor drew in close, Vox's back went rigid and he almost audibly gulped. His mouth dried as a spark danced between his diodes absolutely not shaped in a blink into a heart.

"...Then it's a plan! I'll see about scoping out some targets. Got a fresh new bunch of overlords sniffing around these last few weeks, too..."

But he took a breath to steady: "Also, how the fuck have you not weaponized the hell out of that? French is a seriously romantic language!"

"Weaponized it...? ...Ah, you mean used it for seduction," Alastor chuckled, watching the electricity dance over his dance partner.

Step, step, turn...

"Well, it is a tool in the toolbox. Much easier to get someone isolated... I always had to laugh that it was the most haughty, disrespectful and married white men that fell for it the fastest."

Step, step, turn...

"Are you saying you would have fallen for it, Vincent?"

Edited 2026-02-06 14:45 (UTC)

He laughed in reply, and offered a cheeky grin. "Well, I can be pretty disrespectful and haughty... can't really say much about the married part. Buuut..."

A dip.

"I won't lie- French has... let's say an allure. So I think I'd be enticed... a bit, anyway!" And lift, and a soft twirl.

"I considered studying in earnest, but I'm nowhere near anything smooth. Like... let's see..." His eyes unfocused briefly, trying to recall... ah-

"Je... m'aaappelle... Vincent...et je suiiiis... à toi...?"

What?

Alastor looked stunned, for a moment - the way his heart started stuttering in his chest, almost painfully.

Even he understood that as romantic. Did Vox know that? Was that intentional? Or did this utter buffoon make a fool of himself?

Or was he manipulating Alastor? He'd wanted Alastor to belong to him all these years, after all--

...Composure. Keep your composure.

"Hah... hahah..."

You won't play me for a fool. You can't say such a lie to me.

In a much thicker accent, the Creole that Alastor had grown up speaking before he learned to immitate that transatlantic accent, he gave a snicker. "W ap voye flè," he chuckled, spinning Vox around - it was different from the smooth French he'd also learned, different from what those fancy schools taught.

Because he was... let's be real, an idiot... the phrases he picked up were flirtatious out of the age-old adoration for the 'language of romance'. The words had slipped out, as clumsy as they were, and Vox was momentarily confused.

Did Alastor look strange for a moment, or was it just his imagination??

Then he spun. "Wh-- what? What'd you say back?? Hold on, I said I didn't know a whole LOT of it...!"

"That wasn't even the prim and proper French taught in schools! That's how Maman and I used to speak!"

Alastor laughed, enjoying the befuddled look on the man's face.

"Savor the mystery. No matter how much you study, sha', you won't understand a lick of what an honest soul from the bayou speaks!"

"Like the French they speak in Canada, right? Totally different tone." Damn. So, what, it wouldn't matter if he took it up? ...No...

...No, he had to try more. That niggling feeling in his gut wouldn't let up. He had to try.

"Guess I'll keep studying up, then- maybe confuse YOU with a phrase somed--" He paused, lifted his head. A ping had sounded in his system.

"Oh. That's dinner. I'll have Ethan send it up. This song's almost done anyway...!"

Alastor had received the ping, too - his ears let out that telltale subtle twitch hearing it on the air. "Hah! Good luck, pal," Alastor chuckled, giving his dance partner a coy little bow before snapping to shift out of the bathrobe and into his own ruby-red pajamas.

He looked rather silly, with the button-up riding up his belly bump just a bit - give it a month or so longer and he'd have to swap his pajamas out.

"I'll set the table - where do you eat?"

It was kind of silly. Vox couldn't stifle the snort fast enough. It was cute, though.

The amusement fell with the question, and his hand went to the back of his neck, a habit he hadn't exhibited in... decades.

"...Uhhh... table? Like a coffee table? I don't exactly invite people up here, so I don't have a dining... setup... thing."

"Hmmmmmm," Alastor hummed in obvious disapproval, unimpressed. He took a look around the room before changing his mind entirely. "Then you'll dine in my space. You won't eat on the sofa or a bed like a slob, this isn't a picnic in the grass."

Don't you hmm at him, these were PRIVATE chambers! Not for guests...!

"...Who the fuck eats on the bed? That's how you get ants."

"Oh, you'll get painfully aware of Sinners' disgusting habits once you take up work at the Hotel."

UGH.

"I... wanna ask for details, but maybe that can come after food? While I've got an appetite?"

He offered a hand. Sorry the floor wasn't very, uh, hoof compliant.

It was fine enough for a dance! But Alastor took the hand anyway, giving it a playful tug.

"Bring it to my room once you give your other pals their share~"

"Er, right. Yeah." Subjected to the tug, there was something... indescribable flitting around in his stomach. Something cozy.

"...I'll be there." So he followed through on the cozy feeling, and after hooking a finger against Alastor's collar and giving a little tug, he planted an unexpectedly chaste and tingly little kiss to the cheek before he moved at a rush to intercept Ethan. He dissolved, shifted into electricity and used a handy outlet to make his jump.

Wh--

Alastor stood, stunned.

Gentle.

Why did he keep... doing that...

...

...Wait a moment. Are you trying to outdo him, old pal? Everything is a competition with you! Hah.

Alastor chuckled and shook his head, melting into shadow to disappear and reemerge in his space. He'll set the table like a gentleman.

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