What Alastor said absolutely made sense, but that wasn't where Vox's mind was. Though he was noticed, he took just a bit too long to recover before he snapped his gaze away and focused on his milkshake.
He focused really hard on his milkshake, enough that there was a small blip over a speaker, a notification of temperature abnormalities blinking to life upon his monitor alongside a small groan of pain.
Ohgod... ohgod, he hadn't given himself brain freeze in DECADES-
Ah, a classic! Alastor laughed at the flickering screen, a giggle like old times. Amused at Vox's pain of course, but charmed by the silly mundane moment.
There was a little flutter in his heart, imagining the laughter of a little boy or girl at their father's careless mistakes. Or whatever ones he pretended to have, the absolute ham of a man that Vincent was...
... He was looking forward to it.
"You're ridiculous, you chatterbox, you know that?" Alastor asked, no venom whatsoever in his voice.
Somewhere amid the discomfort that was slowly ebbing away as his mouth warmed back up, one of his antennae twitched as it picked up the faintest little something.
It wasn't until Alastor's ears were on the move that Vox's eyes shifted from a passive curiosity to confusion.
"Hear-" Wait. Another one. Not a peep of music or even a rogue transmission of someone trying to pass a message on the sly. It was just a little noise.
His eyes narrowed briefly, and they cast about. "...A pirate station?..."
Why is he being calm about this? What if someone picks up HIS signal here??
That's absolutely right-- just noise. Just a little noise that stopped.
"Well that won't do, come now," Alastor beckoned, chuckling in amusement as he ran his thumb over the curve. He broadcast a signal, himself - something subtle, something small. A greeting.
He got a little peep of the noise in return. Echoing, trying to mimic the signal it received.
Who was he... talking to...? Hello? There was a pirate broadcast situ--
Vox. They're broadcasting.
He froze.
Then he gripped his seat and rose partway to quickly shuffle until he could plant his seat at the other demon's side. Of course. Of course the pup could broadcast...! They were both able to send signals at will all the time!!
He wanted to send as many 'hellos' as he could...! How many were too many? Would he scare them into not trying? Oh, but they should!! There was such an advantage in being able to speak through signals, communicate so much when words weren't enough, and-!!
"Shit, I... I didn't think about them broadcasting before they'd even start kicking, but it- it makes sense..." He moved a hand to cover the one Alastor had placed against his middle. "I'll give it a try."
He hesitated, frowned in thought. "Actually, wait. Let's do the..."
The frown faded, but he lowered his head a bit. "...Y'know, the... thing we used to do sometimes: Signal syncing. Maybe they'll respond better to something with a little harmony."
"Hmmhmm! They may be kicking, just too small for me to feel clearly - or you at all. I never suspected something like this," he admitted, feeling pleasant little butterflies at Vox's hand on his.
Well, proooobably butterflies? He couldn't tell. Didn't dare assume and get his hopes up, even after seeing the babe wriggle on the ultrasound like a lively little thing.
"Oh?" Alastor's ears perked again at the suggestion. Harmonizing... right, they used to match their frequencies. Something that Alastor would find himself doing almost passively, making their wavelengths sync up as if they were breathing in tandem... even just at the suggestion, he found himself already reaching to do it. "Who knows! Perhaps they'll wonder why their parents cause such a racket, hahah!"
That caught him off-guard. He snorted. "Sorry about that, kiddo- we're professional jabberjaws!"
Ah, he could feel that signal. It was second nature to reach for it, 'touch' it, and slowly adjust the tone until his matched the other's. It was like that first piping hot drink of coffee after a long day, or the wood-scented warmth of a good bourbon, the feeling of something warm and comforting in the belly. It always centered him, and when he (constantly) struggled to express what he wanted to say in his first years as a rookie Sinner, took to using his signals to communicate often... especially when heavily intoxicated.
But 'warm' and 'comfort' were the focus, and as he reached out to seek the source of the little sound from earlier, it was like an outstretched hand; it was like a soft stroke atop the head.
Whether the little one understood what these signals meant, or how they harmonized... Alastor himself at least relaxed, feeling the thrum of it through his whole body. That soft comfort of a drone, inaudible but felt deep within - becoming the radio had been startling at first, but a deep comfort despite his punishment in Hell.
Few other technology demons were broadcasters in the same way. And none could harmonize with him the way Vox did, like finding the perfect singing note and holding it for a long time, anticipating the next note thereafter and keeping perfect pitch.
The little signal, though - it probably had no idea what was happening. It just tried copying, buzzing back, mimicry... little thing was only barely larger than a potato, after all.
"I've read somewhere that baby birds can chirp and sing from within the egg," he suggested, gently pulling his hand out from under Vox's to press it more directly against his curve.
Perhaps there was no idea now, but now that Vox knew that this was a possibility- the fool that he was, thinking two radio transmitting demons wouldn't somehow impart that on offspring- all he could think now was what else he could communicate as they grew.
"I was thinking about that whole thing where people put headphones on their stomachs to play music. We can do one way better," he noted quietly, almost like raising his voice may somehow make this all stop.
His color rose briefly as his hand was readjusted, and he sat closer to accommodate. Far be it from him to pull away from any moment when the guy allowed a touch.
"...Feeling okay?..." So far, the food hadn't seemed to be too much, but...
"...Hmm? Hmm," Alastor hummed a bit distantly - he'd been focused on the frequencies, listening and committing to memory the first attempts at communication. Memorable, isn't it?
Even if it happened in a rather stressful day. Even if they'd snapped at each other in the limo, and even if he'd spent far too long with Rosie, anxious about someone who needn't know his condition rounding the corner and finding out.
"Perhaps," he shrugged ambiguously, gaze drifting back down to where their hands meet.
This is our connection.
Not the Vees, not some power play - this was... nice, actually.
"Wondering what your mother would think of me. Highly disapproved, I assume, hahah!"
He had a lot he needed to unpack later, probably puzzling at his console and falling into more and more mental rabbit holes until he had the rare epiphany. They primarily liked to strike him when it came to the company, Hell's politics... but when it came to his own feelings? Emotions? They liked to slip from his grasp with far more vigor than he anticipated.
Or maybe he was emotionally constipated, as he'd been told in jest once.
But as he thought a moment- what would his dear old mother think?- his hand moved idly in soft strokes.
"Oh, you're not wrong there- she never approved of anybody I brought home, though." He chuckled.
"Then she'd turn around and kill me for getting somebody pregnant. She was always a weird woman."
That kept making his belly coil... not unpleasantly, but certainly strangely. It was gentle, but took ownership... tonight, he quite liked it.
"Hah! My mother would've insisted I made the woman honest - don't leave her swaying in the wind, she'd say. I always told her, perish the thought - I'd never leave a lady to handle motherhood on her own. But I also wouldn't have gotten in that kerfuffle in the first place - that part I never bothered saying."
Funny, that. Though his heart sank, trying to picture her face... he didn't remember it very clearly, anymore. Even the sound of her voice felt distant and foreign.
"She'd disown me in a heartbeat for the cruelty I've done, though. Probably take her grandchild off of our hands entirely - I would've let her," he admitted with a softness to his voice unusual for him, the radio distortion nearly gone. Admitting that made his chest feel a bit heavy, even if he'd made a joke of it. "In lieu of Maman, though - you and the little one will have to settle for me, I'm afraid."
His hand hadn't stopped, but the other arm looped around behind. "Al... who the Hell is settling? Because it sure as shit isn't me. We're a couple of cruel pieces of shit who've managed to continually take our shitty situations and make something out of it! We forge our own way and come out better for it! Bigger! Brighter! And now, just-"
He gave him a squeeze. "Look at you, doing something fucking incredible! Right? I'll fight your old lady if she shows up looking to take the baby! And if you think for a second I'm settling with this, or that I'm going to walk, you're out of your mind!"
He laughed. "What, are you saying you wanna be made honest or something...?"
"Hah! She's off in heaven - hopefully never even pondering what her boy did to end up down here," Alastor chuckled, ignoring the last question deliberately. But the way Vox praised him, spoke so highly of him... even if Alastor hated feeling vulnerable and at risk, there was an undeniable pride in creating life.
"In for a penny, though! I'm looking forward to teaching her how to hunt. She'll be quite a killer in no time, certainly!"
Alastor Whittman suuure had a ring to it, old pal...
"In for a pound! Feel that, Al? Only that big and already giving off signals! He'll rule the airwaves! Knock 'em dead by the end of a show, or have 'em eating out of the palm of his hand...!"
"He! Hahah! No no, we're certainly having a daughter. She'll run you - and hopefully I - around in circles!"
It wasn't really that Alastor cared whether their child was a son or daughter - they'd be his precious little monster either way - but he would be lying if he didn't feel an amused, motivated little spark trying to butt heads with Vox over it for no reason at all.
He scoffed, but he smirked. They'll just have to see, won't they...? But he felt the same. Why not make a quiet little wager, have a little fight about it? Whatever they may be- even if they change it later- that's still Vox's kid.
"They'll ask, 'Who set them up to this? Whose plan is in motion? The Media Demon's, or the Radio Demon's...?' But little do they know, our hands are helplessly tied... any scheme, any heart-theft is entirely outside of our awareness...! He's a terror of his own!! HAHAHAH!"
"And what an endless stream of miscreants and wannabe suitors we can delight in hunting! Ah, how fun it'll be to remind all of Hell that however charming she may look, Vox's daughter is not to be trifled with."
Once he wriggled his way out of belonging to Rosie, he could finally claim their child as his as well. But it's a technicality he doesn't dare risk until then.
"Hmm, perhaps a flaying - then hanging the skins from the power lines like flags. A warning~!"
Vox sat straighter, a current buzzing quickly between his diodes. Suitors. Fuck, that's right... if not for their looks, but there was the possibility of trying to get close to a being that had a close connection to two powerful overlords.
He's never met them, but he already wanted to splatter them.
"Y'know, I was thinking 'heads on pikes' for a gothic feel, but I'm gelling with the skin flag concept! Bra-vo."
"Who's to say we can't mix things up, hmm? You said your kills were always more improvised, might as well see what sort of fun little games we can make of it~"
The softness of having a baby together was one thing - but the fond pondering and planning of sadistic murder and gore felt all the more natural. Moderately decent food, their frequencies synced, tiny little blips of signal from their child, and fantasizing about hunting and killing together...
Even though Alastor knew he couldn't love the way Vox wanted, the way any man needed, the Radio Demon could possibly consider himself wooed.
Not that he'd give up the game so easily.
Tracing a claw along the underside of Vox's monitor, Alastor chuckled. "The perfect fantasy to settle for the evening. My bones are done with the weight they carry for the day - shall we turn in?"
He nodded. It would have been too suspicious to roll into a studio with a gun- too much noise, there- a knife or anything akin to rope. But to his benefit and violent joy, your average broadcasting studio was rife with occupational hazards.
Vox finally felt a relief tonight after what was a trying day. He hoped tomorrow would be something of a breather, allowing him to plan his upcoming first visit to the Hazbin Hotel. He'll crush the latter, of course, but he needed to take a little time to prep a few materials. A gift, perhaps...! Surely the princess would like one of the newer television models in the lobby. God knows that junker they had was years beyond its life span, but--
The snow glowed briefly against his screen with the touch, centering him from his thoughts. Left brighter for it, he at first nodded dumbly in response to the question.
Let's try again. He checked his internal clock. "Oh, shit- is it that late already...? Well. Time flies when you're having fun, huh?"
He pulled a hand away to knock upon the table. "Why don't I take care of all of this, and I'll join you after?"
"Aren't you a gentleman tonight? You really are trying to impress me," Alastor chuckled knowingly, standing from his seat and letting his claws gently slide along the bottom of Vox's frame as he left.
"It's cute. Don't mind if I fall asleep by the time you join me - your daughter has me far more tired than I've been in decades."
One last little flick of a diode, and Al practically sauntered off to the bedroom. He'd said he'd only want to cozy up tonight, but it was pretty funny to play the strings on him and see how far he could push before Vox either gave up on the promise or begged him.
God help him, he minutely leaned into the touch before he could stop himself, but in his remaining planted in his seat could only go so far. Vox kept himself almost professionally unreadable, but his gaze had locked in.
"Don't mind one bit. It's been... one hell of a day."
But it was the flick of the diode that was the true threat, his grip on the table tightening. Vox hated to see Alastor go, but was glad to watch him leave... because Valentino was absolutely right- No. Nooonononono.
He was messing with him. He was messing around and it was working, but he said he was tired so he needed to get his shit together.
He took a breath. Another. Then he stood to clear off the table and do as promised. It'd cool him down! Perfect.
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divinetree2025-10-07 08:11 pm
no subject
He focused really hard on his milkshake, enough that there was a small blip over a speaker, a notification of temperature abnormalities blinking to life upon his monitor alongside a small groan of pain.
Ohgod... ohgod, he hadn't given himself brain freeze in DECADES-
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There was a little flutter in his heart, imagining the laughter of a little boy or girl at their father's careless mistakes. Or whatever ones he pretended to have, the absolute ham of a man that Vincent was...
... He was looking forward to it.
"You're ridiculous, you chatterbox, you know that?" Alastor asked, no venom whatsoever in his voice.
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"Tickled pink that my suffering brings you joy," he sighed, hand to chest.
"Maybe I'll walk on a rake for good measure."
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Caught in his little giggle fit imagining his pal in a truly slapstick struggle, Alastor almost missed the slight, subtle signal on the airwaves.
But it happened again, making his ears twitch and stand alert - a strange, new, fuzzy broadcast. No words, no thoughts, just... buzz.
Realization struck him like a zap of electricity, and he cupped his hand around his middle - no kicks, but...?
"Do you hear that?"
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It wasn't until Alastor's ears were on the move that Vox's eyes shifted from a passive curiosity to confusion.
"Hear-" Wait. Another one. Not a peep of music or even a rogue transmission of someone trying to pass a message on the sly. It was just a little noise.
His eyes narrowed briefly, and they cast about. "...A pirate station?..."
Why is he being calm about this? What if someone picks up HIS signal here??
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"Well that won't do, come now," Alastor beckoned, chuckling in amusement as he ran his thumb over the curve. He broadcast a signal, himself - something subtle, something small. A greeting.
He got a little peep of the noise in return. Echoing, trying to mimic the signal it received.
"Vox. They're broadcasting - she's broadcasting."
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Vox. They're broadcasting.
He froze.
Then he gripped his seat and rose partway to quickly shuffle until he could plant his seat at the other demon's side. Of course. Of course the pup could broadcast...! They were both able to send signals at will all the time!!
He wanted to send as many 'hellos' as he could...! How many were too many? Would he scare them into not trying? Oh, but they should!! There was such an advantage in being able to speak through signals, communicate so much when words weren't enough, and-!!
"Shit, I... I didn't think about them broadcasting before they'd even start kicking, but it- it makes sense..." He moved a hand to cover the one Alastor had placed against his middle. "I'll give it a try."
He hesitated, frowned in thought. "Actually, wait. Let's do the..."
The frown faded, but he lowered his head a bit. "...Y'know, the... thing we used to do sometimes: Signal syncing. Maybe they'll respond better to something with a little harmony."
no subject
Well, proooobably butterflies? He couldn't tell. Didn't dare assume and get his hopes up, even after seeing the babe wriggle on the ultrasound like a lively little thing.
"Oh?" Alastor's ears perked again at the suggestion. Harmonizing... right, they used to match their frequencies. Something that Alastor would find himself doing almost passively, making their wavelengths sync up as if they were breathing in tandem... even just at the suggestion, he found himself already reaching to do it. "Who knows! Perhaps they'll wonder why their parents cause such a racket, hahah!"
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Ah, he could feel that signal. It was second nature to reach for it, 'touch' it, and slowly adjust the tone until his matched the other's. It was like that first piping hot drink of coffee after a long day, or the wood-scented warmth of a good bourbon, the feeling of something warm and comforting in the belly. It always centered him, and when he (constantly) struggled to express what he wanted to say in his first years as a rookie Sinner, took to using his signals to communicate often... especially when heavily intoxicated.
But 'warm' and 'comfort' were the focus, and as he reached out to seek the source of the little sound from earlier, it was like an outstretched hand; it was like a soft stroke atop the head.
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Few other technology demons were broadcasters in the same way. And none could harmonize with him the way Vox did, like finding the perfect singing note and holding it for a long time, anticipating the next note thereafter and keeping perfect pitch.
The little signal, though - it probably had no idea what was happening. It just tried copying, buzzing back, mimicry... little thing was only barely larger than a potato, after all.
"I've read somewhere that baby birds can chirp and sing from within the egg," he suggested, gently pulling his hand out from under Vox's to press it more directly against his curve.
no subject
"I was thinking about that whole thing where people put headphones on their stomachs to play music. We can do one way better," he noted quietly, almost like raising his voice may somehow make this all stop.
His color rose briefly as his hand was readjusted, and he sat closer to accommodate. Far be it from him to pull away from any moment when the guy allowed a touch.
"...Feeling okay?..." So far, the food hadn't seemed to be too much, but...
no subject
Even if it happened in a rather stressful day. Even if they'd snapped at each other in the limo, and even if he'd spent far too long with Rosie, anxious about someone who needn't know his condition rounding the corner and finding out.
"Perhaps," he shrugged ambiguously, gaze drifting back down to where their hands meet.
This is our connection.
Not the Vees, not some power play - this was... nice, actually.
"Wondering what your mother would think of me. Highly disapproved, I assume, hahah!"
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Or maybe he was emotionally constipated, as he'd been told in jest once.
But as he thought a moment- what would his dear old mother think?- his hand moved idly in soft strokes.
"Oh, you're not wrong there- she never approved of anybody I brought home, though." He chuckled.
"Then she'd turn around and kill me for getting somebody pregnant. She was always a weird woman."
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"Hah! My mother would've insisted I made the woman honest - don't leave her swaying in the wind, she'd say. I always told her, perish the thought - I'd never leave a lady to handle motherhood on her own. But I also wouldn't have gotten in that kerfuffle in the first place - that part I never bothered saying."
Funny, that. Though his heart sank, trying to picture her face... he didn't remember it very clearly, anymore. Even the sound of her voice felt distant and foreign.
"She'd disown me in a heartbeat for the cruelty I've done, though. Probably take her grandchild off of our hands entirely - I would've let her," he admitted with a softness to his voice unusual for him, the radio distortion nearly gone. Admitting that made his chest feel a bit heavy, even if he'd made a joke of it. "In lieu of Maman, though - you and the little one will have to settle for me, I'm afraid."
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He gave him a squeeze. "Look at you, doing something fucking incredible! Right? I'll fight your old lady if she shows up looking to take the baby! And if you think for a second I'm settling with this, or that I'm going to walk, you're out of your mind!"
He laughed. "What, are you saying you wanna be made honest or something...?"
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"In for a penny, though! I'm looking forward to teaching her how to hunt. She'll be quite a killer in no time, certainly!"
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"In for a pound! Feel that, Al? Only that big and already giving off signals! He'll rule the airwaves! Knock 'em dead by the end of a show, or have 'em eating out of the palm of his hand...!"
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It wasn't really that Alastor cared whether their child was a son or daughter - they'd be his precious little monster either way - but he would be lying if he didn't feel an amused, motivated little spark trying to butt heads with Vox over it for no reason at all.
"Her broadcasting will steal everyone's hearts!"
no subject
"They'll ask, 'Who set them up to this? Whose plan is in motion? The Media Demon's, or the Radio Demon's...?' But little do they know, our hands are helplessly tied... any scheme, any heart-theft is entirely outside of our awareness...! He's a terror of his own!! HAHAHAH!"
no subject
Once he wriggled his way out of belonging to Rosie, he could finally claim their child as his as well. But it's a technicality he doesn't dare risk until then.
"Hmm, perhaps a flaying - then hanging the skins from the power lines like flags. A warning~!"
no subject
He's never met them, but he already wanted to splatter them.
"Y'know, I was thinking 'heads on pikes' for a gothic feel, but I'm gelling with the skin flag concept! Bra-vo."
God, that was attractive.
no subject
The softness of having a baby together was one thing - but the fond pondering and planning of sadistic murder and gore felt all the more natural. Moderately decent food, their frequencies synced, tiny little blips of signal from their child, and fantasizing about hunting and killing together...
Even though Alastor knew he couldn't love the way Vox wanted, the way any man needed, the Radio Demon could possibly consider himself wooed.
Not that he'd give up the game so easily.
Tracing a claw along the underside of Vox's monitor, Alastor chuckled. "The perfect fantasy to settle for the evening. My bones are done with the weight they carry for the day - shall we turn in?"
no subject
Vox finally felt a relief tonight after what was a trying day. He hoped tomorrow would be something of a breather, allowing him to plan his upcoming first visit to the Hazbin Hotel. He'll crush the latter, of course, but he needed to take a little time to prep a few materials. A gift, perhaps...! Surely the princess would like one of the newer television models in the lobby. God knows that junker they had was years beyond its life span, but--
The snow glowed briefly against his screen with the touch, centering him from his thoughts. Left brighter for it, he at first nodded dumbly in response to the question.
Let's try again. He checked his internal clock. "Oh, shit- is it that late already...? Well. Time flies when you're having fun, huh?"
He pulled a hand away to knock upon the table. "Why don't I take care of all of this, and I'll join you after?"
no subject
"It's cute. Don't mind if I fall asleep by the time you join me - your daughter has me far more tired than I've been in decades."
One last little flick of a diode, and Al practically sauntered off to the bedroom. He'd said he'd only want to cozy up tonight, but it was pretty funny to play the strings on him and see how far he could push before Vox either gave up on the promise or begged him.
Heh. He's in for it.
no subject
"Don't mind one bit. It's been... one hell of a day."
But it was the flick of the diode that was the true threat, his grip on the table tightening. Vox hated to see Alastor go, but was glad to watch him leave... because Valentino was absolutely right- No. Nooonononono.
He was messing with him. He was messing around and it was working, but he said he was tired so he needed to get his shit together.
He took a breath. Another. Then he stood to clear off the table and do as promised. It'd cool him down! Perfect.
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