[Everything's all set for tomorrow. Charlie Morningstar's accepted Vox's invitation to the party, the Overlords have agreed to show up too (well, the relevant ones, anyway) and all the drones have been prepped to capture his big moment from every single possible angle. First all of Hell will be looking up at him for guidance, then Heaven will follow their lead shortly after. Everything Vox has been working for, both in life and after, will finally come to fruition. The only thing to nag at him is that Velvette and Val both seem pretty annoyed with him, but that's a minor hitch, easily fixed by giving them a seat on the newly constructed Heavenly council. (Well, he'll have to give it a new name, obviously. The Vox council, maybe.) All the pieces are in place and there's nothing left to do but wait.
Trouble is, he can't just take it easy and wait. He's too excited. Too full of that pulsating, white hot feeling of triumph. He wants to rub it in a certain someone's face, too.
The setup for his plan is easily taken care of. He doesn't need to spend more than fifteen minutes on it. Once it's done, he returns to the office Alastor was left alone in. Alone only in the physical sense, anyway, since the cameras are always watching, which means Vox was watching. The radio demon hadn't moved. He can't. The deal was for him to be a captive, so a captive he will be.
The door to the office opens with a bang. Vox hadn't kicked it open, but he sure had rushed up to it and shoved. The smirk on his face is so wide, it's even more unnatural than it usually is.]
Honey, I'm home!~
[Alastor's facing the window right now as opposed to the door. Not a problem. Just as he has been doing ever since the deal was made, Vox sends his cables out to grab the chair Alastor's tied to, pulling it towards him with a harsh jerking motion. If he hadn't been actively holding the chair upright, it likely would've topped backwards from the sudden exertion of unbalanced force. It comes to a stop just as harshly too- so close that Vox can lean forward to place a hand on the back of the chair, near Alastor's shoulder.]
Had a spectacular time prepping for tomorrow's party. Even the old school hack Overlords like you will be blown away. It's gonna rule! [Vox's fingers slide sideways, up Alastor's neck, then come to rest on his chin to grab hold of it.] And how was yooour evening?
[Rhetorical question, since Alastor's still got the muzzle on him. That just makes it even funnier to ask.]
[ His evening was, in fact, going quite well until this exact moment.
Alastor's ears stand straight up before tilting toward the source of the sound, then laying flat back as he registers who the source - loudly announcing itself like a husband coming home to his life. He's half-prepared for what comes next, crossing one leg over the other and tilting his foot back before lifting his heel a few inches off the ground just in time to hear the whipping of cables. He's propelled forward soon after, wires digging into his torso before he slams back as the chair comes to a halt. It would be agonizing for the average sinner, but nothing that someone of their class can't handle, and so all that escapes is a short gasp.
He's astoundingly disciplined. Alastor reacts only when he pleases, plays along only when the theatrics suit him, and stays silent more than he speaks even when prompted. That holds true even after days of enduring this nonsense - left to his own devices there is little more than a bit of idle rolling back and forth as he tries to work through some problem in his mind, but nothing more, and with Vox here now he doesn't so much as twitch despite the blatant provocation.
He has no control in this situation, but if anything, that's caused him to tighten his grip on himself further. That's one thing that no amount of shackles can take from him. And he knows that no reaction is worse than any other he could offer.
But he uncrosses his legs and opts to plant his feet flat on the floor in response to the close proximity, and his gaze finally flicks up when Vox grabs hold of his face, a wordless demand to know just what could possibly be so important that he needed to interrupt what Alastor was doing (which was mostly a whole lot of nothing.) He knows what the other has done and what he has planned, but none of that seems to count as important in his book. ]
Edited (fixing a bit more for clarity, sorry! that's what i get for multitasking) 2025-12-02 23:16 (UTC)
[Vox fucking loves it when Alastor's ears lie down flat like that. It's a good look on him. It means Vox is getting to him- stirring emotion, one way or the other. No amount of nonchalant dismissal, stubborn silence or toothy smiling can hide what those ears convey. Even when it's only for a split second, Vox takes note.
He holds Alastor's gaze for a long moment, relishing the silence, the close proximity, the fact that he's in control. It's perfect. Once he's content, his hand gives Alastor's cheek a pat before he withdraws, standing up straight again.]
Thought so! But don't worry, I'm about to brighten up your night. [He absentmindedly tugs at his bow tie to straighten it with both hands, turning away from Alastor to start pacing. Though, even as he walks, the chair follows in his wake.] See, I figured with my victory so close at hand, we should celebrate! You know, just the two of us, living it up. No interruptions.
[Considering the current situation, one might think Vox has something sinister planned. And maybe at some point, it will turn sinister, since he's nothing if not a master of escalating otherwise harmless situations. For now, though? It's only petty. Just another overdramatized show of what Alastor has been missing out on, what sort of partnership they could've had, but tainted specifically to get under the man's skin.
He starts walking towards the door, dragging the chair along behind him with the use of the cables and nothing else. He makes sure Alastor is being pulled backwards, too, just to be extra obnoxious. Their heads are quite flexible on their shoulders, so the man could still look ahead if he wants to- Vox knows that. Doesn't matter. It's all a big show anyway.]
I set up a special movie night in the theater for us. There's popcorn and drinks and everything. I expect you'll hate it. [Because yes, these are very modern movies. The latest releases in Heaven, with all the 2020s pop-culture schlock one could ask for.]
[ His efforts to lift his earns back up prove to be useless. They remain stubbornly pinned back as Vox hovers above him, close enough that Alastor can feel his breath on his face, with the radio demon only able to glare back in return. It's only once the other has taken his hand off him (the cheek pat accompanied by the faint crackling of static,) that he can move them back into an upright position.
He's always hated that part of this body, far more difficult to train into obedience than the rest and far more expressive.
His eyes trail after Vox as he goes about his explanation, and he's spared whatever snappy comeback Alastor may have offered. That is, perhaps, the one part that truly grates on him - Alastor is is voice. It's what he built himself up on, it's what makes him more fitting than most for a place where their queen empowered people with her voice. He's ever the opposite of someone like Vox, who wants others to see him, to worship him.
It's the one thing that causes anxiety to curl up in the depths of his stomach - just once or twice, just a tiny shred, when Vox starts to prattle on. It's the anxiety that accompanies that thought of him succeeding. Not out of fear that he'd be hurt or killed, oh no - quite the opposite, in fact, because Alastor doesn't believe that his fellow overlord ever would. No, he hates Alastor too much for that, he's spent too much time on him for that - he'd be more liable to make him into a favorite toy, something that he could play with endlessly and never get bored... And that, he has no plan for.
Fortunately, that's only a passing thought. He knows Vox. He knows what a pitiful creature he is. He knows how to poke and prod and push him in just the right way to ensure that he remains on track without letting him wander off too far. However much he believes himself to be in control, Vox is ever someone who he can get to dance in the palm of his hand.
But he's spared the snappy remark about his companions. They must to be delighted to have been denied so much - by now, Alastor is more of a part of the team than they are despite being Vox's prisoner.
His heels skid against the floor for a bit, producing a scraping sound until he finally gives up on maintaining his current position. He crosses his legs once more, at first resting his foot on one leg of the chair. This proves to be less than ideal as they move, and so he slips the tip of his shoe under it instead and lets it press against his heel. It's hardly ideal, but workable.
Once that's finished, he allows himself to look over his shoulder once to see the current trajectory, but otherwise keeps his attention forward. It doesn't really matter.
Of course he'll hate it. He hasn't been to a theater in decades for a reason. It's the sort of stupid idea that only someone like Vox could come up with. ]
[The chair's wheels rattle as they walk, the noise echoing off the walls of long, abandoned hallways. There aren't too many other Sinners around on this level of the tower, certainly not now that Vox has put the company's manpower to use elsewhere, prepping the party. Those losers are probably folding napkins or cooking appetizers or some shit. It's nice and calm, but also eerie in that way that Hell perpetually is. If it were any other night, Vox might feel unsettled by it. Lonely, but only because he'd be missing the attention. He would've gone to seek out one of the other Vees. Now, he doesn't need either of them; they're barely an afterthought. He has someone he can force to pay attention, and it's his attention that Vox has desired the most for all these years.
The walk to the movie theater isn't too far, thankfully. It's one floor below the penthouse section, near the bowels of the aquarium. The brief elevator ride down is filled with shitty muzak, and not once during the entire trip does Vox's smile waver. He's feeling like he's on top of the world, and it shows. He stands with his head held high and his shoulders squared, cables wrapped tightly around Alastor's abdomen- not for fear of escape, but just because he can.
They arrive to the theater to find it dark, with only a few simple blue lights on to illuminate paths. There are only three rows of seats, because why bother installing more? It gives off the facade of a cinema, but it's something for private use only. At most, Vox would invite the other two Vees here from time to time. It's a great place for them to heckle Earth and Heaven releases. Or just appreciate Valentino's latest releases on the big screen.
Vox heads straight to the front row, moving down some steps along the way. Another great ride for Alastor and his chair! It's not until they reach the lowest portion that Vox does what he probably should've done earlier, but outright refused just to be petty: he undoes the initial set of cables restraining Alastor. Still no freedom- never freedom, what with the wires still snared around the man's wrists, chest and throat- but at the very least he's out of the chair, held suspended in midair for a few seconds before he's pulled down into the cushy plush of a cinema seat.]
There we go! Perfect!
[He spends a few more seconds grinning down at the sight of Alastor, then turns around to drop himself in the seat by his side. There's a little food cart within reach, kitted out with everything they could need, from sweet and savory snacks to soda to alcohol. He reaches for a big tub of popcorn to set down in Alastor's lap, making sure the cables leave just enough leeway for the man's hand to actually reach for the snack.]
Here you gooo, that's for you- Ooh, silly me, almost forgot. [And with that, he finally takes hold of the muzzle on Alastor's face. He makes sure his fingers linger a little longer than necessary against cheekbone before pulling it off.]
[ It's a comical sight. If an outsider were to see them, they might mistake it for a comedy skit wherein Alastor was intended to be the straightman. There's a tension in his shoulders that causes him to start to hunch forward before he corrects his posture, because Alastor does still have his pride. It's that same pride that keeps him trapped like this - if he had the stomach to, he could squeeze a concession or two out of Vox (a privilege reserved for him,) but the very thought of all the needling that would come both before and after are enough to make him sick, to say nothing of how very proud and self-righteous the man would act. And most importantly at all, it'd probably make Vox happy to get that kind of attention, and Alastor will not reward bad behavior.
Besides, it's already too late to think on things like that. They're already at the end. That's what he tells himself as the chair jerks at odd angles as its pulled along, he bumps up as the wheels hit something along the way before it turns into bouncing as the chairs wheels hit stairs and he finds himself at odd angles. In a softer, kinder world, he would have either rolled out of the chair or had it just topple down there. But the world is a cruel and wicked place, and the most he gets is a sore jaw from clamping his teeth down and a momentary dizziness.
He's not just going to kill Vox. He's going to do whatever the equivalent of breaking every single tiny little bone in his body one by one is, and whatever the equivalent of taking his head and dunking it underwater, pulling it up just long enough to breathe, and then shoving it back down is. That's what he'd really like to do, but waterboarding a TV isn't practical.
Now, granted, he's said similar things in the past, but this time he means it.
But for now he's lifted out of his chair as though he were a toy in a crane game, then unceremoniously plopped into a theater chair. His gaze remains impassive, remaining forward until he finally looks down at the bucket dropped in his lap, then finally turning his attention to Vox. The way he drags out taking the muzzle off is not appreciated (and considering he's the one who put the damn thing on him, it being taken off isn't something he'll be showing gratitude for anytime soon either,) and he maintains his gaze for a few seconds more to make sure there's no gotchya coming. And in that time he looks like he has something to say, but nothing comes out - not because of any restraint or a lack of things to say, but because there's far too much that he does.
There is so much he wants to say here in this moment, but he just mumbles something under his breath. It's only now that he actually bothers to properly take in his surroundings, scanning the room, looking over one shoulder and then the other, then twisting his torso just a tad and head tilting back so he can look up the back wall to where a projector might be hidden (and it's a small miracle that he still remembers how everything should be set up.) The lack of seating non-withstanding, it's only so different from what he remembers - just enough that he doesn't like it. Just like Vox's stupid flat TV head. The old one was better.
To say that he'd liked going to theaters before would be a lie, but he remembers doing so for the sake of present company before. He can remember a name or two, explanations for how this and that works, and at the time he had a smidge of curiosity - that sort of interest that can be attributed more to a person's passion than the actual subject matter. Now he just wishes the entire tower would collapse and end his misery rather than have to endure it. ]
... I hate it.
[ He says flatly, as though going through the motions of confirming Vox's earlier assessment in, just in order to keep whatever script they have on track. ]
[Vox waits patiently for any kind of vocal reaction, the muzzle still held in his right hand. He can always put it back if Alastor doesn't play nice. What eventually does come out into the open is enough for him. In fact, it's much better than what he expected. He chuckles quietly and puts the muzzle aside.]
See, I thought you would. But hey, who knows? Maybe you'll finally find a movie you like! I'm in a good mood, so what the hell. I'll even let you pick!
[And if that sounds like a good thing... It's not. Vox set the theater up to Heaven's equivalent of a streaming service, so the entire catalogue available to them is questionable. On rare occasion, there's something to admire in those movies, but it's never the script, which will always come across as being written for toddlers. No, it's the actual filming techniques, which are wasted on these shitty screenplays. The first thing Vox will do when he gets to Heaven is whip their movie industry into shape. ...No, well, it'll probably be the third or fourth thing on his list.]
But first... The drink selection. What do you think? Straight into mindnumbing booze, or...?
[He takes hold of the food cart, moving it a little closer so Alastor can have a better look. There's a whole assortment of bottles on the lower shelf, along with glasses and even a bucket of ice cubes. Alastor may recognize some of them as the drinks he favored seventy years ago. Never let it be said Vox doesn't provide for his guests, and never let it be said he doesn't keep obsessive track of Alastor's preferences.]
[ He does recognize some of the labels. His tastes haven't changed much over the last seventy years. He still likes the same whiskeys and ryes that he did in life. It's not the sort of detail that anyone would know about him, though, save for Husk. ]
All the spinning and bouncing gave me motion sickness.
[ Alastor lifts one hand, tugging at the cord attached to it experimentally, then moves his hand to one side. It's a gentle tug, a steady movement that's not meant to do anything more than test the length of it. He watches the movement to be certain, and once satisfied lets his hand drop back down. He adjusting his position in the chair next, shifting until he finds one that proves to be tolerable.
He's trying to decide how much to accept and how much to push back on here, because he hadn't quite expected this. He'd certainly predicted him making as big of a nuisance of himself as possible, but more in line with his ego and ambitions.
After all, who ever heard of a prisoner being offered hospitality? And after mocking him, spinning him about like a top, and loudly announcing that this entire thing is expected to make him miserable? And he didn't miss the subtle threat either. What a ridiculous man.
If he accepts anything, it'll be his own fault when it turns out it's a gotchya moment, or there was gelsemium in it (not even close to fatal, but just about the right level to cause him some discomfort while it digests,) or it gets dumped on him, or whatever petty nonsense Vox comes up with. ]
Edited (hit send on that last edit too soon) 2025-12-03 22:09 (UTC)
[It's said with a hasty, nonchalant tone of voice, matched further with a shrug of the shoulders. Vox is committed to the bit, and forcing anything down Alastor's throat would just ruin the twisted date vibes he's trying to cultivate here. The proverbial smoothie has two straws for a reason this time- that's the only point he was trying to make, and now he's made it.
He's more than happy to help himself in the meantime, dropping some ice cubes into a glass and then topping it off with a healthy pour of gin. He'd cocktail it up, but that's a little too much of a hassle. Once his drink is ready, he sets it down in his cup holder and lounges backwards in his seat, legs stretched out all the way. (Oooh, look how comfy he is, Alastor, ooooh-)]
Now. Since tonight's theme is my takeover of Heaven, [Emphasis on "my", since he's already ass deep in the bog of dismissing his partners,] I thought we'd lean into that. Do a little research, you know? Prep for what we're about to walk into, assess the resources at hand. So I present to yooouuu... [Giddy silence for effect.] Heaven's entertainment industry.
[With a wave of the hand, a blue touch screen pops up in front of Alastor, floating in the air like a tangible hologram. What it's displaying is rather similar to a screaming service's layout- not that Alastor would recognize that- with several movie posters all lined up. There's a summaries of only a few sentences included with each option, and a whole lot of swiping to be done for even more selections and categories.
Highlight titles include Merry Little Christmas, Miracle on 36th Street, Santa Goes to High School, Santa Goes to College, FREE RENT, Singing in the Snow, Soulmates Actually and Purity Woman. Somehow, 80% of these movies involve Christmas and at least half of them are musicals.
[ Though he should be in a pleasant mood right about now, Alastor does find himself unusually cross. It's the problem with being left alone for any stretch of time - he doesn't like being left alone with his thoughts any more than anyone else does - though if asked he would happily state that it was much better than this.
The new annoyance that comes with being subjected to Vox's theatrics does help, at least. He blows out a sigh before crossing his legs, watching him without much interest as he proceeds with his introduction, because of course it would be something like that.
There's enough people who utilize more modern applications that he's learned as much as he absolutely needs to, plus a bit more through osmosis, and at least enough that he's been able to more or less follow along with Vox until now. The display proves to be a bit overwhelming for a person who only knows books and records. ]
Is this really how you should be spending your time? You...
[ He starts to speak, more to fill the silence as he tries to parse what's in front of him than anything. He trails off halfway though, his smile stretching a bit before he cants his his head to one side. His ears tilt down along with it, subtly curving to the same side and giving them a somewhat floppy look before straightening as he lifts his head. ]
It's September.
[ He says in the most matter of fact manner, one that's stating the obvious as much as it is reassuring himself that it's a fact, because for a split second he does wonder if he missed something.
Though Heaven is quirky enough for his confusion to be valid, this is probably a complaint he'd have anyway because media is supposed to be season. Winter in winter, with different ones before and after the holidays, spring and summer during the warmer months, all when it starts to cool down, and all with the appropriate attention to the themes and holidays associated with them. Not that there aren't exceptions tossed in there, it would just be boring otherwise and the entire point of physical media is to pick and choose, but Christmas has no place in September, just like Easter has no place being in October. ]
[Now that? That was exactly the sort of reaction Vox was hoping for. The stunned silence halfway into a sentence, the tilt of the head, the very specific movements of the ears... All those hallmarks of a confused animal. It's something that Vox has rarely seen on Alastor, if ever. Like a luxury item, a rare treat. It's perfect. He makes sure to commit it to memory.
And then he laughs, because the dryness of the statement was just too funny. It's a roaring sound, lasting a good five seconds- right by Alastor's ear, of course- before he quiets himself again.]
Hate to break it to ya, but this is a year-round deal. Heaven really fuckin' loves Christmas for some reason. And not even 'cause of the birth of Jesus, oh no. Specifically the whole 'Santa and reindeer and Christmas trees' part. Insane, right? But there's some other stuff. Here.
[Vox leans in closer, his shoulder bumping against Alastor's on purpose, so he can swipe downward to a different section. It takes three quick slides of the finger, landing them on the Sports movies category. There's some real Air Bud bullshit going on there, with ducks playing hockey, a group of young orphans going to the world soccer championships and even a poster of some girl holding what appears to be a magical, sentient tennis ball.]
[ He's used to all the noise that comes with living in Hell, well enough to block it out, but Alastor's hearing is sensitive enough for it to be unpleasant all the same. It takes everything he has to stay still, and even more as he feels Vox's shoulder press against his own. The only real sign of his displeasure is the slight tension in his shoulders, and the faint sound of static that fills the air for several seconds.
He does watch the movements, though. Alastor is stubborn, rejecting and avoiding technology where he can, but that's not quite the same as refusing to understand it. In fact, understanding it is precisely what makes him dislike it so much, as is the case here. He enjoys Christmas more than most, and holiday specials are the one thing he'll willingly watch, but there's a time and a place.
Heaven sounds more insufferable with each fact that he learns. ]
Painfully mediocre, much like everything your company produces.
[ Easy come, easy go, and he does seem to find it less scandalous. ]
[The insult makes no real impact whatsoever. He's confident that Alastor only got that jab in because there was an easy opening, which means he can pretend it was insincere. Hollow. Instead, Vox tries to assess the opinion given on the material in front of them. Mediocre is not what he's going for with this faux date, so if that bit was sincere... Well.]
Won't be watching that, then. [There's a cheerful little sing song to his tone of voice, and his finger starts swiping again.
Family-friendly Christmas Films, Feel-good Christmas Films, ASMR documentaries, Classic Feel-good TV shows- The amount of schlock to move through is infinite, full of colorful posters that become somewhat tainted and muted by the blue hue of the touch screen. Ultimately, he lands on Movies With An Extra Happy Ending and pauses there. He remembers how angry Valentino got when he found out it's not that kind of happy ending. He won't repeat that out loud, because dragging Val into this conversation feels like a bad idea, but boy is he thinking about it and grinning like an idiot.]
Hah, how telling is it that they had to emphasize extra happy to differentiate it from every other movie? I'll tell you now, there's not a single one in here that doesn't end well for everyone involved. What a bunch of sheltered losers, am I right?
[ The fact of the matter is, Alastor has no desire to see Vox. He has even less of a desire to talk to him. In fact, if the radio demon had any say in the matter, they would exist without needing to acknowledge each other's presence at all.
But that's not how it works. They occupy the same space in Hell. They're two of the most influential overlords in Hell, with Vox only having a temporary hiatus. They represent the two most significant forms of media. But most importantly, they share the airwaves. However much they want to, there's no ignoring that presence, and so long as they can't forget each other, and they can't ignore each other, they'll eventually be drawn to each other once more.
He has to share a space with Vox. He has to see him. He has to speak with him.
So, he'd called him over once more. He's not sure if Vox feels the same, but he didn't have any choice but to respond. If he didn't come, then Alastor would simply find him, and that would be far worse.
He'd brought him into the jotel, into his room. He didn't particularly want it to be at the hotel, but the room itself was his equivalent of the Vee tower - a space that was created and controlled by him - because it was only fair. It's nicer than the outside scenery - a forest, but one that's not quite right. It looks befitting of a horror movie. It's dark, eerie, and completely silent save for their footsteps - and impossibly big. Far bigger than what could possibly fit in a single room.
He's silent for awhile, but eventually says, ]
I'm sure that you're wondering why it is that I called you out here.
[ He says it lightly, but there's something just a bit off about it. It's perfectly calm, even thoughtful, without even a hint of his usual flair. ]
Well, I've been thinking for awhile now, and there are things that we need to speak about. And I need you to be quiet and listen for awhile. Do you understand?
[After the Might of Lilith debacle, part of Vox thinks he could've been very content to avoid Alastor. Avoid the other Vees while he was at it. Maybe take a seven year hiatus of his own; just disappear for a while to rest and recalibrate. Lilith herself had the right idea to fuck off. Unfortunately, that's just not how Vox operates. He doubts it ever will be. Allowing himself to be swept under the rug goes against every fiber of his being. It'd mean that Alastor won, and by definition, that Vox lost.
No. He can't accept that fate. If he does, it will all be over. He has to keep getting up after he falls.
When Alastor extended the invitation, he couldn't turn it down. He faces the challenge head on, as he always does, against better judgment. Any uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach is ignored, because things like humiliation and shame are just more weaknesses. He had a good plan going, he got a little carried away and lost track of his goal... That's all it was. A minor setback. So he faces the radio demon with his head held high, no matter how heavy it feels on his restored body.
He's never been inside Alastor's room before. It's uncanny and eerie, and somehow perfectly fitting. This guy would live in a dark, humid swamp of his own free will.]
... Yeah, sure.
[There's no snide comeback, no sarcasm, nothing like that. He's far too tired to beat around the bush or even push back against it. He'll tolerate whatever this conversation is meant to be, because he'll be damned if he runs away from it, but he won't make it last any longer than it has to. Maybe that's the only way humiliation can manifest for him in any way; it makes him less willing to cause conflict on purpose. Leave the boat unrocked, even if he's still circling it like a predatory animal.]
[ His staff taps along the ground as they go. The depth is more for aesthetics than practicality, as he controls the space, so he doesn't mind taking a tour like this. There's no need for Vox to worry about it either, because so long as he understands his position, this conversation can go smoothly. Despite his reputation, the radio demon tends to avoid unnecessary violence.
He passes by trees and flora of various colors. They're ones that he remembers from life, though the shape and colors don't quite match any found on Earth. The memory of what they looked like began to go soft around the edges some odd years in, and at some point he found that he could no longer reconstruct them quite right. ]
We've been doing this for over seventy years now. There's many things that have changed, [ And here, he makes a point of reaching over to flick that bent antenna, ] But all we do is go back and forth. It's the same thing every time. Every time, you would find some way to spin your sound defeat to make it sound as though it were a victory.
[ He's smarting small. It's a pleasant note to begin on, even. It is a little more complicated than that, too - there is a reason that his attention has remained on Vox for so long, and the man was nothing if not clever when his emotions weren't getting the best of him, but that's not really the point he's making now. ]
[The swamp is not to Vox's liking one bit. It feels gross. Regardless of whether it's real or just a reconstruction, it's like the smells and soggy ground carry a genuine taint that will stick with him long after he leaves this room. Even so, he trails after Alastor as the man goes, not quite behind him but not fully by his side either. A comfortable distance where he's just outside touching range.
His mouth opens for a response, only for him to remember that he was meant to stay quiet and listen. All those potential words that were formulating are swallowed back down, and instead, he hums under his breath to indicate that he's listening. He doesn't have a clue where it's going, but he's listening. If there's some sort of truce that's about to be suggested, he won't accept it. He could never trust it, after all. ]
[ It's quite gross! Alastor doesn't notice it in the least though, because he's come here many times. He kicks aside a stray branch.
So far, so good, so he continues on, ]
I was fine with being your little prisoner too. You did me a favor in the end, so I was willing to forgive you for all those transgressions... But then you went and ruined it.
[ He kicks another branch out of the way. Those words drip with venom, but the staff has already been brought up and clasped behind his back. His grip is too tight, and he only remembers to loosen it when a drop of blood emerges from how hard his claws were sinking into the skin.
Vox had ruined what they had, a fine little system that allowed for a full seventy years of love and hate, respect and disdain, something that no one but them could understand, just like he had the more affectionate one of seventy years ago.
It could have lasted an eternity if not for that one little incident. ]
[That first bit is absolute bullshit to Vox. Transgressions? Please. Alastor walked into his hands quite willingly. In fact, Alastor was the one who'd suggested the deal in the first place. He would've known exactly what sort of 'transgressions' could happen and had agreed anyway, so forgiveness shouldn't have been needed. That nasty tone of voice is real unwarranted too. As far as Vox is convinced, nothing he did was out of line. If it had been, Alastor would've stopped his playful taunts and put his foot down in a more meaningful way.
He still doesn't protest. Just allows the pointless scolding to wash over him. Then comes the last bit, and that one does hit a certain mark. Regardless of whether he's allowed to speak yet, he does it anyway, because he has a correction to make.]
I tried to blow you up.
[The Pentagram just happened to be all around Alastor. The city, the people, Vox himself... They were in the near vicinity, but never his true target. Who gives a shit about any of them? If someone had handed him an angelic dagger at that point to stab Alastor with as an alternative, he probably would've taken it. And maybe he would've stabbed himself with it after, because once the radio demon was gone, what would've been the point of still being there? He would've had the ultimate victory and there's no more going up from there.
That in itself shouldn't have come as a surprise. They've been 'playing around' for seventy years, but only because Alastor was always strong enough to take anything Vox would throw at him. It didn't change that the bloodlust was always there.]
[ It was in line with his expectations, or at least what he could accept, and so it's really only a means of saving face. In the end, no harm had been done, so that was that. He had rolled over everything had happened, but there as nothing worth pursuing. He was even being so polite as to let Vox save face by the pair of them pretending it wasn't about him.
He wasn't ready to except any sort of commentary, but Alastor does have that tendency to grin and bear it. He might have managed, but of course Vox has to go and ruin that too. It's only with the greatest amount of effort that he manages to keep from digging his nails in any further. His fingers just twitch slightly instead, safely out of the sight of prying eyes.
Still, Alastor is a polite man. He's disciplined to an extent that no one could possibly imagine, given his status in Hell, and so he'll likewise offer a means to save face here. ]
You would have blown up the Pentagram, [ He offers patiently, ] And as I said, your input is neither needed or wanted.
[ It really is a sore subject, and to hear it said that is worse than having an open wound tore open. Vox has done that, too, and it unsettled him less. The toothy grin betrays nothing, but it had shaken him, and it had shaken him in a way that he had not known possible. ]
[So Alastor gets to make false claims about him, and he can't even defend himself by correcting them? Fucking hell... Now he knows how all those idiots feel who are targeted by his own misinformation. Not that he'll be more sympathetic towards them and change his ways, it's still their own fault for being easily targeted. Vox slipped up, so now he's the easy target. It's a good reminder for him to be more careful in the future.
Still. He feels like he's been called into the principal's office for disciplinary measures. Like he's just a child who needs to be confronted with their own actions so they can put it into perspective, when he knows damn well what he did. His eyes narrow with fury, and part of him wants to turn round and leave. What even is the point beyond Alastor venting at him? He might as well speak to one of these trees, then.
Still, he stays where he is and does as he's told, the spite inside him building.]
[ Alastor is well aware of the truth. He's accepted it, and he spent agonizing days trying to decide what to do with that information. He had no intention of disputing it, and so he's a bit puzzled by that reflexive need to was able to overtake him.
He doesn't care about the Pentagram. If every other demon in the city had died, it would have only been troublesome and irritating. Besides, for as grand as it was, it wasn't anything special. When Overlords fight, there were countless victims. Those who didn't die and weren't mutilated might lose everything from their possessions to entire buildings. That lot had only cared because this time, they were the collateral damage.
No, Alastor doesn't care about them, no more than he does anyone else. It's that Vox was trying to kill him first, and that he was trying to kill himself second. Saying it aloud just made it feel so final. ]
Fine. You were trying to blow me up, and the rest were just unlucky enough to be in attendance.
[ He shrugs, looking away for a moment. He doesn't have any particular desire to continue. For someone who wishes for things to stay the same and rejects change so thoroughly, this sort of conversation is nothing if not unpleasant. Still, he carries on. ]
That's nothing new though, it it? You've tried to kill me, and I've tried to kill you, but something always gets in the way.
[ He lifts his staff, tapping the microphone against the opposite hand. ]
We can't carry on that way any longer. I've gotten tired of it. The next time we come into conflict, either you are going to die, or I will. I won't let anything get in the way. If anyone tries, I'll kill them without a moment's hesitation.
[ And really, he wouldn't mind that. It's been nothing if not irritating to have to deal with Vox calling in back up all the time. It would be so satisfying to not have to hold back for the sake of some nobodies. ]
And as things stand right now, we'll inevitably wind up fighting over something or another. I don't know when, or what it'll be about, but there's always something.
[So Alastor wants to put an end to it. Seventy years of rivalry, of pushing and pulling that ultimately led nowhere. Enough is enough, apparently. Vox's last pull was too harsh. It should be a relief. He's been given the go-ahead to do exactly what he wanted; wipe Alastor's smile off his face, if he can put enough force into his blows. As for the option of losing... Well, if he had to choose, being sent into the eternal death by Alastor's hand is probably more acceptable than any other's.
This should be good. Why does the finality of it all feel so awful, then?
He shoves that feeling aside, because not only is it backwards, it's worthless. He doesn't know if he's allowed to speak yet, so he just tilts his head instead, facade of lips pressed into a thin line. It's a 'yeah okay' type of look. Begrudging acceptance.]
[ Not now. Not this second, at least. By the end of this conversation, Alastor might very well decide to end it. It's inevitable now, though. If a person learns that they have the want and means to kill you, then they'll try it once. And if they'll try it once, then they will again. And Alastor is aware of that, he can feel the rope of the noose pressed up against his neck, and the more time that goes on, the tighter it will squeeze.
It might not be today, or tomorrow, or even five years from now, but that's the only ending that he can see as long as they stay on this path.
He's not done. ]
So, I asked myself, what is it that we can do to avoid that? At first, I was just content to ignore you. In fact, under any other circumstances, I would have forgotten you by now.
[ He wouldn't have forgotten him entirely, of course. They know each other far too well and have been through far too much for that. Still, it would only take so long for him to fade into the background, thought about but overshadowed by a dozen other matters of importance. Those memories would always be there, those feelings of love and hate, but they'd fade into the background for lack of use.
That's not possible with them, though. He has no more awareness of Vox's signal than he does of the fact that he's still breathing, but it's there. It's there, and like his breathing, the moment he focuses even a bit his full attention is drawn to it.It's the tragedy of sharing the airwaves. ]
But we can't do that, no matter how hard we try.
[ There's plenty of dead space on the airwaves. If he tries to, he can pick up on this and that from different broadcasts to catch them, but it's really just an empty sea. Vox's signal is like a lighthouse. ]
But we can't forget each other. We can't ignore each other. We can't live without each other, but we can't live with each other either.
[ He leans in at length, placing his index finger against the other's chest, just above where his heart would be, an intense stare there, ]
So, what do we do?
[ He can speak now, if he wishes. Whether or not he should speak now is another matter entirely, but he's afforded that opportunity. ]
['But we can't forget each other. We can't ignore each other. We can't live without each other, but we can't live with each other either.'
That really is the conundrum of their dynamic, isn't it? They're intertwined. Not even because Vox keeps seeking Alastor's attention out, but because Alastor's attention exists. Because the two of them will always keep crossing paths and keep crossing swords. Getting along on the same level was a dream Vox once held, a long time ago, but he found out the hard way that wasn't an option. They were the same in some of the best ways, but also different in all those ways that would cause them to clash.
It's odd to him that Alastor wants to avoid the ultimate ending. He'd think the radio demon would be convinced he could win. That from his perspective, Vox would be taken out of the equation and the problem would be solved.
His gaze slides down towards Alastor's finger when it presses against his chest and lingers there for a moment. Then it swerves back up, to that toothy grin that almost seems to glow in the darkness of the swamp. The grin that haunts him, like it belongs to the goddamn Cheshire Cat, just looming up and standing out like a sore thumb in situations where it doesn't belong.
Finally, he looks Alastor right in the eye. A long moment of silence has passed, so apparently, it's expected that he talks now.]
You really wanna avoid that? You wanna find a solution that isn't eternal death?
[There's very much an unspoken 'why' in those questions, full of mistrust. If Alastor's fed up with him, offended by the way he put the city in danger, why spare him at all?]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[For Radioshow]
Trouble is, he can't just take it easy and wait. He's too excited. Too full of that pulsating, white hot feeling of triumph. He wants to rub it in a certain someone's face, too.
The setup for his plan is easily taken care of. He doesn't need to spend more than fifteen minutes on it. Once it's done, he returns to the office Alastor was left alone in. Alone only in the physical sense, anyway, since the cameras are always watching, which means Vox was watching. The radio demon hadn't moved. He can't. The deal was for him to be a captive, so a captive he will be.
The door to the office opens with a bang. Vox hadn't kicked it open, but he sure had rushed up to it and shoved. The smirk on his face is so wide, it's even more unnatural than it usually is.]
Honey, I'm home!~
[Alastor's facing the window right now as opposed to the door. Not a problem. Just as he has been doing ever since the deal was made, Vox sends his cables out to grab the chair Alastor's tied to, pulling it towards him with a harsh jerking motion. If he hadn't been actively holding the chair upright, it likely would've topped backwards from the sudden exertion of unbalanced force. It comes to a stop just as harshly too- so close that Vox can lean forward to place a hand on the back of the chair, near Alastor's shoulder.]
Had a spectacular time prepping for tomorrow's party. Even the old school hack Overlords like you will be blown away. It's gonna rule! [Vox's fingers slide sideways, up Alastor's neck, then come to rest on his chin to grab hold of it.] And how was yooour evening?
[Rhetorical question, since Alastor's still got the muzzle on him. That just makes it even funnier to ask.]
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Alastor's ears stand straight up before tilting toward the source of the sound, then laying flat back as he registers who the source - loudly announcing itself like a husband coming home to his life. He's half-prepared for what comes next, crossing one leg over the other and tilting his foot back before lifting his heel a few inches off the ground just in time to hear the whipping of cables. He's propelled forward soon after, wires digging into his torso before he slams back as the chair comes to a halt. It would be agonizing for the average sinner, but nothing that someone of their class can't handle, and so all that escapes is a short gasp.
He's astoundingly disciplined. Alastor reacts only when he pleases, plays along only when the theatrics suit him, and stays silent more than he speaks even when prompted. That holds true even after days of enduring this nonsense - left to his own devices there is little more than a bit of idle rolling back and forth as he tries to work through some problem in his mind, but nothing more, and with Vox here now he doesn't so much as twitch despite the blatant provocation.
He has no control in this situation, but if anything, that's caused him to tighten his grip on himself further. That's one thing that no amount of shackles can take from him. And he knows that no reaction is worse than any other he could offer.
But he uncrosses his legs and opts to plant his feet flat on the floor in response to the close proximity, and his gaze finally flicks up when Vox grabs hold of his face, a wordless demand to know just what could possibly be so important that he needed to interrupt what Alastor was doing (which was mostly a whole lot of nothing.) He knows what the other has done and what he has planned, but none of that seems to count as important in his book. ]
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He holds Alastor's gaze for a long moment, relishing the silence, the close proximity, the fact that he's in control. It's perfect. Once he's content, his hand gives Alastor's cheek a pat before he withdraws, standing up straight again.]
Thought so! But don't worry, I'm about to brighten up your night. [He absentmindedly tugs at his bow tie to straighten it with both hands, turning away from Alastor to start pacing. Though, even as he walks, the chair follows in his wake.] See, I figured with my victory so close at hand, we should celebrate! You know, just the two of us, living it up. No interruptions.
[Considering the current situation, one might think Vox has something sinister planned. And maybe at some point, it will turn sinister, since he's nothing if not a master of escalating otherwise harmless situations. For now, though? It's only petty. Just another overdramatized show of what Alastor has been missing out on, what sort of partnership they could've had, but tainted specifically to get under the man's skin.
He starts walking towards the door, dragging the chair along behind him with the use of the cables and nothing else. He makes sure Alastor is being pulled backwards, too, just to be extra obnoxious. Their heads are quite flexible on their shoulders, so the man could still look ahead if he wants to- Vox knows that. Doesn't matter. It's all a big show anyway.]
I set up a special movie night in the theater for us. There's popcorn and drinks and everything. I expect you'll hate it. [Because yes, these are very modern movies. The latest releases in Heaven, with all the 2020s pop-culture schlock one could ask for.]
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He's always hated that part of this body, far more difficult to train into obedience than the rest and far more expressive.
His eyes trail after Vox as he goes about his explanation, and he's spared whatever snappy comeback Alastor may have offered. That is, perhaps, the one part that truly grates on him - Alastor is is voice. It's what he built himself up on, it's what makes him more fitting than most for a place where their queen empowered people with her voice. He's ever the opposite of someone like Vox, who wants others to see him, to worship him.
It's the one thing that causes anxiety to curl up in the depths of his stomach - just once or twice, just a tiny shred, when Vox starts to prattle on. It's the anxiety that accompanies that thought of him succeeding. Not out of fear that he'd be hurt or killed, oh no - quite the opposite, in fact, because Alastor doesn't believe that his fellow overlord ever would. No, he hates Alastor too much for that, he's spent too much time on him for that - he'd be more liable to make him into a favorite toy, something that he could play with endlessly and never get bored... And that, he has no plan for.
Fortunately, that's only a passing thought. He knows Vox. He knows what a pitiful creature he is. He knows how to poke and prod and push him in just the right way to ensure that he remains on track without letting him wander off too far. However much he believes himself to be in control, Vox is ever someone who he can get to dance in the palm of his hand.
But he's spared the snappy remark about his companions. They must to be delighted to have been denied so much - by now, Alastor is more of a part of the team than they are despite being Vox's prisoner.
His heels skid against the floor for a bit, producing a scraping sound until he finally gives up on maintaining his current position. He crosses his legs once more, at first resting his foot on one leg of the chair. This proves to be less than ideal as they move, and so he slips the tip of his shoe under it instead and lets it press against his heel. It's hardly ideal, but workable.
Once that's finished, he allows himself to look over his shoulder once to see the current trajectory, but otherwise keeps his attention forward. It doesn't really matter.
Of course he'll hate it. He hasn't been to a theater in decades for a reason. It's the sort of stupid idea that only someone like Vox could come up with. ]
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The walk to the movie theater isn't too far, thankfully. It's one floor below the penthouse section, near the bowels of the aquarium. The brief elevator ride down is filled with shitty muzak, and not once during the entire trip does Vox's smile waver. He's feeling like he's on top of the world, and it shows. He stands with his head held high and his shoulders squared, cables wrapped tightly around Alastor's abdomen- not for fear of escape, but just because he can.
They arrive to the theater to find it dark, with only a few simple blue lights on to illuminate paths. There are only three rows of seats, because why bother installing more? It gives off the facade of a cinema, but it's something for private use only. At most, Vox would invite the other two Vees here from time to time. It's a great place for them to heckle Earth and Heaven releases. Or just appreciate Valentino's latest releases on the big screen.
Vox heads straight to the front row, moving down some steps along the way. Another great ride for Alastor and his chair! It's not until they reach the lowest portion that Vox does what he probably should've done earlier, but outright refused just to be petty: he undoes the initial set of cables restraining Alastor. Still no freedom- never freedom, what with the wires still snared around the man's wrists, chest and throat- but at the very least he's out of the chair, held suspended in midair for a few seconds before he's pulled down into the cushy plush of a cinema seat.]
There we go! Perfect!
[He spends a few more seconds grinning down at the sight of Alastor, then turns around to drop himself in the seat by his side. There's a little food cart within reach, kitted out with everything they could need, from sweet and savory snacks to soda to alcohol. He reaches for a big tub of popcorn to set down in Alastor's lap, making sure the cables leave just enough leeway for the man's hand to actually reach for the snack.]
Here you gooo, that's for you- Ooh, silly me, almost forgot. [And with that, he finally takes hold of the muzzle on Alastor's face. He makes sure his fingers linger a little longer than necessary against cheekbone before pulling it off.]
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Besides, it's already too late to think on things like that. They're already at the end. That's what he tells himself as the chair jerks at odd angles as its pulled along, he bumps up as the wheels hit something along the way before it turns into bouncing as the chairs wheels hit stairs and he finds himself at odd angles. In a softer, kinder world, he would have either rolled out of the chair or had it just topple down there. But the world is a cruel and wicked place, and the most he gets is a sore jaw from clamping his teeth down and a momentary dizziness.
He's not just going to kill Vox. He's going to do whatever the equivalent of breaking every single tiny little bone in his body one by one is, and whatever the equivalent of taking his head and dunking it underwater, pulling it up just long enough to breathe, and then shoving it back down is. That's what he'd really like to do, but waterboarding a TV isn't practical.
Now, granted, he's said similar things in the past, but this time he means it.
But for now he's lifted out of his chair as though he were a toy in a crane game, then unceremoniously plopped into a theater chair. His gaze remains impassive, remaining forward until he finally looks down at the bucket dropped in his lap, then finally turning his attention to Vox. The way he drags out taking the muzzle off is not appreciated (and considering he's the one who put the damn thing on him, it being taken off isn't something he'll be showing gratitude for anytime soon either,) and he maintains his gaze for a few seconds more to make sure there's no gotchya coming. And in that time he looks like he has something to say, but nothing comes out - not because of any restraint or a lack of things to say, but because there's far too much that he does.
There is so much he wants to say here in this moment, but he just mumbles something under his breath. It's only now that he actually bothers to properly take in his surroundings, scanning the room, looking over one shoulder and then the other, then twisting his torso just a tad and head tilting back so he can look up the back wall to where a projector might be hidden (and it's a small miracle that he still remembers how everything should be set up.) The lack of seating non-withstanding, it's only so different from what he remembers - just enough that he doesn't like it. Just like Vox's stupid flat TV head. The old one was better.
To say that he'd liked going to theaters before would be a lie, but he remembers doing so for the sake of present company before. He can remember a name or two, explanations for how this and that works, and at the time he had a smidge of curiosity - that sort of interest that can be attributed more to a person's passion than the actual subject matter. Now he just wishes the entire tower would collapse and end his misery rather than have to endure it. ]
... I hate it.
[ He says flatly, as though going through the motions of confirming Vox's earlier assessment in, just in order to keep whatever script they have on track. ]
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See, I thought you would. But hey, who knows? Maybe you'll finally find a movie you like! I'm in a good mood, so what the hell. I'll even let you pick!
[And if that sounds like a good thing... It's not. Vox set the theater up to Heaven's equivalent of a streaming service, so the entire catalogue available to them is questionable. On rare occasion, there's something to admire in those movies, but it's never the script, which will always come across as being written for toddlers. No, it's the actual filming techniques, which are wasted on these shitty screenplays. The first thing Vox will do when he gets to Heaven is whip their movie industry into shape. ...No, well, it'll probably be the third or fourth thing on his list.]
But first... The drink selection. What do you think? Straight into mindnumbing booze, or...?
[He takes hold of the food cart, moving it a little closer so Alastor can have a better look. There's a whole assortment of bottles on the lower shelf, along with glasses and even a bucket of ice cubes. Alastor may recognize some of them as the drinks he favored seventy years ago. Never let it be said Vox doesn't provide for his guests, and never let it be said he doesn't keep obsessive track of Alastor's preferences.]
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All the spinning and bouncing gave me motion sickness.
[ Alastor lifts one hand, tugging at the cord attached to it experimentally, then moves his hand to one side. It's a gentle tug, a steady movement that's not meant to do anything more than test the length of it. He watches the movement to be certain, and once satisfied lets his hand drop back down. He adjusting his position in the chair next, shifting until he finds one that proves to be tolerable.
He's trying to decide how much to accept and how much to push back on here, because he hadn't quite expected this. He'd certainly predicted him making as big of a nuisance of himself as possible, but more in line with his ego and ambitions.
After all, who ever heard of a prisoner being offered hospitality? And after mocking him, spinning him about like a top, and loudly announcing that this entire thing is expected to make him miserable? And he didn't miss the subtle threat either. What a ridiculous man.
If he accepts anything, it'll be his own fault when it turns out it's a gotchya moment, or there was gelsemium in it (not even close to fatal, but just about the right level to cause him some discomfort while it digests,) or it gets dumped on him, or whatever petty nonsense Vox comes up with. ]
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[It's said with a hasty, nonchalant tone of voice, matched further with a shrug of the shoulders. Vox is committed to the bit, and forcing anything down Alastor's throat would just ruin the twisted date vibes he's trying to cultivate here. The proverbial smoothie has two straws for a reason this time- that's the only point he was trying to make, and now he's made it.
He's more than happy to help himself in the meantime, dropping some ice cubes into a glass and then topping it off with a healthy pour of gin. He'd cocktail it up, but that's a little too much of a hassle. Once his drink is ready, he sets it down in his cup holder and lounges backwards in his seat, legs stretched out all the way. (Oooh, look how comfy he is, Alastor, ooooh-)]
Now. Since tonight's theme is my takeover of Heaven, [Emphasis on "my", since he's already ass deep in the bog of dismissing his partners,] I thought we'd lean into that. Do a little research, you know? Prep for what we're about to walk into, assess the resources at hand. So I present to yooouuu... [Giddy silence for effect.] Heaven's entertainment industry.
[With a wave of the hand, a blue touch screen pops up in front of Alastor, floating in the air like a tangible hologram. What it's displaying is rather similar to a screaming service's layout- not that Alastor would recognize that- with several movie posters all lined up. There's a summaries of only a few sentences included with each option, and a whole lot of swiping to be done for even more selections and categories.
Highlight titles include Merry Little Christmas, Miracle on 36th Street, Santa Goes to High School, Santa Goes to College, FREE RENT, Singing in the Snow, Soulmates Actually and Purity Woman. Somehow, 80% of these movies involve Christmas and at least half of them are musicals.
Now this is where the torture begins.]
i did an int check for this and rolled a 5 ☠
The new annoyance that comes with being subjected to Vox's theatrics does help, at least. He blows out a sigh before crossing his legs, watching him without much interest as he proceeds with his introduction, because of course it would be something like that.
There's enough people who utilize more modern applications that he's learned as much as he absolutely needs to, plus a bit more through osmosis, and at least enough that he's been able to more or less follow along with Vox until now. The display proves to be a bit overwhelming for a person who only knows books and records. ]
Is this really how you should be spending your time? You...
[ He starts to speak, more to fill the silence as he tries to parse what's in front of him than anything. He trails off halfway though, his smile stretching a bit before he cants his his head to one side. His ears tilt down along with it, subtly curving to the same side and giving them a somewhat floppy look before straightening as he lifts his head. ]
It's September.
[ He says in the most matter of fact manner, one that's stating the obvious as much as it is reassuring himself that it's a fact, because for a split second he does wonder if he missed something.
Though Heaven is quirky enough for his confusion to be valid, this is probably a complaint he'd have anyway because media is supposed to be season. Winter in winter, with different ones before and after the holidays, spring and summer during the warmer months, all when it starts to cool down, and all with the appropriate attention to the themes and holidays associated with them. Not that there aren't exceptions tossed in there, it would just be boring otherwise and the entire point of physical media is to pick and choose, but Christmas has no place in September, just like Easter has no place being in October. ]
Not December.
[ Is Heaven not aware. ]
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And then he laughs, because the dryness of the statement was just too funny. It's a roaring sound, lasting a good five seconds- right by Alastor's ear, of course- before he quiets himself again.]
Hate to break it to ya, but this is a year-round deal. Heaven really fuckin' loves Christmas for some reason. And not even 'cause of the birth of Jesus, oh no. Specifically the whole 'Santa and reindeer and Christmas trees' part. Insane, right? But there's some other stuff. Here.
[Vox leans in closer, his shoulder bumping against Alastor's on purpose, so he can swipe downward to a different section. It takes three quick slides of the finger, landing them on the Sports movies category. There's some real Air Bud bullshit going on there, with ducks playing hockey, a group of young orphans going to the world soccer championships and even a poster of some girl holding what appears to be a magical, sentient tennis ball.]
Better? Or worse?
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He does watch the movements, though. Alastor is stubborn, rejecting and avoiding technology where he can, but that's not quite the same as refusing to understand it. In fact, understanding it is precisely what makes him dislike it so much, as is the case here. He enjoys Christmas more than most, and holiday specials are the one thing he'll willingly watch, but there's a time and a place.
Heaven sounds more insufferable with each fact that he learns. ]
Painfully mediocre, much like everything your company produces.
[ Easy come, easy go, and he does seem to find it less scandalous. ]
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Won't be watching that, then. [There's a cheerful little sing song to his tone of voice, and his finger starts swiping again.
Family-friendly Christmas Films, Feel-good Christmas Films, ASMR documentaries, Classic Feel-good TV shows- The amount of schlock to move through is infinite, full of colorful posters that become somewhat tainted and muted by the blue hue of the touch screen. Ultimately, he lands on Movies With An Extra Happy Ending and pauses there. He remembers how angry Valentino got when he found out it's not that kind of happy ending. He won't repeat that out loud, because dragging Val into this conversation feels like a bad idea, but boy is he thinking about it and grinning like an idiot.]
Hah, how telling is it that they had to emphasize extra happy to differentiate it from every other movie? I'll tell you now, there's not a single one in here that doesn't end well for everyone involved. What a bunch of sheltered losers, am I right?
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me trying to hit the preview button like:
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lmk if you need any edits
But that's not how it works. They occupy the same space in Hell. They're two of the most influential overlords in Hell, with Vox only having a temporary hiatus. They represent the two most significant forms of media. But most importantly, they share the airwaves. However much they want to, there's no ignoring that presence, and so long as they can't forget each other, and they can't ignore each other, they'll eventually be drawn to each other once more.
He has to share a space with Vox. He has to see him. He has to speak with him.
So, he'd called him over once more. He's not sure if Vox feels the same, but he didn't have any choice but to respond. If he didn't come, then Alastor would simply find him, and that would be far worse.
He'd brought him into the jotel, into his room. He didn't particularly want it to be at the hotel, but the room itself was his equivalent of the Vee tower - a space that was created and controlled by him - because it was only fair. It's nicer than the outside scenery - a forest, but one that's not quite right. It looks befitting of a horror movie. It's dark, eerie, and completely silent save for their footsteps - and impossibly big. Far bigger than what could possibly fit in a single room.
He's silent for awhile, but eventually says, ]
I'm sure that you're wondering why it is that I called you out here.
[ He says it lightly, but there's something just a bit off about it. It's perfectly calm, even thoughtful, without even a hint of his usual flair. ]
Well, I've been thinking for awhile now, and there are things that we need to speak about. And I need you to be quiet and listen for awhile. Do you understand?
[ Can he do that? ]
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No. He can't accept that fate. If he does, it will all be over. He has to keep getting up after he falls.
When Alastor extended the invitation, he couldn't turn it down. He faces the challenge head on, as he always does, against better judgment. Any uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach is ignored, because things like humiliation and shame are just more weaknesses. He had a good plan going, he got a little carried away and lost track of his goal... That's all it was. A minor setback. So he faces the radio demon with his head held high, no matter how heavy it feels on his restored body.
He's never been inside Alastor's room before. It's uncanny and eerie, and somehow perfectly fitting. This guy would live in a dark, humid swamp of his own free will.]
... Yeah, sure.
[There's no snide comeback, no sarcasm, nothing like that. He's far too tired to beat around the bush or even push back against it. He'll tolerate whatever this conversation is meant to be, because he'll be damned if he runs away from it, but he won't make it last any longer than it has to. Maybe that's the only way humiliation can manifest for him in any way; it makes him less willing to cause conflict on purpose. Leave the boat unrocked, even if he's still circling it like a predatory animal.]
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[ His staff taps along the ground as they go. The depth is more for aesthetics than practicality, as he controls the space, so he doesn't mind taking a tour like this. There's no need for Vox to worry about it either, because so long as he understands his position, this conversation can go smoothly. Despite his reputation, the radio demon tends to avoid unnecessary violence.
He passes by trees and flora of various colors. They're ones that he remembers from life, though the shape and colors don't quite match any found on Earth. The memory of what they looked like began to go soft around the edges some odd years in, and at some point he found that he could no longer reconstruct them quite right. ]
We've been doing this for over seventy years now. There's many things that have changed, [ And here, he makes a point of reaching over to flick that bent antenna, ] But all we do is go back and forth. It's the same thing every time. Every time, you would find some way to spin your sound defeat to make it sound as though it were a victory.
[ He's smarting small. It's a pleasant note to begin on, even. It is a little more complicated than that, too - there is a reason that his attention has remained on Vox for so long, and the man was nothing if not clever when his emotions weren't getting the best of him, but that's not really the point he's making now. ]
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His mouth opens for a response, only for him to remember that he was meant to stay quiet and listen. All those potential words that were formulating are swallowed back down, and instead, he hums under his breath to indicate that he's listening. He doesn't have a clue where it's going, but he's listening. If there's some sort of truce that's about to be suggested, he won't accept it. He could never trust it, after all. ]
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So far, so good, so he continues on, ]
I was fine with being your little prisoner too. You did me a favor in the end, so I was willing to forgive you for all those transgressions... But then you went and ruined it.
[ He kicks another branch out of the way. Those words drip with venom, but the staff has already been brought up and clasped behind his back. His grip is too tight, and he only remembers to loosen it when a drop of blood emerges from how hard his claws were sinking into the skin.
Vox had ruined what they had, a fine little system that allowed for a full seventy years of love and hate, respect and disdain, something that no one but them could understand, just like he had the more affectionate one of seventy years ago.
It could have lasted an eternity if not for that one little incident. ]
You tried to blow up the Pentagram.
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He still doesn't protest. Just allows the pointless scolding to wash over him. Then comes the last bit, and that one does hit a certain mark. Regardless of whether he's allowed to speak yet, he does it anyway, because he has a correction to make.]
I tried to blow you up.
[The Pentagram just happened to be all around Alastor. The city, the people, Vox himself... They were in the near vicinity, but never his true target. Who gives a shit about any of them? If someone had handed him an angelic dagger at that point to stab Alastor with as an alternative, he probably would've taken it. And maybe he would've stabbed himself with it after, because once the radio demon was gone, what would've been the point of still being there? He would've had the ultimate victory and there's no more going up from there.
That in itself shouldn't have come as a surprise. They've been 'playing around' for seventy years, but only because Alastor was always strong enough to take anything Vox would throw at him. It didn't change that the bloodlust was always there.]
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He wasn't ready to except any sort of commentary, but Alastor does have that tendency to grin and bear it. He might have managed, but of course Vox has to go and ruin that too. It's only with the greatest amount of effort that he manages to keep from digging his nails in any further. His fingers just twitch slightly instead, safely out of the sight of prying eyes.
Still, Alastor is a polite man. He's disciplined to an extent that no one could possibly imagine, given his status in Hell, and so he'll likewise offer a means to save face here. ]
You would have blown up the Pentagram, [ He offers patiently, ] And as I said, your input is neither needed or wanted.
[ It really is a sore subject, and to hear it said that is worse than having an open wound tore open. Vox has done that, too, and it unsettled him less. The toothy grin betrays nothing, but it had shaken him, and it had shaken him in a way that he had not known possible. ]
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Still. He feels like he's been called into the principal's office for disciplinary measures. Like he's just a child who needs to be confronted with their own actions so they can put it into perspective, when he knows damn well what he did. His eyes narrow with fury, and part of him wants to turn round and leave. What even is the point beyond Alastor venting at him? He might as well speak to one of these trees, then.
Still, he stays where he is and does as he's told, the spite inside him building.]
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He doesn't care about the Pentagram. If every other demon in the city had died, it would have only been troublesome and irritating. Besides, for as grand as it was, it wasn't anything special. When Overlords fight, there were countless victims. Those who didn't die and weren't mutilated might lose everything from their possessions to entire buildings. That lot had only cared because this time, they were the collateral damage.
No, Alastor doesn't care about them, no more than he does anyone else. It's that Vox was trying to kill him first, and that he was trying to kill himself second. Saying it aloud just made it feel so final. ]
Fine. You were trying to blow me up, and the rest were just unlucky enough to be in attendance.
[ He shrugs, looking away for a moment. He doesn't have any particular desire to continue. For someone who wishes for things to stay the same and rejects change so thoroughly, this sort of conversation is nothing if not unpleasant. Still, he carries on. ]
That's nothing new though, it it? You've tried to kill me, and I've tried to kill you, but something always gets in the way.
[ He lifts his staff, tapping the microphone against the opposite hand. ]
We can't carry on that way any longer. I've gotten tired of it. The next time we come into conflict, either you are going to die, or I will. I won't let anything get in the way. If anyone tries, I'll kill them without a moment's hesitation.
[ And really, he wouldn't mind that. It's been nothing if not irritating to have to deal with Vox calling in back up all the time. It would be so satisfying to not have to hold back for the sake of some nobodies. ]
And as things stand right now, we'll inevitably wind up fighting over something or another. I don't know when, or what it'll be about, but there's always something.
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This should be good. Why does the finality of it all feel so awful, then?
He shoves that feeling aside, because not only is it backwards, it's worthless. He doesn't know if he's allowed to speak yet, so he just tilts his head instead, facade of lips pressed into a thin line. It's a 'yeah okay' type of look. Begrudging acceptance.]
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It might not be today, or tomorrow, or even five years from now, but that's the only ending that he can see as long as they stay on this path.
He's not done. ]
So, I asked myself, what is it that we can do to avoid that? At first, I was just content to ignore you. In fact, under any other circumstances, I would have forgotten you by now.
[ He wouldn't have forgotten him entirely, of course. They know each other far too well and have been through far too much for that. Still, it would only take so long for him to fade into the background, thought about but overshadowed by a dozen other matters of importance. Those memories would always be there, those feelings of love and hate, but they'd fade into the background for lack of use.
That's not possible with them, though. He has no more awareness of Vox's signal than he does of the fact that he's still breathing, but it's there. It's there, and like his breathing, the moment he focuses even a bit his full attention is drawn to it.It's the tragedy of sharing the airwaves. ]
But we can't do that, no matter how hard we try.
[ There's plenty of dead space on the airwaves. If he tries to, he can pick up on this and that from different broadcasts to catch them, but it's really just an empty sea. Vox's signal is like a lighthouse. ]
But we can't forget each other. We can't ignore each other. We can't live without each other, but we can't live with each other either.
[ He leans in at length, placing his index finger against the other's chest, just above where his heart would be, an intense stare there, ]
So, what do we do?
[ He can speak now, if he wishes. Whether or not he should speak now is another matter entirely, but he's afforded that opportunity. ]
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That really is the conundrum of their dynamic, isn't it? They're intertwined. Not even because Vox keeps seeking Alastor's attention out, but because Alastor's attention exists. Because the two of them will always keep crossing paths and keep crossing swords. Getting along on the same level was a dream Vox once held, a long time ago, but he found out the hard way that wasn't an option. They were the same in some of the best ways, but also different in all those ways that would cause them to clash.
It's odd to him that Alastor wants to avoid the ultimate ending. He'd think the radio demon would be convinced he could win. That from his perspective, Vox would be taken out of the equation and the problem would be solved.
His gaze slides down towards Alastor's finger when it presses against his chest and lingers there for a moment. Then it swerves back up, to that toothy grin that almost seems to glow in the darkness of the swamp. The grin that haunts him, like it belongs to the goddamn Cheshire Cat, just looming up and standing out like a sore thumb in situations where it doesn't belong.
Finally, he looks Alastor right in the eye. A long moment of silence has passed, so apparently, it's expected that he talks now.]
You really wanna avoid that? You wanna find a solution that isn't eternal death?
[There's very much an unspoken 'why' in those questions, full of mistrust. If Alastor's fed up with him, offended by the way he put the city in danger, why spare him at all?]
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this may or may not escalate real fast
Welcome to Escalator Land!
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"biting you" but it's literal now
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