OPEN POST

[tvdemon]

Open Post for PSLs, specific meme scenarios and Baker Street Overflow purposes!

Hit me up for plotting whenever you want, I'm always up for anything.

Comments

[For Radioshow]

[tvdemon]

[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.]

[radioshow]

[ 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. ]

[tvdemon]

[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.]

[radioshow]

[ 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. ]

[tvdemon]

[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.]

[radioshow]

[ 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. ]

[tvdemon]

[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.]

[radioshow]

[ 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. ]

[tvdemon]

Eh, your loss! Holler if you change your mind.

[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.]

lmk if you need any edits

[radioshow]

[ 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?

[ Can he do that? ]

[tvdemon]

[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.]

[radioshow]

Good.

[ 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. ]

[tvdemon]

[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. ]

[radioshow]

[ 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. ]

You tried to blow up the Pentagram.

[tvdemon]

[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.]

[radioshow]

[ 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. ]

[tvdemon]

[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.]

[For Radioshow]

[tvdemon]

[Vox won. He fucking did it! He had his fancy party to celebrate his uprising against Heaven, all the Overlords (except Zestial and Rosie) showed up, the Princess and her apologists tried some stupid little sabotage plan that failed miserably... And then she admitted defeat, live on camera for all of Hell to see.

She didn't proclaim Vox to be the strongest Sinner in Hell, she proclaimed him to be the number one Sinner in Hell. It still encompassed Vox's victory just fine, so he found it acceptable, not realizing the very specific wording of it all had thrown a wrench into Alastor's plans. He would've killed Charlie right then and there, but he'd made a deal not to hurt her or whatever, so he had some of his hypnotized goons carry her away to be imprisoned in the depths of Vee Tower. What wasn't part of the deal was not hurting literally anyone else, so that was what he did. He had all the interlopers in Vee Tower killed. Then he had the princess's girlfriend killed. A couple of angels showed up to try and save the younger of the two seraphim, so he'd blasted them with the Might of Lilith. As a final blow, he threatened to kill Emily, still restrained, and that was when Heaven caved. Now without their Exorcist leaders and at risk of losing even more of their own, they'd bowed their heads in defeat before him.

He'd been tempted to kill Angel Dust too, but Val wouldn't let him. Annoying, but fair was fair. Vox still had his prisoner, so Val should be allowed the same privilege, if only to keep the man pacified. Now the imprisoned princess, the useless whore and Alastor were the only ones left standing of that failed redemption project, all three of them in chains under Vox's new rule. ...Oh, and Lucifer, but who even cared about that guy? Vox would keep using him as the tool he was whenever needed.

Either way, the celebration party in Hell went on for five straight days. Heaven lost and Vox won. It's the dawn of a new era.

Tomorrow's the day he'll go up to Heaven to make it official. Turns out, redemption wasn't needed for a sinner to walk through those golden streets. Brute force does the job just fine. He gets to rule above the highest ranks of the angels, above even the Speaker of God, and that's that. It also means he has one last night of not-quite-God-yet to go through, which means he's going to rub it in Alastor's face. Again. He's rubbed it in plenty over the past few days, but he can't get enough of it. It's addictive.

The radio demon had been left behind in Vox's office while he was out running errands, still tied to the chair and with Shok.wav keeping an eye on him. At least the muzzle's gone. It was likely silent enough, but that silence is broken the moment Vox bursts through the door. He's wearing a pristine white suit, similar to the one he wore during the rally. There's a short cape included now- a mantle with fur, white on the outside but with light blue lining on the inside. And a matching white hat, of course.]

Bam! Hey! How ya doin', Al? You little bitch?

[radioshow]

[ Alastor is, above all else, tired. It's an exhaustion like anything he's ever felt, one that seeps down to his very bones and bring even his thoughts to a crawl. It's unfamiliar, inexplicable, because even at his lowest he had always been quite sharp. He never slowed down, but instead would pivot from one thing to another. He needs to do that now more than ever, but it's been difficult.

More than a century of planning and plotting, being looked down on, crawling through the dirt and choking down every last emotion, and what should a bit more be now? But he's struggling to come up with anything.

Hell accomplished nothing. Heaven accomplished nothing. Vox and Charlie both proved to be useless - no, more than that. Worse than useless. Worse, because the pair of them might as well have cut off his right arm. He feels like he's lost a limb, and he has for days now, because unlike other Overlords he only had two souls in his care - the only two people that he could trust, that he'd kept under his care for decades, suddenly snapped off. The rest he could accept, but those were his. Those were his souls to do what he pleased with and no one else's, and they shouldn't have been there to begin with. If they couldn't even do an infiltration right, they should've just stayed back and let Alastor handle it instead of stupidly and blindly rushing in. And as for Vox, well -

It should have been him. He should have been the one who died, along with his partners. Charlie should have done her job right, Vox should have died, and he should finally be living instead of just surviving. But they're all just useless, and Alastor's biggest mistake was thinking even one person could act without him. And now this fucking moron was given the keys to Heaven, like that wasn't going to be one more disaster. One more mess him him to clean up, somehow - he doesn't know how, he just knows that no one else will.

But God is he tired. The world, unable to take him out, seems to do its best to wear him out.

So here he sits, tied to a chair, legs crossed. His sole lifts and falls as he rocks back and forth. His head is tilted back, smile still plastered on his face, and he traces shapes and counts specks on the ceiling. His ears stand straight up as the door opens, then twitch and tilt toward the direction of the voice, but he doesn't so much as pause for a second in his movements, much less look at him. It seems like he's heard nothing but gloating for days, and he doesn't care about it any more now than he did the first ten seconds. ]

Get to the point.

[ He says with the slightest hint of impatience, mouthy as ever, because they're well beyond the pretense of pleasantries. ]

[tvdemon]

[Vox can't help but laugh. Alastor's still acting like he's in any position to give demands and it's hilarious. He can't tell Vox to do shit, not even something as menial as getting to the point. After everything that was said and done, not even a favor would be given to the radio demon, nor any shreds of mercy. Those things have to be earned, and Alastor has done nothing to deserve it.

Shok.wav grows more alert, swimming up to the glass, but Vox gives the shark no more than a quick smile. He crosses the room to stand in front of his captive, hands settling on his hips. When he leans forward to put his screen just inches away from Alastor's own face, it's with a sickening grin.]

Still moping? Hah, wow! And then you dare to tell me to get over it! Talk about a fucking hypocrisy!

[With that said, he straightens his spine again, content to tower over Alastor some more. His eyes never leave the radio demon's own, staring the man down.]

Maybe you'd get over yourself if you could just bring yourself to be happy for me. I mean... I'm getting everything I ever wanted! Isn't that just grand?

[radioshow]

[ He knows perfectly well that he's in no position to, but why should that stop him? Alastor wasn't above humiliating himself in life if it suited his purposes. He's not even above it now, not if the payoff is great enough, but here fealty would serve him no purpose. However kind or cruel he was, Vox would do him no favors, show him no mercy, and if he wanted to kill him, he would simply do so.

No, Alastor won't degrade himself for nothing. He is the radio demon and the most powerful sinner in Hell, and with that comes a certain amount of pride. Besides, he's seen how this man treats the people around him. He knows why Vox had sidled up to him all those decades ago, and he knows what the media overlord wants him for now.

His ears lay flat back when the other man leans in, but Alastor doesn't move an inch. It takes several seconds before he finally tilts his head forward enough to meet his graze properly. The look on his face makes him sick, and it takes a concerted effort not to look away. His gaze holds steady. ]

That would require me to have even modicum of care. You'll have to settle for patting yourself on the back.

[tvdemon]

[The delay just makes it even more juicy when Alastor finally does look his way, and Vox makes sure to stare as deeply into those bright red eyes as possible. He wants to make sure it pierces- gazes into whatever counts as a soul for Alastor. He holds no fear, himself. He's not afraid of the radio demon, not on any level.]

Oh. I am. And all of Hell is, too. [His teeth bare themselves even further in that twisted grin of his.] You're the only one still holding out. ...Well, you and the princess, anyway.

[He takes a few idle steps, coming to stand by Alastor's side. His hand comes to land atop the desk chair's back, near the man's shoulder, sharp fingertips digging into the leather upholstery.]

Are you still going to insist that I'll fuck up somewhere along the way?

[radioshow]

[ His eyes follow Vox as he steps around, briefly flicking down as his hand falls down on the chair. He leans forward when it does, just enough to not risk brushing up against it. He uncrosses his legs next, placing both feet on the ground.

Loath as he is to agree, moping might not be a bad word for what he's been doing. There's a part of him that's already accepted defeat. He's already thought of a way out of his deal with Rosie, but it meant nothing if he was trapped as Vox's prisoner. He had to know without a doubt that he could break both in rapid succession. ]

Why wouldn't I? You couldn't even manage to force a member of the royal family to bend the knee, and you expect me to?

[ Is Alastor putting himself above them? Absolutely, because he is. The fact that he was guiding Charlie, that he could exploit her for a favor, that Lucifer felt threatened enough to hate him - those things were proof of it. They were part of his plans. They were the only ones who mattered, too. Everyone else was disposable. He has to remember that. ]

Though I am looking forward to seeing how our charming heroine will redeem herself now.

[ That look, though... He does well in hiding it, and he does well in offering himself reassurances, but that piercing gaze is unsettling. It makes Alastor feel like he's missing something. He can't be, though, because there's nothing left for him to have miscalculated. ]

[tvdemon]

[Vox would argue that he did get Charlie to bend the knee when it counted, but it feels hollow. Even if she spoke the words and admitted defeat, she didn't mean it. She was forced into it, and keeps her defiant attitude even in captivity. She's not broken beyond repair, nor willing to accept Vox's rule. It's the same for Alastor. Always that fucking defiance.

He's tempted to keep prodding at them both. Keep dealing blow after blow until there's nothing left of them but a bloodied pulp. In the emotional sense, anyway. But should he even be bothering? He's already risen above them, so why keep kicking down? He has more important things to worry about. He can't kill Charlie, because he promised not to harm her. He's considered getting someone else to kill her in his stead, but he's pretty sure handing someone a weapon and telling them to cause harm could fall under the notion of laying a hand on her. He can't risk it. And he can't kill Alastor, because that would be a waste of a precious toy. There's still so much more entertainment to be milked from him.]

Redeem herself? [He laughs, taking in the irony of it all.] It would be perfect for the bitch to get her own redemption, wouldn't it? Buuut that's not how this story goes. Too fucking predictable.

[One of the smaller cables emerges from his back and snakes its way towards Alastor. The USB plug on the very end of it lingers near the man's face for a few seconds, then closes the distance all the way to rub itself along Alastor's cheek. It's both affectionate and condescending at the same time.]

She's not going anywhere, and neither are you.

[radioshow]

[ Vox hasn't figured it out yet, and so long as that is the case, Alastor can keep racking his brain. What is there, though? What, when he has no reason to so much as go near her...? There's this feeling that he has to do it now, because tomorrow will be too late.

He can't trust that girl either. There's no one that will save Alastor except himself, and he can only begrudgingly accept it as that USB plug grows closer to him before rubbing against him. He doesn't react, not even when it presses against him, but that doesn't mean he's not aware of it every step of the way.

If he had one fear, it would be that he miscalculated when it comes to himself. He does think that Vox, who couldn't decide if he would slit his throat or keep him as a prisoner forever, would settle on the latter. They've just known each other too long for anything else. He keeps still precisely because of that. There - well, there were certain lines. There are certain lines. Those lines that were crossed were because they weren't Alastor. It was no different than how if he were freed now, there were certain lines that would be crossed, but Vox was separate from them.

It should still be that.

He does think that Vox would keep him as a favorite toy for all of eternity, and most of all now, because no one else would ever look at him in the same way. Because god or overlord or nobody at all, hero or villain or nothing at all, gaudy outfit (and the current one is pathetic in that effort to impress,) or that sweater vest, Vox will always just be Vox to Alastor. He'll always just be an absolute idiot.

No one else really gets it. ]

Spoken like a perfect villain! Let's see... If this were a story, I would be the deuteragonist, right?

[ Or maybe it would be the opposite, where Alastor would be the protagonist, but that's not the story he wants to tell. And so, without offering any room for response, he adds - ]

But then, I do have to wonder.

[ And there he stops, offering Vox the opportunity to take from that what he will. ]