[Aaaand there's the souring of the moment. Naturally. Vox can't have nice shit around here- not for more than five seconds, anyway. But that's all about to change. Once they get to Heaven, he'll have all the nice shit and then Alastor can stop insisting he's a fuck-up. By that point, there really won't be anything left to fuck up. He'll be a god, overtaking the highest pedestal any sentient being could stand on, and good luck to anyone who tries to get him down from there. Alastor will be left wishing he'd given Vox the respect he deserved all those years ago.

He takes a sip from his own drink, not at all willing to drain it the same way Alastor does. He'll take his time, really savor it. Though he does look rather disgruntled at that mention of the other Vees, even with the glass to his mouth, but he's slipped back into nonchalance by the time he responds.]

No, no. The moment we've been building up to is tomorrow. This? This is just meaningless filler until the main event. So why not waste time on meaningless things?

[An insult composed of hot air in every sense of the word, because much as he loves to say Alastor is a nobody, his actions say something different entirely. Alastor is the most impactful person to exist in Vox's life (not in a good way), and he always will be, so time spent with him could never be meaningless. That's just not how petty grudges work.

He takes the empty glass from Alastor's hand anyway, still more than willing to refill it even as he keeps talking.]

Once the plan is done, I'll just leave you rot by yourself in some dark little room. We'll do a shit ton of celebrating without you. But until then, you're gonna get that front row seat you wanted. You're gonna see me fucking win, like I was always destined to do. Don't think for even a second I'll let you look away.

[By the time his rant is done, the glass is filled up with whiskey again. It's held near Alastor's hand again, ready for the taking.]