[Just as Vox expected: an attitude problem. He'll give a problem right back, in that case. Smack that ball right back to Alastor's side of the court. Instead of stepping over to the radio demon, he moves to his desk, leaning himself back against it as he flips the carton open.]
I'm the best, actually. And I don't need you to tell me that.
[Two fingers reach into the packet to take out a cigarette, bringing it to his mouth. With that, the carton is shut again and set to the side. Lighting the thing is easy, it takes a literal snap of the fingers. With a content smile, he takes a deeeeep drag, the smoke seeming to fill his very being. He's not looking Alastor's way.]
[ There's nothing surprising about what follows, because civility has never suited them well. The withdrawal he's experiencing is unpleasant, but he's in such a state where he can't tell one pain and discomfort from another. And while there's no shortage of things he'd like to do with that the best comment, he remains impassive. He's too tired to keep arguing about nothing. ]
Did you have a reason for coming back that isn't acting like a child in need of attention?
[ Vox isn't looking his way, so he turns away from him in turn, crossing one leg over the other after doing so. ]
If not, hurry up and find one.
[ At least it doesn't seem like he's going to try to kick Vox out again? ]
[Ooh, seems like he's gotten to Alastor. He hopes so, anyway. Either way, Vox is flexing and there's not a damn thing Alastor can do about it. A few pointless sputterings in the vein of childish remarks are being sent his way, and that's all. It's enough to sate him. Enough to feel like he's made his point. He takes one more drag from his cigarette, then picks up the packet again with one of his cables. Normally, he'd throw it into Alastor's lap, but the radio demon turned himself around so this is the next best option. The entire carton, with about seven cigarettes left, is dropped onto Alastor's lap from above.]
Here. Keep it.
[And sure, Alastor's still restrained, but there's no need for pretense here. Alastor's free to use his shadowy tendrils to aid himself with little tasks; there were never any rules that prevented him from doing such a thing. It's not like he can use them to escape or harm Vox, so who cares?]
[ The cigarette pack is dropped in his lap, and Alastor does look down to it. He wiggles in his seat, dislodging his hands from behind him. It's all just performative anyway, with him having pulled his bindings apart and letting them being redone several times before, and he digs through his pocket for his pocket lighter and ashtray. It wouldn't do to be messing up the floors.
He leans back in the seat as he does so, tilting his head back, that toothy grin widening. ]
You know, I thought you would pass it to me.
[ The cigarette, that is. It was sometimes a habit for people who couldn't finish a full cigarette - inefficient, but also those who for some reason couldn't afford a full one for whatever reason. Neither are applicable here, since they can afford them and will just wind up with a second, and so it doesn't really matter. But there was a sort of bonding experience that came with it.
Too bad. ]
But, this works just as well. It's better than I had expected, in fact.
[Aaaahhh fuck, passing the cigarette was a thing he could've done. That would've been funnier, actually. Fuck. It's too late now though, so Vox is just going to have to pretend he made a purposeful choice not to do that.]
What, leeching off my supply's not enough for you? You thought I'd let you take the smokes straight from my mouth? That's reeeeal fucking pitiful, Al.
[He pushes himself away from the desk, striding over to Alastor's side. One more drag from his cigarette, then he leans forward to tap some of the ashes into the tray that was just procured. It's a gentle little motion. Almost discreet. Something that's at odds with the mean smirk on Vox's face, and the way smoke drifts out from between his sharp teeth.]
I take good care of my belongings. Letting you have a tiny stash is the least I can do.
[ He leans his chair forward once more. He hadn't expected Vox to agree now, but that was fine. It was a subtle willingness to engage, because he'd already pulled him back into the room now, and there wasn't much sense in immediately chasing him out again.
His ears lie flatter upon hearing the word belongings, his shoulders subtly lifting, and whatever retort he might have given is lost. He opens the carton now, plucking a cigarette from it but not lifting it, instead rolling it between his fingers. ]
I agreed to be your captive, not a part of your personal collection.
[ He grumbles, but it's half-hearted and sullen, because he's full aware of the situation that he's put himself into. Vox might not own him in the literal sense that his benefactor did, but their deal wasn't all that different. He couldn't force Alastor to do anything, but he could do anything else. He'd traded being a dog to be barked orders at for being a doll to be played with, put on display, and broken at someone's leisure.
He really has been insufferable these last several days. ]
[Vox hears the criticism in the practical sense, but doesn't actually pay it any mind. The way he sees it, it's the same thing. Lifelong imprisonment of this nature means Alastor has become Vox's responsibility. Whether the man is treated well or treated badly, that's all under Vox's control. It's already very personal, so why not be part of a collection? Trophies are always well taken care of, so long as they're a source of pride.
He keeps lingering by Alastor's side, even if he's not directly looking the man's way. Instead, he's giving off an air of nonchalance, staring towards Shok.wav's tank. The shark isn't near the office right now; probably off in some other portion of the building that his tank connects to. Still, the sight of the water is somehow calming.]
I don't know what you're complaining about. Captives usually don't get access to these kinds of perks. They need some outsider to smuggle in cigarettes through... Well, you know. [He doesn't spell it out, if only because he doesn't want the taste of his own smoke to be tainted by the mental image.]
You've got it made here. Maybe show some fucking gratitude for once.
[ The smell of smoke is heavy in the air, and Alastor keeps the cigarette pinched between his fingers. The smell of smoke is heavy in the air, and it is quite tempting, but in the end that need to avoid consumption around others wins out over addiction. There was no reason that he should feel vulnerable doing it, much less uneasy, but it was impossible for him to shake.]
Keep the jokes to your outfit.
[ The only thing he has to be grateful for is the assurance that this should be a temporary affair. That's something he has to keep reminding himself of. He knows the way out of this deal, and he's sure he can think of some way to accomplish his goal. He always has.
He knows that Vox is treating him better than he would anyone else. Vox is treating him better than anyone else would he had conflict with would, for that matter, but that doesn't make it any less insulting.
He gives up on the idea of smoking for the moment. He tucks the cigarette back in the box, then lets his hand drop back down to the seat. And as for the real reason that Vox was so eager to come back with this magnanimous display... ]
[The jab at Vox's outfit just makes him laugh. Not because the remark itself was amusing, but because of what it conveyed. Alastor is irritated, helpless and lashing out in petty ways. That's just funny. Vox is winning, Alastor is losing, there's nothing to be done about it. It's like watching the Radio Demon try to climb up a mountain, only to slip and fall back down every single time.
He takes another drag from his cigarette, smirk widening into something more hollow and performative when the question is posed. Then he turns to face Alastor again, staring down at the man.]
Wow, talk about wild assumptions. No one's avoiding anyone. Everyone's busy. Prepping for the ascent to Heaven's turned this place into a madhouse.
[That's what Vox is insisting even to himself. The alternative is unbearable, after all. Not to mention infuriating.]
Oh, please. I know what I've seen, and I know what I've heard.
[ Alastor scoffs. He looks up to Vox, his eyes briefly narrowing. The rest might be nothing more than his own petty complaints, but on this there was simply no sense in offering calculated responses. He doesn't need to decide when to hold and when to fold, because there's no stopping what comes next. ]
And I know you. If it were an option, you would have taken my advice the first time instead of crawling back in here.
[ Well, he wouldn't have come back so soon, anyway. If he did come back, it would've been with someone, but more likely he would've heard about it later - look at what he was doing while Alastor was sitting here all alone like a loser, blah blah blah. The Radio Demon is both his first choice and his last resort. It's tragically mutual, because the Media Overlord is his only choice. ]
[Vox instinctively stiffens, not so much at the accusation but at the context that's attached. He knows Alastor's spent some time with the other two Vees behind his back. Knows Alastor's been watching and listening in. It begs the question of whether he heard something that Vox hasn't heard. Whether gossip was exchanged with either Val or Velvette. If there was negativity there, Alastor would've fueled it.
He leans down to tap his cigarette against the ashtray's rim again, and as he does so, keeps his gaze on Alastor. He doesn't even blink.]
You're real fuckin' conceited, aren't you? Here's a hot newsflash for ya, Al- I'd tell you to sit down for it if I had to. You don't know everything.
[With that said, he raises a hand to Alastor's head, harshly ruffling his hair for a moment. It's peak condescension.]
Don't act like you understand other people's partnerships when you couldn't even be bothered to have one of your own. It's not a good look!
[ He closes one eye as Vox ruffles his hair, his grin stretching out further in response to the gesture. He wonders if Vox is still sore about him socializing, but before long decides that he doesn't care. ]
No, I was smart enough not to, and as of late I've realized more than ever what a mistake it would have been.
[ His gaze and tone are harsh, and to look at Vox, one would think that he was the ultimate proof of that. He's validated Alastor's decision at every turn, after all.
He's not, though. Not even close. There's one particular person, but it's also everyone. There's not one single person who hasn't disappointed him. And after this disaster, one where not a single person could meet his expectations, where he was cost so much, he wouldn't dare trust someone to pick up his laundry, much less anything more. ]
The only thing I've ever gotten from working with others is a headache.
[ The temptation to talk about his most recent migraine is there, but Vox would only cut him off halfway through, and then he might really have a fit. He doesn't need to provide that sort of entertainment. ]
[Vox absolutely takes that first remark as a jab aimed solely at himself. The sort of jab that indicates even further that Alastor's a sore loser. Vox is coming out on top, and maybe if they'd been actual partners, he would've ended up lifting most of the weight too. Getting most of the credit, most of the attention... He's the number one sinner in Hell, not Alastor, so the partnership would've become unbalanced either way.
Yep. That's what it is.]
Aawwww, you poor little thing. [He chuckles loudly, grinning up towards the ceiling for a second.] It's okay. You won't have to try working with anyone else anymore. Nobody's gonna want to. You're off limits as my personal bitch, and I'll make sure everyone knows it.
[Whether he'll try to keep Val and Velvette away from Alastor, he hasn't yet decided. It depends on how soon they'll come crawling back to him, and how sincere their apologies will be. He does know that no one else will get to go near Alastor without Vox's supervision.]
[ His fingers twitch, sharp claws digging into the sides of the chair's seat. His eyes flick up. He's been trying to keep his gaze on Vox, and he's been quite disciplined, but it's hard not to watch that trail of smoke. It's hard to resist, and also quite easy, because addiction is overridden not just by a desire for dignity - it's that nauseating nostalgia, some emotions stirred up, something that he couldn't stand to be overwritten by this.
It wouldn't be, but it'd be held up and compared, and Alastor won't allow that. And so his eyes just trail that line of smoke. His ears flick several times before they're pinned flat back once more. ]
... Well, I thought that was a given.
[ The words are slow. They're calm and careful, because even this much is slicing him open and beginning to tear his guts out. The rest of his organs will come next, and Alastor feels sick. Those frustrations he feel are like built up toxins in his guts, a rot that threatens to leak out, and that keeps him from saying anything more.
His fingers twitched slightly, sharp claws scraping against the fabric of the chair. He crosses his legs, one foot bouncing restlessly up and down. He's seething. ]
You know, I've only cared for a few things in my life, and I truly don't know where I went wrong with them. I must have told them a hundred times to stay out of my affairs, to let me handle everything, and they still came chasing after me.
[ There's an almost parental tone to that, like a father talking about rowdy children. He's been irritable and petty, but there's a frustration now, something spiteful and bitter and regretful. That is the rub of it. He was the Radio Demon, isolated, feared, revered, and yet someone who could somehow inspire loyalty and care, someone who brought people together despite trying so hard to avoid them. He was radio, drawing people close together so they might hear and share.
He breathes out heavily, a tremble running down his entire body, starting with his shoulders and ending with that final shake of his foot. He wants to throw up. It feels like every last one of his organs has been pulled out with just that confession, but it feels right now. It's necessary, so they're on even terms, even if Vox is a moron who won't catch the significance. ]
... I have just one person left.
[ Who is that...? Well, Vox should be able to figure it out. ]
[As Vox listens to Alastor's words, he wonders whether he's expected to feel bad about what he's done. Surely not, right? They're in Hell, and they're here for a reason. Isn't that the very point Alastor had made all those years ago? There are no friends here. Vox did what was expected of him in this place. He played the game by its rules. It's the goons' own fault for defying Alastor's orders, and for underestimating Vox.
No, he won't feel bad about this.
He takes one more long, deep drag from his cigarette, then crushes it down into the ash tray. It wasn't even fully finished yet, but he's had enough of it. The smoke is released in a slow, methodical manner, like he's savoring the last remnants.]
Isn't that how it was always meant to be? I mean... c'mon, don't you think even one person is more than enough for someone like you? You've already made it pretty fuckin' clear how little you care about having a real connection with someone.
[Vox doesn't think that Alastor would be content if he were left all on his own, locked away from other souls, for the rest of eternity. The Radio Demon needs an audience, after all. But he does wonder whether 'having someone left' would matter at all.]
[ Vox had played by the rules, and it was Alastor that hadn't. There's no reason for him to place the blame on the other man, because Alastor might have done the same. He would do worse now, because that was their way. Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth, and blood demands blood.
Vox shouldn't feel bad, but Alastor should, and so he does. It's a mistake he would never make again. No more taking on souls. No more showing mercy. Never again. ]
... Yes, well, one doesn't let a stray cat into their house if they have no intention of giving it food and shelter.
[ That wasn't Vox's point, but there was some instinctive need to clarify. There were no friends in Hell, but one could still take offense to their pet being shot for trespassing on someone's property. Alastor isn't even sure he reaches that level, being Vox's personal bitch and a belonging, but the man ought to have the decency to understand where it'd cause offense if the same were to occur.
Vox shouldn't feel bad, but Alastor should feel slighted, and so he does. They're both doing as they should - nothing more, nothing less.
Still, he lets out a little sigh, leaning back in his chair. His eyes fix on the cigarette as its pressed down. There's a single orange glow from the remnants before that too is snuffed out, and all that's left are the wisps of smoke that dissipate in the air. He inhales it, that second hand smoke that he has to satisfy himself with. With that, he offers a more direct answer, ]
But, you're right. As long as the airwaves exist, one person is one more than I need.
[ He is radio, after all. Radio will never die so long as he's alive, and so long as the world runs on radio waves, he'll always be able to reach an audience. And for twenty long years, he had led a solitary existence.
[The mention of a stray cat adds a certain mean edge to his smirk. Husk is brought to the forefront immediately. Whether that was intentional or not doesn't really matter to him. It's just funny. Looking at it that way, he can see why Alastor's bothered by what happened. Having a pet to care for is very different from having a partner, but it can be just as emotionally significant. Maybe he'll give Alastor a demon goldfish to look after some day. Maybe.
One person is more than enough, that's what matters here. That's what nestles itself deep into Vox's chest, taking root and blossoming to the point where it blots out anything else. It makes him restless. He turns himself around and sidesteps, moving to stand directly in front of Alastor. There's a high chance he's about to play with fire, he knows this, but he's curious what'll happen. Curious what Alastor might do.
He sinks down to his knees and leans forward, resting his elbows atop Alastor's legs. He's not getting in too close, since he's not that stupid. In a way, he's submitting himself to Alastor; kneeling before someone else feels very much like a position of weakness. Still, he's choosing to do this because at the end of the day, he's the one holding all the strings.]
This is for the best, Al. You'll see. Once I've settled into my role as the new god and you've had some time to adjust, you'll be wishin' things were like this from the start.
[ His ears perk up straight up when Vox moves in front of him before laying back once more as the man drops down to his knees, and he stiffens briefly as he feels the pressure of the other's elbows on his legs. His gaze grows even warier, and his claws briefly dig into the chair's seat as he tries to find the reason for this change in position. It was uncharacteristic of Vox, who until now had made a point of showcasing his position of power by towering over and looking down on the Radio Demon.
He's momentarily uncertain of whether or not he should pull away, but in the end decides it best to remain still. Everything has fallen apart, and he's felt it as his control over the situation has rapidly melted away, and he doesn't need to put that on display by reacting to every small thing that Vox does.
It's that same need to maintain control that leads him to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting to the words spoken to him. The statement is so ridiculous that he almost wants to laugh, but the same was true of much of what Vox has said these past several days. ]
Do you mean the part where I'm "useless and forgotten," or the part where I'm kept locked up in a tower like Isabel de Clare?
[ Or whatever comes next. "Tower" is accurate now, and it's most accurate for this little quip.. Even if he thinks it unlikely that Vox will get the joke. ]
Edited (hold on i meant to add this) 2026-03-10 01:44 (UTC)
[Vox absolutely does not get the quip. Medieval European history is something he knows very little about, especially when the story is lacking in sensation. He'll just assume it's like Rapunzel, or the man in the iron mask. ... In fact, what with the muzzle, the iron mask wouldn't even be a bad comparison. He'll keep it in mind for later.
For now, though? He grins, still actively resting some of his weight on Alastor's legs, just above the knees. His gaze is stuck on the Radio Demon's own eyes.]
Both, of course. They go hand in hand. [A brief chuckle slips out, and his arms cross all the way atop Alastor's legs so he can rest his screen on top of them.] Useless and forgotten to everyone else, but not to me. That's the beauty of it. One person is enough, right? Everyone else will leave you alone, and you won't have a single worry.
[ Alastor doesn't need anyone, but he's needed by others. It's always been that way, and he takes no comfort in the idea of it changing. The reason he could show mercy was because he was stronger than others. The reason he could offer protection and assistance was because he was better than those around him. There was no altruism in either case, but that personal satisfaction that came with the reminder of who and what he was. It was as much proof that he was alive as killing others. It was as much a reminder that he was secure as harming others was. Without any of that, how would he know if he was still alive? Where would that destructive impulse go? Where could it go?
Maybe he would start to devour himself instead. He might tear open his own chest cavity and crack his ribcage so he can see that his heart is still beating.
That's what makes it effective revenge scheme, but it's still unexpected. He hadn't thought Vox capable of so quickly snuff out everything he'd built up, nor plan to so thoroughly grind down everything that made Alastor who he was. The man hated him, and the feeling was mutual, had tried to kill him on multiple occasions, but it was all bloodlust and humiliation and paybacks. Deep down, he knows that's what he'd still settle on. He'd take as much as had been taken from him. He would make him stay awake and despair in the same way. Nothing more, nothing less.
If the option to smash Vox's screen in were there, Alastor would take it. Unfortunately, all that's left to him is petty displays, and that's just not enough now. He keeps still instead. He stares down at the Media Overlord instead, searching for the answer to some unasked question. He doesn't know what he missed. He doesn't know what it is that he's missing now.
The way that Vox folds his arms on his legs and looks up to him should be a sweet gesture, intimate and affectionate, and it might be if not for all the circumstances surrounding it. As it stands, it just feels predatory. ]
What did I have to worry about before? I've spent the last century perfectly satisfied. I haven't run into any problem that I couldn't resolve.
[ There were plenty of things he had to worry about right from the start. He was on someone's string. His rapid ascent and chokehold on being the most powerful overlord left him disliked. There was Vox. There was being forced to disappear and stuck at a stupid hotel and nearly dying, and... Well, it was all just temporary. Vox knew perfectly well too that Alastor chose to let people stay around him. The Princess of Hell herself had been afraid of him. ]
Why would I ever prefer an eternity of being patronized and ridiculed? If you're going to mock my situation, at least do so properly.
[ He could at least put a little more effort into mocking the Radio Demon's situation than pretending he could find any benefit in this deal of theirs. That's just insulting now... Still, he won't refute any claims about one person being enough. The truth is that Vox is right, too - not that he was the only one who would be left to give a shit now. He just had always been the only one who did, or at least the only one who could choose not to be. Husk and Niffty didn't have that luxury. ]
Edited (sorry for the late edit but the clunky dialogue was genuinely bothering me.) 2026-03-12 04:05 (UTC)
[What Vox is doing now is absolutely predatory. It's a display of power and control. He's kneeling in front of the man, positioned lower, but none of that is a sign of being at Alastor's mercy. He can make himself comfortable however he wants, lean on Alastor in any way he wants, and there's not a damn thing to be done about it. They're sitting here like this because Vox made the conscious decision to have it play out this way. Just because he would love it if there were affection involved from either side, that doesn't mean it has to be there. He'll take what he can get.
He keeps grinning up at Alastor's face, barely blinking. In fact, the only thing to change about his facial expression would be his mouth when he speaks.]
Nooo no no. Don't give me that. If that's how you really feel, it means you spent the last century complacent. Just putting up with whatever bullshit was tossed your way 'cause you considered it part of daily afterlife. That's not proper satisfaction, now is it? And if you wanted more, but haven't gotten it after a century, then isn't that a worry?
[Which still doesn't answer the question of why an eternity in Vox's captivity would somehow be preferable, but really, he's just arguing for the sake of arguing. He does like to hear himself talk.]
[ Vox doesn't answer he question, but instead presupposes that his time in the afterlife itself has become a worry. It's a problem to be solved. It's a problem that might not be solved. Still, Alastor assumes in turn that the other doesn't have a viable answer to why an equally worrying way of living should be better if the opportunity to change it were stripped away.
It's always spin and entrapment with him. ]
You see, this is why I can't trust you with anything important. [ Or anything unimportant, for that matter. ] You're completely incapable of asking meaningful questions or even ones that you can propose a substantive answer to. In fact, you can't even defend your own stances.
[ It's like listening to a child try to speak on adult matters. It's questions for the sake of questions, a sort of pseudo-philosophical view that leads directly to nihilism. Alastor speaks to him accordingly, unwilling to map out every argument and sense of reasoning but instead concluding with, ]
I know what's best for both myself and for others.
[ Hence, it's only when others stop doing as he wants them to that things go off the rails. Whatever other quips and nitpicks the other has, it really is that simple. ]
[Excuses and lies really are Vox's specialty, to the point where he barely realizes he's even doing it. Justifications come natural to him, as do perspective changes to get a topic tilted to a better angle. It's like instinct to protect himself, handled with such an absence of grace he may as well be shooting himself in the foot.
Alastor calls it out sometimes, though. Draws attention to what Vox is doing, and he doesn't like that one bit. Like right now, where the perspective change is dismissed as ineptitude. It's enough to finally wipe the smirk off his face. His fingers clench somewhat, sharp tips pricking against Alastor's legs, just below the knees.]
Bullshit. You didn't give me enough credit. But I took matters into my own hands and now here I am, about to take over all the realms. It pretty much proves you don't know best, if ya ask me.
[With that out there, he relaxes again somewhat. Draws in a deep breath and allows for a quick twitch of the antennae.]
You want my fucking stance? Here it is. Once I rule over all of existence, things will be better for everybody. Even someone as miserable as you. I'll start a totally new era and everyone will be thanking me, down on both knees. If you play nice, I'll let you enjoy some of that new world order too. That's why everything will be better.
[ His ears are still flat against his hair, they briefly flick up at Vox's first word, one ear twitching a few times before laying back once more. He can feel those claws threatening to bite into his legs. He knows that he struck a nerve, and it does seem to prove his point. But in cases like this, there was a marked difference between the best possible outcome and the one that came to be. ]
Now I have to play nice? What was that about how "you'll be wishing things were like this from the start?"
[ He would adjust his sitting position right about now, but the weight on his legs keeps him from doing more than a bit of fidgeting. The toothy grin remains plastered on his face. ]
You can't think of even a single reason why I would, now can you?
[ They both know that Vox has no answer, because Vox has nothing to offer him. The Media Overlord doesn't want the Radio Demon to just be a bird in a cage, unable to do more than scrabble his feet, but one that he can hold in his hand, and one that he can train to be unable to chirp in any palm but his.
Alastor won't entertain that sort of wishful thinking for even a moment. ]
[Vox snorts loudly and shakes his head. The amusement's written all over his face, eyes closed and smile stretched all the way across his screen.]
What a stupid question. The playing nice comes after the realization things are better this way. And maybe a few decades of getting the fuck over yourself. I wouldn't expect it to come any sooner than that.
[Rome wasn't built in a day, and Alastor won't admit he was wrong in a week. Vox knows that very well. It's already been seven decades with zero progress, and while godhood might get the ball rolling, it won't change the Radio Demon's foul nature. Sure, maybe Vox could use his divine status to enhance his mind control and subjugate Alastor's being by force, but where's the fun in that? No, he wants Alastor to admit he was wrong because the epiphany was allowed to sink in on its own. So he'll wait.]
The only way to get you to stop digging your heels in is to break that arrogant pride of yours. And I will, over time. 'Cause we've got aaaall the time in the universe.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I'm the best, actually. And I don't need you to tell me that.
[Two fingers reach into the packet to take out a cigarette, bringing it to his mouth. With that, the carton is shut again and set to the side. Lighting the thing is easy, it takes a literal snap of the fingers. With a content smile, he takes a deeeeep drag, the smoke seeming to fill his very being. He's not looking Alastor's way.]
Mmmmhh, that's good. I needed that.
no subject
Did you have a reason for coming back that isn't acting like a child in need of attention?
[ Vox isn't looking his way, so he turns away from him in turn, crossing one leg over the other after doing so. ]
If not, hurry up and find one.
[ At least it doesn't seem like he's going to try to kick Vox out again? ]
no subject
Here. Keep it.
[And sure, Alastor's still restrained, but there's no need for pretense here. Alastor's free to use his shadowy tendrils to aid himself with little tasks; there were never any rules that prevented him from doing such a thing. It's not like he can use them to escape or harm Vox, so who cares?]
no subject
He leans back in the seat as he does so, tilting his head back, that toothy grin widening. ]
You know, I thought you would pass it to me.
[ The cigarette, that is. It was sometimes a habit for people who couldn't finish a full cigarette - inefficient, but also those who for some reason couldn't afford a full one for whatever reason. Neither are applicable here, since they can afford them and will just wind up with a second, and so it doesn't really matter. But there was a sort of bonding experience that came with it.
Too bad. ]
But, this works just as well. It's better than I had expected, in fact.
no subject
What, leeching off my supply's not enough for you? You thought I'd let you take the smokes straight from my mouth? That's reeeeal fucking pitiful, Al.
[He pushes himself away from the desk, striding over to Alastor's side. One more drag from his cigarette, then he leans forward to tap some of the ashes into the tray that was just procured. It's a gentle little motion. Almost discreet. Something that's at odds with the mean smirk on Vox's face, and the way smoke drifts out from between his sharp teeth.]
I take good care of my belongings. Letting you have a tiny stash is the least I can do.
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His ears lie flatter upon hearing the word belongings, his shoulders subtly lifting, and whatever retort he might have given is lost. He opens the carton now, plucking a cigarette from it but not lifting it, instead rolling it between his fingers. ]
I agreed to be your captive, not a part of your personal collection.
[ He grumbles, but it's half-hearted and sullen, because he's full aware of the situation that he's put himself into. Vox might not own him in the literal sense that his benefactor did, but their deal wasn't all that different. He couldn't force Alastor to do anything, but he could do anything else. He'd traded being a dog to be barked orders at for being a doll to be played with, put on display, and broken at someone's leisure.
He really has been insufferable these last several days. ]
Get it right.
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He keeps lingering by Alastor's side, even if he's not directly looking the man's way. Instead, he's giving off an air of nonchalance, staring towards Shok.wav's tank. The shark isn't near the office right now; probably off in some other portion of the building that his tank connects to. Still, the sight of the water is somehow calming.]
I don't know what you're complaining about. Captives usually don't get access to these kinds of perks. They need some outsider to smuggle in cigarettes through... Well, you know. [He doesn't spell it out, if only because he doesn't want the taste of his own smoke to be tainted by the mental image.]
You've got it made here. Maybe show some fucking gratitude for once.
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Keep the jokes to your outfit.
[ The only thing he has to be grateful for is the assurance that this should be a temporary affair. That's something he has to keep reminding himself of. He knows the way out of this deal, and he's sure he can think of some way to accomplish his goal. He always has.
He knows that Vox is treating him better than he would anyone else. Vox is treating him better than anyone else would he had conflict with would, for that matter, but that doesn't make it any less insulting.
He gives up on the idea of smoking for the moment. He tucks the cigarette back in the box, then lets his hand drop back down to the seat. And as for the real reason that Vox was so eager to come back with this magnanimous display... ]
I assume your partners are still avoiding you?
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He takes another drag from his cigarette, smirk widening into something more hollow and performative when the question is posed. Then he turns to face Alastor again, staring down at the man.]
Wow, talk about wild assumptions. No one's avoiding anyone. Everyone's busy. Prepping for the ascent to Heaven's turned this place into a madhouse.
[That's what Vox is insisting even to himself. The alternative is unbearable, after all. Not to mention infuriating.]
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[ Alastor scoffs. He looks up to Vox, his eyes briefly narrowing. The rest might be nothing more than his own petty complaints, but on this there was simply no sense in offering calculated responses. He doesn't need to decide when to hold and when to fold, because there's no stopping what comes next. ]
And I know you. If it were an option, you would have taken my advice the first time instead of crawling back in here.
[ Well, he wouldn't have come back so soon, anyway. If he did come back, it would've been with someone, but more likely he would've heard about it later - look at what he was doing while Alastor was sitting here all alone like a loser, blah blah blah. The Radio Demon is both his first choice and his last resort. It's tragically mutual, because the Media Overlord is his only choice. ]
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He leans down to tap his cigarette against the ashtray's rim again, and as he does so, keeps his gaze on Alastor. He doesn't even blink.]
You're real fuckin' conceited, aren't you? Here's a hot newsflash for ya, Al- I'd tell you to sit down for it if I had to. You don't know everything.
[With that said, he raises a hand to Alastor's head, harshly ruffling his hair for a moment. It's peak condescension.]
Don't act like you understand other people's partnerships when you couldn't even be bothered to have one of your own. It's not a good look!
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No, I was smart enough not to, and as of late I've realized more than ever what a mistake it would have been.
[ His gaze and tone are harsh, and to look at Vox, one would think that he was the ultimate proof of that. He's validated Alastor's decision at every turn, after all.
He's not, though. Not even close. There's one particular person, but it's also everyone. There's not one single person who hasn't disappointed him. And after this disaster, one where not a single person could meet his expectations, where he was cost so much, he wouldn't dare trust someone to pick up his laundry, much less anything more. ]
The only thing I've ever gotten from working with others is a headache.
[ The temptation to talk about his most recent migraine is there, but Vox would only cut him off halfway through, and then he might really have a fit. He doesn't need to provide that sort of entertainment. ]
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Yep. That's what it is.]
Aawwww, you poor little thing. [He chuckles loudly, grinning up towards the ceiling for a second.] It's okay. You won't have to try working with anyone else anymore. Nobody's gonna want to. You're off limits as my personal bitch, and I'll make sure everyone knows it.
[Whether he'll try to keep Val and Velvette away from Alastor, he hasn't yet decided. It depends on how soon they'll come crawling back to him, and how sincere their apologies will be. He does know that no one else will get to go near Alastor without Vox's supervision.]
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It wouldn't be, but it'd be held up and compared, and Alastor won't allow that. And so his eyes just trail that line of smoke. His ears flick several times before they're pinned flat back once more. ]
... Well, I thought that was a given.
[ The words are slow. They're calm and careful, because even this much is slicing him open and beginning to tear his guts out. The rest of his organs will come next, and Alastor feels sick. Those frustrations he feel are like built up toxins in his guts, a rot that threatens to leak out, and that keeps him from saying anything more.
His fingers twitched slightly, sharp claws scraping against the fabric of the chair. He crosses his legs, one foot bouncing restlessly up and down. He's seething. ]
You know, I've only cared for a few things in my life, and I truly don't know where I went wrong with them. I must have told them a hundred times to stay out of my affairs, to let me handle everything, and they still came chasing after me.
[ There's an almost parental tone to that, like a father talking about rowdy children. He's been irritable and petty, but there's a frustration now, something spiteful and bitter and regretful. That is the rub of it. He was the Radio Demon, isolated, feared, revered, and yet someone who could somehow inspire loyalty and care, someone who brought people together despite trying so hard to avoid them. He was radio, drawing people close together so they might hear and share.
He breathes out heavily, a tremble running down his entire body, starting with his shoulders and ending with that final shake of his foot. He wants to throw up. It feels like every last one of his organs has been pulled out with just that confession, but it feels right now. It's necessary, so they're on even terms, even if Vox is a moron who won't catch the significance. ]
... I have just one person left.
[ Who is that...? Well, Vox should be able to figure it out. ]
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No, he won't feel bad about this.
He takes one more long, deep drag from his cigarette, then crushes it down into the ash tray. It wasn't even fully finished yet, but he's had enough of it. The smoke is released in a slow, methodical manner, like he's savoring the last remnants.]
Isn't that how it was always meant to be? I mean... c'mon, don't you think even one person is more than enough for someone like you? You've already made it pretty fuckin' clear how little you care about having a real connection with someone.
[Vox doesn't think that Alastor would be content if he were left all on his own, locked away from other souls, for the rest of eternity. The Radio Demon needs an audience, after all. But he does wonder whether 'having someone left' would matter at all.]
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Vox shouldn't feel bad, but Alastor should, and so he does. It's a mistake he would never make again. No more taking on souls. No more showing mercy. Never again. ]
... Yes, well, one doesn't let a stray cat into their house if they have no intention of giving it food and shelter.
[ That wasn't Vox's point, but there was some instinctive need to clarify. There were no friends in Hell, but one could still take offense to their pet being shot for trespassing on someone's property. Alastor isn't even sure he reaches that level, being Vox's personal bitch and a belonging, but the man ought to have the decency to understand where it'd cause offense if the same were to occur.
Vox shouldn't feel bad, but Alastor should feel slighted, and so he does. They're both doing as they should - nothing more, nothing less.
Still, he lets out a little sigh, leaning back in his chair. His eyes fix on the cigarette as its pressed down. There's a single orange glow from the remnants before that too is snuffed out, and all that's left are the wisps of smoke that dissipate in the air. He inhales it, that second hand smoke that he has to satisfy himself with. With that, he offers a more direct answer, ]
But, you're right. As long as the airwaves exist, one person is one more than I need.
[ He is radio, after all. Radio will never die so long as he's alive, and so long as the world runs on radio waves, he'll always be able to reach an audience. And for twenty long years, he had led a solitary existence.
So why is it that he sounds so dissatisfied? ]
It's more than enough.
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One person is more than enough, that's what matters here. That's what nestles itself deep into Vox's chest, taking root and blossoming to the point where it blots out anything else. It makes him restless. He turns himself around and sidesteps, moving to stand directly in front of Alastor. There's a high chance he's about to play with fire, he knows this, but he's curious what'll happen. Curious what Alastor might do.
He sinks down to his knees and leans forward, resting his elbows atop Alastor's legs. He's not getting in too close, since he's not that stupid. In a way, he's submitting himself to Alastor; kneeling before someone else feels very much like a position of weakness. Still, he's choosing to do this because at the end of the day, he's the one holding all the strings.]
This is for the best, Al. You'll see. Once I've settled into my role as the new god and you've had some time to adjust, you'll be wishin' things were like this from the start.
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He's momentarily uncertain of whether or not he should pull away, but in the end decides it best to remain still. Everything has fallen apart, and he's felt it as his control over the situation has rapidly melted away, and he doesn't need to put that on display by reacting to every small thing that Vox does.
It's that same need to maintain control that leads him to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting to the words spoken to him. The statement is so ridiculous that he almost wants to laugh, but the same was true of much of what Vox has said these past several days. ]
Do you mean the part where I'm "useless and forgotten," or the part where I'm kept locked up in a tower like Isabel de Clare?
[ Or whatever comes next. "Tower" is accurate now, and it's most accurate for this little quip.. Even if he thinks it unlikely that Vox will get the joke. ]
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For now, though? He grins, still actively resting some of his weight on Alastor's legs, just above the knees. His gaze is stuck on the Radio Demon's own eyes.]
Both, of course. They go hand in hand. [A brief chuckle slips out, and his arms cross all the way atop Alastor's legs so he can rest his screen on top of them.] Useless and forgotten to everyone else, but not to me. That's the beauty of it. One person is enough, right? Everyone else will leave you alone, and you won't have a single worry.
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Maybe he would start to devour himself instead. He might tear open his own chest cavity and crack his ribcage so he can see that his heart is still beating.
That's what makes it effective revenge scheme, but it's still unexpected. He hadn't thought Vox capable of so quickly snuff out everything he'd built up, nor plan to so thoroughly grind down everything that made Alastor who he was. The man hated him, and the feeling was mutual, had tried to kill him on multiple occasions, but it was all bloodlust and humiliation and paybacks. Deep down, he knows that's what he'd still settle on. He'd take as much as had been taken from him. He would make him stay awake and despair in the same way. Nothing more, nothing less.
If the option to smash Vox's screen in were there, Alastor would take it. Unfortunately, all that's left to him is petty displays, and that's just not enough now. He keeps still instead. He stares down at the Media Overlord instead, searching for the answer to some unasked question. He doesn't know what he missed. He doesn't know what it is that he's missing now.
The way that Vox folds his arms on his legs and looks up to him should be a sweet gesture, intimate and affectionate, and it might be if not for all the circumstances surrounding it. As it stands, it just feels predatory. ]
What did I have to worry about before? I've spent the last century perfectly satisfied. I haven't run into any problem that I couldn't resolve.
[ There were plenty of things he had to worry about right from the start. He was on someone's string. His rapid ascent and chokehold on being the most powerful overlord left him disliked. There was Vox. There was being forced to disappear and stuck at a stupid hotel and nearly dying, and... Well, it was all just temporary. Vox knew perfectly well too that Alastor chose to let people stay around him. The Princess of Hell herself had been afraid of him. ]
Why would I ever prefer an eternity of being patronized and ridiculed? If you're going to mock my situation, at least do so properly.
[ He could at least put a little more effort into mocking the Radio Demon's situation than pretending he could find any benefit in this deal of theirs. That's just insulting now... Still, he won't refute any claims about one person being enough. The truth is that Vox is right, too - not that he was the only one who would be left to give a shit now. He just had always been the only one who did, or at least the only one who could choose not to be. Husk and Niffty didn't have that luxury. ]
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He keeps grinning up at Alastor's face, barely blinking. In fact, the only thing to change about his facial expression would be his mouth when he speaks.]
Nooo no no. Don't give me that. If that's how you really feel, it means you spent the last century complacent. Just putting up with whatever bullshit was tossed your way 'cause you considered it part of daily afterlife. That's not proper satisfaction, now is it? And if you wanted more, but haven't gotten it after a century, then isn't that a worry?
[Which still doesn't answer the question of why an eternity in Vox's captivity would somehow be preferable, but really, he's just arguing for the sake of arguing. He does like to hear himself talk.]
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It's always spin and entrapment with him. ]
You see, this is why I can't trust you with anything important. [ Or anything unimportant, for that matter. ] You're completely incapable of asking meaningful questions or even ones that you can propose a substantive answer to. In fact, you can't even defend your own stances.
[ It's like listening to a child try to speak on adult matters. It's questions for the sake of questions, a sort of pseudo-philosophical view that leads directly to nihilism. Alastor speaks to him accordingly, unwilling to map out every argument and sense of reasoning but instead concluding with, ]
I know what's best for both myself and for others.
[ Hence, it's only when others stop doing as he wants them to that things go off the rails. Whatever other quips and nitpicks the other has, it really is that simple. ]
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Alastor calls it out sometimes, though. Draws attention to what Vox is doing, and he doesn't like that one bit. Like right now, where the perspective change is dismissed as ineptitude. It's enough to finally wipe the smirk off his face. His fingers clench somewhat, sharp tips pricking against Alastor's legs, just below the knees.]
Bullshit. You didn't give me enough credit. But I took matters into my own hands and now here I am, about to take over all the realms. It pretty much proves you don't know best, if ya ask me.
[With that out there, he relaxes again somewhat. Draws in a deep breath and allows for a quick twitch of the antennae.]
You want my fucking stance? Here it is. Once I rule over all of existence, things will be better for everybody. Even someone as miserable as you. I'll start a totally new era and everyone will be thanking me, down on both knees. If you play nice, I'll let you enjoy some of that new world order too. That's why everything will be better.
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Now I have to play nice? What was that about how "you'll be wishing things were like this from the start?"
[ He would adjust his sitting position right about now, but the weight on his legs keeps him from doing more than a bit of fidgeting. The toothy grin remains plastered on his face. ]
You can't think of even a single reason why I would, now can you?
[ They both know that Vox has no answer, because Vox has nothing to offer him. The Media Overlord doesn't want the Radio Demon to just be a bird in a cage, unable to do more than scrabble his feet, but one that he can hold in his hand, and one that he can train to be unable to chirp in any palm but his.
Alastor won't entertain that sort of wishful thinking for even a moment. ]
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What a stupid question. The playing nice comes after the realization things are better this way. And maybe a few decades of getting the fuck over yourself. I wouldn't expect it to come any sooner than that.
[Rome wasn't built in a day, and Alastor won't admit he was wrong in a week. Vox knows that very well. It's already been seven decades with zero progress, and while godhood might get the ball rolling, it won't change the Radio Demon's foul nature. Sure, maybe Vox could use his divine status to enhance his mind control and subjugate Alastor's being by force, but where's the fun in that? No, he wants Alastor to admit he was wrong because the epiphany was allowed to sink in on its own. So he'll wait.]
The only way to get you to stop digging your heels in is to break that arrogant pride of yours. And I will, over time. 'Cause we've got aaaall the time in the universe.
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CW: suicide ideation of sorts
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