[ 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.
[ And this is why Alastor could say that he knew best. This wasn't best for either of them. It was what they could take.
He leans to one side as much as he can without moving the seat along with him, lifting one hand as he does so. It rises and catches on the wires, rinse and repeat, pushing wires up until he's satisfied with the range of movement. Those wires are just performative anyway. He then maneuvers that hand carefully to place an index finger on one of Vox's antenna, bobbing it back and forth before giving it a little flick, then resting his hand back on the seat of the chair. ]
And we have a deal.
[ His grin widens, and despite giving a gesture of affection, his eyes narrow. ]
And if there's one thing I can count on, it's for you to fuck it up. And we both know that once you do, either you'll be dead or I'll be gone.
[ Because this deal truly is essential for Vox. If it were to break, then if he couldn't fight, then Alastor would flee. And if he fled, to try to catch him would be akin to trying to catch the shadows themselves.
Deep down they both knew that he was only ever caught because he allowed it. And if he were released again, he won't be captured again.
But if allowed, he'll prod at Vox's antenna one more time, a soft little back and forth prod. He feels no more uncertain about it now than when they were close. ]
In a millennia, tell me that again.
[ Because Alastor was right in that Vox failing was the best option. They would just wind up torturing each other for all eternity otherwise. ]
[As soon as Alastor starts moving his hand, Vox's gaze drifts towards it. He watches as the wires are vaguely loosened, and does nothing to stop it. There's no reason to stop it. Though, before he knows what's happening, Alastor's playing with his antenna. It no longer sends a wave of static across his screen, since the antenna isn't connected to his display anymore. At most, he hears the static, feels it rushing through his head, and it means he needs to waste a second on tuning back into the V Tower's wifi network.
Still... He remembers the times vividly when Alastor would do that, and he mistook it for a sign of affection. Just another one of those social cues he'd misread, filling him with hope instead of bitter disdain. He wishes he could go back to those times of ignorance. Much like a TV show, this fictional idea that Alastor cared about him brought him comfort.
He doesn't pull away, instead allowing the Radio Demon to prod and flick as he pleases. He knows now that there's no meaningful sentiment involved, but the feeling is always nice.]
If I fuck up... And that's a real big if... I'll make sure we're both dead.
[It's said with a plastered smile, a tilt of the head and pure sincerity. If he somehow manages to fail at this point, and the deal is broken, he won't give Alastor a chance to gloat. He won't allow it for anyone else, either. Someone who fucks up when he's that close to being a god, or already is one, has truly jumped the shark. No point in trying anything else. Game over.]
[ Alastor hooks his index and middle finger around Vox's damaged antenna, and he presses his thumb against one of the dents on it. He presses down a little harder, testing how pliable it is, and isn't surprised to find that it doesn't budge. He does sometimes wonder if he it isn't deliberately kept that way to keep them at roughly the same height. It makes him want to hammer out the dents and pull it straight, but he doubts Vox would much appreciate that.
He settles for placing the tip of his finger on the ball once more, pulling it forward and down before releasing it and watching it bounce back and forth, then repeats the movement. There's no particular reason for it save that he wants to. It's one of those little things that had once been shared between them, and it only takes Vox being near long enough for him to fall back into old patterns. ]
Do you really think you deserve such a beautiful end?
[ Alastor doesn't miss a beat, but that unsettling feeling washes over him once more. It makes his blood run cold. He knows Vox better than anyone. He might very well be the only one who knows him at all. He knows, too, that this is the first serious threat that the man has made since this all started. Vox needed someone he could take down with him. He needed someone who he could make suffer just as much.
He needs to find a way out. ]
I want to see you lose everything. I want you to live your life miserable alone, and I want to see you fall and break far more, and then crawl in some hole to die by yourself. I can't do that if you end things early.
[ It's because he hates Vox, and it's because he refuses to let go of him in spite of that. It's some twisted affection where he would rather the man be in his own personal Hell for eternity than die. He wants to hurt him, to vent every last frustration, but there's no real malice to his words - there's nothing to be found in them at all, no hint of how much he means, and completely at odds with him letting the man leisurely rest on his lap while playing with his antenna. ]
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no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
He leans to one side as much as he can without moving the seat along with him, lifting one hand as he does so. It rises and catches on the wires, rinse and repeat, pushing wires up until he's satisfied with the range of movement. Those wires are just performative anyway. He then maneuvers that hand carefully to place an index finger on one of Vox's antenna, bobbing it back and forth before giving it a little flick, then resting his hand back on the seat of the chair. ]
And we have a deal.
[ His grin widens, and despite giving a gesture of affection, his eyes narrow. ]
And if there's one thing I can count on, it's for you to fuck it up. And we both know that once you do, either you'll be dead or I'll be gone.
[ Because this deal truly is essential for Vox. If it were to break, then if he couldn't fight, then Alastor would flee. And if he fled, to try to catch him would be akin to trying to catch the shadows themselves.
Deep down they both knew that he was only ever caught because he allowed it. And if he were released again, he won't be captured again.
But if allowed, he'll prod at Vox's antenna one more time, a soft little back and forth prod. He feels no more uncertain about it now than when they were close. ]
In a millennia, tell me that again.
[ Because Alastor was right in that Vox failing was the best option. They would just wind up torturing each other for all eternity otherwise. ]
CW: suicide ideation of sorts
Still... He remembers the times vividly when Alastor would do that, and he mistook it for a sign of affection. Just another one of those social cues he'd misread, filling him with hope instead of bitter disdain. He wishes he could go back to those times of ignorance. Much like a TV show, this fictional idea that Alastor cared about him brought him comfort.
He doesn't pull away, instead allowing the Radio Demon to prod and flick as he pleases. He knows now that there's no meaningful sentiment involved, but the feeling is always nice.]
If I fuck up... And that's a real big if... I'll make sure we're both dead.
[It's said with a plastered smile, a tilt of the head and pure sincerity. If he somehow manages to fail at this point, and the deal is broken, he won't give Alastor a chance to gloat. He won't allow it for anyone else, either. Someone who fucks up when he's that close to being a god, or already is one, has truly jumped the shark. No point in trying anything else. Game over.]
no subject
He settles for placing the tip of his finger on the ball once more, pulling it forward and down before releasing it and watching it bounce back and forth, then repeats the movement. There's no particular reason for it save that he wants to. It's one of those little things that had once been shared between them, and it only takes Vox being near long enough for him to fall back into old patterns. ]
Do you really think you deserve such a beautiful end?
[ Alastor doesn't miss a beat, but that unsettling feeling washes over him once more. It makes his blood run cold. He knows Vox better than anyone. He might very well be the only one who knows him at all. He knows, too, that this is the first serious threat that the man has made since this all started. Vox needed someone he could take down with him. He needed someone who he could make suffer just as much.
He needs to find a way out. ]
I want to see you lose everything. I want you to live your life miserable alone, and I want to see you fall and break far more, and then crawl in some hole to die by yourself. I can't do that if you end things early.
[ It's because he hates Vox, and it's because he refuses to let go of him in spite of that. It's some twisted affection where he would rather the man be in his own personal Hell for eternity than die. He wants to hurt him, to vent every last frustration, but there's no real malice to his words - there's nothing to be found in them at all, no hint of how much he means, and completely at odds with him letting the man leisurely rest on his lap while playing with his antenna. ]