[The chair's wheels rattle as they walk, the noise echoing off the walls of long, abandoned hallways. There aren't too many other Sinners around on this level of the tower, certainly not now that Vox has put the company's manpower to use elsewhere, prepping the party. Those losers are probably folding napkins or cooking appetizers or some shit. It's nice and calm, but also eerie in that way that Hell perpetually is. If it were any other night, Vox might feel unsettled by it. Lonely, but only because he'd be missing the attention. He would've gone to seek out one of the other Vees. Now, he doesn't need either of them; they're barely an afterthought. He has someone he can force to pay attention, and it's his attention that Vox has desired the most for all these years.
The walk to the movie theater isn't too far, thankfully. It's one floor below the penthouse section, near the bowels of the aquarium. The brief elevator ride down is filled with shitty muzak, and not once during the entire trip does Vox's smile waver. He's feeling like he's on top of the world, and it shows. He stands with his head held high and his shoulders squared, cables wrapped tightly around Alastor's abdomen- not for fear of escape, but just because he can.
They arrive to the theater to find it dark, with only a few simple blue lights on to illuminate paths. There are only three rows of seats, because why bother installing more? It gives off the facade of a cinema, but it's something for private use only. At most, Vox would invite the other two Vees here from time to time. It's a great place for them to heckle Earth and Heaven releases. Or just appreciate Valentino's latest releases on the big screen.
Vox heads straight to the front row, moving down some steps along the way. Another great ride for Alastor and his chair! It's not until they reach the lowest portion that Vox does what he probably should've done earlier, but outright refused just to be petty: he undoes the initial set of cables restraining Alastor. Still no freedom- never freedom, what with the wires still snared around the man's wrists, chest and throat- but at the very least he's out of the chair, held suspended in midair for a few seconds before he's pulled down into the cushy plush of a cinema seat.]
There we go! Perfect!
[He spends a few more seconds grinning down at the sight of Alastor, then turns around to drop himself in the seat by his side. There's a little food cart within reach, kitted out with everything they could need, from sweet and savory snacks to soda to alcohol. He reaches for a big tub of popcorn to set down in Alastor's lap, making sure the cables leave just enough leeway for the man's hand to actually reach for the snack.]
Here you gooo, that's for you- Ooh, silly me, almost forgot. [And with that, he finally takes hold of the muzzle on Alastor's face. He makes sure his fingers linger a little longer than necessary against cheekbone before pulling it off.]
[ It's a comical sight. If an outsider were to see them, they might mistake it for a comedy skit wherein Alastor was intended to be the straightman. There's a tension in his shoulders that causes him to start to hunch forward before he corrects his posture, because Alastor does still have his pride. It's that same pride that keeps him trapped like this - if he had the stomach to, he could squeeze a concession or two out of Vox (a privilege reserved for him,) but the very thought of all the needling that would come both before and after are enough to make him sick, to say nothing of how very proud and self-righteous the man would act. And most importantly at all, it'd probably make Vox happy to get that kind of attention, and Alastor will not reward bad behavior.
Besides, it's already too late to think on things like that. They're already at the end. That's what he tells himself as the chair jerks at odd angles as its pulled along, he bumps up as the wheels hit something along the way before it turns into bouncing as the chairs wheels hit stairs and he finds himself at odd angles. In a softer, kinder world, he would have either rolled out of the chair or had it just topple down there. But the world is a cruel and wicked place, and the most he gets is a sore jaw from clamping his teeth down and a momentary dizziness.
He's not just going to kill Vox. He's going to do whatever the equivalent of breaking every single tiny little bone in his body one by one is, and whatever the equivalent of taking his head and dunking it underwater, pulling it up just long enough to breathe, and then shoving it back down is. That's what he'd really like to do, but waterboarding a TV isn't practical.
Now, granted, he's said similar things in the past, but this time he means it.
But for now he's lifted out of his chair as though he were a toy in a crane game, then unceremoniously plopped into a theater chair. His gaze remains impassive, remaining forward until he finally looks down at the bucket dropped in his lap, then finally turning his attention to Vox. The way he drags out taking the muzzle off is not appreciated (and considering he's the one who put the damn thing on him, it being taken off isn't something he'll be showing gratitude for anytime soon either,) and he maintains his gaze for a few seconds more to make sure there's no gotchya coming. And in that time he looks like he has something to say, but nothing comes out - not because of any restraint or a lack of things to say, but because there's far too much that he does.
There is so much he wants to say here in this moment, but he just mumbles something under his breath. It's only now that he actually bothers to properly take in his surroundings, scanning the room, looking over one shoulder and then the other, then twisting his torso just a tad and head tilting back so he can look up the back wall to where a projector might be hidden (and it's a small miracle that he still remembers how everything should be set up.) The lack of seating non-withstanding, it's only so different from what he remembers - just enough that he doesn't like it. Just like Vox's stupid flat TV head. The old one was better.
To say that he'd liked going to theaters before would be a lie, but he remembers doing so for the sake of present company before. He can remember a name or two, explanations for how this and that works, and at the time he had a smidge of curiosity - that sort of interest that can be attributed more to a person's passion than the actual subject matter. Now he just wishes the entire tower would collapse and end his misery rather than have to endure it. ]
... I hate it.
[ He says flatly, as though going through the motions of confirming Vox's earlier assessment in, just in order to keep whatever script they have on track. ]
[Vox waits patiently for any kind of vocal reaction, the muzzle still held in his right hand. He can always put it back if Alastor doesn't play nice. What eventually does come out into the open is enough for him. In fact, it's much better than what he expected. He chuckles quietly and puts the muzzle aside.]
See, I thought you would. But hey, who knows? Maybe you'll finally find a movie you like! I'm in a good mood, so what the hell. I'll even let you pick!
[And if that sounds like a good thing... It's not. Vox set the theater up to Heaven's equivalent of a streaming service, so the entire catalogue available to them is questionable. On rare occasion, there's something to admire in those movies, but it's never the script, which will always come across as being written for toddlers. No, it's the actual filming techniques, which are wasted on these shitty screenplays. The first thing Vox will do when he gets to Heaven is whip their movie industry into shape. ...No, well, it'll probably be the third or fourth thing on his list.]
But first... The drink selection. What do you think? Straight into mindnumbing booze, or...?
[He takes hold of the food cart, moving it a little closer so Alastor can have a better look. There's a whole assortment of bottles on the lower shelf, along with glasses and even a bucket of ice cubes. Alastor may recognize some of them as the drinks he favored seventy years ago. Never let it be said Vox doesn't provide for his guests, and never let it be said he doesn't keep obsessive track of Alastor's preferences.]
[ He does recognize some of the labels. His tastes haven't changed much over the last seventy years. He still likes the same whiskeys and ryes that he did in life. It's not the sort of detail that anyone would know about him, though, save for Husk. ]
All the spinning and bouncing gave me motion sickness.
[ Alastor lifts one hand, tugging at the cord attached to it experimentally, then moves his hand to one side. It's a gentle tug, a steady movement that's not meant to do anything more than test the length of it. He watches the movement to be certain, and once satisfied lets his hand drop back down. He adjusting his position in the chair next, shifting until he finds one that proves to be tolerable.
He's trying to decide how much to accept and how much to push back on here, because he hadn't quite expected this. He'd certainly predicted him making as big of a nuisance of himself as possible, but more in line with his ego and ambitions.
After all, who ever heard of a prisoner being offered hospitality? And after mocking him, spinning him about like a top, and loudly announcing that this entire thing is expected to make him miserable? And he didn't miss the subtle threat either. What a ridiculous man.
If he accepts anything, it'll be his own fault when it turns out it's a gotchya moment, or there was gelsemium in it (not even close to fatal, but just about the right level to cause him some discomfort while it digests,) or it gets dumped on him, or whatever petty nonsense Vox comes up with. ]
Edited (hit send on that last edit too soon) 2025-12-03 22:09 (UTC)
[It's said with a hasty, nonchalant tone of voice, matched further with a shrug of the shoulders. Vox is committed to the bit, and forcing anything down Alastor's throat would just ruin the twisted date vibes he's trying to cultivate here. The proverbial smoothie has two straws for a reason this time- that's the only point he was trying to make, and now he's made it.
He's more than happy to help himself in the meantime, dropping some ice cubes into a glass and then topping it off with a healthy pour of gin. He'd cocktail it up, but that's a little too much of a hassle. Once his drink is ready, he sets it down in his cup holder and lounges backwards in his seat, legs stretched out all the way. (Oooh, look how comfy he is, Alastor, ooooh-)]
Now. Since tonight's theme is my takeover of Heaven, [Emphasis on "my", since he's already ass deep in the bog of dismissing his partners,] I thought we'd lean into that. Do a little research, you know? Prep for what we're about to walk into, assess the resources at hand. So I present to yooouuu... [Giddy silence for effect.] Heaven's entertainment industry.
[With a wave of the hand, a blue touch screen pops up in front of Alastor, floating in the air like a tangible hologram. What it's displaying is rather similar to a screaming service's layout- not that Alastor would recognize that- with several movie posters all lined up. There's a summaries of only a few sentences included with each option, and a whole lot of swiping to be done for even more selections and categories.
Highlight titles include Merry Little Christmas, Miracle on 36th Street, Santa Goes to High School, Santa Goes to College, FREE RENT, Singing in the Snow, Soulmates Actually and Purity Woman. Somehow, 80% of these movies involve Christmas and at least half of them are musicals.
[ Though he should be in a pleasant mood right about now, Alastor does find himself unusually cross. It's the problem with being left alone for any stretch of time - he doesn't like being left alone with his thoughts any more than anyone else does - though if asked he would happily state that it was much better than this.
The new annoyance that comes with being subjected to Vox's theatrics does help, at least. He blows out a sigh before crossing his legs, watching him without much interest as he proceeds with his introduction, because of course it would be something like that.
There's enough people who utilize more modern applications that he's learned as much as he absolutely needs to, plus a bit more through osmosis, and at least enough that he's been able to more or less follow along with Vox until now. The display proves to be a bit overwhelming for a person who only knows books and records. ]
Is this really how you should be spending your time? You...
[ He starts to speak, more to fill the silence as he tries to parse what's in front of him than anything. He trails off halfway though, his smile stretching a bit before he cants his his head to one side. His ears tilt down along with it, subtly curving to the same side and giving them a somewhat floppy look before straightening as he lifts his head. ]
It's September.
[ He says in the most matter of fact manner, one that's stating the obvious as much as it is reassuring himself that it's a fact, because for a split second he does wonder if he missed something.
Though Heaven is quirky enough for his confusion to be valid, this is probably a complaint he'd have anyway because media is supposed to be season. Winter in winter, with different ones before and after the holidays, spring and summer during the warmer months, all when it starts to cool down, and all with the appropriate attention to the themes and holidays associated with them. Not that there aren't exceptions tossed in there, it would just be boring otherwise and the entire point of physical media is to pick and choose, but Christmas has no place in September, just like Easter has no place being in October. ]
[Now that? That was exactly the sort of reaction Vox was hoping for. The stunned silence halfway into a sentence, the tilt of the head, the very specific movements of the ears... All those hallmarks of a confused animal. It's something that Vox has rarely seen on Alastor, if ever. Like a luxury item, a rare treat. It's perfect. He makes sure to commit it to memory.
And then he laughs, because the dryness of the statement was just too funny. It's a roaring sound, lasting a good five seconds- right by Alastor's ear, of course- before he quiets himself again.]
Hate to break it to ya, but this is a year-round deal. Heaven really fuckin' loves Christmas for some reason. And not even 'cause of the birth of Jesus, oh no. Specifically the whole 'Santa and reindeer and Christmas trees' part. Insane, right? But there's some other stuff. Here.
[Vox leans in closer, his shoulder bumping against Alastor's on purpose, so he can swipe downward to a different section. It takes three quick slides of the finger, landing them on the Sports movies category. There's some real Air Bud bullshit going on there, with ducks playing hockey, a group of young orphans going to the world soccer championships and even a poster of some girl holding what appears to be a magical, sentient tennis ball.]
[ He's used to all the noise that comes with living in Hell, well enough to block it out, but Alastor's hearing is sensitive enough for it to be unpleasant all the same. It takes everything he has to stay still, and even more as he feels Vox's shoulder press against his own. The only real sign of his displeasure is the slight tension in his shoulders, and the faint sound of static that fills the air for several seconds.
He does watch the movements, though. Alastor is stubborn, rejecting and avoiding technology where he can, but that's not quite the same as refusing to understand it. In fact, understanding it is precisely what makes him dislike it so much, as is the case here. He enjoys Christmas more than most, and holiday specials are the one thing he'll willingly watch, but there's a time and a place.
Heaven sounds more insufferable with each fact that he learns. ]
Painfully mediocre, much like everything your company produces.
[ Easy come, easy go, and he does seem to find it less scandalous. ]
[The insult makes no real impact whatsoever. He's confident that Alastor only got that jab in because there was an easy opening, which means he can pretend it was insincere. Hollow. Instead, Vox tries to assess the opinion given on the material in front of them. Mediocre is not what he's going for with this faux date, so if that bit was sincere... Well.]
Won't be watching that, then. [There's a cheerful little sing song to his tone of voice, and his finger starts swiping again.
Family-friendly Christmas Films, Feel-good Christmas Films, ASMR documentaries, Classic Feel-good TV shows- The amount of schlock to move through is infinite, full of colorful posters that become somewhat tainted and muted by the blue hue of the touch screen. Ultimately, he lands on Movies With An Extra Happy Ending and pauses there. He remembers how angry Valentino got when he found out it's not that kind of happy ending. He won't repeat that out loud, because dragging Val into this conversation feels like a bad idea, but boy is he thinking about it and grinning like an idiot.]
Hah, how telling is it that they had to emphasize extra happy to differentiate it from every other movie? I'll tell you now, there's not a single one in here that doesn't end well for everyone involved. What a bunch of sheltered losers, am I right?
[ It all looks like corporate slop, media that's pumped out with no thought given to the idea of creativity or quality. The era of video is truly shameful in that - uninspired, cynical works were always common enough, but never so shoveled out and mass produced in the way they seem to be now. He would never have dared insult his audience. He also does not know what ASMR means and does not want to.
That said, if Vox isn't going to bring Valentino up, then Alastor will, ]
In the right hands, I think a movie defined by it's extra happy ending could have quite the broad appeal. Has Valentino thought about trying his hand at it? He would certainly make something more palatable to the denizens of Hell.
[ Not that Alastor watches or cares about anything that the man produces, but he can appreciate his reputation and artistry. Plus, he's perfectly happy to show respect to his fellow overlords. Their vision, as it were.
Then, with more muted enthusiasm but more deliberation, perhaps even a touch of interest, ]
Hm. That's not what you were asking though, was it?
[Ueghhh... dammit. Vox walked into that anyway, and his entire body stiffens a little at the namedrop. He doesn't want to kill the immersion of this extremely performative date night too much, but if they discuss Val like a business partner, he guesses it's not too bad? Yep, that's how he'll save this.]
No, no. You're right. Valentino would put a much better twist on the concept. Once Heaven's under our control, a whole new world of film making's gonna open up for him. And sure, the angels will be scandalized for a bit, but they'll get over it. It'll be good for 'em to be exposed to something that's not... [He waves an idle hand at the movies displayed on the screen, making a disgusted face.] That.
[Vox is a pragmatic guy, already thinking ahead on how to put the other two Vees to work once they cross those gates. The way he sees it, they should be thankful for it, because they'll keep getting to do the jobs they're passionate about. No limitations, no being dismissed due to where they came from. They'll have free reign to let their creativity flow. Everybody wins!]
It does seem that Hell siphons all of the Earth's talent, doesn't it?
[ It brings new meaning to "tortured artists." ]
I have no interest in his films, but I was quite impressed by his art. I've always been a supporter of the arts, you know.
[ It's not something he's ever hidden, nor is it a surprise given his choice of career. If life were more favorable he might have stepped into theater instead, but alas, no one wanted to see a man like him... In truth, he would have liked to talk to the man more. He might be a few cards short of a full deck, but he can work with that.
Alastor takes advantage of that little bit of movement he has to tap the back of the other demon's arm with two fingers to cut off any response, or rather to delay it, because he wants something. ]
... Whiskey. Barkeeper's choice.
[ The fact that he's suddenly trying to play along may be something to be concerned about, or it might just be an attempt to make sure Vox doesn't get too fussed about the lack of focus on him. Or it could just be that he's too sober for this. Hard to say. Whatever it is, he's being given an opportunity here, and Alastor is curious to see if the other remembers what his go-to was. ]
[It feels bittersweet to hear Alastor say he's 'a supporter of the arts'. Films are art. Video, along with other things produced by modern technology... It all takes creativity and hard work, regardless of how much circuitry and programming is involved. Still, there's a difference between supporting arts and consuming them, so Vox can't even call Alastor a liar here.
The tap to his arm causes him to blink, brow raising. His gaze flits down to Alastor's hand for a split second, then sideways towards the man's face. While he was still leaning in to mess with the touchscreen, he moves back into his seat again for more space. The request is bolstering, though. It causes him to grin.]
Alright! Now we're talkin'! Here, I've got just the thing.
[He's aware this could be a distraction, or some other sort of trick. Because of that, he uses his cables to monitor Alastor even as his gaze is on the assortment of bottles. If there's even the slightest movement, he'll know about it.
Over seventy years ago, Alastor had his favorites. Drinks that would be served to him quite consistently. It makes it even easier for Vox to remember just what those drinks were. He already has the preferred brand of whiskey- or rather, the brand that was preferred back then, though he doubts that would have changed. Alastor is a creature of habit, after all. The drink is prepared with confidence and ease, ice cubes included, then held a few inches near Alastor's hand so it can be taken.]
Here. How about we toast to success? My success, of course. Goes without saying, that.
[ There's a chuckle as he watches Vox pour his drink, and of course it's just the right one. It's the same whiskey that he'd had at the bar decades ago. It's the one that he still has, though he prefers to take it alone now. It must have been years since he last shared a drink with someone, though he can't say how many. It seems that the more time that passes by, the less he retains, but he remembers the things that matter.
He thinks to comment on it as he takes the drink in hand, but unfortunately he can't make even the smallest concession without Vox finding some way to become even more insufferable. The corners of his mouth twitch, but the request is met with a begrudging acquiescence. He lifts his glass as much as he can with his limited range of movement. ]
To your success.
[ The lack of any real enthusiasm non-withstanding, there's no tricks to be found here (or not yet anyway.) Alastor does quite well in keeping any complaints he has to himself. In this moment Vox's success is Alastor's success, after all, and he's the only one that's needed. Despite how he speaks of them, the other two Vees would have been entirely struck from his memory by now if not for their proximity to him.
[There's a lot of comebacks that Vox is braced for. Another "you'll fuck it up" or "you wouldn't have gotten this far without your goons", or even an "eat shit". What he gets instead is... definitely not that. It doesn't even sound sarcastic. Not very enthusiastic either, but then, why would Alastor be? It's not his victory, it's Vox's. It makes sense for the congratulations to be bittersweet. There's still a very real chance this is some sort of trick, but just for a moment, Vox allows himself to believe that it's heartfelt. Clinging to that shred of hope feels so much better than the paranoia.
A rush of excitement washes through him and it's likely visible on his face, along with all the other minute details of his physique. So long as he's not masking his true intent, Vox's emotions are worn on his sleeve with very little nuance to it. His own drink is hastily snatched up so he can clink his glass against Alastor's, eagerness ensuring that the liquid weaves dangerously close to flowing over the edge.]
Hear hear!
[This really is all Vox wanted, in the end: acknowledgement. It's perfect. He loves it. It's not enough to let Alastor go- it'll never be enough. No amount of acknowledgement can still compensate for the damage that was caused over the past seven decades. Even so... He could get used to this.]
[ Hm. No. Actually, he doesn't like that. Better dial it back a notch before Vox starts to get the wrong idea. ]
Though you still have time to blow it. Between Charlie's stubbornness and Heaven's potential to grow a spine and smite you, [ Because he has not forgotten the delightful sound of Vox's initial panic over their arrival. He'll carry that with him until the end of days, ] There's no shortage of ways that I could have front row seats to you humiliating yourself in front of all of Hell and Heaven.
[ Vox is a person that has to be handled with care. If Alastor pushes him too much then he'll grow dispirited, but if he offers too much then he'll start to get greedy. He requires a light touch, one that offers him opportunity. As such, Alastor won't give any vote of confidence, but he doesn't mind acknowledging what's been done up until now just this once, allowing for an unspoken promise to offer more if he succeeds.
Not that he will. Vox will fuck it up. That's why Alastor likes him. He's a complete fool. He challenges the Radio Demon. He looks to conquer Heaven. He does all those things that no one else would. He's ambitious. It's exciting. It's entertaining.
In his hundred years in Hell, he's only found one other person who's caught his eye, and even that girl pales in comparison.
Alastor downs his drink in one go, as easily as if it were a shot. That's nothing out of the ordinary for him, nor does it have any effect. He lets his hand drop back down with the glass still in hand.
And with all that said... ]
But tell me: Should you really be here with me right now? This is the moment that you and your partners have been building up to, and they seem to be getting tired of being left out of the celebrations. I'm just your little prisoner, after all.
[ Our plan, they would say, even as Vox pulled Alastor alone in for his ridiculous laugh. Our plan, while Vox paid mind only to him. Our plan, and his presence and their relationship had gotten old long ago.
He nudges Vox with his glass because he needs at least four or five more to feel anything, and the other should be grateful because it's been decades since he's been so willing to do this with anyone at all. ]
I'd venture to say that some feel I've overstayed my welcome, in fact.
[ Is that a request to leave? Quite the opposite, as he's content right where he is, but even Vox can't be so braindead as to realize that he's the only one who wants Alastor here.
[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.]
[ The questions come in a saccharine sweet, sing-song voice. He's not bothered at all; in fact, he slumps back in his seat, for all the world looking to be a man who's had a great weight lifted off his shoulders. ]
Do make sure it's somewhere down here, preferably as far away from you as possible. [ "how can you get further than heaven" put him on the part of hell that's farthest from it or smth ] I'm right where I was always meant to be.
[ He takes the glass in hand, and Alastor at least has the decency to not immediately slam it back this time. In fact, he seems quite ready to add more to that, but something stops him just short of it. His mind wanders elsewhere, that thought of what would happen if Vox did succeed in this scratching at the edges of his mind once more.
The snide remark he was going to add is lost, but the grin and expectant look remain in place. It's nothing that Vox would do or that Alastor would want, but it's that which allows him to speak of it so flippantly.
Besides, he never had any intention of looking away, no more than he's thought of running away. He's precisely where he wants to be. After all, his own problems and vendettas aside, somebody has to put Vox in his place before the moron actually starts a war. Really, he does have to do everything himself. ]
Edited (trimming a bit bc i didn't like the flow, this is why you don't write with a migraine) 2025-12-09 01:10 (UTC)
[Vox barks out another laugh at those sentiments. They're missing the point. The grand vision that he has. He'd wonder whether Alastor is underestimating him again, but does it really matter? The truth is coming, undeniable and unstoppable, because Vox has already won.
His hand moves back to his own glass, lifting it up. He doesn't drink just yet, instead gently rotating it, the liquid swirling around within.]
Yeah, we'll see about that. But don't make the mistake of thinkin' I'll leave Hell behind. Once I've taken over Heaven, I'll be in charge of both realms. And hey, since I'll be God, technically I'll be ruling the mortal realm while I'm at it. Not as interesting, but it's a neat little freebie. [... Alright, now he'll take a sip from his drink, cocky as can be. A soft "Mmm" escapes him as he savors the taste.]
Anyway, point is, everything will be my territory. No matter where you are, you'll always be on my turf and in my possession. I won't forget, and I won't let you forget.
[Because Alastor was the fool who didn't put a time limit on the deal. This means that so long as Vox keeps to the conditions (let two nobodies go, don't hurt Charlie- whatever), Alastor will be his prisoner forever. Maybe, at some point, he'll let the guy walk around freely. It depends whether the radio demon will accept that his rightful place is still at Vox's feet.]
[ He feigns disappointment and exasperation. It's exaggerated, because he's not finding any reason for immediate concern. ]
And what of your partners? You have yet to give me an answer to that question. It's one thing to be unable to convince me to go along with your little fantasy of being in charge, but them?
[ Alastor sneers. He does find the other two to be more pleasant to be around, but that doesn't mean he has illusions about them. The gap between the two of them and Vox is wide, and so the gap between them and the radio demon is as vast as the ocean. They're slow, weak, and sloppy. They lack the discipline and cunning that he has. And as for his captor, he lacks any kind of foresight.
He drains his glass as easily as if it were a shot, then shakes his head. ]
My two lackeys won't dare question me, but it's the other way around for you. Yet I've only seen you placating your partners.
[ And in a perfect display of tonal dissonance, he's going to tap Vox with the back of his hand before pointing to the touchscreen. His words are being used for something much more important, but he can multitask here in playing along with torture or whatever he's trying to accomplish here. ]
[Vox hates that this topic keeps coming up, since Alastor was the one who rejected the idea of partnerships, of rising to the top with others by one's side. He doesn't have any right to speak of it. Vox understands the logic and the mindset, because it's one he's had for most of his life already, but he can't deny the benefits that have come from keeping his associates close by. It's boosted his finances, his influence over Sinners... And the two other Vees aren't constantly moping about how much he sucks, or how he's going to lose. Having support is nice. He always enjoys it when he gets to make a mockery of people with Velvette. He definitely always enjoys it when Valentino goes out of his way to make him feel special. The both of them likely have selfish motivations, but it's a symbiotic dynamic anyway.
No, Vox won't just throw his partners away after this. They're not on his level, but they're the most important pillars he can stand on. One for his left foot, one for his right foot.
His eyes narrow and he takes another sip from his drink. The indication of the touchscreen isn't missed, though he takes his time with acting on it. Alastor doesn't get to tell him what to do.]
It's not placation. Val and Velvette are exactly where I want them to be. Once I take my rightful place, they'll have theirs, and they'll fucking love me for it. See, that's what it means to rise to the top with someone else. Everyone gets exactly what they deserve. Some a little more than others, of course, but...
[Vox peers down into his glass, watching the ice cubes bob around in what's left of the clear brown liquid. It's such a familiar sight. Some forty decades after he stopped having drinks with Alastor, he started having them with Valentino instead, and while there was always that bittersweet aftertaste it might end the same way... It won't. Because Vox doesn't turn raw potential and devotion away when it comes to him, instead pulling it in and treasuring it. If it's offered to him, it might as well belong to him.]
Well. Point is, your lackeys won't question you, but Val and Velvette adore me. I'll take devotion that comes from the heart over fear any day. It's a better motivator.
[And with that, he finally raises his free hand to the touchscreen, scrolling through the options again. Oh snap, The Beauty of Sharks, a documentary narrated by Bob Ross??? He'll give you credit for this one, Heaven, and he's coming back for it later.]
[ well alastor wouldn't be moping around about how much vox sucks either if he weren't stuck with him!!!!!!! ]
You misunderstand. Fear is what prevents people from challenging you, and it makes them sloppy when they do.
[ Vox has, too, seen how quickly that crumbles. Lucifer is hardly a threat anymore. ]
It's respect that I crave, and it's respect that I have. That is what motivates people. It's what makes them listen. As you've seen, I have it from the souls in my care, [ Because Niffty and Husk (unexpected and unwanted as they were) came for Alastor just as fast as Valentino and Velvette did, ] our fellow overlords, the princess, and even Heaven's diplomat.
[ Or rather, he will soon enough. Charlie has no doubt already talked him up, so he's not particularly concerned. The only one he's missing is the king, who's respect is worth no more than the pieces of lint in his pocket.
None of them doubt him. None of them dismiss him. He can pull strings quite easily when he chooses to. Quality, not quantity, but Alastor has earned his position in more ways than one. ]
You, on the other hand, have always garnered attention and adoration, but you waste and throw away every bit of respect that's given to you.
[ There's something to that particular statement. The words come a hint quicker, the inflection changes just slightly, there's something buried in it. It's something quiet, foreign, and perhaps without meaning. Something old and buried trying to claw its way back up from the grave. It's there and gone, seamlessly returning to his original tone. ]
You can dismiss me, but don't you forget, the only reason that people are acknowledging you at all now is because of my reputation.
[ It took him a century to build it up, and it's solid enough that he can bounce back from this. The opposite of Vox, who will soon be erased from the history books. And God if that won't be satisfying to see. ]
[A lot of what Alastor's saying to him feels like a waste of breath. Nonsense, almost. It ensures Vox isn't paying all too much attention to what might be hiding between the lines. His gaze is still on the touch screen and he's idly scrolling through the selection, even as his other hand lifts his drinking glass back to his mouth.
Blah blah, respect, whatever. Time to browse through the animation category. There's something there about a bunch of sentient fruit getting together and opening up a coffee shop. Apparently it's a musical with Broadway style numbers? Aw fuck, figures Heaven would get Howard Ashman. It's okay, even Vox agrees that man doesn't belong in Hell.
Alastor's still talking, Vox realizes, and he tunes back in just in time for that last bit. It's enough to have him laugh out loud, because while he understands what the insult is trying to be, he can flip it with ease.]
Uh. Yeah. Duh. Because you were one of the most impressive Overlords, and I fucking beat you! I'm better than you! Stronger. So now that reputation you had is mine. And I'll keep going from here, too.
[That's what he's always done, even when he was still alive: eliminate a hot shot and take their place. Usurping someone's reputation means getting all the benefits that come with it. Not that Alastor has much to his name for Vox to claim beyond that infamy. He doesn't want the man's shitty lackeys and he doesn't want the radio studio. All he wanted was Alastor himself and now he's got him.]
The most impressive, and you have et to prove that you can beat me.
[ Alastor corrects, because who else was so notorious that speculation of his disappearance and loss alike were to angelic arms and Lucifer himself? Not once had anyone expected another overlord to defeat him. ]
There's no point in speaking with a fool. You'll understand soon enough.
[ There is a reason one isn't supposed to argue with idiots. They not only drag a person down to their level, but they win every time thanks to their experience. His old friend is in for a rude awakening, though, when he's defeated and left with nothing but the paltry pity of his associates.
The other two Vees won't abandon him, of course. That's not an option for them, not if they want to keep their seat at the table, and it was never the goal anyway. Efforts to break up a group is the domain of the weak and insecure, people who need others, and Alastor is none of the above. Rather, there can only be one strongest sinner in Hell, and so he needs to borrow Vox for that purpose. And once he's done so, Alastor only need tear down his empire, ending with taking his life, to repair his own reputation.
Soon enough.
For now, though, he does think it's about time to switch things up a little. He'll tap Vox one more time, pointing off to the side. There's nothing there, of course, but Alastor needs him to turn his head for what he has in mind.
Hopefully Vox knows better not to, because the second he does Alastor is going to take advantage of the close proximity to lean over and blow into one of his vents for no particular reason. ]
[Vox agrees with the fool sentiment, if only the other way around. It feels as if their conversations keep going on circles. Vox says he'll win, Alastor says he won't, Vox tries to assert dominance, Alastor laughs at him... Neither of them will ever back down, so the only real way to bring these arguments to an end is with cold, hard evidence. Heaven bending the knee to Vox would be Exhibit A and a nice, shiny throne could be Exhibit B.
It'll be settled in a matter of days. Finally, after all this time, maybe Alastor will finally admit defeat and Vox can find some peace.
The tap catches his attention, and he glances towards the radio demon to see the pointing gesture. It's vaguely directed towards the drink cart, which has Vox assume it's a request to refill his empty glass. Again. Alastor's really taking advantage of the situation to get wasted, huh? Not that Vox minds; might as well let the man live a little before the world as they know it comes crashing down. So yes, he turns his head to the side, his thoughts on grabbing the bottle.
Very naive of him.
He's vaguely aware of Alastor leaning in, and becomes very aware of the air being blown into the vent. His entire body freezes over for a second, a vibrant blush washing over his screen. Then he instantly whips himself around to face Alastor again.]
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The walk to the movie theater isn't too far, thankfully. It's one floor below the penthouse section, near the bowels of the aquarium. The brief elevator ride down is filled with shitty muzak, and not once during the entire trip does Vox's smile waver. He's feeling like he's on top of the world, and it shows. He stands with his head held high and his shoulders squared, cables wrapped tightly around Alastor's abdomen- not for fear of escape, but just because he can.
They arrive to the theater to find it dark, with only a few simple blue lights on to illuminate paths. There are only three rows of seats, because why bother installing more? It gives off the facade of a cinema, but it's something for private use only. At most, Vox would invite the other two Vees here from time to time. It's a great place for them to heckle Earth and Heaven releases. Or just appreciate Valentino's latest releases on the big screen.
Vox heads straight to the front row, moving down some steps along the way. Another great ride for Alastor and his chair! It's not until they reach the lowest portion that Vox does what he probably should've done earlier, but outright refused just to be petty: he undoes the initial set of cables restraining Alastor. Still no freedom- never freedom, what with the wires still snared around the man's wrists, chest and throat- but at the very least he's out of the chair, held suspended in midair for a few seconds before he's pulled down into the cushy plush of a cinema seat.]
There we go! Perfect!
[He spends a few more seconds grinning down at the sight of Alastor, then turns around to drop himself in the seat by his side. There's a little food cart within reach, kitted out with everything they could need, from sweet and savory snacks to soda to alcohol. He reaches for a big tub of popcorn to set down in Alastor's lap, making sure the cables leave just enough leeway for the man's hand to actually reach for the snack.]
Here you gooo, that's for you- Ooh, silly me, almost forgot. [And with that, he finally takes hold of the muzzle on Alastor's face. He makes sure his fingers linger a little longer than necessary against cheekbone before pulling it off.]
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Besides, it's already too late to think on things like that. They're already at the end. That's what he tells himself as the chair jerks at odd angles as its pulled along, he bumps up as the wheels hit something along the way before it turns into bouncing as the chairs wheels hit stairs and he finds himself at odd angles. In a softer, kinder world, he would have either rolled out of the chair or had it just topple down there. But the world is a cruel and wicked place, and the most he gets is a sore jaw from clamping his teeth down and a momentary dizziness.
He's not just going to kill Vox. He's going to do whatever the equivalent of breaking every single tiny little bone in his body one by one is, and whatever the equivalent of taking his head and dunking it underwater, pulling it up just long enough to breathe, and then shoving it back down is. That's what he'd really like to do, but waterboarding a TV isn't practical.
Now, granted, he's said similar things in the past, but this time he means it.
But for now he's lifted out of his chair as though he were a toy in a crane game, then unceremoniously plopped into a theater chair. His gaze remains impassive, remaining forward until he finally looks down at the bucket dropped in his lap, then finally turning his attention to Vox. The way he drags out taking the muzzle off is not appreciated (and considering he's the one who put the damn thing on him, it being taken off isn't something he'll be showing gratitude for anytime soon either,) and he maintains his gaze for a few seconds more to make sure there's no gotchya coming. And in that time he looks like he has something to say, but nothing comes out - not because of any restraint or a lack of things to say, but because there's far too much that he does.
There is so much he wants to say here in this moment, but he just mumbles something under his breath. It's only now that he actually bothers to properly take in his surroundings, scanning the room, looking over one shoulder and then the other, then twisting his torso just a tad and head tilting back so he can look up the back wall to where a projector might be hidden (and it's a small miracle that he still remembers how everything should be set up.) The lack of seating non-withstanding, it's only so different from what he remembers - just enough that he doesn't like it. Just like Vox's stupid flat TV head. The old one was better.
To say that he'd liked going to theaters before would be a lie, but he remembers doing so for the sake of present company before. He can remember a name or two, explanations for how this and that works, and at the time he had a smidge of curiosity - that sort of interest that can be attributed more to a person's passion than the actual subject matter. Now he just wishes the entire tower would collapse and end his misery rather than have to endure it. ]
... I hate it.
[ He says flatly, as though going through the motions of confirming Vox's earlier assessment in, just in order to keep whatever script they have on track. ]
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See, I thought you would. But hey, who knows? Maybe you'll finally find a movie you like! I'm in a good mood, so what the hell. I'll even let you pick!
[And if that sounds like a good thing... It's not. Vox set the theater up to Heaven's equivalent of a streaming service, so the entire catalogue available to them is questionable. On rare occasion, there's something to admire in those movies, but it's never the script, which will always come across as being written for toddlers. No, it's the actual filming techniques, which are wasted on these shitty screenplays. The first thing Vox will do when he gets to Heaven is whip their movie industry into shape. ...No, well, it'll probably be the third or fourth thing on his list.]
But first... The drink selection. What do you think? Straight into mindnumbing booze, or...?
[He takes hold of the food cart, moving it a little closer so Alastor can have a better look. There's a whole assortment of bottles on the lower shelf, along with glasses and even a bucket of ice cubes. Alastor may recognize some of them as the drinks he favored seventy years ago. Never let it be said Vox doesn't provide for his guests, and never let it be said he doesn't keep obsessive track of Alastor's preferences.]
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All the spinning and bouncing gave me motion sickness.
[ Alastor lifts one hand, tugging at the cord attached to it experimentally, then moves his hand to one side. It's a gentle tug, a steady movement that's not meant to do anything more than test the length of it. He watches the movement to be certain, and once satisfied lets his hand drop back down. He adjusting his position in the chair next, shifting until he finds one that proves to be tolerable.
He's trying to decide how much to accept and how much to push back on here, because he hadn't quite expected this. He'd certainly predicted him making as big of a nuisance of himself as possible, but more in line with his ego and ambitions.
After all, who ever heard of a prisoner being offered hospitality? And after mocking him, spinning him about like a top, and loudly announcing that this entire thing is expected to make him miserable? And he didn't miss the subtle threat either. What a ridiculous man.
If he accepts anything, it'll be his own fault when it turns out it's a gotchya moment, or there was gelsemium in it (not even close to fatal, but just about the right level to cause him some discomfort while it digests,) or it gets dumped on him, or whatever petty nonsense Vox comes up with. ]
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[It's said with a hasty, nonchalant tone of voice, matched further with a shrug of the shoulders. Vox is committed to the bit, and forcing anything down Alastor's throat would just ruin the twisted date vibes he's trying to cultivate here. The proverbial smoothie has two straws for a reason this time- that's the only point he was trying to make, and now he's made it.
He's more than happy to help himself in the meantime, dropping some ice cubes into a glass and then topping it off with a healthy pour of gin. He'd cocktail it up, but that's a little too much of a hassle. Once his drink is ready, he sets it down in his cup holder and lounges backwards in his seat, legs stretched out all the way. (Oooh, look how comfy he is, Alastor, ooooh-)]
Now. Since tonight's theme is my takeover of Heaven, [Emphasis on "my", since he's already ass deep in the bog of dismissing his partners,] I thought we'd lean into that. Do a little research, you know? Prep for what we're about to walk into, assess the resources at hand. So I present to yooouuu... [Giddy silence for effect.] Heaven's entertainment industry.
[With a wave of the hand, a blue touch screen pops up in front of Alastor, floating in the air like a tangible hologram. What it's displaying is rather similar to a screaming service's layout- not that Alastor would recognize that- with several movie posters all lined up. There's a summaries of only a few sentences included with each option, and a whole lot of swiping to be done for even more selections and categories.
Highlight titles include Merry Little Christmas, Miracle on 36th Street, Santa Goes to High School, Santa Goes to College, FREE RENT, Singing in the Snow, Soulmates Actually and Purity Woman. Somehow, 80% of these movies involve Christmas and at least half of them are musicals.
Now this is where the torture begins.]
i did an int check for this and rolled a 5 ☠
The new annoyance that comes with being subjected to Vox's theatrics does help, at least. He blows out a sigh before crossing his legs, watching him without much interest as he proceeds with his introduction, because of course it would be something like that.
There's enough people who utilize more modern applications that he's learned as much as he absolutely needs to, plus a bit more through osmosis, and at least enough that he's been able to more or less follow along with Vox until now. The display proves to be a bit overwhelming for a person who only knows books and records. ]
Is this really how you should be spending your time? You...
[ He starts to speak, more to fill the silence as he tries to parse what's in front of him than anything. He trails off halfway though, his smile stretching a bit before he cants his his head to one side. His ears tilt down along with it, subtly curving to the same side and giving them a somewhat floppy look before straightening as he lifts his head. ]
It's September.
[ He says in the most matter of fact manner, one that's stating the obvious as much as it is reassuring himself that it's a fact, because for a split second he does wonder if he missed something.
Though Heaven is quirky enough for his confusion to be valid, this is probably a complaint he'd have anyway because media is supposed to be season. Winter in winter, with different ones before and after the holidays, spring and summer during the warmer months, all when it starts to cool down, and all with the appropriate attention to the themes and holidays associated with them. Not that there aren't exceptions tossed in there, it would just be boring otherwise and the entire point of physical media is to pick and choose, but Christmas has no place in September, just like Easter has no place being in October. ]
Not December.
[ Is Heaven not aware. ]
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And then he laughs, because the dryness of the statement was just too funny. It's a roaring sound, lasting a good five seconds- right by Alastor's ear, of course- before he quiets himself again.]
Hate to break it to ya, but this is a year-round deal. Heaven really fuckin' loves Christmas for some reason. And not even 'cause of the birth of Jesus, oh no. Specifically the whole 'Santa and reindeer and Christmas trees' part. Insane, right? But there's some other stuff. Here.
[Vox leans in closer, his shoulder bumping against Alastor's on purpose, so he can swipe downward to a different section. It takes three quick slides of the finger, landing them on the Sports movies category. There's some real Air Bud bullshit going on there, with ducks playing hockey, a group of young orphans going to the world soccer championships and even a poster of some girl holding what appears to be a magical, sentient tennis ball.]
Better? Or worse?
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He does watch the movements, though. Alastor is stubborn, rejecting and avoiding technology where he can, but that's not quite the same as refusing to understand it. In fact, understanding it is precisely what makes him dislike it so much, as is the case here. He enjoys Christmas more than most, and holiday specials are the one thing he'll willingly watch, but there's a time and a place.
Heaven sounds more insufferable with each fact that he learns. ]
Painfully mediocre, much like everything your company produces.
[ Easy come, easy go, and he does seem to find it less scandalous. ]
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Won't be watching that, then. [There's a cheerful little sing song to his tone of voice, and his finger starts swiping again.
Family-friendly Christmas Films, Feel-good Christmas Films, ASMR documentaries, Classic Feel-good TV shows- The amount of schlock to move through is infinite, full of colorful posters that become somewhat tainted and muted by the blue hue of the touch screen. Ultimately, he lands on Movies With An Extra Happy Ending and pauses there. He remembers how angry Valentino got when he found out it's not that kind of happy ending. He won't repeat that out loud, because dragging Val into this conversation feels like a bad idea, but boy is he thinking about it and grinning like an idiot.]
Hah, how telling is it that they had to emphasize extra happy to differentiate it from every other movie? I'll tell you now, there's not a single one in here that doesn't end well for everyone involved. What a bunch of sheltered losers, am I right?
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That said, if Vox isn't going to bring Valentino up, then Alastor will, ]
In the right hands, I think a movie defined by it's extra happy ending could have quite the broad appeal. Has Valentino thought about trying his hand at it? He would certainly make something more palatable to the denizens of Hell.
[ Not that Alastor watches or cares about anything that the man produces, but he can appreciate his reputation and artistry. Plus, he's perfectly happy to show respect to his fellow overlords. Their vision, as it were.
Then, with more muted enthusiasm but more deliberation, perhaps even a touch of interest, ]
Hm. That's not what you were asking though, was it?
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No, no. You're right. Valentino would put a much better twist on the concept. Once Heaven's under our control, a whole new world of film making's gonna open up for him. And sure, the angels will be scandalized for a bit, but they'll get over it. It'll be good for 'em to be exposed to something that's not... [He waves an idle hand at the movies displayed on the screen, making a disgusted face.] That.
[Vox is a pragmatic guy, already thinking ahead on how to put the other two Vees to work once they cross those gates. The way he sees it, they should be thankful for it, because they'll keep getting to do the jobs they're passionate about. No limitations, no being dismissed due to where they came from. They'll have free reign to let their creativity flow. Everybody wins!]
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[ It brings new meaning to "tortured artists." ]
I have no interest in his films, but I was quite impressed by his art. I've always been a supporter of the arts, you know.
[ It's not something he's ever hidden, nor is it a surprise given his choice of career. If life were more favorable he might have stepped into theater instead, but alas, no one wanted to see a man like him... In truth, he would have liked to talk to the man more. He might be a few cards short of a full deck, but he can work with that.
Alastor takes advantage of that little bit of movement he has to tap the back of the other demon's arm with two fingers to cut off any response, or rather to delay it, because he wants something. ]
... Whiskey. Barkeeper's choice.
[ The fact that he's suddenly trying to play along may be something to be concerned about, or it might just be an attempt to make sure Vox doesn't get too fussed about the lack of focus on him. Or it could just be that he's too sober for this. Hard to say. Whatever it is, he's being given an opportunity here, and Alastor is curious to see if the other remembers what his go-to was. ]
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The tap to his arm causes him to blink, brow raising. His gaze flits down to Alastor's hand for a split second, then sideways towards the man's face. While he was still leaning in to mess with the touchscreen, he moves back into his seat again for more space. The request is bolstering, though. It causes him to grin.]
Alright! Now we're talkin'! Here, I've got just the thing.
[He's aware this could be a distraction, or some other sort of trick. Because of that, he uses his cables to monitor Alastor even as his gaze is on the assortment of bottles. If there's even the slightest movement, he'll know about it.
Over seventy years ago, Alastor had his favorites. Drinks that would be served to him quite consistently. It makes it even easier for Vox to remember just what those drinks were. He already has the preferred brand of whiskey- or rather, the brand that was preferred back then, though he doubts that would have changed. Alastor is a creature of habit, after all. The drink is prepared with confidence and ease, ice cubes included, then held a few inches near Alastor's hand so it can be taken.]
Here. How about we toast to success? My success, of course. Goes without saying, that.
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He thinks to comment on it as he takes the drink in hand, but unfortunately he can't make even the smallest concession without Vox finding some way to become even more insufferable. The corners of his mouth twitch, but the request is met with a begrudging acquiescence. He lifts his glass as much as he can with his limited range of movement. ]
To your success.
[ The lack of any real enthusiasm non-withstanding, there's no tricks to be found here (or not yet anyway.) Alastor does quite well in keeping any complaints he has to himself. In this moment Vox's success is Alastor's success, after all, and he's the only one that's needed. Despite how he speaks of them, the other two Vees would have been entirely struck from his memory by now if not for their proximity to him.
He can let Vox have this one little moment. ]
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A rush of excitement washes through him and it's likely visible on his face, along with all the other minute details of his physique. So long as he's not masking his true intent, Vox's emotions are worn on his sleeve with very little nuance to it. His own drink is hastily snatched up so he can clink his glass against Alastor's, eagerness ensuring that the liquid weaves dangerously close to flowing over the edge.]
Hear hear!
[This really is all Vox wanted, in the end: acknowledgement. It's perfect. He loves it. It's not enough to let Alastor go- it'll never be enough. No amount of acknowledgement can still compensate for the damage that was caused over the past seven decades. Even so... He could get used to this.]
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Though you still have time to blow it. Between Charlie's stubbornness and Heaven's potential to grow a spine and smite you, [ Because he has not forgotten the delightful sound of Vox's initial panic over their arrival. He'll carry that with him until the end of days, ] There's no shortage of ways that I could have front row seats to you humiliating yourself in front of all of Hell and Heaven.
[ Vox is a person that has to be handled with care. If Alastor pushes him too much then he'll grow dispirited, but if he offers too much then he'll start to get greedy. He requires a light touch, one that offers him opportunity. As such, Alastor won't give any vote of confidence, but he doesn't mind acknowledging what's been done up until now just this once, allowing for an unspoken promise to offer more if he succeeds.
Not that he will. Vox will fuck it up. That's why Alastor likes him. He's a complete fool. He challenges the Radio Demon. He looks to conquer Heaven. He does all those things that no one else would. He's ambitious. It's exciting. It's entertaining.
In his hundred years in Hell, he's only found one other person who's caught his eye, and even that girl pales in comparison.
Alastor downs his drink in one go, as easily as if it were a shot. That's nothing out of the ordinary for him, nor does it have any effect. He lets his hand drop back down with the glass still in hand.
And with all that said... ]
But tell me: Should you really be here with me right now? This is the moment that you and your partners have been building up to, and they seem to be getting tired of being left out of the celebrations. I'm just your little prisoner, after all.
[ Our plan, they would say, even as Vox pulled Alastor alone in for his ridiculous laugh. Our plan, while Vox paid mind only to him. Our plan, and his presence and their relationship had gotten old long ago.
He nudges Vox with his glass because he needs at least four or five more to feel anything, and the other should be grateful because it's been decades since he's been so willing to do this with anyone at all. ]
I'd venture to say that some feel I've overstayed my welcome, in fact.
[ Is that a request to leave? Quite the opposite, as he's content right where he is, but even Vox can't be so braindead as to realize that he's the only one who wants Alastor here.
It's getting old fast indeed. ]
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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.]
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[ The questions come in a saccharine sweet, sing-song voice. He's not bothered at all; in fact, he slumps back in his seat, for all the world looking to be a man who's had a great weight lifted off his shoulders. ]
Do make sure it's somewhere down here, preferably as far away from you as possible. [ "how can you get further than heaven" put him on the part of hell that's farthest from it or smth ] I'm right where I was always meant to be.
[ He takes the glass in hand, and Alastor at least has the decency to not immediately slam it back this time. In fact, he seems quite ready to add more to that, but something stops him just short of it. His mind wanders elsewhere, that thought of what would happen if Vox did succeed in this scratching at the edges of his mind once more.
The snide remark he was going to add is lost, but the grin and expectant look remain in place. It's nothing that Vox would do or that Alastor would want, but it's that which allows him to speak of it so flippantly.
Besides, he never had any intention of looking away, no more than he's thought of running away. He's precisely where he wants to be. After all, his own problems and vendettas aside, somebody has to put Vox in his place before the moron actually starts a war. Really, he does have to do everything himself. ]
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His hand moves back to his own glass, lifting it up. He doesn't drink just yet, instead gently rotating it, the liquid swirling around within.]
Yeah, we'll see about that. But don't make the mistake of thinkin' I'll leave Hell behind. Once I've taken over Heaven, I'll be in charge of both realms. And hey, since I'll be God, technically I'll be ruling the mortal realm while I'm at it. Not as interesting, but it's a neat little freebie. [... Alright, now he'll take a sip from his drink, cocky as can be. A soft "Mmm" escapes him as he savors the taste.]
Anyway, point is, everything will be my territory. No matter where you are, you'll always be on my turf and in my possession. I won't forget, and I won't let you forget.
[Because Alastor was the fool who didn't put a time limit on the deal. This means that so long as Vox keeps to the conditions (let two nobodies go, don't hurt Charlie- whatever), Alastor will be his prisoner forever. Maybe, at some point, he'll let the guy walk around freely. It depends whether the radio demon will accept that his rightful place is still at Vox's feet.]
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[ He feigns disappointment and exasperation. It's exaggerated, because he's not finding any reason for immediate concern. ]
And what of your partners? You have yet to give me an answer to that question. It's one thing to be unable to convince me to go along with your little fantasy of being in charge, but them?
[ Alastor sneers. He does find the other two to be more pleasant to be around, but that doesn't mean he has illusions about them. The gap between the two of them and Vox is wide, and so the gap between them and the radio demon is as vast as the ocean. They're slow, weak, and sloppy. They lack the discipline and cunning that he has. And as for his captor, he lacks any kind of foresight.
He drains his glass as easily as if it were a shot, then shakes his head. ]
My two lackeys won't dare question me, but it's the other way around for you. Yet I've only seen you placating your partners.
[ And in a perfect display of tonal dissonance, he's going to tap Vox with the back of his hand before pointing to the touchscreen. His words are being used for something much more important, but he can multitask here in playing along with torture or whatever he's trying to accomplish here. ]
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No, Vox won't just throw his partners away after this. They're not on his level, but they're the most important pillars he can stand on. One for his left foot, one for his right foot.
His eyes narrow and he takes another sip from his drink. The indication of the touchscreen isn't missed, though he takes his time with acting on it. Alastor doesn't get to tell him what to do.]
It's not placation. Val and Velvette are exactly where I want them to be. Once I take my rightful place, they'll have theirs, and they'll fucking love me for it. See, that's what it means to rise to the top with someone else. Everyone gets exactly what they deserve. Some a little more than others, of course, but...
[Vox peers down into his glass, watching the ice cubes bob around in what's left of the clear brown liquid. It's such a familiar sight. Some forty decades after he stopped having drinks with Alastor, he started having them with Valentino instead, and while there was always that bittersweet aftertaste it might end the same way... It won't. Because Vox doesn't turn raw potential and devotion away when it comes to him, instead pulling it in and treasuring it. If it's offered to him, it might as well belong to him.]
Well. Point is, your lackeys won't question you, but Val and Velvette adore me. I'll take devotion that comes from the heart over fear any day. It's a better motivator.
[And with that, he finally raises his free hand to the touchscreen, scrolling through the options again. Oh snap, The Beauty of Sharks, a documentary narrated by Bob Ross??? He'll give you credit for this one, Heaven, and he's coming back for it later.]
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You misunderstand. Fear is what prevents people from challenging you, and it makes them sloppy when they do.
[ Vox has, too, seen how quickly that crumbles. Lucifer is hardly a threat anymore. ]
It's respect that I crave, and it's respect that I have. That is what motivates people. It's what makes them listen. As you've seen, I have it from the souls in my care, [ Because Niffty and Husk (unexpected and unwanted as they were) came for Alastor just as fast as Valentino and Velvette did, ] our fellow overlords, the princess, and even Heaven's diplomat.
[ Or rather, he will soon enough. Charlie has no doubt already talked him up, so he's not particularly concerned. The only one he's missing is the king, who's respect is worth no more than the pieces of lint in his pocket.
None of them doubt him. None of them dismiss him. He can pull strings quite easily when he chooses to. Quality, not quantity, but Alastor has earned his position in more ways than one. ]
You, on the other hand, have always garnered attention and adoration, but you waste and throw away every bit of respect that's given to you.
[ There's something to that particular statement. The words come a hint quicker, the inflection changes just slightly, there's something buried in it. It's something quiet, foreign, and perhaps without meaning. Something old and buried trying to claw its way back up from the grave. It's there and gone, seamlessly returning to his original tone. ]
You can dismiss me, but don't you forget, the only reason that people are acknowledging you at all now is because of my reputation.
[ It took him a century to build it up, and it's solid enough that he can bounce back from this. The opposite of Vox, who will soon be erased from the history books. And God if that won't be satisfying to see. ]
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Blah blah, respect, whatever. Time to browse through the animation category. There's something there about a bunch of sentient fruit getting together and opening up a coffee shop. Apparently it's a musical with Broadway style numbers? Aw fuck, figures Heaven would get Howard Ashman. It's okay, even Vox agrees that man doesn't belong in Hell.
Alastor's still talking, Vox realizes, and he tunes back in just in time for that last bit. It's enough to have him laugh out loud, because while he understands what the insult is trying to be, he can flip it with ease.]
Uh. Yeah. Duh. Because you were one of the most impressive Overlords, and I fucking beat you! I'm better than you! Stronger. So now that reputation you had is mine. And I'll keep going from here, too.
[That's what he's always done, even when he was still alive: eliminate a hot shot and take their place. Usurping someone's reputation means getting all the benefits that come with it. Not that Alastor has much to his name for Vox to claim beyond that infamy. He doesn't want the man's shitty lackeys and he doesn't want the radio studio. All he wanted was Alastor himself and now he's got him.]
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[ Alastor corrects, because who else was so notorious that speculation of his disappearance and loss alike were to angelic arms and Lucifer himself? Not once had anyone expected another overlord to defeat him. ]
There's no point in speaking with a fool. You'll understand soon enough.
[ There is a reason one isn't supposed to argue with idiots. They not only drag a person down to their level, but they win every time thanks to their experience. His old friend is in for a rude awakening, though, when he's defeated and left with nothing but the paltry pity of his associates.
The other two Vees won't abandon him, of course. That's not an option for them, not if they want to keep their seat at the table, and it was never the goal anyway. Efforts to break up a group is the domain of the weak and insecure, people who need others, and Alastor is none of the above. Rather, there can only be one strongest sinner in Hell, and so he needs to borrow Vox for that purpose. And once he's done so, Alastor only need tear down his empire, ending with taking his life, to repair his own reputation.
Soon enough.
For now, though, he does think it's about time to switch things up a little. He'll tap Vox one more time, pointing off to the side. There's nothing there, of course, but Alastor needs him to turn his head for what he has in mind.
Hopefully Vox knows better not to, because the second he does Alastor is going to take advantage of the close proximity to lean over and blow into one of his vents for no particular reason. ]
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It'll be settled in a matter of days. Finally, after all this time, maybe Alastor will finally admit defeat and Vox can find some peace.
The tap catches his attention, and he glances towards the radio demon to see the pointing gesture. It's vaguely directed towards the drink cart, which has Vox assume it's a request to refill his empty glass. Again. Alastor's really taking advantage of the situation to get wasted, huh? Not that Vox minds; might as well let the man live a little before the world as they know it comes crashing down. So yes, he turns his head to the side, his thoughts on grabbing the bottle.
Very naive of him.
He's vaguely aware of Alastor leaning in, and becomes very aware of the air being blown into the vent. His entire body freezes over for a second, a vibrant blush washing over his screen. Then he instantly whips himself around to face Alastor again.]
What the fuck was that?!
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me trying to hit the preview button like:
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