[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
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. ]