[ It was a little bit of everything, and nothing at all, because Alastor isn't quite sure what he's looking for in this interaction anymore. There's some quiet, almost inaudible part of him that wishes Vox hadn't made that proposal all those years ago. There's a much larger part that's glad that it ended before he could get hurt. But then and now, he would be happiest if things could stay just the same way that they are.
He reaches over to pluck one of the popcorn kernels from Vox's palm, but he only rolls it between his index finger and thumb. The taste of whiskey sits on his tongue, a spicy-sweet blend of spices with just a hint of bitterness; a nostalgic flavor that he'd like to keep for awhile longer. ]
I don't recall the part where you tied me to a chair.
[ But it is, a little. He considers a moment more before adding, ]
[... It was the right thing to say? Really? Nothing too snide being sent back at him? And the popcorn was taken from his hand too? Amazing. Vox still doesn't trust the situation- maybe he never will, no matter how docile Alastor becomes. Even so, it's refreshing not to be met with constant hostility. Soothing, almost.
He takes some more of the popcorn to flick into his own mouth, keeping the rest where it is. The balance of his body shifts somewhat, so he leans in closer to Alastor. Not too far, just a few inches, but it's happening. The movie's still going, but he isn't paying much attention to it anymore. Alastor is a far more fascinating watch. No, not fascinating. Captivating.]
You don't hate it. Huh. Sounds like maybe I should be stepping up my torture game.
[He should, but also he shouldn't. The only reason he keeps doing these things is to get Alastor's undivided attention. To stop the relentless antagonism. If he's at that point now, this should be it. This should be what he's been searching for. Or a first step, anyway. It's not enough. He wants more. Is torture the wrong way to go about it, though? He really doesn't know.]
[ He quips, but there's no bite to the words. He's always been in this way - give him a couple fingers of rye and put on some jazz music and he becomes a kitten. The latter is missing, but he tolerates it for now, just as he allows Vox to lean in that little bit more.
He lifts his glass to his lips once more, tipping it back so he can catch the last drops of whiskey and the ice cubes. They've shrunk enough to ruin the texture of anything else he has, so he chew them up and swallows them. Vox's hands are full, and at any rate, he's someone who knows how to appreciate the finish of a drink before moving onto the next one, so he sets it back down once he's done.
Alastor tilts his head back, eyes briefly moving to the ceiling before they come back down. ]
It really is a shame that you don't own a phonograph. It really is the only proper way to listen to music. Your devices can't produce sound the same way.
[ It sounds like a dig, and it is, but it's not quite that; he's an intelligent man, but not overly so, and primarily in specific subjects. He lacks the words and language to find some more palatable way to say it, and his emotions are too strong to want to, so he settles on simpler assessments. But the way that sounds is produced is different. They're too clean, too efficient, lacking all those little imperfections and additional sounds that came with it the turning parts, the scratches and skips... It's no different than radio. Radio is a living thing, its a sound that can't be recreated. ]
[Vox chuckles at that first remark, not taking it as an insult at all. It's just a playful barb, and regardless of what was actually said, that's already a significant thing in and of itself. The rest of the popcorn in his palm is made to disappear with one quick gesture so he has both hands free again, and with that, he reaches for his own glass. Vaguely, he hears the crunch of ice cubes coming from Alastor's mouth and a light chill rolls down his spine. That sure was... something. His gaze slips sideways, towards Alastor's lap, then he quickly takes a sip from his drink.
This is weird. It's like old times, but it's weird.
His gaze somewhat unfocused, he takes in Alastor's musing and rolls it over his mind. It's true, he doesn't own a phonograph. There's a few things in Voxtek's archives; rejected projects and older prototypes of what's been released into Hell at present day, but nothing that goes that far back. Still, an old memory resonates deep within him.]
No phonographs, no. But... Dunno if I ever told you this, but when I was a kid, we had a gramophone. Not too many records for it. Three, maybe four at most. But I liked it. Thought it was fascinating.
[His father kept telling him not to play with it, which just made it even more desirable in his young eyes. It was something grand, expensive, off-limits... He'd touch it and get in trouble for it. He can't remember what happened to that thing. Maybe he sold it at some point, maybe he trashed it out of spite. Either way, he looks back on it with fondness now, because that fascination with media did get the ball rolling.]
Aha, I remember buying one of those! You know, I didn't even manage to get it home before I saw it damaged... I couldn't tell you what witchcraft she used to fix it either, [ A small laugh, ] That woman was capable of creating greater miracles than God.
[ The thing never did work quite right, but that just gave it a bit of character. It allowed replacing it to be pushed back in favor of other expenses, again and again, until it was no longer possible... But none of that needs to be said. It's rare for him to even say this much. Alastor speaks of the era he's from, of his career, of other people, but he always stops just short of speaking of himself. It's only at rare moments like this that he offers hints any at all. ]
She has a lovely singing voice, you know, and quite the dancer, to say nothing of her art and stortytelling... In fact, I don't think there's much that woman couldn't do.
[ Alastor's expression brightens as he goes on. It's a subtle change, but it's present, a sort of luster that's never present in him. He gestures as he continues on until he pulls a cable taut, at which point he gives up on the endeavor and drop his hands back down.
But he's derailed from Vox's original point enough now. He shakes his head. ]
You never did tell me what sparked your interest in the entertainment industry.
[Vox's expression dips into a confused stare halfway into Alastor's ramble. He's not sure whether he's the one who's too drunk to understand this, or Alastor's too drunk to provide vital context. Either way, who the fuck is he talking about? What woman? His mother? Feels real fucking weird to compliment her singing and dancing if that's the case. Sibling? Best friend?
Fuck, this is going to keep him up at night, provided he even remembers this.
He'd ask, but he knows Alastor probably won't answer. So instead, he takes a sip from his drink, focusing on himself. When the glass is set down, he's leaning sideways again, a smile on his face.]
It was... Well, it wasn't just one particular thing, I guess. It was more like a realization. Entertainment gets people's attention. It draws them in as a crowd and unites them, 'cause it's even more enjoyable when you share it with other people. Families sitting around radios, groups of people standing out in the street watching the TV in a shop window... All that stuff, you know? If you're the person being shown on that TV, it means all those eyes are on you. It's up to you to make 'em laugh. Or cry. Or... feel some other kinda way. Give 'em what they came for, anyway. [He chuckles under his breath, a little embarrassed somehow. It makes perfect sense to him, but he doesn't know if he's making enough sense to get it across.] You... You get it, right?
[ Alastor considers for a moment before nodding. He does. ]
No one else can reach people in the same way. People listen to you. They love you. They actually hear you. And why not? If you think about it, artists and entertainers are the only ones who actually want their audience to enjoy life. Politicians are only interested in telling you how to live, and preachers exist to prepare you for death.
[ As far as he sees it, the two are really the same in wanting to control people, but one promises a longer life and the other promises a peaceful death. It's quite the difference. ]
But that's not what people want at all. They want something that breaks up the monotony of life and all the endless worries that come with it. And I must admit, performing did the same for me. I found that life was growing increasingly dull before before I started broadcasting.
[ Really, when he was on the airwaves is the only time he felt something like happiness. ]
[He listens to Alastor's summary of it all and realizes that... Yes, the sense was made. The point got across. A sound of relief- half a chuckle- slips out and his eyes close for a moment.]
See? You get it. You always got it.
[When Vox's eyes open again, they're somewhat unfocused, staring down towards the floor even as a smile lingers on his face. There's a reason Vox was drawn to Alastor and ultimately put his trust in a connection with the man. He thought that since Alastor always understood these things, he'd understand how Vox felt about him too. That they were the same in that area as well. They weren't. Still... It feels nice to be on the same wavelength again, if only on something they always agreed on to begin with.
Starting to feel a little restless, he quickly takes another sip from his drink and shoves the topic back on a more comfortable track.]
Anyway, record players made a comeback. Did you know that? They're in again. Technology's different now, more streamlined, but all the old records play just fine on the newer devices. Some of 'em are even made to look all retro, like old gramophone players. They've got the Bluetooth and the speakers worked right in.
[ His ears perk, then shift back, before leaning in Vox's direction as he gives a slight cant of the head. He's trying to decide how he feels about that. There's an instinctive dislike, because it seems to him like it's just people ruining a good thing, but Vox manages to say it in a way that earns a tinge of curiosity. ]
Oh, you know I can't keep up with these things. The last time I made the mistake of listening to someone who does, all I heard was a bunch of nonsense about four-kay and o-l-e-d.
[ That was right around the time Vox did his most recent upgrade. The words meant absolutely nothing to do him, but he believed the general idea to be that the man's stupid flat face would have a clearer image.
He mulls over it a little more, and despite his reticence, this really is the best response that anyone could hope for. ]
[Vox can't help but feel somewhat insulted by the 4K/OLED remark. How is that nonsense? His face has never looked sleeker. It even has motion smoothing. Val thinks it's a good upgrade! So Alastor can insist a hundred more times that the old head was better, and Vox will never agree.
Well, whatever. They weren't talking about his TV.]
Yes and no? You've still got the same... you know, the same vinyl shit. It's still getting the music itself off that record, so it's gonna sound closer to what it used to be than if you try to find the same song on a cassette or CD or something. It's just the player itself that's a little different.
[Vox pauses to reach into the popcorn again, grabbing a few more salty flakes to pop into his mouth. When he speaks, they're still there, moved to what would be his cheek.]
Anyway, it's unavoidable. Some day, all those old vintage players are gonna turn to dust. The only way to keep the vinyl spirit alive is to build new players. Same with radio and everything else. Machines break, it's that fucking simple.
[ yeah well val is wrong, vox was a hundred times cuter before he started getting cosmetic surgery every six months.
Vox is right, of course, and in the end all that Alastor can do is offer a shrug of his shoulders. This is one of those rare moments where he seems willing enough to concede on some point or another. Well, on some level, anyway - he's still trying to decide if he wants to complain or not.
He lapses into silence for a little while before speaking again. It's a deviation from what they were just talking about, but.. ]
The bar that we used to meet at closed down. I don't know precisely when, but it wasn't there the last time I passed by.
[ And he later heard that it had closed years ago. It didn't come as any surprise to him, what with decades having passed since he'd last visited. He'd gone there alone for years before he met Vox, then with him, before finding that there was no reason to go back if the other man was no longer present. He hadn't been sad about it, exactly, but there was a touch of loneliness - it felt like one more door had closed. ]
[Vox's attention drifts vaguely back towards the movie. Santa's trying to avoid being seen by his younger self to avoid a time paradox and now he's wearing a shitty disguise. The sunglasses are pretty Weekend at Bernie's, and now Vox wonders vaguely how Heaven would feel about that kind of corpse desecration. Indignant, probably.
He sips some more of his drink, almost allowing himself to forget what a big day it is tomorrow. Almost. Alastor's remark drags him back out of his thoughtful reverie, and it takes a second for the words to be understood.]
Huh? Uhh. Oh. Yeah, it did. Don't really know what happened there. It closed before the Exterminations, so that can't be why.
[Vox went back there a few times, but only with one very specific purpose in mind: to pick a fight. To see if Alastor was there, so he could lash out at him. But the radio demon was never there, so after a few months- maybe a year- Vox stopped going too. There was no point in drinking by himself like a total loser. He knows all about the local businesses, so he knows it closed, but he never got the details. 'Good riddance', he'd thought bitterly.]
It's another swingers' club now. Just one of the thousands of others we've got. Good thing demon STDs don't exist, or most of Hell'd be fucked.
[ There's a muttered remark about how that's exactly what they need upon hearing what it is, and he does wrinkle his nose, but there's no helping it. There's only so many places worth going to in a place that's so consumed by vice, and sinners should feel so blessed as to have the radio demon here... Vox and the rest of them, not so much.
Well, it's not like either of them would have gone back. This is as good as it gets for them - performative, still rubbing each other wrong, with Alastor tied to a chair and only half-intoxicated.
The latter problem is one he can solved, so he moves to hand off his glass once more. ]
Hm. You know, I've always wondered why we don't have more disease here. I guess angels really are saving all the plagues and disease for the human realm.
[ Seven plagues of the seven angels and all that. It's just a little joke on his part, because he thinks some days that angels like humans even less than demons for how much suffering they take credit for... But then again, they must be the most entertaining to watch too. ]
[Another refill? While Vox does take the glass from Alastor, he hesitates for a second. Is it really wise to keep giving him- ...Ah fuck it. Who cares? Let Alastor get plastered. If he's hungover tomorrow, that'll be a fun bonus on top of everything else. The glass is set down on the drink cart so Vox can set to work again, though it's with a slam that's a little louder than it usually would be. The alcohol's hitting him somewhat too.]
I dunno, I think maybe it comes with not having mortal bodies. Shit like disease... That's for weaklings to die from. But we can't, now can we? Demons like us, we get cool powers instead. Upgraded in every sense of the word, 'cause these forms are like a manifestation of our souls. Freed from the prison of our mortal vessel. It uh... Yeah. It makes sense.
[He's pretty sure it does, anyway. Right now, his train of thought is more like one of those hand cars with the seesaw system. It's functional, just not as efficient as it should be.]
[ Despite drinking twice as much, Alastor feels like he's the more likely to leave halfway sober, which is unfortunate for him considering Vox insists on dragging him around everywhere.
Though... Hmmm. That gives him another idea. He should probably try to put an end to whatever's going on here instead of encouraging it, but - ]
You're still a lightweight.
[ And maybe once Vox isn't in the middle of trying to pour liquor, Alastor will give his arm a little tap. Full attention, please and thank you. ]
'M not, I'm just making conversation. Theorizing. I'm fine.
[Though there's just a little bit more whine to that last word than there usually would be. But all in all, Vox doesn't feel too affected by the alcohol. It's just a pleasant little buzz, no big deal!
Once he's dropped some new ice cubes into the glass, he pours Alastor his drink (not a single drop spilled, see, he's fine!), sets the bottle down... And that's when he gets that tap on his arm. Vaguely wondering whether he forgot to add something, he turns his head to look Alastor's way with a light frown.]
[ Theorizing... Well, he's probably not wrong, but Alastor wants to tease him just a bit more, ]
You're supposed to eat before you drink that much.
[ He does make a little come here gesture before he reaches down into the bucket of popcorn, pinching a couple pieces between his fingers before lifting his hand up. He can't really reach Vox's mouth, so he'll just move his hand as close as he can there with an expectant look. He wants to be hand fed by his (forced) date, right...
Though like everything else with Alastor, it's a trick. If Vox dares to take the bait he's going to jerk his hand back and pop it into his own mouth instead. ]
[Vox was halfway into that protest when he sees the little gesture of Alastor's hand, followed by the dip into the popcorn bucket. Pieces are being taken and... No, that's not the same as what Vox himself did earlier. It's no palm for him to take from. This is the feeding hold. Vox recognizes it, since this isn't exactly his first movie date night. Or even his one hundredth. He does this with Val all the time.
Alastor had better be braced, because Vox is going through this excitement all over again. A few seconds are wasted on a mixture of giddy glee and disbelief. Then at last, he loosens the cable around Alastor's arm for more freedom of movement. Alastor could stretch his entire arm out now! Once that's done, Vox does in fact lean in with closed eyes and open mouth for a pathetic little 'aaaah'-]
[ The reaction is more dramatic than he thought it would be, as is Vox loosening the cable... He rocks back and forth on how he explains these behaviors, though none of it allows him to quite reach the correct conclusion, and so he can find it to be charming, in a childish sort of way. It's delightful to see his expression shift when Alastor pulls back, and it draws out a snicker from him that turns into a giggle. ]
Pfft... Haha... I changed my mind. I've already spoiled you too much tonight.
[ He crosses his legs and leans back, ]
You have to ask nicely if you want me to do something like that now.
[The loosening of the cable made perfect sense with the notion in the back of his head that maybe, just maybe, Alastor would go back to touching him. He realizes now what an absolute fool he was for thinking that. Even with that, he'll just.... leave the cable as it is. Not like Alastor can go anywhere or do anything to him.]
I'm not gonna beg, Al. I'm not that desperate. You don't wanna share, I hope you choke on it instead.
[He's sitting up straight in his seat again, arms crossed over his chest, huffy as can be. And yes, that means Alastor's glass will stand forgotten on the drink cart. Should've thought of that whiskey before making a fool out of Vox!]
You should be. I don't respond to demands, and I don't take requests, but I have on occasion been so willing to offer relief to a beggar.
[ They're words with a sinister implication for anyone else, because death might be better than the cost of being spared, but for Vox it's nothing more than one more way of teasing him. This is all just Alastor's private experiment anyway. It's a way of seeing how far he's willing to go, how much Vox is willing to accept, what reactions he can get from all of this. It's a new experience for him, because what little he did was for social conformity rather than interest, and decorum and modesty led to chastity. There's none of that here and Hell, but in that case that meant he was free from the former more than the latter. It's just on a whim that he's decided to do so now, being that they're on a date, decided on a whim and to be continued until he loses interest.
Alastor takes a couple more bites, but he doesn't choke on any of them. Once that's done, he rests his elbow on the armrest and his chin on his palm. He tilts his head slightly to watch Vox through half lidded eye, tapping his bottom lip with his index finger as he considers what it is he wants to do next. That giddy reaction had been irritating before, but he doesn't mind it here - though it did seem a bit much for something so simple. ]
Although in your case, I wasn't asking for you to beg anyway.
[ Or rather, he hadn't expected him to, nor would it matter if he did. Really, it's just that his pouting is nice too. It seems to him a bit different than the usual frustration and upset that he normally aims for. ]
[In Vox's opinion, asking nicely and begging for something are virtually the same thing. Especially after the last time he asked Alastor something 'nicely' and was immediately made out to be a pathetic weakling. If he really wanted to prove a point, he'd use the cables to force Alastor's hand to feed him, because that's what real power is. The mood's fucking ruined, though. Maybe some other time, when the popcorn will taste less bitter.
For now, he'll just take his own, even going so far as to grab the tub and putting it back on his own lap. He's perfectly capable of feeding himself, thankyouverymuch.]
You're a miserable prick and if it weren't for me keeping you close, you'd spent the rest of your days in Hell alone like a fucking loser. You're welcome.
[ Thought in a way, it is. He had been alone until Vox had come along. He doubts anyone else will be so bold as to approach him. That's unfortunate for him, considering that the man has one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. If kill him, then Alastor will, and if Alastor doesn't, one of the other overlords will. He's made too much noise, and he's put himself in a position where failure isn't an option.
He lifts his head back up. He'll wait just a bit longer before doing anything more, but when he's ready, he'll reach over himself. He makes a point of waiting until Vox is trying to reach his hand in for no other reason than to be able to knock it away before he takes another pinch of popcorn. He holds it up to Vox once more, tilting his head just slightly to one side.
He does wonder if the offer will be rejected this time out of fear of being tricked again. That would make the entire affair that much funnier, because Alastor has changed his mind again about being willing to hand feed him. He's perfectly willing to go through with it now. ]
You're pathetic. Is this how you behave with your partner... [ A beat, and he lifts an eyebrow, ] ... In business too?
[ For once, he's not asking to antagonize - or at least, not in the same way, because the need to do so has died down for the moment. It just doesn't seem too far off, though Alastor doubts that anyone else can get the sort of reactions that he does. ]
[The rude bump to Vox's hand is so unwelcome right now. It feels needlessly aggressive for a split second, but then he realizes what Alastor's doing. Now he's once again left staring at an offer of popcorn. Moving his gaze to the radio demon's face instead doesn't help anything, because there's no way he can trust that smirk now. Fool him once, shame on Alastor, fool him twice...
No. He won't do it. He'll ignore it. Like he said, Alastor can choke on it.
Vox turns away in his seat somewhat, the popcorn bucket angling away with him. Even then, he makes sure to throw one last glare Alastor's way.]
Of course not, don't be a fucking idiot. Val actually appreciates me, and he doesn't waste my time with the kinda pranks a toddler would pull. Here's a shocking newsflash for ya: some people down here get along.
[Is it healthy relationship? No. Vox knows that too. But healthy is overrated. It works, and that's what matters. It's been working for several decades already.
Annoyed, he grabs a hand of popcorn for himself and stuffs it all into his mouth in one go, gaze swerving back towards the movie.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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He reaches over to pluck one of the popcorn kernels from Vox's palm, but he only rolls it between his index finger and thumb. The taste of whiskey sits on his tongue, a spicy-sweet blend of spices with just a hint of bitterness; a nostalgic flavor that he'd like to keep for awhile longer. ]
I don't recall the part where you tied me to a chair.
[ But it is, a little. He considers a moment more before adding, ]
But... Well, I don't hate it.
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He takes some more of the popcorn to flick into his own mouth, keeping the rest where it is. The balance of his body shifts somewhat, so he leans in closer to Alastor. Not too far, just a few inches, but it's happening. The movie's still going, but he isn't paying much attention to it anymore. Alastor is a far more fascinating watch. No, not fascinating. Captivating.]
You don't hate it. Huh. Sounds like maybe I should be stepping up my torture game.
[He should, but also he shouldn't. The only reason he keeps doing these things is to get Alastor's undivided attention. To stop the relentless antagonism. If he's at that point now, this should be it. This should be what he's been searching for. Or a first step, anyway. It's not enough. He wants more. Is torture the wrong way to go about it, though? He really doesn't know.]
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[ He quips, but there's no bite to the words. He's always been in this way - give him a couple fingers of rye and put on some jazz music and he becomes a kitten. The latter is missing, but he tolerates it for now, just as he allows Vox to lean in that little bit more.
He lifts his glass to his lips once more, tipping it back so he can catch the last drops of whiskey and the ice cubes. They've shrunk enough to ruin the texture of anything else he has, so he chew them up and swallows them. Vox's hands are full, and at any rate, he's someone who knows how to appreciate the finish of a drink before moving onto the next one, so he sets it back down once he's done.
Alastor tilts his head back, eyes briefly moving to the ceiling before they come back down. ]
It really is a shame that you don't own a phonograph. It really is the only proper way to listen to music. Your devices can't produce sound the same way.
[ It sounds like a dig, and it is, but it's not quite that; he's an intelligent man, but not overly so, and primarily in specific subjects. He lacks the words and language to find some more palatable way to say it, and his emotions are too strong to want to, so he settles on simpler assessments. But the way that sounds is produced is different. They're too clean, too efficient, lacking all those little imperfections and additional sounds that came with it the turning parts, the scratches and skips... It's no different than radio. Radio is a living thing, its a sound that can't be recreated. ]
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This is weird. It's like old times, but it's weird.
His gaze somewhat unfocused, he takes in Alastor's musing and rolls it over his mind. It's true, he doesn't own a phonograph. There's a few things in Voxtek's archives; rejected projects and older prototypes of what's been released into Hell at present day, but nothing that goes that far back. Still, an old memory resonates deep within him.]
No phonographs, no. But... Dunno if I ever told you this, but when I was a kid, we had a gramophone. Not too many records for it. Three, maybe four at most. But I liked it. Thought it was fascinating.
[His father kept telling him not to play with it, which just made it even more desirable in his young eyes. It was something grand, expensive, off-limits... He'd touch it and get in trouble for it. He can't remember what happened to that thing. Maybe he sold it at some point, maybe he trashed it out of spite. Either way, he looks back on it with fondness now, because that fascination with media did get the ball rolling.]
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[ The thing never did work quite right, but that just gave it a bit of character. It allowed replacing it to be pushed back in favor of other expenses, again and again, until it was no longer possible... But none of that needs to be said. It's rare for him to even say this much. Alastor speaks of the era he's from, of his career, of other people, but he always stops just short of speaking of himself. It's only at rare moments like this that he offers hints any at all. ]
She has a lovely singing voice, you know, and quite the dancer, to say nothing of her art and stortytelling... In fact, I don't think there's much that woman couldn't do.
[ Alastor's expression brightens as he goes on. It's a subtle change, but it's present, a sort of luster that's never present in him. He gestures as he continues on until he pulls a cable taut, at which point he gives up on the endeavor and drop his hands back down.
But he's derailed from Vox's original point enough now. He shakes his head. ]
You never did tell me what sparked your interest in the entertainment industry.
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Fuck, this is going to keep him up at night, provided he even remembers this.
He'd ask, but he knows Alastor probably won't answer. So instead, he takes a sip from his drink, focusing on himself. When the glass is set down, he's leaning sideways again, a smile on his face.]
It was... Well, it wasn't just one particular thing, I guess. It was more like a realization. Entertainment gets people's attention. It draws them in as a crowd and unites them, 'cause it's even more enjoyable when you share it with other people. Families sitting around radios, groups of people standing out in the street watching the TV in a shop window... All that stuff, you know? If you're the person being shown on that TV, it means all those eyes are on you. It's up to you to make 'em laugh. Or cry. Or... feel some other kinda way. Give 'em what they came for, anyway. [He chuckles under his breath, a little embarrassed somehow. It makes perfect sense to him, but he doesn't know if he's making enough sense to get it across.] You... You get it, right?
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No one else can reach people in the same way. People listen to you. They love you. They actually hear you. And why not? If you think about it, artists and entertainers are the only ones who actually want their audience to enjoy life. Politicians are only interested in telling you how to live, and preachers exist to prepare you for death.
[ As far as he sees it, the two are really the same in wanting to control people, but one promises a longer life and the other promises a peaceful death. It's quite the difference. ]
But that's not what people want at all. They want something that breaks up the monotony of life and all the endless worries that come with it. And I must admit, performing did the same for me. I found that life was growing increasingly dull before before I started broadcasting.
[ Really, when he was on the airwaves is the only time he felt something like happiness. ]
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See? You get it. You always got it.
[When Vox's eyes open again, they're somewhat unfocused, staring down towards the floor even as a smile lingers on his face. There's a reason Vox was drawn to Alastor and ultimately put his trust in a connection with the man. He thought that since Alastor always understood these things, he'd understand how Vox felt about him too. That they were the same in that area as well. They weren't. Still... It feels nice to be on the same wavelength again, if only on something they always agreed on to begin with.
Starting to feel a little restless, he quickly takes another sip from his drink and shoves the topic back on a more comfortable track.]
Anyway, record players made a comeback. Did you know that? They're in again. Technology's different now, more streamlined, but all the old records play just fine on the newer devices. Some of 'em are even made to look all retro, like old gramophone players. They've got the Bluetooth and the speakers worked right in.
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Oh, you know I can't keep up with these things. The last time I made the mistake of listening to someone who does, all I heard was a bunch of nonsense about four-kay and o-l-e-d.
[ That was right around the time Vox did his most recent upgrade. The words meant absolutely nothing to do him, but he believed the general idea to be that the man's stupid flat face would have a clearer image.
He mulls over it a little more, and despite his reticence, this really is the best response that anyone could hope for. ]
They're not really the same though, are they?
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Well, whatever. They weren't talking about his TV.]
Yes and no? You've still got the same... you know, the same vinyl shit. It's still getting the music itself off that record, so it's gonna sound closer to what it used to be than if you try to find the same song on a cassette or CD or something. It's just the player itself that's a little different.
[Vox pauses to reach into the popcorn again, grabbing a few more salty flakes to pop into his mouth. When he speaks, they're still there, moved to what would be his cheek.]
Anyway, it's unavoidable. Some day, all those old vintage players are gonna turn to dust. The only way to keep the vinyl spirit alive is to build new players. Same with radio and everything else. Machines break, it's that fucking simple.
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Vox is right, of course, and in the end all that Alastor can do is offer a shrug of his shoulders. This is one of those rare moments where he seems willing enough to concede on some point or another. Well, on some level, anyway - he's still trying to decide if he wants to complain or not.
He lapses into silence for a little while before speaking again. It's a deviation from what they were just talking about, but.. ]
The bar that we used to meet at closed down. I don't know precisely when, but it wasn't there the last time I passed by.
[ And he later heard that it had closed years ago. It didn't come as any surprise to him, what with decades having passed since he'd last visited. He'd gone there alone for years before he met Vox, then with him, before finding that there was no reason to go back if the other man was no longer present. He hadn't been sad about it, exactly, but there was a touch of loneliness - it felt like one more door had closed. ]
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He sips some more of his drink, almost allowing himself to forget what a big day it is tomorrow. Almost. Alastor's remark drags him back out of his thoughtful reverie, and it takes a second for the words to be understood.]
Huh? Uhh. Oh. Yeah, it did. Don't really know what happened there. It closed before the Exterminations, so that can't be why.
[Vox went back there a few times, but only with one very specific purpose in mind: to pick a fight. To see if Alastor was there, so he could lash out at him. But the radio demon was never there, so after a few months- maybe a year- Vox stopped going too. There was no point in drinking by himself like a total loser. He knows all about the local businesses, so he knows it closed, but he never got the details. 'Good riddance', he'd thought bitterly.]
It's another swingers' club now. Just one of the thousands of others we've got. Good thing demon STDs don't exist, or most of Hell'd be fucked.
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Well, it's not like either of them would have gone back. This is as good as it gets for them - performative, still rubbing each other wrong, with Alastor tied to a chair and only half-intoxicated.
The latter problem is one he can solved, so he moves to hand off his glass once more. ]
Hm. You know, I've always wondered why we don't have more disease here. I guess angels really are saving all the plagues and disease for the human realm.
[ Seven plagues of the seven angels and all that. It's just a little joke on his part, because he thinks some days that angels like humans even less than demons for how much suffering they take credit for... But then again, they must be the most entertaining to watch too. ]
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I dunno, I think maybe it comes with not having mortal bodies. Shit like disease... That's for weaklings to die from. But we can't, now can we? Demons like us, we get cool powers instead. Upgraded in every sense of the word, 'cause these forms are like a manifestation of our souls. Freed from the prison of our mortal vessel. It uh... Yeah. It makes sense.
[He's pretty sure it does, anyway. Right now, his train of thought is more like one of those hand cars with the seesaw system. It's functional, just not as efficient as it should be.]
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Though... Hmmm. That gives him another idea. He should probably try to put an end to whatever's going on here instead of encouraging it, but - ]
You're still a lightweight.
[ And maybe once Vox isn't in the middle of trying to pour liquor, Alastor will give his arm a little tap. Full attention, please and thank you. ]
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[Though there's just a little bit more whine to that last word than there usually would be. But all in all, Vox doesn't feel too affected by the alcohol. It's just a pleasant little buzz, no big deal!
Once he's dropped some new ice cubes into the glass, he pours Alastor his drink (not a single drop spilled, see, he's fine!), sets the bottle down... And that's when he gets that tap on his arm. Vaguely wondering whether he forgot to add something, he turns his head to look Alastor's way with a light frown.]
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You're supposed to eat before you drink that much.
[ He does make a little come here gesture before he reaches down into the bucket of popcorn, pinching a couple pieces between his fingers before lifting his hand up. He can't really reach Vox's mouth, so he'll just move his hand as close as he can there with an expectant look. He wants to be hand fed by his (forced) date, right...
Though like everything else with Alastor, it's a trick. If Vox dares to take the bait he's going to jerk his hand back and pop it into his own mouth instead. ]
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[Vox was halfway into that protest when he sees the little gesture of Alastor's hand, followed by the dip into the popcorn bucket. Pieces are being taken and... No, that's not the same as what Vox himself did earlier. It's no palm for him to take from. This is the feeding hold. Vox recognizes it, since this isn't exactly his first movie date night. Or even his one hundredth. He does this with Val all the time.
Alastor had better be braced, because Vox is going through this excitement all over again. A few seconds are wasted on a mixture of giddy glee and disbelief. Then at last, he loosens the cable around Alastor's arm for more freedom of movement. Alastor could stretch his entire arm out now! Once that's done, Vox does in fact lean in with closed eyes and open mouth for a pathetic little 'aaaah'-]
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Whah- hey!
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Pfft... Haha... I changed my mind. I've already spoiled you too much tonight.
[ He crosses his legs and leans back, ]
You have to ask nicely if you want me to do something like that now.
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I'm not gonna beg, Al. I'm not that desperate. You don't wanna share, I hope you choke on it instead.
[He's sitting up straight in his seat again, arms crossed over his chest, huffy as can be. And yes, that means Alastor's glass will stand forgotten on the drink cart. Should've thought of that whiskey before making a fool out of Vox!]
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[ They're words with a sinister implication for anyone else, because death might be better than the cost of being spared, but for Vox it's nothing more than one more way of teasing him. This is all just Alastor's private experiment anyway. It's a way of seeing how far he's willing to go, how much Vox is willing to accept, what reactions he can get from all of this. It's a new experience for him, because what little he did was for social conformity rather than interest, and decorum and modesty led to chastity. There's none of that here and Hell, but in that case that meant he was free from the former more than the latter. It's just on a whim that he's decided to do so now, being that they're on a date, decided on a whim and to be continued until he loses interest.
Alastor takes a couple more bites, but he doesn't choke on any of them. Once that's done, he rests his elbow on the armrest and his chin on his palm. He tilts his head slightly to watch Vox through half lidded eye, tapping his bottom lip with his index finger as he considers what it is he wants to do next. That giddy reaction had been irritating before, but he doesn't mind it here - though it did seem a bit much for something so simple. ]
Although in your case, I wasn't asking for you to beg anyway.
[ Or rather, he hadn't expected him to, nor would it matter if he did. Really, it's just that his pouting is nice too. It seems to him a bit different than the usual frustration and upset that he normally aims for. ]
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For now, he'll just take his own, even going so far as to grab the tub and putting it back on his own lap. He's perfectly capable of feeding himself, thankyouverymuch.]
You're a miserable prick and if it weren't for me keeping you close, you'd spent the rest of your days in Hell alone like a fucking loser. You're welcome.
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[ Thought in a way, it is. He had been alone until Vox had come along. He doubts anyone else will be so bold as to approach him. That's unfortunate for him, considering that the man has one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. If kill him, then Alastor will, and if Alastor doesn't, one of the other overlords will. He's made too much noise, and he's put himself in a position where failure isn't an option.
He lifts his head back up. He'll wait just a bit longer before doing anything more, but when he's ready, he'll reach over himself. He makes a point of waiting until Vox is trying to reach his hand in for no other reason than to be able to knock it away before he takes another pinch of popcorn. He holds it up to Vox once more, tilting his head just slightly to one side.
He does wonder if the offer will be rejected this time out of fear of being tricked again. That would make the entire affair that much funnier, because Alastor has changed his mind again about being willing to hand feed him. He's perfectly willing to go through with it now. ]
You're pathetic. Is this how you behave with your partner... [ A beat, and he lifts an eyebrow, ] ... In business too?
[ For once, he's not asking to antagonize - or at least, not in the same way, because the need to do so has died down for the moment. It just doesn't seem too far off, though Alastor doubts that anyone else can get the sort of reactions that he does. ]
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No. He won't do it. He'll ignore it. Like he said, Alastor can choke on it.
Vox turns away in his seat somewhat, the popcorn bucket angling away with him. Even then, he makes sure to throw one last glare Alastor's way.]
Of course not, don't be a fucking idiot. Val actually appreciates me, and he doesn't waste my time with the kinda pranks a toddler would pull. Here's a shocking newsflash for ya: some people down here get along.
[Is it healthy relationship? No. Vox knows that too. But healthy is overrated. It works, and that's what matters. It's been working for several decades already.
Annoyed, he grabs a hand of popcorn for himself and stuffs it all into his mouth in one go, gaze swerving back towards the movie.]
me trying to hit the preview button like:
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