[ The fact of the matter is, Alastor has no desire to see Vox. He has even less of a desire to talk to him. In fact, if the radio demon had any say in the matter, they would exist without needing to acknowledge each other's presence at all.
But that's not how it works. They occupy the same space in Hell. They're two of the most influential overlords in Hell, with Vox only having a temporary hiatus. They represent the two most significant forms of media. But most importantly, they share the airwaves. However much they want to, there's no ignoring that presence, and so long as they can't forget each other, and they can't ignore each other, they'll eventually be drawn to each other once more.
He has to share a space with Vox. He has to see him. He has to speak with him.
So, he'd called him over once more. He's not sure if Vox feels the same, but he didn't have any choice but to respond. If he didn't come, then Alastor would simply find him, and that would be far worse.
He'd brought him into the jotel, into his room. He didn't particularly want it to be at the hotel, but the room itself was his equivalent of the Vee tower - a space that was created and controlled by him - because it was only fair. It's nicer than the outside scenery - a forest, but one that's not quite right. It looks befitting of a horror movie. It's dark, eerie, and completely silent save for their footsteps - and impossibly big. Far bigger than what could possibly fit in a single room.
He's silent for awhile, but eventually says, ]
I'm sure that you're wondering why it is that I called you out here.
[ He says it lightly, but there's something just a bit off about it. It's perfectly calm, even thoughtful, without even a hint of his usual flair. ]
Well, I've been thinking for awhile now, and there are things that we need to speak about. And I need you to be quiet and listen for awhile. Do you understand?
[After the Might of Lilith debacle, part of Vox thinks he could've been very content to avoid Alastor. Avoid the other Vees while he was at it. Maybe take a seven year hiatus of his own; just disappear for a while to rest and recalibrate. Lilith herself had the right idea to fuck off. Unfortunately, that's just not how Vox operates. He doubts it ever will be. Allowing himself to be swept under the rug goes against every fiber of his being. It'd mean that Alastor won, and by definition, that Vox lost.
No. He can't accept that fate. If he does, it will all be over. He has to keep getting up after he falls.
When Alastor extended the invitation, he couldn't turn it down. He faces the challenge head on, as he always does, against better judgment. Any uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach is ignored, because things like humiliation and shame are just more weaknesses. He had a good plan going, he got a little carried away and lost track of his goal... That's all it was. A minor setback. So he faces the radio demon with his head held high, no matter how heavy it feels on his restored body.
He's never been inside Alastor's room before. It's uncanny and eerie, and somehow perfectly fitting. This guy would live in a dark, humid swamp of his own free will.]
... Yeah, sure.
[There's no snide comeback, no sarcasm, nothing like that. He's far too tired to beat around the bush or even push back against it. He'll tolerate whatever this conversation is meant to be, because he'll be damned if he runs away from it, but he won't make it last any longer than it has to. Maybe that's the only way humiliation can manifest for him in any way; it makes him less willing to cause conflict on purpose. Leave the boat unrocked, even if he's still circling it like a predatory animal.]
[ His staff taps along the ground as they go. The depth is more for aesthetics than practicality, as he controls the space, so he doesn't mind taking a tour like this. There's no need for Vox to worry about it either, because so long as he understands his position, this conversation can go smoothly. Despite his reputation, the radio demon tends to avoid unnecessary violence.
He passes by trees and flora of various colors. They're ones that he remembers from life, though the shape and colors don't quite match any found on Earth. The memory of what they looked like began to go soft around the edges some odd years in, and at some point he found that he could no longer reconstruct them quite right. ]
We've been doing this for over seventy years now. There's many things that have changed, [ And here, he makes a point of reaching over to flick that bent antenna, ] But all we do is go back and forth. It's the same thing every time. Every time, you would find some way to spin your sound defeat to make it sound as though it were a victory.
[ He's smarting small. It's a pleasant note to begin on, even. It is a little more complicated than that, too - there is a reason that his attention has remained on Vox for so long, and the man was nothing if not clever when his emotions weren't getting the best of him, but that's not really the point he's making now. ]
[The swamp is not to Vox's liking one bit. It feels gross. Regardless of whether it's real or just a reconstruction, it's like the smells and soggy ground carry a genuine taint that will stick with him long after he leaves this room. Even so, he trails after Alastor as the man goes, not quite behind him but not fully by his side either. A comfortable distance where he's just outside touching range.
His mouth opens for a response, only for him to remember that he was meant to stay quiet and listen. All those potential words that were formulating are swallowed back down, and instead, he hums under his breath to indicate that he's listening. He doesn't have a clue where it's going, but he's listening. If there's some sort of truce that's about to be suggested, he won't accept it. He could never trust it, after all. ]
[ It's quite gross! Alastor doesn't notice it in the least though, because he's come here many times. He kicks aside a stray branch.
So far, so good, so he continues on, ]
I was fine with being your little prisoner too. You did me a favor in the end, so I was willing to forgive you for all those transgressions... But then you went and ruined it.
[ He kicks another branch out of the way. Those words drip with venom, but the staff has already been brought up and clasped behind his back. His grip is too tight, and he only remembers to loosen it when a drop of blood emerges from how hard his claws were sinking into the skin.
Vox had ruined what they had, a fine little system that allowed for a full seventy years of love and hate, respect and disdain, something that no one but them could understand, just like he had the more affectionate one of seventy years ago.
It could have lasted an eternity if not for that one little incident. ]
[That first bit is absolute bullshit to Vox. Transgressions? Please. Alastor walked into his hands quite willingly. In fact, Alastor was the one who'd suggested the deal in the first place. He would've known exactly what sort of 'transgressions' could happen and had agreed anyway, so forgiveness shouldn't have been needed. That nasty tone of voice is real unwarranted too. As far as Vox is convinced, nothing he did was out of line. If it had been, Alastor would've stopped his playful taunts and put his foot down in a more meaningful way.
He still doesn't protest. Just allows the pointless scolding to wash over him. Then comes the last bit, and that one does hit a certain mark. Regardless of whether he's allowed to speak yet, he does it anyway, because he has a correction to make.]
I tried to blow you up.
[The Pentagram just happened to be all around Alastor. The city, the people, Vox himself... They were in the near vicinity, but never his true target. Who gives a shit about any of them? If someone had handed him an angelic dagger at that point to stab Alastor with as an alternative, he probably would've taken it. And maybe he would've stabbed himself with it after, because once the radio demon was gone, what would've been the point of still being there? He would've had the ultimate victory and there's no more going up from there.
That in itself shouldn't have come as a surprise. They've been 'playing around' for seventy years, but only because Alastor was always strong enough to take anything Vox would throw at him. It didn't change that the bloodlust was always there.]
[ It was in line with his expectations, or at least what he could accept, and so it's really only a means of saving face. In the end, no harm had been done, so that was that. He had rolled over everything had happened, but there as nothing worth pursuing. He was even being so polite as to let Vox save face by the pair of them pretending it wasn't about him.
He wasn't ready to except any sort of commentary, but Alastor does have that tendency to grin and bear it. He might have managed, but of course Vox has to go and ruin that too. It's only with the greatest amount of effort that he manages to keep from digging his nails in any further. His fingers just twitch slightly instead, safely out of the sight of prying eyes.
Still, Alastor is a polite man. He's disciplined to an extent that no one could possibly imagine, given his status in Hell, and so he'll likewise offer a means to save face here. ]
You would have blown up the Pentagram, [ He offers patiently, ] And as I said, your input is neither needed or wanted.
[ It really is a sore subject, and to hear it said that is worse than having an open wound tore open. Vox has done that, too, and it unsettled him less. The toothy grin betrays nothing, but it had shaken him, and it had shaken him in a way that he had not known possible. ]
[So Alastor gets to make false claims about him, and he can't even defend himself by correcting them? Fucking hell... Now he knows how all those idiots feel who are targeted by his own misinformation. Not that he'll be more sympathetic towards them and change his ways, it's still their own fault for being easily targeted. Vox slipped up, so now he's the easy target. It's a good reminder for him to be more careful in the future.
Still. He feels like he's been called into the principal's office for disciplinary measures. Like he's just a child who needs to be confronted with their own actions so they can put it into perspective, when he knows damn well what he did. His eyes narrow with fury, and part of him wants to turn round and leave. What even is the point beyond Alastor venting at him? He might as well speak to one of these trees, then.
Still, he stays where he is and does as he's told, the spite inside him building.]
[ Alastor is well aware of the truth. He's accepted it, and he spent agonizing days trying to decide what to do with that information. He had no intention of disputing it, and so he's a bit puzzled by that reflexive need to was able to overtake him.
He doesn't care about the Pentagram. If every other demon in the city had died, it would have only been troublesome and irritating. Besides, for as grand as it was, it wasn't anything special. When Overlords fight, there were countless victims. Those who didn't die and weren't mutilated might lose everything from their possessions to entire buildings. That lot had only cared because this time, they were the collateral damage.
No, Alastor doesn't care about them, no more than he does anyone else. It's that Vox was trying to kill him first, and that he was trying to kill himself second. Saying it aloud just made it feel so final. ]
Fine. You were trying to blow me up, and the rest were just unlucky enough to be in attendance.
[ He shrugs, looking away for a moment. He doesn't have any particular desire to continue. For someone who wishes for things to stay the same and rejects change so thoroughly, this sort of conversation is nothing if not unpleasant. Still, he carries on. ]
That's nothing new though, it it? You've tried to kill me, and I've tried to kill you, but something always gets in the way.
[ He lifts his staff, tapping the microphone against the opposite hand. ]
We can't carry on that way any longer. I've gotten tired of it. The next time we come into conflict, either you are going to die, or I will. I won't let anything get in the way. If anyone tries, I'll kill them without a moment's hesitation.
[ And really, he wouldn't mind that. It's been nothing if not irritating to have to deal with Vox calling in back up all the time. It would be so satisfying to not have to hold back for the sake of some nobodies. ]
And as things stand right now, we'll inevitably wind up fighting over something or another. I don't know when, or what it'll be about, but there's always something.
[So Alastor wants to put an end to it. Seventy years of rivalry, of pushing and pulling that ultimately led nowhere. Enough is enough, apparently. Vox's last pull was too harsh. It should be a relief. He's been given the go-ahead to do exactly what he wanted; wipe Alastor's smile off his face, if he can put enough force into his blows. As for the option of losing... Well, if he had to choose, being sent into the eternal death by Alastor's hand is probably more acceptable than any other's.
This should be good. Why does the finality of it all feel so awful, then?
He shoves that feeling aside, because not only is it backwards, it's worthless. He doesn't know if he's allowed to speak yet, so he just tilts his head instead, facade of lips pressed into a thin line. It's a 'yeah okay' type of look. Begrudging acceptance.]
[ Not now. Not this second, at least. By the end of this conversation, Alastor might very well decide to end it. It's inevitable now, though. If a person learns that they have the want and means to kill you, then they'll try it once. And if they'll try it once, then they will again. And Alastor is aware of that, he can feel the rope of the noose pressed up against his neck, and the more time that goes on, the tighter it will squeeze.
It might not be today, or tomorrow, or even five years from now, but that's the only ending that he can see as long as they stay on this path.
He's not done. ]
So, I asked myself, what is it that we can do to avoid that? At first, I was just content to ignore you. In fact, under any other circumstances, I would have forgotten you by now.
[ He wouldn't have forgotten him entirely, of course. They know each other far too well and have been through far too much for that. Still, it would only take so long for him to fade into the background, thought about but overshadowed by a dozen other matters of importance. Those memories would always be there, those feelings of love and hate, but they'd fade into the background for lack of use.
That's not possible with them, though. He has no more awareness of Vox's signal than he does of the fact that he's still breathing, but it's there. It's there, and like his breathing, the moment he focuses even a bit his full attention is drawn to it.It's the tragedy of sharing the airwaves. ]
But we can't do that, no matter how hard we try.
[ There's plenty of dead space on the airwaves. If he tries to, he can pick up on this and that from different broadcasts to catch them, but it's really just an empty sea. Vox's signal is like a lighthouse. ]
But we can't forget each other. We can't ignore each other. We can't live without each other, but we can't live with each other either.
[ He leans in at length, placing his index finger against the other's chest, just above where his heart would be, an intense stare there, ]
So, what do we do?
[ He can speak now, if he wishes. Whether or not he should speak now is another matter entirely, but he's afforded that opportunity. ]
['But we can't forget each other. We can't ignore each other. We can't live without each other, but we can't live with each other either.'
That really is the conundrum of their dynamic, isn't it? They're intertwined. Not even because Vox keeps seeking Alastor's attention out, but because Alastor's attention exists. Because the two of them will always keep crossing paths and keep crossing swords. Getting along on the same level was a dream Vox once held, a long time ago, but he found out the hard way that wasn't an option. They were the same in some of the best ways, but also different in all those ways that would cause them to clash.
It's odd to him that Alastor wants to avoid the ultimate ending. He'd think the radio demon would be convinced he could win. That from his perspective, Vox would be taken out of the equation and the problem would be solved.
His gaze slides down towards Alastor's finger when it presses against his chest and lingers there for a moment. Then it swerves back up, to that toothy grin that almost seems to glow in the darkness of the swamp. The grin that haunts him, like it belongs to the goddamn Cheshire Cat, just looming up and standing out like a sore thumb in situations where it doesn't belong.
Finally, he looks Alastor right in the eye. A long moment of silence has passed, so apparently, it's expected that he talks now.]
You really wanna avoid that? You wanna find a solution that isn't eternal death?
[There's very much an unspoken 'why' in those questions, full of mistrust. If Alastor's fed up with him, offended by the way he put the city in danger, why spare him at all?]
[ Alastor is quite fickle. There's a system to his behavior, but it's not one that others can understand. There's no reason he should have let a lowly sinner like Sir Pentious continue attacking him. But in his mind, there's nothing odd at all about it. Mercy is the privilege of the strong, and he is nothing if not confident in his own abilities. It's only those who are far beneath him that feel that need to snuff the life out of every child who throws a pebble at them and clumsy buffoon who bumps into them.
Here, too. He knows that he would win, but despite his earlier words, something is still getting in the way.
Alastor doesn't answer the question, but that is in and of itself an answer. He spins on his heel, staff held behind his back, and takes a couple steps away. It's a vulnerable position, but he doesn't feel exposed at all. Front or back, a knife goes in just the same. If he doesn't notice it coming, then that's his own fault. It's no different than how this conversation might prove to be a mistake, because if it's barely anything at all, it's still the first time he's been open about much of anything at all.
He repeats his question: ]
So, what do we do?
[ The temptation to shut him up again is there, because Vox isn't of much good to him if he has no answer, but he'll allow it for now. ]
[Alastor doesn't reply to the question, but that in itself is already an answer. After all, if he didn't mean to avoid the inevitable, why even ask for input? The smartass inside Vox suggests that Alastor could retire, but he knows better than to voice it out loud. Not here, when he's in the radio demon's literal home turf. Not now, after that spectacle that played out with the Might of Lilith. No, he needs to quell that impulse that insists Alastor should just go fuck himself.
They can't keep going the way things have been these past seventy years, because the fire that's been fueling their conflicts has only been growing larger. They can't bring everything to an eternal halt, then. Neither of them will give up on their own ambitions and set off on a different road. They'll be Overlords for as long as they can manage. If Vox had ascended to Heaven, he could've left Alastor behind for a much greater destiny, but that wasn't in the cards either. So what's left?
He's silent for a moment, watching a few fireflies (or facades of them?) in the distant shadows of the woods. His arms cross over his chest, sharp claws digging into the fabric of his sleeves.]
Maybe... We find some other way to deal with all that pent-up fury. Something that's not killing.
[He's thinking of his own fury, since that's most familiar to him. He never did really know how Alastor feels, or if he even feels at all. Though, he is starting to think that he pushed his luck and whatever might've counted as patience has run out. Either way, the root of the problem isn't that they want to kill each other. It was never like that. The root of the problem was the bubbling, white hot emotion that's consumed Vox for all those decades already, growing and escalating and festering. Being rid of the hungry beast isn't an option, but maybe feeding it something else to keep it satisfied is the way to go.]
Your pent up fury. I don't have anything like that.
[ About the past, the futures that never came, all of those things that Alastor thinks of himself as over. After all, it was all for the best. If they'd stayed together, then they eventually would have fallen apart regardless, and by then they might not have been able to maintain anything at all. Maybe one of them would have died in that case. It's impossible to say now. So long as he can believe that, he can swallow down that toxic sludge tries to work its way up every now and again, and so long as he can swallow that down, he can continue to play their little game.
Right now, he's choking on it.
He turns back around once more. ]
I've only ever found you to be annoying.
[ But Vox is right. That is the root of the problem. ]
[Yes yes, Vox's pent up fury. He's very well aware that his own feelings are far stronger than Alastor's. It's shameful and no matter how hard he tries to insist otherwise, it's grown out of his control. Though, even with that admission, he doesn't think Alastor is blameless in all this. The radio demon keeps baiting him, keeps throwing gasoline onto the fire, keeps engaging. He just said it's impossible to ignore Vox, but that in itself raises doubt. Is it impossible, or is Alastor too arrogant to do so?
He scoffs and shakes his head.]
Yeah. Well. It's enough for you to think you'll kill me next time we fight, so it's something to deal with.
[One hand raises upwards to tug at his bowtie for a second. It doesn't need adjusting, but it feels a little too tight. Must be the swamp air, he thinks. Gross humidity.]
Anyway, that's the best idea I got.
[He thinks back to the last time they fought. It was magnificent. Cathartic. Blows exchanged back and forth, damage done to their demon forms, blood splattering over concrete... Their fights had never gone this far, but he quite liked it. He wonders what would've happened if he hadn't called Shok.wav for backup. If it'd been just the two of them, with no one else to interfere or even spectate. They could've kept at it for hours, probably, until the both of them were broken and bleeding and exhausted.]
[ He taps his staff against the ground now, placing both hands on it as he leans forward a tad, tapping the microphone with one index finger. Next time. That would need to be the end of it. He wouldn't allow Vox to call for help. He would eliminate any obstacles, and the Vees most of all. It's been tiring to have to hold back. It was like having someone constantly push their way into his conversations, but having to be so polite as to not tell them to leave.
It's caused nothing but trouble over time, too. He has to take half the responsibility for that fiasco before their deal, but he'd been too busy trying to handle his little pet to notice what he was doing. ]
Fine. Then how do we keep you from throwing a tantrum every other week?
[ If that's the crux of the issue. Alastor wouldn't know anything about concepts like "emotional regulation" or "moving on," being completely incapable of both and in fact refusing to do the latter at nearly all times. ]
[Vox doesn't know about any of the psychology either. He only knows how to use the term 'venting' semi-correctly because of the internet's use for it. What he's keenly aware of is that lashing out, that becoming blind to his surroundings and focusing all his energy on a single target in one grand explosion, feels like a natural approach. Like opening a tea kettle's spout proper to let the steam out, instead of forcing it through a tiny whistle so that pressure builds. He doesn't think about whether it's healthy, he only thinks that it helps.]
I dunno. Fight without the killing? And I don't mean playfighting, I mean the real deal. Going all out. That's still pretty easy to do, seein' as there's not much that can finish the job.
[His hands go back to squeezing his upper arms as he imagines sharp fingertips slashing along Alastor's smug face, drawing blood. Could be nice. Could keep him satisfied for a while.]
[ He taps his finger several more times as he considers the idea. It goes back to his original problem of that no longer seeming a viable option. Besides, Alastor thinks they would both get bored of it at some point or another. But to say that would just send them running around in circles, and so he puts a pin in that idea for now. He'll let himself think on it.
In the meantime, he might as well offer something else. ]
Hm... Well, then, [ He cants his head. ] I know what it is that I want to do.
[ It's something that he's thought on for a long time, but to say that it was a want would be too strong. Even now, it might be, but it's an enthralling idea. ]
[That's not a 'no', Vox concludes. Whether it'd be a good long long-term solution, he doesn't know, but he's willing to wager that it'd sate until they found something better. Or until one of them got taken out of the equation by some external factor, like a vengeful angel or lord knows what else could happen. 'Hell is forever' until it isn't.
Seems like Alastor isn't sold on it. Has something else in mind. Once again, Vox has to wonder why his opinion was even asked at all, then. His brow furrows and there's a touch of impatience in his response:]
[ Well, he had been hoping that Vox could offer something better. Something that Alastor hadn't thought of as he meticulously went down his list. ]
Well, it's a bit complicated, but I want you to listen until the end without making a fuss. Can you promise me that?
[ Tap, tap, tap... That tone has a warning in it, but also an offer. He's willing to let Vox away now, to leave Alastor to muddle while feeling that he's only come back around to where he started. And if he doesn't now, the media overlord will be his captive audience until he's finished.
But this is the real reason he brought him here. He wanted to reach a decision, and he has. ]
[It's an ominous request for sure. If Alastor expects it to happen- wants him to promise not to- it means there's something coming that's worthy of making 'a fuss' about. In other words, something that Vox is either going to hate, or going to enjoy so much he'll get carried away by the delight.
It just makes him more curious what that would be.]
Sure. I'll dial it back.
[He hears the tone, understands that slipping up will have consequences, but he can control himself if he puts in the effort. What are those decades of experience with masking for, if not situations like this? Yep, he'll absolutely not make a fool of himself.]
[ It's an unpleasant conversation, and he doesn't trust Vox to keep his mouth shut throughout it all. He also doesn't trust him not to cause any issues, however ill-advised that would be. If the Vee Tower were a fortress, then this might be akin to a beast's lair. It's something that changes with his whims.
But, until he does, he has the right to hospitality. Alastor does believe in proper etiquette, after all. ]
I've decided that I would like to kill you after all. Not permanently, of course - that would defeat the entire purpose of looking for an alternative solution. But enough to be free of you for awhile.
[ Buckle up, Vox, because it's only going to get worse from here. However little he's acted the part around the other man over the years, he is still the radio demon, after all. ]
[That... is not too bad in Vox's opinion. He's not in charge of Voxtek right now, not really on proper speaking terms with the other two Vees. If he were to vanish right this second, his absence would be noted and the company might make some slip-ups without his behind-the-scenes guidance, but would he really be missed? Both Velvette and Valentino are arrogant enough to think they can fare without his active participation, and he expects they'll stick to those guns for a good long while.
His chest deflates with the release of a sigh. Not through his mouth, but through the vents in his torso. His facial expression barely changes. It's humiliating to be 'killed' by Alastor without getting to repay the favor, and it sure won't quell that fury of his, but... Maybe it'd be nice, not having to think about anything for a while. Not existing in that sense. Maybe he'll wake up feeling refreshed for once, as opposed to dreading the day ahead of him. So he's not going to fight it.]
[ If it were just that, it might not be so bad. They've known each other long enough that Alastor should treat him to a death that's excruciatingly painful, but quick. His talk of using Vox for his radio broadcast was always an empty threat.
But - ]
I'm not done.
[ He presses his index finger against Vox's chest, then gives a small push with it. He promised to listen until the end, and now he has no choice but to. But if he keeps quiet, this should prove to be a quick and painless affair. And once Alastor has had his fill, he can send Vox along on his merry way without doing any actual harm to him... Well, probably, anyway. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lmk if you need any edits
But that's not how it works. They occupy the same space in Hell. They're two of the most influential overlords in Hell, with Vox only having a temporary hiatus. They represent the two most significant forms of media. But most importantly, they share the airwaves. However much they want to, there's no ignoring that presence, and so long as they can't forget each other, and they can't ignore each other, they'll eventually be drawn to each other once more.
He has to share a space with Vox. He has to see him. He has to speak with him.
So, he'd called him over once more. He's not sure if Vox feels the same, but he didn't have any choice but to respond. If he didn't come, then Alastor would simply find him, and that would be far worse.
He'd brought him into the jotel, into his room. He didn't particularly want it to be at the hotel, but the room itself was his equivalent of the Vee tower - a space that was created and controlled by him - because it was only fair. It's nicer than the outside scenery - a forest, but one that's not quite right. It looks befitting of a horror movie. It's dark, eerie, and completely silent save for their footsteps - and impossibly big. Far bigger than what could possibly fit in a single room.
He's silent for awhile, but eventually says, ]
I'm sure that you're wondering why it is that I called you out here.
[ He says it lightly, but there's something just a bit off about it. It's perfectly calm, even thoughtful, without even a hint of his usual flair. ]
Well, I've been thinking for awhile now, and there are things that we need to speak about. And I need you to be quiet and listen for awhile. Do you understand?
[ Can he do that? ]
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No. He can't accept that fate. If he does, it will all be over. He has to keep getting up after he falls.
When Alastor extended the invitation, he couldn't turn it down. He faces the challenge head on, as he always does, against better judgment. Any uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach is ignored, because things like humiliation and shame are just more weaknesses. He had a good plan going, he got a little carried away and lost track of his goal... That's all it was. A minor setback. So he faces the radio demon with his head held high, no matter how heavy it feels on his restored body.
He's never been inside Alastor's room before. It's uncanny and eerie, and somehow perfectly fitting. This guy would live in a dark, humid swamp of his own free will.]
... Yeah, sure.
[There's no snide comeback, no sarcasm, nothing like that. He's far too tired to beat around the bush or even push back against it. He'll tolerate whatever this conversation is meant to be, because he'll be damned if he runs away from it, but he won't make it last any longer than it has to. Maybe that's the only way humiliation can manifest for him in any way; it makes him less willing to cause conflict on purpose. Leave the boat unrocked, even if he's still circling it like a predatory animal.]
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[ His staff taps along the ground as they go. The depth is more for aesthetics than practicality, as he controls the space, so he doesn't mind taking a tour like this. There's no need for Vox to worry about it either, because so long as he understands his position, this conversation can go smoothly. Despite his reputation, the radio demon tends to avoid unnecessary violence.
He passes by trees and flora of various colors. They're ones that he remembers from life, though the shape and colors don't quite match any found on Earth. The memory of what they looked like began to go soft around the edges some odd years in, and at some point he found that he could no longer reconstruct them quite right. ]
We've been doing this for over seventy years now. There's many things that have changed, [ And here, he makes a point of reaching over to flick that bent antenna, ] But all we do is go back and forth. It's the same thing every time. Every time, you would find some way to spin your sound defeat to make it sound as though it were a victory.
[ He's smarting small. It's a pleasant note to begin on, even. It is a little more complicated than that, too - there is a reason that his attention has remained on Vox for so long, and the man was nothing if not clever when his emotions weren't getting the best of him, but that's not really the point he's making now. ]
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His mouth opens for a response, only for him to remember that he was meant to stay quiet and listen. All those potential words that were formulating are swallowed back down, and instead, he hums under his breath to indicate that he's listening. He doesn't have a clue where it's going, but he's listening. If there's some sort of truce that's about to be suggested, he won't accept it. He could never trust it, after all. ]
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So far, so good, so he continues on, ]
I was fine with being your little prisoner too. You did me a favor in the end, so I was willing to forgive you for all those transgressions... But then you went and ruined it.
[ He kicks another branch out of the way. Those words drip with venom, but the staff has already been brought up and clasped behind his back. His grip is too tight, and he only remembers to loosen it when a drop of blood emerges from how hard his claws were sinking into the skin.
Vox had ruined what they had, a fine little system that allowed for a full seventy years of love and hate, respect and disdain, something that no one but them could understand, just like he had the more affectionate one of seventy years ago.
It could have lasted an eternity if not for that one little incident. ]
You tried to blow up the Pentagram.
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He still doesn't protest. Just allows the pointless scolding to wash over him. Then comes the last bit, and that one does hit a certain mark. Regardless of whether he's allowed to speak yet, he does it anyway, because he has a correction to make.]
I tried to blow you up.
[The Pentagram just happened to be all around Alastor. The city, the people, Vox himself... They were in the near vicinity, but never his true target. Who gives a shit about any of them? If someone had handed him an angelic dagger at that point to stab Alastor with as an alternative, he probably would've taken it. And maybe he would've stabbed himself with it after, because once the radio demon was gone, what would've been the point of still being there? He would've had the ultimate victory and there's no more going up from there.
That in itself shouldn't have come as a surprise. They've been 'playing around' for seventy years, but only because Alastor was always strong enough to take anything Vox would throw at him. It didn't change that the bloodlust was always there.]
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He wasn't ready to except any sort of commentary, but Alastor does have that tendency to grin and bear it. He might have managed, but of course Vox has to go and ruin that too. It's only with the greatest amount of effort that he manages to keep from digging his nails in any further. His fingers just twitch slightly instead, safely out of the sight of prying eyes.
Still, Alastor is a polite man. He's disciplined to an extent that no one could possibly imagine, given his status in Hell, and so he'll likewise offer a means to save face here. ]
You would have blown up the Pentagram, [ He offers patiently, ] And as I said, your input is neither needed or wanted.
[ It really is a sore subject, and to hear it said that is worse than having an open wound tore open. Vox has done that, too, and it unsettled him less. The toothy grin betrays nothing, but it had shaken him, and it had shaken him in a way that he had not known possible. ]
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Still. He feels like he's been called into the principal's office for disciplinary measures. Like he's just a child who needs to be confronted with their own actions so they can put it into perspective, when he knows damn well what he did. His eyes narrow with fury, and part of him wants to turn round and leave. What even is the point beyond Alastor venting at him? He might as well speak to one of these trees, then.
Still, he stays where he is and does as he's told, the spite inside him building.]
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He doesn't care about the Pentagram. If every other demon in the city had died, it would have only been troublesome and irritating. Besides, for as grand as it was, it wasn't anything special. When Overlords fight, there were countless victims. Those who didn't die and weren't mutilated might lose everything from their possessions to entire buildings. That lot had only cared because this time, they were the collateral damage.
No, Alastor doesn't care about them, no more than he does anyone else. It's that Vox was trying to kill him first, and that he was trying to kill himself second. Saying it aloud just made it feel so final. ]
Fine. You were trying to blow me up, and the rest were just unlucky enough to be in attendance.
[ He shrugs, looking away for a moment. He doesn't have any particular desire to continue. For someone who wishes for things to stay the same and rejects change so thoroughly, this sort of conversation is nothing if not unpleasant. Still, he carries on. ]
That's nothing new though, it it? You've tried to kill me, and I've tried to kill you, but something always gets in the way.
[ He lifts his staff, tapping the microphone against the opposite hand. ]
We can't carry on that way any longer. I've gotten tired of it. The next time we come into conflict, either you are going to die, or I will. I won't let anything get in the way. If anyone tries, I'll kill them without a moment's hesitation.
[ And really, he wouldn't mind that. It's been nothing if not irritating to have to deal with Vox calling in back up all the time. It would be so satisfying to not have to hold back for the sake of some nobodies. ]
And as things stand right now, we'll inevitably wind up fighting over something or another. I don't know when, or what it'll be about, but there's always something.
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This should be good. Why does the finality of it all feel so awful, then?
He shoves that feeling aside, because not only is it backwards, it's worthless. He doesn't know if he's allowed to speak yet, so he just tilts his head instead, facade of lips pressed into a thin line. It's a 'yeah okay' type of look. Begrudging acceptance.]
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It might not be today, or tomorrow, or even five years from now, but that's the only ending that he can see as long as they stay on this path.
He's not done. ]
So, I asked myself, what is it that we can do to avoid that? At first, I was just content to ignore you. In fact, under any other circumstances, I would have forgotten you by now.
[ He wouldn't have forgotten him entirely, of course. They know each other far too well and have been through far too much for that. Still, it would only take so long for him to fade into the background, thought about but overshadowed by a dozen other matters of importance. Those memories would always be there, those feelings of love and hate, but they'd fade into the background for lack of use.
That's not possible with them, though. He has no more awareness of Vox's signal than he does of the fact that he's still breathing, but it's there. It's there, and like his breathing, the moment he focuses even a bit his full attention is drawn to it.It's the tragedy of sharing the airwaves. ]
But we can't do that, no matter how hard we try.
[ There's plenty of dead space on the airwaves. If he tries to, he can pick up on this and that from different broadcasts to catch them, but it's really just an empty sea. Vox's signal is like a lighthouse. ]
But we can't forget each other. We can't ignore each other. We can't live without each other, but we can't live with each other either.
[ He leans in at length, placing his index finger against the other's chest, just above where his heart would be, an intense stare there, ]
So, what do we do?
[ He can speak now, if he wishes. Whether or not he should speak now is another matter entirely, but he's afforded that opportunity. ]
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That really is the conundrum of their dynamic, isn't it? They're intertwined. Not even because Vox keeps seeking Alastor's attention out, but because Alastor's attention exists. Because the two of them will always keep crossing paths and keep crossing swords. Getting along on the same level was a dream Vox once held, a long time ago, but he found out the hard way that wasn't an option. They were the same in some of the best ways, but also different in all those ways that would cause them to clash.
It's odd to him that Alastor wants to avoid the ultimate ending. He'd think the radio demon would be convinced he could win. That from his perspective, Vox would be taken out of the equation and the problem would be solved.
His gaze slides down towards Alastor's finger when it presses against his chest and lingers there for a moment. Then it swerves back up, to that toothy grin that almost seems to glow in the darkness of the swamp. The grin that haunts him, like it belongs to the goddamn Cheshire Cat, just looming up and standing out like a sore thumb in situations where it doesn't belong.
Finally, he looks Alastor right in the eye. A long moment of silence has passed, so apparently, it's expected that he talks now.]
You really wanna avoid that? You wanna find a solution that isn't eternal death?
[There's very much an unspoken 'why' in those questions, full of mistrust. If Alastor's fed up with him, offended by the way he put the city in danger, why spare him at all?]
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Here, too. He knows that he would win, but despite his earlier words, something is still getting in the way.
Alastor doesn't answer the question, but that is in and of itself an answer. He spins on his heel, staff held behind his back, and takes a couple steps away. It's a vulnerable position, but he doesn't feel exposed at all. Front or back, a knife goes in just the same. If he doesn't notice it coming, then that's his own fault. It's no different than how this conversation might prove to be a mistake, because if it's barely anything at all, it's still the first time he's been open about much of anything at all.
He repeats his question: ]
So, what do we do?
[ The temptation to shut him up again is there, because Vox isn't of much good to him if he has no answer, but he'll allow it for now. ]
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They can't keep going the way things have been these past seventy years, because the fire that's been fueling their conflicts has only been growing larger. They can't bring everything to an eternal halt, then. Neither of them will give up on their own ambitions and set off on a different road. They'll be Overlords for as long as they can manage. If Vox had ascended to Heaven, he could've left Alastor behind for a much greater destiny, but that wasn't in the cards either. So what's left?
He's silent for a moment, watching a few fireflies (or facades of them?) in the distant shadows of the woods. His arms cross over his chest, sharp claws digging into the fabric of his sleeves.]
Maybe... We find some other way to deal with all that pent-up fury. Something that's not killing.
[He's thinking of his own fury, since that's most familiar to him. He never did really know how Alastor feels, or if he even feels at all. Though, he is starting to think that he pushed his luck and whatever might've counted as patience has run out. Either way, the root of the problem isn't that they want to kill each other. It was never like that. The root of the problem was the bubbling, white hot emotion that's consumed Vox for all those decades already, growing and escalating and festering. Being rid of the hungry beast isn't an option, but maybe feeding it something else to keep it satisfied is the way to go.]
this may or may not escalate real fast
[ About the past, the futures that never came, all of those things that Alastor thinks of himself as over. After all, it was all for the best. If they'd stayed together, then they eventually would have fallen apart regardless, and by then they might not have been able to maintain anything at all. Maybe one of them would have died in that case. It's impossible to say now. So long as he can believe that, he can swallow down that toxic sludge tries to work its way up every now and again, and so long as he can swallow that down, he can continue to play their little game.
Right now, he's choking on it.
He turns back around once more. ]
I've only ever found you to be annoying.
[ But Vox is right. That is the root of the problem. ]
Welcome to Escalator Land!
He scoffs and shakes his head.]
Yeah. Well. It's enough for you to think you'll kill me next time we fight, so it's something to deal with.
[One hand raises upwards to tug at his bowtie for a second. It doesn't need adjusting, but it feels a little too tight. Must be the swamp air, he thinks. Gross humidity.]
Anyway, that's the best idea I got.
[He thinks back to the last time they fought. It was magnificent. Cathartic. Blows exchanged back and forth, damage done to their demon forms, blood splattering over concrete... Their fights had never gone this far, but he quite liked it. He wonders what would've happened if he hadn't called Shok.wav for backup. If it'd been just the two of them, with no one else to interfere or even spectate. They could've kept at it for hours, probably, until the both of them were broken and bleeding and exhausted.]
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It's caused nothing but trouble over time, too. He has to take half the responsibility for that fiasco before their deal, but he'd been too busy trying to handle his little pet to notice what he was doing. ]
Fine. Then how do we keep you from throwing a tantrum every other week?
[ If that's the crux of the issue. Alastor wouldn't know anything about concepts like "emotional regulation" or "moving on," being completely incapable of both and in fact refusing to do the latter at nearly all times. ]
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I dunno. Fight without the killing? And I don't mean playfighting, I mean the real deal. Going all out. That's still pretty easy to do, seein' as there's not much that can finish the job.
[His hands go back to squeezing his upper arms as he imagines sharp fingertips slashing along Alastor's smug face, drawing blood. Could be nice. Could keep him satisfied for a while.]
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In the meantime, he might as well offer something else. ]
Hm... Well, then, [ He cants his head. ] I know what it is that I want to do.
[ It's something that he's thought on for a long time, but to say that it was a want would be too strong. Even now, it might be, but it's an enthralling idea. ]
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Seems like Alastor isn't sold on it. Has something else in mind. Once again, Vox has to wonder why his opinion was even asked at all, then. His brow furrows and there's a touch of impatience in his response:]
Oh yeah? What's that?
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Well, it's a bit complicated, but I want you to listen until the end without making a fuss. Can you promise me that?
[ Tap, tap, tap... That tone has a warning in it, but also an offer. He's willing to let Vox away now, to leave Alastor to muddle while feeling that he's only come back around to where he started. And if he doesn't now, the media overlord will be his captive audience until he's finished.
But this is the real reason he brought him here. He wanted to reach a decision, and he has. ]
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It just makes him more curious what that would be.]
Sure. I'll dial it back.
[He hears the tone, understands that slipping up will have consequences, but he can control himself if he puts in the effort. What are those decades of experience with masking for, if not situations like this? Yep, he'll absolutely not make a fool of himself.]
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[ It's an unpleasant conversation, and he doesn't trust Vox to keep his mouth shut throughout it all. He also doesn't trust him not to cause any issues, however ill-advised that would be. If the Vee Tower were a fortress, then this might be akin to a beast's lair. It's something that changes with his whims.
But, until he does, he has the right to hospitality. Alastor does believe in proper etiquette, after all. ]
I've decided that I would like to kill you after all. Not permanently, of course - that would defeat the entire purpose of looking for an alternative solution. But enough to be free of you for awhile.
[ Buckle up, Vox, because it's only going to get worse from here. However little he's acted the part around the other man over the years, he is still the radio demon, after all. ]
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His chest deflates with the release of a sigh. Not through his mouth, but through the vents in his torso. His facial expression barely changes. It's humiliating to be 'killed' by Alastor without getting to repay the favor, and it sure won't quell that fury of his, but... Maybe it'd be nice, not having to think about anything for a while. Not existing in that sense. Maybe he'll wake up feeling refreshed for once, as opposed to dreading the day ahead of him. So he's not going to fight it.]
Okay. Sure.
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But - ]
I'm not done.
[ He presses his index finger against Vox's chest, then gives a small push with it. He promised to listen until the end, and now he has no choice but to. But if he keeps quiet, this should prove to be a quick and painless affair. And once Alastor has had his fill, he can send Vox along on his merry way without doing any actual harm to him... Well, probably, anyway. ]
I'll tell you when I am.
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"biting you" but it's literal now
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