[ His ears perk back up. He shakes his head and he lifts his hands in a what can you do gesture before his hands move behind his back again. As he thought, now that he's let him start, the other is just going to make a scene.
It sounds like it's pulling him apart bit by bit because that's precisely what Alastor wants to do. ]
You see, this is why I told you to keep quiet. Let's fix that first, hm?
[ And just as he says that, Vox might find that his systems are starting to get scrambled. It's hard to say by what, given how sensitive technology can be, but there's certainly something.
And maybe his mute button will just get toggled. ]
[Vox would ask what Alastor means by that, but isn't given the chance to. The effect on his systems is immediately noticeable and worrying. Nearly all of his muscles freeze. The only exception is his neck, which whips at an awkward angle as Vox's head is thrown back for a moment. His screen glitches and in those few seconds, he's convinced a complete system failure is incoming.
It's not, though. The scramble passes, at least for now, and his body unlocks itself. As he stands up straight again, his mouth moves in a completely inaudible "what the fuck". Followed by another "what the FUCK" when he realizes not a single sound came from him. His hands go to his chest, then to his screen.
Yep. He's muted. There's a tiny symbol in the bottom right corner of his TV to indicate it.]
[ Oh, that is satisfying to see. In fact, it's even better than the first time around. It's almost enough to make him feel better about this conversation. Not quite, but almost. ]
Better.
[ A black tentacle seeps out from the ground, weaving up and down like a massive tree root. He plops down on it once it passes by him, crossing one leg over the other. He rests his elbow on his thigh, leaning his chin into his palm and tilting it back and forth as he hums a bit. ]
You're in my house, with my rules; in my room, with my tools... 𝅘𝅥𝅮
[ It's not the primary reason behind this, but it sure is satisfying to be able to pay him back for muzzling him. ]
[A hint of panic starts to surge through Vox now, if only because he can feel himself losing control of the situation at a rapid pace. That's what throws him more than anything else; Alastor forcibly pulling his hands away from the wheel. Alastor violating his inner workings and changing them to suit his own purposes. The context is more of an afterthought.
What's being mirrored back at him doesn't make sense, the way he sees it, because Alastor walked into his hands willingly. He signed up for torment. Vox didn't. He hasn't agreed to any deals, so he's free to leave at any time.
Now is that time. He flips Alastor the bird and spins on his heel to head back towards the door. Whether it's with full intent to get out or just a last ditch attempt to be in charge of his own fate is up for debate.]
[ They're not comparable situations, but why should that stop Alastor from mocking him in this way? Besides, he did agree to this. He said that he would listen until the end. There may not be no formal deal between them, but the option of leaving wave given to him and rejected.
Now, he has to see this through until the end.
Alastor remains nonchalant. This is his domain, after all, and there's relatively little that Vox can do here. The entrance back into the room disappears. There's no warning. It's there, and then it's gone, replaced by more swamp (or at least the illusion of it.) It's an awful trick, but Vox has done the equivalent of sticking his head in the lion's mouth.
Hopefully he's paying attention, too, because otherwise he's going to find a set of tendrils wrapping around him and roughly yanking him back. It's nothing too harsh, just enough to drag him down to the ground and next to Alastor... Though if he is successful, there's at least the small comfort that the ground is neither dirty nor damp that way that one would think it would be. It's almost decorative. He doesn't like being dirty, so he picks and chooses how "real" the place is. ]
[As soon as the exit vanishes, Vox's head reflexively whips around to see whether it was simply moved elsewhere. Deep down, he knows it wasn't. He knows it's now in a place he can no longer reach, leaving him stranded in Alastor's domain. Still, the instinct to find it is too strong to resist.
That search costs him. Tendrils snake up his legs, along his torso, even his upper arms. Some would call it karma, others would call it retribution. Vox himself considers it an insult. Salt in an open wound. He tries to pull himself out, but the shadows prove stronger and begin to drag him towards the waiting radio demon.
He does the only thing he can still think to do. A wave of electricity courses along his body, intended to not only zap the tendrils themselves, but to flow through them and reach the source.]
[ Vox is successful in his efforts. The electrical currents run all the way up and through Alastor, and for a handful of seconds the only thing he can do is shake as his muscles seize up. The tendrils wrapped around Vox tighten in turn, clamping down before they melt away.
With how many times he's done it before, one would think that Alastor would have predicted it. Lucky him.
Still, he remains seated in place. There's a trickle of blood coming out of his mouth, but he just wipes it away before pressing down on his ears to straighten out the fur. Then he lifts one hand, curling his index finger in a little come here gesture. ]
You have two options: If you behave and let me finish, I'll have you sent back home by the end of the day - alive and unharmed. Otherwise, you can test your luck, and I'll do as I please.
[The tightening of the tendrils is painful. Were it not for the layers of clothing to serve as a barrier, they might've cut into skin. As it is, it's more of a bruising. A decent price to pay for the following release. Vox falls to his knees as soon as the tendrils' hold dissipates, hands landing in the faux swamp mud immediately after. And he scrambles from there, whirling himself around to face Alastor fully.
He's still sitting on the ground, but really... there's no point in getting up. Where would he even go?
Anyone with common sense would admit defeat. Vox is not part of those anyones. He can't speak, but his facial expression sets itself in defiant anger anyway. There should've been a third option, one where they discuss terms in a way where they're both satisfied, but Alastor's clearly not interested in that. So he holds up both arms, crossing them to form an X. It's about the only version of no he can communicate. "Stop it", or "time out". Something. Anything.]
[ The radio demon's request really is quite simple, and it's one where they should both be able to walk away from it unharmed. Now, they can go away mostly unharmed. A little electric shock and bruising isn't much to them. This stubbornness is just like Vox, though, and so this torture will continue for both of them.
He lifts an eyebrow at the gesture. It's annoying, but he'll acquiesce by holding off on doing anything further, instead licking the blood off the back of his hand. ]
[... Oh. Vox's brain hadn't actually planned ahead beyond this point, so now he's left at a total loss for what to do. His mind races as it tries to assess options, opportunities, strategies. There's only one way out, which is Alastor allowing him to leave. Which means he needs to die, preferably in that not-so-permanent sense. Maybe, if he plays his cards right, he can speed that up. Get his hands on some kind of tool, use it at the perfect moment... He'd need to be real careful about it, but it's worth keeping in the back of his mind. Even if it doesn't work, he'll know he tried.
Panic turns to bitter determination. If the problem is that Alastor's pulling his hands off the wheel, maybe what he needs to do instead is put his hands on Alastor. Really dig his claws in, wait for an opportunity to throttle. Whether that's today or tomorrow, or even a century from now.
He gets back to his feet, expression impassive for a moment as both hands brush down his jacket, tugging at the hem and the lapels. He adjusts his bow tie again. It's all a show, because when driven into a corner, his smartest instinct is to perform. Finally, his mouth sets into a grin and he walks over to Alastor, head held high.]
[ He finishes lapping the blood off of his hand, then takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes it down. He's slipped into a calm himself, as he's accepted that Vox would drag this without needing to. He'd like to call him unique in that, but he's not. In his decades of broadcasting, he's dealt with countless scenarios. Before that, in life he would watch the different reactions he'd get too.
The only difference is that here, he's offering Vox an alternative. He doesn't remember the last time he did that, but it hadn't been a genuine offer anyway. It was just one more knife to stick in later on, a reminder that they did this to themselves, but he would never treat Vox in the same way that he does common fodder. He's someone to be regarded with a certain measure of respect. ]
I don't lie about these things. You know that I don't. I've just gotten tired of listening to you, and I don't need you having one of your fits and ruining another one of my walls.
[ So, if he says Vox will leave unharmed, then he will. He replaces the handkerchief back, tilting his head back to look up at Vox, both hands holding the staff that's rested on his lap. He's the image of patience as he waits to determine if (when) Vox is going to do what he does best - namely, trying to deal with every problem using brute force. ]
[Once again, it takes every single ounce of self control Vox has not to roll his eyes at the mention of a 'fit'. Something inside him objects, cries out in indignation, wants to do exactly what Alastor accuses him of being prone to, and he squashes that part of himself back down with force. If he just plays out the role he's given, surely this whole thing will be over with fast enough, either to Alastor's liking or with a last minute turn of the tables.
He keeps grinning, tilting his head sideways. Both of his hands are held up, palms facing the mimic of a night sky. It's very much a gesture of 'go on, then'. One of the upsides to finally getting this shit started is that Alastor might shut his mouth too. Vox isn't sure how much longer he can bear to listen to that voice, with its know-it-all tone.]
He pats the spot next to him to indicate that Vox can join him, though he doesn't expect the offer to be taken. He's fine with just looking up at him like this, impassioned gaze at odds with the big smile. ]
It is unfair. I didn't expect you to agree with it. If it's going to happen, I always knew it would be something I had to decide on and handle on my own. I don't blame you either. After all, what I want to do is completely break your mind and spirit, over as slow of a period of possible.
[ There's a soft chuckle. This is perfectly within his wheelhouse, it should energize him, it should be oppositely titillating, but there's no real emotion behind those words at all. No passion, no disinclination... He almost sounds bored by his own idea. It seems to Alastor the best possible outcome for him. It would be one where in the end, there was no need to worry about anything, no need to ask any questions, no need to worry about much at all. It's a solution where he could have his fun (a little sacrifice for the greater good on Vox's side,) and then at the end, he could coexist peacefully with the man before him. In that sense, to him, it seems to be ideal. What should Vox's feelings on the affair matter?
He wonders idly if, given an eternity, someone would eventually pull themselves back together mentally after that. ]
[It dawns on Vox that maybe this is it. This is the torture. Alastor's just going to keep on building suspense to a threat that will never actually play out. It'll keep hanging over him like the sword of Damocles, but without the position of power and control. Alastor will keep talking about how calm and merciful and fucking perfect he is, and how Vox has no one but himself to blame, and over time it will succeed in breaking him, because that's worse than bodily harm.
He takes another step forward to close the distance, but doesn't sit down as indicated. Instead, he reaches for Alastor's hand to try and grab it. To see if he can place it on his own chest, just above his heart, where it'll be primed to tear into him.]
[ His eyes trail along as Vox takes his hand, and his ears tilt back, but he allows it to be moved without complaint. The radio demon presents as being calm, but he's anything but merciful, and he's anything other than perfect. His hand rests on the man's chest, ears twitching slightly as he listens to the heart that beats beneath the surface. His fingers curl, nails crumbling the fabric, but he doesn't act yet.
The way he wants to behave, the way that he should behave, and the way that he is behaving are at odds today. He had a distinct plan for how things would go. It's still in place, too, but something feels subtly off now. There's some miscalculation hidden in there somewhere, but he can't figure out precisely where it is. It can't be with Vox, because he knows the man - he'll take everything wrong, and he'll act in that same simple and straightforward manner that he always does. ]
And I'm sure you're just on pins and needles waiting to hear just why it is that I'm going through all the effort of explaining this. After all, what good are empty words?
[ But he's almost done. It's just delaying the ending a little longer, because he still hasn't gotten what he wants from this. ]
[Vox is becoming more and more convinced that those pins and needles are the exact point. That Alastor intends to jam hundreds and thousands of little annoyances like this into Vox's mind until it's nothing but a pin cushion. This is one of the reasons why he grew to despise radio as a medium, too; so much boring talk, so much buildup to nothing special. That's not what audiences nowadays want. They want spectacle, they want action, they need as much of it as possible or their attention will start to drift.
Or maybe Alastor just likes to hear himself talk. That's another possibility.
So he stands there, and he keeps waiting with that grin, because what else can he do? It was already made clear he's not allowed to speak or leave.]
[ One would think that he would, but he finds talking this much to be tiring. It's one thing as a career choice, or even to talk business, but something like this is just exhausting. He doesn't enjoy all the noise in the modern day world, either, being a person who still basks in silence.
The fact that he's said this much with nothing to show for it is irritating. In fact, now that he's said that, everything is irritating, because he doesn't like what comes next. ]
Well...
[ Alastor trails off. There's a good few seconds of silence, and rather than continue, he's going to try to grip the front of Vox's shirt properly, aiming to pull him in close. It's not for long though, because immediately after he's going to start to get up, and in the process of that use that same hand to shove him back as hard as he can. He's decided he's tired of this after all. ]
[Oh god, sweet relief. The yank at Vox's shirt is welcomed, and he peers deep into Alastor's eyes the moment he's up close, unblinking. His left eye even manifests the hypnotic spiraling for no reason other than upping his own game. His jaws part from one another, mouth lightly open. He can't speak, but he can still release a breath that's close to a silent 'heh'.
The shove sends him stumbling backwards again, but not so badly that he loses his balance. Three steps is all it takes for him to come to a full stop, still somewhat hunched over. His gaze is on the ground for a split second, then shoots back up to Alastor.
[ He should have known. He did know, in fact, because Vox only has one way of resolving his problems. One could make the argument that Alastor is much in the same, but he doesn't see it that way. He doesn't throw tantrums. He doesn't bother others with his problems. This is, perhaps, one of the few times that he's done so, and what a waste of time it turned out to be.
But he swallows down whatever momentary emotion had possessed him. This much is nothing. But he is paying closer attention now. ]
Even you can't be stupid enough to challenge a man in his own house.
[ The calculus is different here than it would be anywhere else. Their fights have always been lopsided, but this space isn't even real. It's his creation. Everything here belongs to him, and everything here is under his control.
There's the sense sense that whatever limiters have been in place for well over seventy years are no longer there. Those chains have been unfastened, and they'll fall off the moment that he moves. It's only that agreement to let him go that keeps him in place. ]
[Vox's head tilts to the side at a 90 degree angle, unhinged in a rather literal sense. Electricity zips between the two elements of his antenna.
He's not going to take any abuse lying down. Not until it's too much to take, anyway. So until he does reach that breaking point, he's going to enjoy himself. He'll savor the smell of blood and anything else that comes his way, match whatever dance steps Alastor puts out there, take physical pain like it's pleasure. That's the way to keep control. That's the way to come out of this with his pride somewhat intact.
I'm tired of talking, but you I don't feel like letting you go just yet.
[ He brings his index finger up to indicate he needs a moment, before looking about the space. He doesn't much feel like listening to Vox yet either, and his foul mood means that he has to take care with his actions. He wants to leave this man completely inoperable. He wants to send him back to Vee Tower in pieces, nicely packed up in a Vox, and he wants to kill him and dump his body somewhere in the depths of this swamp.
What a conundrum.
After some thought, a thought strikes him. ]
... So, why don't we play a little game? That seems more fair, doesn't it?
[ More fair than torture, but less boring than a one-sided conversation. More fair than starting any kind of fight in this confined space, though it might very well wind up ending that way anyway, but without idleness. Alastor questions if the media overlord is even capable of simply existing like that, for as much as he surrounds himself with noise and activity.
It would be best not to accept that offer.
But bringing Vox to his knees doesn't sound too bad either. ]
[That actually succeeds in wiping the smirk off Vox's face, if only out of confusion. His head rights itself back up and his mouth turns into a thinned line, brow furrowed. It should seem more fair, but it doesn't. He doesn't expect Alastor to set up a game that can be won. It's just going to be more toying around.
His eyes roll towards the sky and his arms cross over his chest. He's pretty sure the question is rhetorical. There's no choice in the matter, so it might as well happen.]
Don't pout. I'm fair when it comes to this sort of thing.
[ He offers no explanation, but simply snaps his fingers, and everything goes black. Vox naturally produces his own light, but that inky darkness seems to absorb even that light, revealing nothing.
Fortunately, it only stays that way for a handful of seconds before it returns to normal. The swamp that he keeps for himself is alays dim at best, but it's even darker than before. The only hints of light are from the artificial moon and stars in the sky, peeking out from the gaps in the trees and the small clearings scattered about and offering just enough for the average person to be able to just barely see in front of them as they move along. Perfectly set up in a way that's just right for a creature that lives in the shadows.
A comfortably familiar game of hide and seek. Perfectly winnable. ]
[The darkness is sudden and startling. It's like a void. Absence of existence. There's nothing that holds this flavor of unsettling to Vox quite like existing as a solitary being, without a world to be in. Just those few seconds already last far too long, making the reappearance of the swamp a relief. It's even darker now, but that's fine. There's ground beneath his feet and trees up ahead; a setting that's actually tangible.
He'd ask what the fuck is going on, but he can't. Instead, he takes an uneasy step backwards as he tries to adjust to the change, head turning this way and that as he attempts to seek out Alastor again. No success. No glowing eyes looming in the shadows. It makes it feel like he was abandoned here, but... Surely not. It's a game.
Still apprehensive, he starts walking towards where Alastor was seated before.]
[ Alastor is no where to be found, though the tentacle he had summoned is still there. It remains in place, pulsating but stationary for the moment. If Vox cares to check, he'll find that his signal is still present.
There's the soft sound of leaves rustling in the distance, though to look in that direction, the only thing one would see a flame hovering in the air. It could pass as the flame of a lantern if not for the blue-green hue and lack of container to hold it - will o' wisps are most known to be bad omens, beings that lead travelers to their doom, and for both concealing and revealing pathways. And indeed, if he were to investigate, he would find a dark, overgrown path it.
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no subject
It sounds like it's pulling him apart bit by bit because that's precisely what Alastor wants to do. ]
You see, this is why I told you to keep quiet. Let's fix that first, hm?
[ And just as he says that, Vox might find that his systems are starting to get scrambled. It's hard to say by what, given how sensitive technology can be, but there's certainly something.
And maybe his mute button will just get toggled. ]
no subject
It's not, though. The scramble passes, at least for now, and his body unlocks itself. As he stands up straight again, his mouth moves in a completely inaudible "what the fuck". Followed by another "what the FUCK" when he realizes not a single sound came from him. His hands go to his chest, then to his screen.
Yep. He's muted. There's a tiny symbol in the bottom right corner of his TV to indicate it.]
no subject
Better.
[ A black tentacle seeps out from the ground, weaving up and down like a massive tree root. He plops down on it once it passes by him, crossing one leg over the other. He rests his elbow on his thigh, leaning his chin into his palm and tilting it back and forth as he hums a bit. ]
You're in my house, with my rules; in my room, with my tools... 𝅘𝅥𝅮
[ It's not the primary reason behind this, but it sure is satisfying to be able to pay him back for muzzling him. ]
no subject
What's being mirrored back at him doesn't make sense, the way he sees it, because Alastor walked into his hands willingly. He signed up for torment. Vox didn't. He hasn't agreed to any deals, so he's free to leave at any time.
Now is that time. He flips Alastor the bird and spins on his heel to head back towards the door. Whether it's with full intent to get out or just a last ditch attempt to be in charge of his own fate is up for debate.]
no subject
Now, he has to see this through until the end.
Alastor remains nonchalant. This is his domain, after all, and there's relatively little that Vox can do here. The entrance back into the room disappears. There's no warning. It's there, and then it's gone, replaced by more swamp (or at least the illusion of it.) It's an awful trick, but Vox has done the equivalent of sticking his head in the lion's mouth.
Hopefully he's paying attention, too, because otherwise he's going to find a set of tendrils wrapping around him and roughly yanking him back. It's nothing too harsh, just enough to drag him down to the ground and next to Alastor... Though if he is successful, there's at least the small comfort that the ground is neither dirty nor damp that way that one would think it would be. It's almost decorative. He doesn't like being dirty, so he picks and chooses how "real" the place is. ]
no subject
That search costs him. Tendrils snake up his legs, along his torso, even his upper arms. Some would call it karma, others would call it retribution. Vox himself considers it an insult. Salt in an open wound. He tries to pull himself out, but the shadows prove stronger and begin to drag him towards the waiting radio demon.
He does the only thing he can still think to do. A wave of electricity courses along his body, intended to not only zap the tendrils themselves, but to flow through them and reach the source.]
no subject
With how many times he's done it before, one would think that Alastor would have predicted it. Lucky him.
Still, he remains seated in place. There's a trickle of blood coming out of his mouth, but he just wipes it away before pressing down on his ears to straighten out the fur. Then he lifts one hand, curling his index finger in a little come here gesture. ]
You have two options: If you behave and let me finish, I'll have you sent back home by the end of the day - alive and unharmed. Otherwise, you can test your luck, and I'll do as I please.
[ To the victor go the spoils and all that. ]
no subject
He's still sitting on the ground, but really... there's no point in getting up. Where would he even go?
Anyone with common sense would admit defeat. Vox is not part of those anyones. He can't speak, but his facial expression sets itself in defiant anger anyway. There should've been a third option, one where they discuss terms in a way where they're both satisfied, but Alastor's clearly not interested in that. So he holds up both arms, crossing them to form an X. It's about the only version of no he can communicate. "Stop it", or "time out". Something. Anything.]
no subject
He lifts an eyebrow at the gesture. It's annoying, but he'll acquiesce by holding off on doing anything further, instead licking the blood off the back of his hand. ]
no subject
Panic turns to bitter determination. If the problem is that Alastor's pulling his hands off the wheel, maybe what he needs to do instead is put his hands on Alastor. Really dig his claws in, wait for an opportunity to throttle. Whether that's today or tomorrow, or even a century from now.
He gets back to his feet, expression impassive for a moment as both hands brush down his jacket, tugging at the hem and the lapels. He adjusts his bow tie again. It's all a show, because when driven into a corner, his smartest instinct is to perform. Finally, his mouth sets into a grin and he walks over to Alastor, head held high.]
no subject
The only difference is that here, he's offering Vox an alternative. He doesn't remember the last time he did that, but it hadn't been a genuine offer anyway. It was just one more knife to stick in later on, a reminder that they did this to themselves, but he would never treat Vox in the same way that he does common fodder. He's someone to be regarded with a certain measure of respect. ]
I don't lie about these things. You know that I don't. I've just gotten tired of listening to you, and I don't need you having one of your fits and ruining another one of my walls.
[ So, if he says Vox will leave unharmed, then he will. He replaces the handkerchief back, tilting his head back to look up at Vox, both hands holding the staff that's rested on his lap. He's the image of patience as he waits to determine if (when) Vox is going to do what he does best - namely, trying to deal with every problem using brute force. ]
no subject
He keeps grinning, tilting his head sideways. Both of his hands are held up, palms facing the mimic of a night sky. It's very much a gesture of 'go on, then'. One of the upsides to finally getting this shit started is that Alastor might shut his mouth too. Vox isn't sure how much longer he can bear to listen to that voice, with its know-it-all tone.]
no subject
He pats the spot next to him to indicate that Vox can join him, though he doesn't expect the offer to be taken. He's fine with just looking up at him like this, impassioned gaze at odds with the big smile. ]
It is unfair. I didn't expect you to agree with it. If it's going to happen, I always knew it would be something I had to decide on and handle on my own. I don't blame you either. After all, what I want to do is completely break your mind and spirit, over as slow of a period of possible.
[ There's a soft chuckle. This is perfectly within his wheelhouse, it should energize him, it should be oppositely titillating, but there's no real emotion behind those words at all. No passion, no disinclination... He almost sounds bored by his own idea. It seems to Alastor the best possible outcome for him. It would be one where in the end, there was no need to worry about anything, no need to ask any questions, no need to worry about much at all. It's a solution where he could have his fun (a little sacrifice for the greater good on Vox's side,) and then at the end, he could coexist peacefully with the man before him. In that sense, to him, it seems to be ideal. What should Vox's feelings on the affair matter?
He wonders idly if, given an eternity, someone would eventually pull themselves back together mentally after that. ]
It's cruel even by my standards.
no subject
He takes another step forward to close the distance, but doesn't sit down as indicated. Instead, he reaches for Alastor's hand to try and grab it. To see if he can place it on his own chest, just above his heart, where it'll be primed to tear into him.]
no subject
The way he wants to behave, the way that he should behave, and the way that he is behaving are at odds today. He had a distinct plan for how things would go. It's still in place, too, but something feels subtly off now. There's some miscalculation hidden in there somewhere, but he can't figure out precisely where it is. It can't be with Vox, because he knows the man - he'll take everything wrong, and he'll act in that same simple and straightforward manner that he always does. ]
And I'm sure you're just on pins and needles waiting to hear just why it is that I'm going through all the effort of explaining this. After all, what good are empty words?
[ But he's almost done. It's just delaying the ending a little longer, because he still hasn't gotten what he wants from this. ]
no subject
Or maybe Alastor just likes to hear himself talk. That's another possibility.
So he stands there, and he keeps waiting with that grin, because what else can he do? It was already made clear he's not allowed to speak or leave.]
no subject
The fact that he's said this much with nothing to show for it is irritating. In fact, now that he's said that, everything is irritating, because he doesn't like what comes next. ]
Well...
[ Alastor trails off. There's a good few seconds of silence, and rather than continue, he's going to try to grip the front of Vox's shirt properly, aiming to pull him in close. It's not for long though, because immediately after he's going to start to get up, and in the process of that use that same hand to shove him back as hard as he can. He's decided he's tired of this after all. ]
no subject
The shove sends him stumbling backwards again, but not so badly that he loses his balance. Three steps is all it takes for him to come to a full stop, still somewhat hunched over. His gaze is on the ground for a split second, then shoots back up to Alastor.
C'mon, old man! Show him what you got!]
no subject
But he swallows down whatever momentary emotion had possessed him. This much is nothing. But he is paying closer attention now. ]
Even you can't be stupid enough to challenge a man in his own house.
[ The calculus is different here than it would be anywhere else. Their fights have always been lopsided, but this space isn't even real. It's his creation. Everything here belongs to him, and everything here is under his control.
There's the sense sense that whatever limiters have been in place for well over seventy years are no longer there. Those chains have been unfastened, and they'll fall off the moment that he moves. It's only that agreement to let him go that keeps him in place. ]
no subject
He's not going to take any abuse lying down. Not until it's too much to take, anyway. So until he does reach that breaking point, he's going to enjoy himself. He'll savor the smell of blood and anything else that comes his way, match whatever dance steps Alastor puts out there, take physical pain like it's pleasure. That's the way to keep control. That's the way to come out of this with his pride somewhat intact.
It's not a challenge. It's an open invitation.]
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I'm tired of talking, but you I don't feel like letting you go just yet.
[ He brings his index finger up to indicate he needs a moment, before looking about the space. He doesn't much feel like listening to Vox yet either, and his foul mood means that he has to take care with his actions. He wants to leave this man completely inoperable. He wants to send him back to Vee Tower in pieces, nicely packed up in a Vox, and he wants to kill him and dump his body somewhere in the depths of this swamp.
What a conundrum.
After some thought, a thought strikes him. ]
... So, why don't we play a little game? That seems more fair, doesn't it?
[ More fair than torture, but less boring than a one-sided conversation. More fair than starting any kind of fight in this confined space, though it might very well wind up ending that way anyway, but without idleness. Alastor questions if the media overlord is even capable of simply existing like that, for as much as he surrounds himself with noise and activity.
It would be best not to accept that offer.
But bringing Vox to his knees doesn't sound too bad either. ]
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His eyes roll towards the sky and his arms cross over his chest. He's pretty sure the question is rhetorical. There's no choice in the matter, so it might as well happen.]
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[ He offers no explanation, but simply snaps his fingers, and everything goes black. Vox naturally produces his own light, but that inky darkness seems to absorb even that light, revealing nothing.
Fortunately, it only stays that way for a handful of seconds before it returns to normal. The swamp that he keeps for himself is alays dim at best, but it's even darker than before. The only hints of light are from the artificial moon and stars in the sky, peeking out from the gaps in the trees and the small clearings scattered about and offering just enough for the average person to be able to just barely see in front of them as they move along. Perfectly set up in a way that's just right for a creature that lives in the shadows.
A comfortably familiar game of hide and seek. Perfectly winnable. ]
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He'd ask what the fuck is going on, but he can't. Instead, he takes an uneasy step backwards as he tries to adjust to the change, head turning this way and that as he attempts to seek out Alastor again. No success. No glowing eyes looming in the shadows. It makes it feel like he was abandoned here, but... Surely not. It's a game.
Still apprehensive, he starts walking towards where Alastor was seated before.]
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There's the soft sound of leaves rustling in the distance, though to look in that direction, the only thing one would see a flame hovering in the air. It could pass as the flame of a lantern if not for the blue-green hue and lack of container to hold it - will o' wisps are most known to be bad omens, beings that lead travelers to their doom, and for both concealing and revealing pathways. And indeed, if he were to investigate, he would find a dark, overgrown path it.
He has options. ]
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"biting you" but it's literal now
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