[... 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.
[He stares down at the tentacle for a few seconds, debating whether he should send an electric current down that blasted thing. There's a good chance it'll find its way back to the shadow's owner and while it wouldn't guarantee a reveal of Alastor's location, it'd still feel pretty good. He lets it be for now. It could be a trap. The shadow might swallow him whole instead.
The rustle of leaves catches his attention, and the flame catches his gaze. Though he thinks for a moment it might do something... It doesn't. It's just floating there. Menacingly. He's not familiar with the concept of will o' wisps, so he doesn't know what to make of it. His approach is a slow one.
Should he reach out and touch the...? Nah. Best not to.
[ In the modern era, these stories tend to come with a convenient manual. It's all the rage to tell stories of a mysterious place that comes with a strange list of rules, and there's comprehensions write ups on how to reach the backrooms and what to find on each floor. Those stories have always existed in the form of urban legends and rituals, but having to stumble along blindly in this manner is quite unlucky.
Don't touch anything needlessly is a good rule to live by.
The tentacle retracts after Vox has passed by it, though the flame lingers in place where it is for some time more before it begins to drift off.
The pathway looks to have been abandoned long ago. It's overgrown and difficult to make out, with red weeds and grass peeking out from the ground along with the grass. There's a fallen tree blocking the path in one spot, but it's small enough to easily step over. The shadows seem to shift and grow in places, but there's nothing to be found on them.
If he continues on this path for a bit, he'll find a small patch of lovely yellow flowers on the side, and there's an nearly inaudible, incomprehensible whispering that almost seems to come from them. Some distance away from them is another flower - a white flower that has its own slight glow to it. There's an arrow dug into the ground, pointing directly to it. Not at all suspicious. ]
[Vox has seen a variety of lights like these in movies, and therein lies the problem. He only knows of fiction, which is often twisted to suit a narrative purpose or genre. Maybe the light is just pointless set dressing. Maybe it leads to a corpse. Maybe it represents a spirit. Hell if he knows. He'll walk the path anyway, reeds brushing along his legs as he pushes through the undergrowth.
... Apparently it leads to flowers. Very suspicious flowers and one suspicious arrow pointing to an even more suspicious flower.
Vox wants nothing more than to throw his head back and shout "this is fucking stupid, Alastor!" into the sky. But he can't. No matter how hard he tries, he can't overrule that mute function. It's like an invisible finger is on a button, holding it down. So he does the next best thing to convey the sentiment that's overwhelming him: he steps on the white flower, intending to crush it to a pulp beneath his heel.]
[ The flower is as delicate any other flower, easily crushed underfoot, the light glow of its petals dimming as they're split into pieces. A blood curdling wail follows the stem being crushed in turn, and all that's left behind is the filthy shreds of the once beautiful plant.
The world is quick to demand remittance for the lost life. If Vox is quick, he should be able to avoid the piercing stab of the root (or something that resembles one) that juts out of the ground. The black roots (tendrils?) that climb from the ground and snake around his body will be much harder to avoid, and those aim to drag him down and into the ground. Vox is as solid as the earth beneath him, unfortunately, and so this instead leads to him being pressed and crushed against it with such force that a normal sinner would have broken bones and crushed organs within seconds.
[Oh fuck he's made a mistake. He's made a mistake-
The root that shoots its way up from the ground is avoided well enough with an awkward stumble backwards. And there's more coming, he can see it- sense it. He tries to get away from the tendrils as they emerge, but there's far too many and they pop up from every direction he hopes to choose, blocking any escape. They slither up his ankles, crawl their way along his torso and shoot towards his arms to restrain him, even as he tries to shake the damned things off again.
And then they pull.
His knees buckle from the sudden force and he slams down onto the ground, his legs crumpling awkwardly beneath his body. Unnaturally. They're at risk of breaking, because even now that he's down into a forced kneeling position with the rest of his body pressing down on his lower legs, the pull doesn't stop. The dirt beneath him doesn't budge. His arms are still being tugged at too, and his spine curls inward as a result, shoulders pulled backwards. He cries out in pain, the sound inaudible.
In a last ditch effort not to have his body pulled into a pretzel shape, he attacks the tendrils with electricity.]
[ That's what he gets for killing innocent plants... Though maybe that was a bit too much after all.
Vox's powers have always served him well as a counter to Alastor. It's one thing to be able to cut off a piece of his tentacles, but electricity runs all the way down to the source. That proves to be the case here too. There's a squeal as a pair of them turn to ash, while the rest stop in their path. Their hold on him doesn't break, but it does loosen enough for him to right his posture. The point was to make him kneel, not to break him, and the radio demon wants him to pay attention.
If Vox happens to look up, he'll see Alastor sitting on one of the higher tree branches, red eyes and cashmere cat grin glowing in the darkness. If noticed, he'll lift one hand and wiggle his fingers in a mock wave before he rests both hands on the branch. ]
Hm. You're bad at this. I expected better.
[ He swings his legs back and forth, tilting his head back and making a show of pretending to consider something turning his eyes back down, ]
[The second those tendrils weaken, Vox is tugging at them again, pulling himself back into an upright position and continuing to struggle from there. He still can't do much more than squirm and try to get his legs out from under himself, which is something he fails at, but boy is he putting in the effort. His arms ache from all the force that goes into it.
Alastor's appearance does succeed in catching his attention, and he throws an immediate glare up at the man. He can't very well decide to stop if he can't fully understand what they're doing here beyond 'game', nor does he want to give Alastor the satisfaction of winning.
A single cable shoots out from his back and snaps up towards the radio demon, hoping to lash at him like it's a whip.]
[ Alastor is just a bit too slow to fully avoid the cable. His hands tighten their grip as it strikes him, and he only manages to avoid being knocked back by melting into the shadows. He reappears on the ground, closer to Vox now. It stings more than he cares to admit, and more than that wide smile suggests. ]
You can either find the exit, or you can try to catch me... Those are my usual conditions, but I'm feeling generous today.
[ The latter condition being added because Alastor is the quickest way to the exit. There's no other rules save those dos and don'ts that he's has decided on.
He places his hand over his heart, leaning forward. He's sure that his captive will lash out more. He can struggle all he wants, but he isn't ready to free him just yet. ]
[Got him. Even if the lash ultimately did nothing and Alastor appears before him looking like the smuggest motherfucker who ever lived, Vox takes pride in the fact that he landed a blow. And he'll keep landing blows until he either gets out of this place, one way or another, or if his body breaks to the point of immobility.
Fuck games, fuck condescending grins and fuck Alastor.
The cable returns to Vox's side, hovering in an upright position like it's a snake emerging from his body, the plug seeming to stare Alastor's way. Frustration stays on his face for a moment longer as he considers the options- or rather, decides there's only one option. That's when the grin returns to his screen and the cable lashes out a second time.]
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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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
The rustle of leaves catches his attention, and the flame catches his gaze. Though he thinks for a moment it might do something... It doesn't. It's just floating there. Menacingly. He's not familiar with the concept of will o' wisps, so he doesn't know what to make of it. His approach is a slow one.
Should he reach out and touch the...? Nah. Best not to.
Down the path he goes.]
no subject
Don't touch anything needlessly is a good rule to live by.
The tentacle retracts after Vox has passed by it, though the flame lingers in place where it is for some time more before it begins to drift off.
The pathway looks to have been abandoned long ago. It's overgrown and difficult to make out, with red weeds and grass peeking out from the ground along with the grass. There's a fallen tree blocking the path in one spot, but it's small enough to easily step over. The shadows seem to shift and grow in places, but there's nothing to be found on them.
If he continues on this path for a bit, he'll find a small patch of lovely yellow flowers on the side, and there's an nearly inaudible, incomprehensible whispering that almost seems to come from them. Some distance away from them is another flower - a white flower that has its own slight glow to it. There's an arrow dug into the ground, pointing directly to it. Not at all suspicious. ]
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... Apparently it leads to flowers. Very suspicious flowers and one suspicious arrow pointing to an even more suspicious flower.
Vox wants nothing more than to throw his head back and shout "this is fucking stupid, Alastor!" into the sky. But he can't. No matter how hard he tries, he can't overrule that mute function. It's like an invisible finger is on a button, holding it down. So he does the next best thing to convey the sentiment that's overwhelming him: he steps on the white flower, intending to crush it to a pulp beneath his heel.]
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The world is quick to demand remittance for the lost life. If Vox is quick, he should be able to avoid the piercing stab of the root (or something that resembles one) that juts out of the ground. The black roots (tendrils?) that climb from the ground and snake around his body will be much harder to avoid, and those aim to drag him down and into the ground. Vox is as solid as the earth beneath him, unfortunately, and so this instead leads to him being pressed and crushed against it with such force that a normal sinner would have broken bones and crushed organs within seconds.
Good luck! ]
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The root that shoots its way up from the ground is avoided well enough with an awkward stumble backwards. And there's more coming, he can see it- sense it. He tries to get away from the tendrils as they emerge, but there's far too many and they pop up from every direction he hopes to choose, blocking any escape. They slither up his ankles, crawl their way along his torso and shoot towards his arms to restrain him, even as he tries to shake the damned things off again.
And then they pull.
His knees buckle from the sudden force and he slams down onto the ground, his legs crumpling awkwardly beneath his body. Unnaturally. They're at risk of breaking, because even now that he's down into a forced kneeling position with the rest of his body pressing down on his lower legs, the pull doesn't stop. The dirt beneath him doesn't budge. His arms are still being tugged at too, and his spine curls inward as a result, shoulders pulled backwards. He cries out in pain, the sound inaudible.
In a last ditch effort not to have his body pulled into a pretzel shape, he attacks the tendrils with electricity.]
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Vox's powers have always served him well as a counter to Alastor. It's one thing to be able to cut off a piece of his tentacles, but electricity runs all the way down to the source. That proves to be the case here too. There's a squeal as a pair of them turn to ash, while the rest stop in their path. Their hold on him doesn't break, but it does loosen enough for him to right his posture. The point was to make him kneel, not to break him, and the radio demon wants him to pay attention.
If Vox happens to look up, he'll see Alastor sitting on one of the higher tree branches, red eyes and cashmere cat grin glowing in the darkness. If noticed, he'll lift one hand and wiggle his fingers in a mock wave before he rests both hands on the branch. ]
Hm. You're bad at this. I expected better.
[ He swings his legs back and forth, tilting his head back and making a show of pretending to consider something turning his eyes back down, ]
Do you want to stop?
[ Give up? ]
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Alastor's appearance does succeed in catching his attention, and he throws an immediate glare up at the man. He can't very well decide to stop if he can't fully understand what they're doing here beyond 'game', nor does he want to give Alastor the satisfaction of winning.
A single cable shoots out from his back and snaps up towards the radio demon, hoping to lash at him like it's a whip.]
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You can either find the exit, or you can try to catch me... Those are my usual conditions, but I'm feeling generous today.
[ The latter condition being added because Alastor is the quickest way to the exit. There's no other rules save those dos and don'ts that he's has decided on.
He places his hand over his heart, leaning forward. He's sure that his captive will lash out more. He can struggle all he wants, but he isn't ready to free him just yet. ]
So, what will it be? Do you want to quit?
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Fuck games, fuck condescending grins and fuck Alastor.
The cable returns to Vox's side, hovering in an upright position like it's a snake emerging from his body, the plug seeming to stare Alastor's way. Frustration stays on his face for a moment longer as he considers the options- or rather, decides there's only one option. That's when the grin returns to his screen and the cable lashes out a second time.]
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"biting you" but it's literal now
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