[ He feigns disappointment and exasperation. It's exaggerated, because he's not finding any reason for immediate concern. ]
And what of your partners? You have yet to give me an answer to that question. It's one thing to be unable to convince me to go along with your little fantasy of being in charge, but them?
[ Alastor sneers. He does find the other two to be more pleasant to be around, but that doesn't mean he has illusions about them. The gap between the two of them and Vox is wide, and so the gap between them and the radio demon is as vast as the ocean. They're slow, weak, and sloppy. They lack the discipline and cunning that he has. And as for his captor, he lacks any kind of foresight.
He drains his glass as easily as if it were a shot, then shakes his head. ]
My two lackeys won't dare question me, but it's the other way around for you. Yet I've only seen you placating your partners.
[ And in a perfect display of tonal dissonance, he's going to tap Vox with the back of his hand before pointing to the touchscreen. His words are being used for something much more important, but he can multitask here in playing along with torture or whatever he's trying to accomplish here. ]
[Vox hates that this topic keeps coming up, since Alastor was the one who rejected the idea of partnerships, of rising to the top with others by one's side. He doesn't have any right to speak of it. Vox understands the logic and the mindset, because it's one he's had for most of his life already, but he can't deny the benefits that have come from keeping his associates close by. It's boosted his finances, his influence over Sinners... And the two other Vees aren't constantly moping about how much he sucks, or how he's going to lose. Having support is nice. He always enjoys it when he gets to make a mockery of people with Velvette. He definitely always enjoys it when Valentino goes out of his way to make him feel special. The both of them likely have selfish motivations, but it's a symbiotic dynamic anyway.
No, Vox won't just throw his partners away after this. They're not on his level, but they're the most important pillars he can stand on. One for his left foot, one for his right foot.
His eyes narrow and he takes another sip from his drink. The indication of the touchscreen isn't missed, though he takes his time with acting on it. Alastor doesn't get to tell him what to do.]
It's not placation. Val and Velvette are exactly where I want them to be. Once I take my rightful place, they'll have theirs, and they'll fucking love me for it. See, that's what it means to rise to the top with someone else. Everyone gets exactly what they deserve. Some a little more than others, of course, but...
[Vox peers down into his glass, watching the ice cubes bob around in what's left of the clear brown liquid. It's such a familiar sight. Some forty decades after he stopped having drinks with Alastor, he started having them with Valentino instead, and while there was always that bittersweet aftertaste it might end the same way... It won't. Because Vox doesn't turn raw potential and devotion away when it comes to him, instead pulling it in and treasuring it. If it's offered to him, it might as well belong to him.]
Well. Point is, your lackeys won't question you, but Val and Velvette adore me. I'll take devotion that comes from the heart over fear any day. It's a better motivator.
[And with that, he finally raises his free hand to the touchscreen, scrolling through the options again. Oh snap, The Beauty of Sharks, a documentary narrated by Bob Ross??? He'll give you credit for this one, Heaven, and he's coming back for it later.]
[ well alastor wouldn't be moping around about how much vox sucks either if he weren't stuck with him!!!!!!! ]
You misunderstand. Fear is what prevents people from challenging you, and it makes them sloppy when they do.
[ Vox has, too, seen how quickly that crumbles. Lucifer is hardly a threat anymore. ]
It's respect that I crave, and it's respect that I have. That is what motivates people. It's what makes them listen. As you've seen, I have it from the souls in my care, [ Because Niffty and Husk (unexpected and unwanted as they were) came for Alastor just as fast as Valentino and Velvette did, ] our fellow overlords, the princess, and even Heaven's diplomat.
[ Or rather, he will soon enough. Charlie has no doubt already talked him up, so he's not particularly concerned. The only one he's missing is the king, who's respect is worth no more than the pieces of lint in his pocket.
None of them doubt him. None of them dismiss him. He can pull strings quite easily when he chooses to. Quality, not quantity, but Alastor has earned his position in more ways than one. ]
You, on the other hand, have always garnered attention and adoration, but you waste and throw away every bit of respect that's given to you.
[ There's something to that particular statement. The words come a hint quicker, the inflection changes just slightly, there's something buried in it. It's something quiet, foreign, and perhaps without meaning. Something old and buried trying to claw its way back up from the grave. It's there and gone, seamlessly returning to his original tone. ]
You can dismiss me, but don't you forget, the only reason that people are acknowledging you at all now is because of my reputation.
[ It took him a century to build it up, and it's solid enough that he can bounce back from this. The opposite of Vox, who will soon be erased from the history books. And God if that won't be satisfying to see. ]
[A lot of what Alastor's saying to him feels like a waste of breath. Nonsense, almost. It ensures Vox isn't paying all too much attention to what might be hiding between the lines. His gaze is still on the touch screen and he's idly scrolling through the selection, even as his other hand lifts his drinking glass back to his mouth.
Blah blah, respect, whatever. Time to browse through the animation category. There's something there about a bunch of sentient fruit getting together and opening up a coffee shop. Apparently it's a musical with Broadway style numbers? Aw fuck, figures Heaven would get Howard Ashman. It's okay, even Vox agrees that man doesn't belong in Hell.
Alastor's still talking, Vox realizes, and he tunes back in just in time for that last bit. It's enough to have him laugh out loud, because while he understands what the insult is trying to be, he can flip it with ease.]
Uh. Yeah. Duh. Because you were one of the most impressive Overlords, and I fucking beat you! I'm better than you! Stronger. So now that reputation you had is mine. And I'll keep going from here, too.
[That's what he's always done, even when he was still alive: eliminate a hot shot and take their place. Usurping someone's reputation means getting all the benefits that come with it. Not that Alastor has much to his name for Vox to claim beyond that infamy. He doesn't want the man's shitty lackeys and he doesn't want the radio studio. All he wanted was Alastor himself and now he's got him.]
The most impressive, and you have et to prove that you can beat me.
[ Alastor corrects, because who else was so notorious that speculation of his disappearance and loss alike were to angelic arms and Lucifer himself? Not once had anyone expected another overlord to defeat him. ]
There's no point in speaking with a fool. You'll understand soon enough.
[ There is a reason one isn't supposed to argue with idiots. They not only drag a person down to their level, but they win every time thanks to their experience. His old friend is in for a rude awakening, though, when he's defeated and left with nothing but the paltry pity of his associates.
The other two Vees won't abandon him, of course. That's not an option for them, not if they want to keep their seat at the table, and it was never the goal anyway. Efforts to break up a group is the domain of the weak and insecure, people who need others, and Alastor is none of the above. Rather, there can only be one strongest sinner in Hell, and so he needs to borrow Vox for that purpose. And once he's done so, Alastor only need tear down his empire, ending with taking his life, to repair his own reputation.
Soon enough.
For now, though, he does think it's about time to switch things up a little. He'll tap Vox one more time, pointing off to the side. There's nothing there, of course, but Alastor needs him to turn his head for what he has in mind.
Hopefully Vox knows better not to, because the second he does Alastor is going to take advantage of the close proximity to lean over and blow into one of his vents for no particular reason. ]
[Vox agrees with the fool sentiment, if only the other way around. It feels as if their conversations keep going on circles. Vox says he'll win, Alastor says he won't, Vox tries to assert dominance, Alastor laughs at him... Neither of them will ever back down, so the only real way to bring these arguments to an end is with cold, hard evidence. Heaven bending the knee to Vox would be Exhibit A and a nice, shiny throne could be Exhibit B.
It'll be settled in a matter of days. Finally, after all this time, maybe Alastor will finally admit defeat and Vox can find some peace.
The tap catches his attention, and he glances towards the radio demon to see the pointing gesture. It's vaguely directed towards the drink cart, which has Vox assume it's a request to refill his empty glass. Again. Alastor's really taking advantage of the situation to get wasted, huh? Not that Vox minds; might as well let the man live a little before the world as they know it comes crashing down. So yes, he turns his head to the side, his thoughts on grabbing the bottle.
Very naive of him.
He's vaguely aware of Alastor leaning in, and becomes very aware of the air being blown into the vent. His entire body freezes over for a second, a vibrant blush washing over his screen. Then he instantly whips himself around to face Alastor again.]
[ Hm. That's not quite the reaction that he was going to. In fact, it's far from what he was hoping for (sort of but not really.) How awkward for Vox. Fortunately, Alastor is incapable of feeling shame so he can accept this outcome with great pleasure while looking for all the world like he'd done nothing wrong.
The reaction is almost cute, and on anyone else it would be, but unfortunately Vox is about as far as one gets from that. It's amusing at least, and after another moment ago he finds it to be the ideal outcome after all. He's committing this one to memory. ]
I was trying to blow the dust out.
[ Vox wasn't paying enough attention to Alastor when he wanted it, which clearly meant that he was broken and not at all that he was choosing not to listen.
And of course it would be that one of the two things he retained about technology past the thirties is something you're not supposed to do and hasn't been a common practice in a couple decades. ]
[In those first few seconds, Vox's panicked brain takes the excuse at face value, not thinking anything beyond the conclusion that that was indeed what Alastor intended. It doesn't do much to remove that blush, though. And because the breath was blown directly into Vox's system through the vent, now he can even taste the whiskey Alastor was drinking.]
What are you talking about?! There is no dust! And you're not supposed to- Don't do that!
[And then comes the realization that Alastor may be lying again. Just another excuse to get Vox riled up. It sure is working, if that's the case. Still experiencing flustered annoyance, he raises a hand to the back of his head to rub a finger along the vent in question. Hopefully, that'll get rid of the uncomfortable, prickly feeling.]
He had thought that a TV demon would collect dust as much as anything else with a vent. Not only that, but it's a sensitive area too. Learn something new every day. ]
Oh, fine. I won't do it again. There's no reason to if it doesn't even work.
[ There's a snicker though, followed by a laugh as he watches the other man try to regain his composure, and Alastor finally places his empty glass in the cupholder so he can turn one hand over. It really is just too funny. to watch him go through several stages of flustering and trying to discern Alastor's intentions. He does recall Vox being shy at times, but it was nothing like this, and Alastor had every reason to think that he'd outgrown it after being in Hell and hooking up with a porn director.
Still, as far as he's concerned, any discomfort and embarrassment is well deserved given how much Vox has put his hands on him since capturing him. And it did serve as a graceful way to switch topics (i.e. one where he can blame it on Vox.) ]
I didn't think you were capable of making a face like that anymore.
[Over the decades, Vox has had ample opportunity to discover what his body does or doesn't react to. Especially after meeting Valentino, there was more than enough experimentation. One wouldn't think a TV and mostly-synthetic body would have that many areas to trigger stimulation, but Hell is nothing if not creative in how these things translate back to a person. It works the other way around, too. Vox has found lots of unique little tricks he can pull to get Valentino aroused in turn. Tricks that the average Sinner can't replicate, so Val will always keep coming back for more.
It's confusing when Alastor pulls a stunt like that. Sure, Vox has always wanted it, but now it's happening for all the wrong reasons.]
What, is that another jab at my new head or something? Fuck off. This baby can do all the things the old one could, and then some.
[Because that's the only interpretation of Alastor's remark that's valid inside Vox's brain. It's just another way to poke fun at him. A jab at his appearance and need to keep up with technology, because Alastor clings to the past while Vox changes to fit the present day.
He quickly raises his own drink back to his mouth, taking several gulps to wash down the taste still faintly lingering. He's definitely huffy now.]
[ It is, just not in the way that Vox thinks it is. He won't correct him. He much prefers Vox this way over his endless posturing, gloating, and attempts to pull a reaction out of him.
There's another chuckle, then Alastor shakes his head. ]
I hear you're easier to mute now. That much is an improvement over what you had before.
[ Because of course he would know that. He avoids learning about technology more than he needs to, but their frequent frequent disputes are incentive enough to keep up with what he's capable of. Still, he is ever someone who wishes for things to stay the same, and he find that the old head was better. The media overlord was less annoying then too.
Now he's going to push his glass at Vox again for no reason other than to be needy. ]
I won't do it again, [ He says, because Vox is a child who needs to be placated himsefl, ] How about this? Why don't I tell you something interesting? It's something I've been thinking about since all of you two started needlessly provoking Heaven.
[ You two being Charlie and Vox. He doesn't really care about the rest of them. ]
[The muting remark causes Vox's expression to become even more disgruntled, a snap of electricity shooting between his antennae and his fingers. Just a brief moment that's mostly anger, but somewhere deep down, a light tinge of hurt. But then the glass is thrust towards him and he takes it. He considers crushing it in his palm so he can sprinkle the shards over Alastor's head. ... No, that's beneath him. Waste of glass and waste of effort. Besides, Valentino already destroys enough of these to meet a quota.
His own glass is set down in the cup holder again, but he's not going to refill Alastor's right off the bat. He'll keep it in his possession for now as he waits to see where this goes. The indication of 'you two' confuses him for a second, leaving him wondering whether Alastor forgot Velvette exists. (He wouldn't be surprised.) Then the understanding hits that there's someone else apart from the Vees who's been provoking Heaven, just from a different angle.]
Oh boy, here it comes. Al's got some grand observation that'll turn everything on its fucking head. [The words are uttered in a perfect symphony of annoyance and condescension.] Sure. Okay. Why not? Let's hear it.
No, if I had something like that, I'd keep it to myself. [ And he seems rather pleased with himself for that statement for some reason, ] It's just a little bit of gossip from back when I was alive. You happen to have reminded me, and we have time to kill, hm?
[ He doesn't talk about his personal live, and another millennia might pass before he even thinks about it, but every now and again he's willing to share some odd fact that he picked up somewhere or another. There's just little things, little hints of who he once was.
He uncrosses his legs, just so he can do so again - the opposite leg this time. ]
I think that you're right about one thing. If you want to get into Heaven, then the right way is to break the door down. There's no need to play around, [ He lifts his hand a few inches and twists his wrist a few times before letting it back down, ] With this made up "redemption."
[ And that's likely why he picked this particular subject. It's partly that there's only so much that he can needle Vox about his ambitions, and it's partly that there's only two people in all of Hell that he can speak with on this. There's something about living in Hell that tends to rot the already atrophied minds of the people who enter it. ]
That was never supposed to happen anyway, because those angels specifically designed their little club to be exclusive.
[ There's a slight emphasis on the word exclusive, a drop of poison mixed in with the otherwise light tone. Hell is meant to be overpopulated. Whether they lived twenty years or a hundred, humans are meant to suffer for eternity. But none of this is exactly the point he wants to make, and in the end none of it is meant to change anything save perhaps offering talking points (which aren't quite needed now,) so he does wait to see if Vox is interested in this subject. ]
['Little bit of gossip'... If it were something Alastor had heard down here in Hell, Vox would be much more inclined to take it seriously. But something from when he was still alive? That can't be worth much. What do mortals even know about Heaven, or the afterlife in general? Just stories that were distorted over millennia, tainted and redacted and whitewashed to suit whatever narrative purpose is needed in that era. He doesn't know who Alastor truly was in life, but he can't imagine anyone out in that living world would overhear useful truths.
Still, he'll entertain it, just to see where it goes. He reaches towards the drink cart again, grabbing the bottle of whiskey for that refill. He'll be slow about it, but he'll do it all the same.]
Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised. Look at some of the sniveling wimps we get down here from time to time. There's no way those guys ever did anything in their lives worth eternal suffering. Probably got turned way at the gate for a totally different reason. Something that doesn't mesh well with Heaven's perfect streets. Wrong religion, wrong sexuality, things like that.
[ Alastor is quite the opposite. He's found that most things heard in Hell are of little value when compared to that which he found in life. The living have a desperation to secure their place in the afterlife, to understand the unknown, and so they learn more of both the land of the living and the land of the dead than anyone.
The little bits of gossip he gained in life have proven useful.
But even if Vox finds nothing of interest in what he has to say, it doesn't really matter. This is just a way of distracting him anyway. ]
Then, let me walk you through it: Pretend, for a moment, that there was truth to the idea of God creating a dual universe. There is the true "Heaven," where God lives, and then there is everything else.
[ The former being a metaphor, of course. ]
God created angels, who in turn created humans so that they might have someone they could look down on. If you believe the stories, they're responsible for the entirety of this mess that we're in.
[ As far as he's concerned, their "perfect" world was never perfect to begin with if they had to create humans. What reason was there for that if not to have something to feel superior to? Why go so far to strip their creations of what they themselves had? But all of that is a different conversation, so he moves on. ]
Meanwhile, there's truth to all those stories about humans making contact and deals with beings from the afterlife. Demons can form contracts with the living just as easily as they can the dead. They stake their claim on a person's soul, and then they harvest it at the time of death.
[ More than that, it's only humans who can summon demons in the manner that they do. Those humans that were created to be fish in a bowl have shown to be able to do the impossible in life, and then again after death. He does watch Vox's expression as he explains it too, wondering if he'll dismiss the idea either as impossible or irrelevant. The amount who have succeeded is just the tiniest fraction of those who have failed. There aren't many people who would believe it, much less see the relevance. But then, maybe he will, because Alastor never speaks of these things without reason.
[That first bit makes total sense to Vox. It's probably how things went down, because angels would look down on them as if they were pets. No, maybe even less than pets. Pets can be loved. He doubts the highest hierarchy of angels felt that way even before the apple incident.
The second bit, though... That has him pausing. He just finished refilling Alastor's glass and now the bottle hovers in place, tilted back just far enough to keep the rest of the whiskey inside it. Disbelief is etched all over his face, because... c'mooon, he knows demons have tried, but he's never heard of one who pulled it off. Though, if they did hold that power, would they even share it? Maybe they'd keep that trick to themselves and hoard its potential.
Finally, he puts Alastor's glass back in the cup holder, screws the cap back on the bottle and sets it down. Once he's sat back in his seat, his hands fold together in his lap, elbow pressing against Alastor's upper arm over the armrest.]
Okay, hypothetically, let's say there's truth in that. So what?
[ There's more that he has to say. There is quite a bit more that Alastor has, in fact, and he's watching the other closely. He briefly considers moving on without confirmation. It might be better to do so. There is a primal instinct that tells him to play it safe.
The human part of him decides to gamble, ]
I have it on a reputable source that it is possible.
[ One hand lifts. He can't fully raise it as he'd like, nor can he reach well, but he does drag his fingertips over Vox's upper arm and drag it along his forearm insomuch as he can before his fingers splay out around it.
Vox should know that he would never make such a statement if it weren't an absolute certainty. ]
We can steal souls from whoever it is that harvests them. We interrupt whatever process is in play.
[ He's tugging a bit at Vox's arm now to try to get him to pull back, because he can't very well slip his fingers through the gaps in the back of his hand like this, and he's decided at this moment that he wants to. And that's fine, because any touch is fine so long as it is at his whim and reason. ]
So, if you want to be the one true God... Don't you want to know who's been harvesting our souls? Who's been distributing them? After all, this is all Heaven's creation.
[ And if he doesn't believe Vox can do it, well... There is still truth to it, because he wants to know. And he wants Vox to be thinking on it no matter what, because God knows that no one else will be. ]
['Reputable source', huh. Interesting. Vox does know that Alastor wouldn't say something like that if it weren't confirmed without a doubt, which begs the question of whose foot that shoe is on, so to speak. Was Alastor the one to make a deal with the living, or was he the one who...? Well, surely not that second one. That would mean someone from Hell had a claim on Alastor's soul, or still does to this day, and that feels unbelievable. Alastor was strong from the second he came here and started conquering turf immediately; who in their right mind would allow that to happen while having him on a leash?
Maybe one of Alastor's two goons was recruited while still alive. Yep, that'll be it.
And then all those thoughts come to a crashing halt, because now Alastor's hand is on his arm, stroking it- holding it. Vox just about stops listening to anything else being said for a few seconds. There's two lightning speed blinks of his eyes as he processes it, because touches from Alastor come rare, but touches without mocking intent are even rarer.
Once he's over his confusion, he allows his arm to be adjusted. For his hand to land closer to Alastor's own, near the arm rest. What are they talking about...? Right.]
... Wait, are you talkin' about whoever makes the judgment call? The power that decides whether a soul gets to walk through Heaven's gates or not?
[ This isn't the sort of behavior that he typically engages in, but disinterest isn't the same as ignorance, and he's quite capable of these affectionate touches. There's no real shift in his expression, but rather he carries on as though he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary at all.
He pauses to move the popcorn bucket that had been dropped on his lap earlier, letting it rest between his leg and the armrest. He has to adjust his position to compensate for the limited space, and as a result he winds up inching just a tad closer.
It's not long after that he reaches out to take Vox's wrist. He uses his thumb to massage the inside of his wrist while he tries to decide what it is that he wants to do next. Eventually he settles on trying to hook his foot around Vox's ankle, trying to nudge his legs further apart for absolutely no reason in particular.
And all the while he's still carrying on this very important conversation, ]
Precisely. It's not a creation of God, but one of Heaven... Who or what is our Grim Reaper, who harvests and distributes all unclaimed souls? There's no one in Hell who knows. The High Seraphim in Heaven aren't able to provide us with any answers either. They only know we were bad people based on the fact that we're down here.
[Holy shit his wrist is being held, holy shit, that pressure of Alastor's thumb feels really nice. And now his leg is being moved with a tug around the ankle region, and Vox lets it happen because in that split second, he's too confused to consider putting a stop to it.
A sudden thought hits him. His gaze shoots towards the drink cart to have another good look at the bottles because for a manic moment, he wonders whether something spiked with Valentino's saliva made its way into the selection. Completely unintended, because that kind of roofie bullshit is not something he bothers with- it doesn't even work on him- but those types of bottles do drift around Vee Tower sometimes. He doesn't see any reddish or pink hues in the whiskey, though. Somehow, that brings no relief at all.]
Uhhhh... [C'mon Vox, pull it together.] Right, so... So whoever put that in place is between the seraphim and God? I could figure it out once I'm up there, I'm sure. Take God's throne and order the information to be delivered on a silver platter. Or gold, or whatever the fuck those people prefer.
[Sure, Vox is still engaging with the conversation, but his gaze is also very much locked on Alastor's hand. Part of him expects that the radio demon will try to break his wrist. He should retract his own hand, but at the same time he really doesn't want to. This is the most dangerous game of gay chicken he's ever played.]
[ There isn't anything like that, and it wouldn't work on Alastor anyway, or at least not fully. That puff of smoke to the face had come as quite the surprise for how unexpected it was, but it passed in but a moment. It's no different than Vox's hypnosis.
In any event, there's nothing out of the ordinary in his features. His pupils aren't dilated, or at least no more than would be expected with the low lighting. He's quite capable of holding a conversation like this. He's calm, collected, acting as he pleases as always.
He's Vox's little prisoner too, so of course he can't do anything to harm him. Rather, he's going to switch Vox's arm from one hand to another so he can continue his little caresses while still freeing up the hand closes to Vox.
He has to bend slightly to one side to manage it properly, but his now free hand is shift along until he finds Vox's side, a fingernail tracing along where he knows those vents are before coming to rest on his thigh and rubbing it. He rubs it gently. And he still continues on, voice level, as though he weren't doing anything scandalous at all. For someone who was so bold as to fuck his porn star director boyfriend in front of him, this much should be nothing to the media overlord. ]
It depends on which scripture you subscribe to, but what do precious metals matter in Heaven? But if you could do that, then you would be able to harvest and distribute mortal souls as you please. I'd say that's as close as you can get to becoming God as you can get without losing who you are.
[ His ears are tilted forward, too. It's a comfortable position where he's listening to what Vox has to say with care, twitching slightly in response to any sounds. ]
[Absolutely, Vox fucked Val with Alastor mere feet away and that was amazing. He knows Val; knows what his touches and zaps will evoke, where exactly to stroke, how hard to push. It's familiar, comfortable terrain and an audience just means he can show off his expertise. But this? Vox doesn't know what this is. It's coming from Alastor, so it's foreign. Suspicious. Something he's wanted for ages, but could never have, and that triggers a layer of fear. He's not getting aroused on any level, but he sure is feeling the equivalent of goosebumps from unease. It's either a trick, it's going to get snatched away, or both.
Alastor's enough of an asshole for it to be both.
He should save himself the humiliation and pull his hand away before he gets bitten. He really, really should. Why can't he bring himself to do it? Why does the fingernail rippling along the vent bring a pleasant tingle when he knows he's opening himself up to attacks? Ahhh fuck.]
... Without losing who I am? What? [He laughs awkwardly.] C'moooon, I was always supposed to be a god, so once I actually get there, I'll be like... the real, true me. That's not losing who I am, that's me slotting into my rightful place. So yeah, I could take divine judgment on as part of the job description. Why not? It'll be a whole lot more fucking fair than whatever's is going on right now.
You can become a god, but that is not the same as being the God. The one true God created a dual universe so he might tell us to not be like Him, for he is alone. But you have always worked to be heard...
[ Vox. The people's voice. Hell's equivalent of the Speaker of God, but far more proactive. Far more useful.
And it really is both, because Vox should know Alastor well. He isn't the sort to do things for the sake of it. He would certainly never degrade himself, and so if he's experimenting now, it's because he wishes to. He's testing it out to see how he feels about it for his own sake. To that end, he'll go as far as to guide Vox's hand up, placing his thumb over the others fingers to force them to curl before he pushes his cheek against them.
His fingers slide up the others thigh, toying with and testing with his hem. Nimble fingers slip beneath it, pressing against the edge of his torso and sliding along, coming to play with the button of his pants, sliding it through the hole, and -
And stopping, one eye closing before he gives a little tug, and then again, as he hits the limit of his cable. He doesn't try it past that either, or at least not more than once, because it's embarrassing enough, and his smile thinning out instead and his hand retracting, Vox's hand then gingerly placed back on the armrest, before Alastor finally folds his legs and rests both his hands on his knee, eyelids resting low.
[His fingers being pressed against Alastor's cheek is surprisingly gentle. Affection in a very pure form, if indeed the gesture is genuine. Vox doesn't know whether it would be. If Alastor's jaws were to suddenly open and slam shut again on his digits, it wouldn't be an entirely surprising turn of events. It'd be a hassle and it'd hurt like hell, but it'd be an expected outcome of playing with fire as well. Either way, he adds a very light pressure against Alastor's face of his own volition. Just enough to indicate he's not just ragdolling and willing to be an active participant in... whatever the fuck this is.
Alastor's other hand is up to something much more dangerous, causing Vox to swallow thickly. There's still a chill of goosebumps prickling at him, because while he's uneasy about all of this, there's also a light hint of anticipation weaseling its way in. A twinkle of hope, sputtering and sparking to life against better judgment. His focus slips to the sensation of Alastor's fingers sliding along his torso, and-
And there it is. The distinct sound of a cable pulled to its extreme, refusing any more give. That's as far as it goes.
Vox leaves things as they are. He won't give Alastor any more freedom- especially not after how much he's already given tonight. He's not that stupid. Bitter and unwilling to budge, he uses both hands to button his pants again, then tugs down his shirt to make sure everything's in place. And yes, there is zero intent to talk about it.
Right. The god thing.]
... I'm aiming to be The God, not a god. So once I am that God, I'm the one making the rules. Nobody said the one true God has to be a hermit who refuses to interact with anyone else. So in case that's what you were hoping for, no, you wouldn't be rid of me.
[ Vox is that stupid, because there's absolutely nothing that Alastor could do with any additional freedom. He does fix the other with a bit of a look, the sort that is specifically reserved to inform men that they've done something extremely stupid and ruined the first and last opportunity given to them, but he otherwise straightens himself up more and makes a point of shifting from the other. If this were a sitcom, he would be the wife who will no longer be sharing the bed.
Such is how their relationship tends to go. Alastor pushes, Vox pulls. Alastor shoves, Vox pulls him down along with him. One is used to cushion the other's fall.
He huffs, exactly like he didn't know how this was going to turn out from the start because he had checked the length of those cables for a reason. Is he actually annoyed? Is he not? Does he just want to be difficult? In this particular case, there really is just absolutely no way of telling with Alastor since it's not like anyone else has gotten this far with him. ]
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[ He feigns disappointment and exasperation. It's exaggerated, because he's not finding any reason for immediate concern. ]
And what of your partners? You have yet to give me an answer to that question. It's one thing to be unable to convince me to go along with your little fantasy of being in charge, but them?
[ Alastor sneers. He does find the other two to be more pleasant to be around, but that doesn't mean he has illusions about them. The gap between the two of them and Vox is wide, and so the gap between them and the radio demon is as vast as the ocean. They're slow, weak, and sloppy. They lack the discipline and cunning that he has. And as for his captor, he lacks any kind of foresight.
He drains his glass as easily as if it were a shot, then shakes his head. ]
My two lackeys won't dare question me, but it's the other way around for you. Yet I've only seen you placating your partners.
[ And in a perfect display of tonal dissonance, he's going to tap Vox with the back of his hand before pointing to the touchscreen. His words are being used for something much more important, but he can multitask here in playing along with torture or whatever he's trying to accomplish here. ]
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No, Vox won't just throw his partners away after this. They're not on his level, but they're the most important pillars he can stand on. One for his left foot, one for his right foot.
His eyes narrow and he takes another sip from his drink. The indication of the touchscreen isn't missed, though he takes his time with acting on it. Alastor doesn't get to tell him what to do.]
It's not placation. Val and Velvette are exactly where I want them to be. Once I take my rightful place, they'll have theirs, and they'll fucking love me for it. See, that's what it means to rise to the top with someone else. Everyone gets exactly what they deserve. Some a little more than others, of course, but...
[Vox peers down into his glass, watching the ice cubes bob around in what's left of the clear brown liquid. It's such a familiar sight. Some forty decades after he stopped having drinks with Alastor, he started having them with Valentino instead, and while there was always that bittersweet aftertaste it might end the same way... It won't. Because Vox doesn't turn raw potential and devotion away when it comes to him, instead pulling it in and treasuring it. If it's offered to him, it might as well belong to him.]
Well. Point is, your lackeys won't question you, but Val and Velvette adore me. I'll take devotion that comes from the heart over fear any day. It's a better motivator.
[And with that, he finally raises his free hand to the touchscreen, scrolling through the options again. Oh snap, The Beauty of Sharks, a documentary narrated by Bob Ross??? He'll give you credit for this one, Heaven, and he's coming back for it later.]
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You misunderstand. Fear is what prevents people from challenging you, and it makes them sloppy when they do.
[ Vox has, too, seen how quickly that crumbles. Lucifer is hardly a threat anymore. ]
It's respect that I crave, and it's respect that I have. That is what motivates people. It's what makes them listen. As you've seen, I have it from the souls in my care, [ Because Niffty and Husk (unexpected and unwanted as they were) came for Alastor just as fast as Valentino and Velvette did, ] our fellow overlords, the princess, and even Heaven's diplomat.
[ Or rather, he will soon enough. Charlie has no doubt already talked him up, so he's not particularly concerned. The only one he's missing is the king, who's respect is worth no more than the pieces of lint in his pocket.
None of them doubt him. None of them dismiss him. He can pull strings quite easily when he chooses to. Quality, not quantity, but Alastor has earned his position in more ways than one. ]
You, on the other hand, have always garnered attention and adoration, but you waste and throw away every bit of respect that's given to you.
[ There's something to that particular statement. The words come a hint quicker, the inflection changes just slightly, there's something buried in it. It's something quiet, foreign, and perhaps without meaning. Something old and buried trying to claw its way back up from the grave. It's there and gone, seamlessly returning to his original tone. ]
You can dismiss me, but don't you forget, the only reason that people are acknowledging you at all now is because of my reputation.
[ It took him a century to build it up, and it's solid enough that he can bounce back from this. The opposite of Vox, who will soon be erased from the history books. And God if that won't be satisfying to see. ]
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Blah blah, respect, whatever. Time to browse through the animation category. There's something there about a bunch of sentient fruit getting together and opening up a coffee shop. Apparently it's a musical with Broadway style numbers? Aw fuck, figures Heaven would get Howard Ashman. It's okay, even Vox agrees that man doesn't belong in Hell.
Alastor's still talking, Vox realizes, and he tunes back in just in time for that last bit. It's enough to have him laugh out loud, because while he understands what the insult is trying to be, he can flip it with ease.]
Uh. Yeah. Duh. Because you were one of the most impressive Overlords, and I fucking beat you! I'm better than you! Stronger. So now that reputation you had is mine. And I'll keep going from here, too.
[That's what he's always done, even when he was still alive: eliminate a hot shot and take their place. Usurping someone's reputation means getting all the benefits that come with it. Not that Alastor has much to his name for Vox to claim beyond that infamy. He doesn't want the man's shitty lackeys and he doesn't want the radio studio. All he wanted was Alastor himself and now he's got him.]
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[ Alastor corrects, because who else was so notorious that speculation of his disappearance and loss alike were to angelic arms and Lucifer himself? Not once had anyone expected another overlord to defeat him. ]
There's no point in speaking with a fool. You'll understand soon enough.
[ There is a reason one isn't supposed to argue with idiots. They not only drag a person down to their level, but they win every time thanks to their experience. His old friend is in for a rude awakening, though, when he's defeated and left with nothing but the paltry pity of his associates.
The other two Vees won't abandon him, of course. That's not an option for them, not if they want to keep their seat at the table, and it was never the goal anyway. Efforts to break up a group is the domain of the weak and insecure, people who need others, and Alastor is none of the above. Rather, there can only be one strongest sinner in Hell, and so he needs to borrow Vox for that purpose. And once he's done so, Alastor only need tear down his empire, ending with taking his life, to repair his own reputation.
Soon enough.
For now, though, he does think it's about time to switch things up a little. He'll tap Vox one more time, pointing off to the side. There's nothing there, of course, but Alastor needs him to turn his head for what he has in mind.
Hopefully Vox knows better not to, because the second he does Alastor is going to take advantage of the close proximity to lean over and blow into one of his vents for no particular reason. ]
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It'll be settled in a matter of days. Finally, after all this time, maybe Alastor will finally admit defeat and Vox can find some peace.
The tap catches his attention, and he glances towards the radio demon to see the pointing gesture. It's vaguely directed towards the drink cart, which has Vox assume it's a request to refill his empty glass. Again. Alastor's really taking advantage of the situation to get wasted, huh? Not that Vox minds; might as well let the man live a little before the world as they know it comes crashing down. So yes, he turns his head to the side, his thoughts on grabbing the bottle.
Very naive of him.
He's vaguely aware of Alastor leaning in, and becomes very aware of the air being blown into the vent. His entire body freezes over for a second, a vibrant blush washing over his screen. Then he instantly whips himself around to face Alastor again.]
What the fuck was that?!
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The reaction is almost cute, and on anyone else it would be, but unfortunately Vox is about as far as one gets from that. It's amusing at least, and after another moment ago he finds it to be the ideal outcome after all. He's committing this one to memory. ]
I was trying to blow the dust out.
[ Vox wasn't paying enough attention to Alastor when he wanted it, which clearly meant that he was broken and not at all that he was choosing not to listen.
And of course it would be that one of the two things he retained about technology past the thirties is something you're not supposed to do and hasn't been a common practice in a couple decades. ]
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What are you talking about?! There is no dust! And you're not supposed to- Don't do that!
[And then comes the realization that Alastor may be lying again. Just another excuse to get Vox riled up. It sure is working, if that's the case. Still experiencing flustered annoyance, he raises a hand to the back of his head to rub a finger along the vent in question. Hopefully, that'll get rid of the uncomfortable, prickly feeling.]
Fuckin' asshole.
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He had thought that a TV demon would collect dust as much as anything else with a vent. Not only that, but it's a sensitive area too. Learn something new every day. ]
Oh, fine. I won't do it again. There's no reason to if it doesn't even work.
[ There's a snicker though, followed by a laugh as he watches the other man try to regain his composure, and Alastor finally places his empty glass in the cupholder so he can turn one hand over. It really is just too funny. to watch him go through several stages of flustering and trying to discern Alastor's intentions. He does recall Vox being shy at times, but it was nothing like this, and Alastor had every reason to think that he'd outgrown it after being in Hell and hooking up with a porn director.
Still, as far as he's concerned, any discomfort and embarrassment is well deserved given how much Vox has put his hands on him since capturing him. And it did serve as a graceful way to switch topics (i.e. one where he can blame it on Vox.) ]
I didn't think you were capable of making a face like that anymore.
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It's confusing when Alastor pulls a stunt like that. Sure, Vox has always wanted it, but now it's happening for all the wrong reasons.]
What, is that another jab at my new head or something? Fuck off. This baby can do all the things the old one could, and then some.
[Because that's the only interpretation of Alastor's remark that's valid inside Vox's brain. It's just another way to poke fun at him. A jab at his appearance and need to keep up with technology, because Alastor clings to the past while Vox changes to fit the present day.
He quickly raises his own drink back to his mouth, taking several gulps to wash down the taste still faintly lingering. He's definitely huffy now.]
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There's another chuckle, then Alastor shakes his head. ]
I hear you're easier to mute now. That much is an improvement over what you had before.
[ Because of course he would know that. He avoids learning about technology more than he needs to, but their frequent frequent disputes are incentive enough to keep up with what he's capable of. Still, he is ever someone who wishes for things to stay the same, and he find that the old head was better. The media overlord was less annoying then too.
Now he's going to push his glass at Vox again for no reason other than to be needy. ]
I won't do it again, [ He says, because Vox is a child who needs to be placated himsefl, ] How about this? Why don't I tell you something interesting? It's something I've been thinking about since all of you two started needlessly provoking Heaven.
[ You two being Charlie and Vox. He doesn't really care about the rest of them. ]
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His own glass is set down in the cup holder again, but he's not going to refill Alastor's right off the bat. He'll keep it in his possession for now as he waits to see where this goes. The indication of 'you two' confuses him for a second, leaving him wondering whether Alastor forgot Velvette exists. (He wouldn't be surprised.) Then the understanding hits that there's someone else apart from the Vees who's been provoking Heaven, just from a different angle.]
Oh boy, here it comes. Al's got some grand observation that'll turn everything on its fucking head. [The words are uttered in a perfect symphony of annoyance and condescension.] Sure. Okay. Why not? Let's hear it.
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[ He doesn't talk about his personal live, and another millennia might pass before he even thinks about it, but every now and again he's willing to share some odd fact that he picked up somewhere or another. There's just little things, little hints of who he once was.
He uncrosses his legs, just so he can do so again - the opposite leg this time. ]
I think that you're right about one thing. If you want to get into Heaven, then the right way is to break the door down. There's no need to play around, [ He lifts his hand a few inches and twists his wrist a few times before letting it back down, ] With this made up "redemption."
[ And that's likely why he picked this particular subject. It's partly that there's only so much that he can needle Vox about his ambitions, and it's partly that there's only two people in all of Hell that he can speak with on this. There's something about living in Hell that tends to rot the already atrophied minds of the people who enter it. ]
That was never supposed to happen anyway, because those angels specifically designed their little club to be exclusive.
[ There's a slight emphasis on the word exclusive, a drop of poison mixed in with the otherwise light tone. Hell is meant to be overpopulated. Whether they lived twenty years or a hundred, humans are meant to suffer for eternity. But none of this is exactly the point he wants to make, and in the end none of it is meant to change anything save perhaps offering talking points (which aren't quite needed now,) so he does wait to see if Vox is interested in this subject. ]
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Still, he'll entertain it, just to see where it goes. He reaches towards the drink cart again, grabbing the bottle of whiskey for that refill. He'll be slow about it, but he'll do it all the same.]
Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised. Look at some of the sniveling wimps we get down here from time to time. There's no way those guys ever did anything in their lives worth eternal suffering. Probably got turned way at the gate for a totally different reason. Something that doesn't mesh well with Heaven's perfect streets. Wrong religion, wrong sexuality, things like that.
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The little bits of gossip he gained in life have proven useful.
But even if Vox finds nothing of interest in what he has to say, it doesn't really matter. This is just a way of distracting him anyway. ]
Then, let me walk you through it: Pretend, for a moment, that there was truth to the idea of God creating a dual universe. There is the true "Heaven," where God lives, and then there is everything else.
[ The former being a metaphor, of course. ]
God created angels, who in turn created humans so that they might have someone they could look down on. If you believe the stories, they're responsible for the entirety of this mess that we're in.
[ As far as he's concerned, their "perfect" world was never perfect to begin with if they had to create humans. What reason was there for that if not to have something to feel superior to? Why go so far to strip their creations of what they themselves had? But all of that is a different conversation, so he moves on. ]
Meanwhile, there's truth to all those stories about humans making contact and deals with beings from the afterlife. Demons can form contracts with the living just as easily as they can the dead. They stake their claim on a person's soul, and then they harvest it at the time of death.
[ More than that, it's only humans who can summon demons in the manner that they do. Those humans that were created to be fish in a bowl have shown to be able to do the impossible in life, and then again after death. He does watch Vox's expression as he explains it too, wondering if he'll dismiss the idea either as impossible or irrelevant. The amount who have succeeded is just the tiniest fraction of those who have failed. There aren't many people who would believe it, much less see the relevance. But then, maybe he will, because Alastor never speaks of these things without reason.
Following along so far? ]
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The second bit, though... That has him pausing. He just finished refilling Alastor's glass and now the bottle hovers in place, tilted back just far enough to keep the rest of the whiskey inside it. Disbelief is etched all over his face, because... c'mooon, he knows demons have tried, but he's never heard of one who pulled it off. Though, if they did hold that power, would they even share it? Maybe they'd keep that trick to themselves and hoard its potential.
Finally, he puts Alastor's glass back in the cup holder, screws the cap back on the bottle and sets it down. Once he's sat back in his seat, his hands fold together in his lap, elbow pressing against Alastor's upper arm over the armrest.]
Okay, hypothetically, let's say there's truth in that. So what?
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The human part of him decides to gamble, ]
I have it on a reputable source that it is possible.
[ One hand lifts. He can't fully raise it as he'd like, nor can he reach well, but he does drag his fingertips over Vox's upper arm and drag it along his forearm insomuch as he can before his fingers splay out around it.
Vox should know that he would never make such a statement if it weren't an absolute certainty. ]
We can steal souls from whoever it is that harvests them. We interrupt whatever process is in play.
[ He's tugging a bit at Vox's arm now to try to get him to pull back, because he can't very well slip his fingers through the gaps in the back of his hand like this, and he's decided at this moment that he wants to. And that's fine, because any touch is fine so long as it is at his whim and reason. ]
So, if you want to be the one true God... Don't you want to know who's been harvesting our souls? Who's been distributing them? After all, this is all Heaven's creation.
[ And if he doesn't believe Vox can do it, well... There is still truth to it, because he wants to know. And he wants Vox to be thinking on it no matter what, because God knows that no one else will be. ]
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Maybe one of Alastor's two goons was recruited while still alive. Yep, that'll be it.
And then all those thoughts come to a crashing halt, because now Alastor's hand is on his arm, stroking it- holding it. Vox just about stops listening to anything else being said for a few seconds. There's two lightning speed blinks of his eyes as he processes it, because touches from Alastor come rare, but touches without mocking intent are even rarer.
Once he's over his confusion, he allows his arm to be adjusted. For his hand to land closer to Alastor's own, near the arm rest. What are they talking about...? Right.]
... Wait, are you talkin' about whoever makes the judgment call? The power that decides whether a soul gets to walk through Heaven's gates or not?
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He pauses to move the popcorn bucket that had been dropped on his lap earlier, letting it rest between his leg and the armrest. He has to adjust his position to compensate for the limited space, and as a result he winds up inching just a tad closer.
It's not long after that he reaches out to take Vox's wrist. He uses his thumb to massage the inside of his wrist while he tries to decide what it is that he wants to do next. Eventually he settles on trying to hook his foot around Vox's ankle, trying to nudge his legs further apart for absolutely no reason in particular.
And all the while he's still carrying on this very important conversation, ]
Precisely. It's not a creation of God, but one of Heaven... Who or what is our Grim Reaper, who harvests and distributes all unclaimed souls? There's no one in Hell who knows. The High Seraphim in Heaven aren't able to provide us with any answers either. They only know we were bad people based on the fact that we're down here.
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A sudden thought hits him. His gaze shoots towards the drink cart to have another good look at the bottles because for a manic moment, he wonders whether something spiked with Valentino's saliva made its way into the selection. Completely unintended, because that kind of roofie bullshit is not something he bothers with- it doesn't even work on him- but those types of bottles do drift around Vee Tower sometimes. He doesn't see any reddish or pink hues in the whiskey, though. Somehow, that brings no relief at all.]
Uhhhh... [C'mon Vox, pull it together.] Right, so... So whoever put that in place is between the seraphim and God? I could figure it out once I'm up there, I'm sure. Take God's throne and order the information to be delivered on a silver platter. Or gold, or whatever the fuck those people prefer.
[Sure, Vox is still engaging with the conversation, but his gaze is also very much locked on Alastor's hand. Part of him expects that the radio demon will try to break his wrist. He should retract his own hand, but at the same time he really doesn't want to. This is the most dangerous game of gay chicken he's ever played.]
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In any event, there's nothing out of the ordinary in his features. His pupils aren't dilated, or at least no more than would be expected with the low lighting. He's quite capable of holding a conversation like this. He's calm, collected, acting as he pleases as always.
He's Vox's little prisoner too, so of course he can't do anything to harm him. Rather, he's going to switch Vox's arm from one hand to another so he can continue his little caresses while still freeing up the hand closes to Vox.
He has to bend slightly to one side to manage it properly, but his now free hand is shift along until he finds Vox's side, a fingernail tracing along where he knows those vents are before coming to rest on his thigh and rubbing it. He rubs it gently. And he still continues on, voice level, as though he weren't doing anything scandalous at all. For someone who was so bold as to fuck his porn star director boyfriend in front of him, this much should be nothing to the media overlord. ]
It depends on which scripture you subscribe to, but what do precious metals matter in Heaven? But if you could do that, then you would be able to harvest and distribute mortal souls as you please. I'd say that's as close as you can get to becoming God as you can get without losing who you are.
[ His ears are tilted forward, too. It's a comfortable position where he's listening to what Vox has to say with care, twitching slightly in response to any sounds. ]
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Alastor's enough of an asshole for it to be both.
He should save himself the humiliation and pull his hand away before he gets bitten. He really, really should. Why can't he bring himself to do it? Why does the fingernail rippling along the vent bring a pleasant tingle when he knows he's opening himself up to attacks? Ahhh fuck.]
... Without losing who I am? What? [He laughs awkwardly.] C'moooon, I was always supposed to be a god, so once I actually get there, I'll be like... the real, true me. That's not losing who I am, that's me slotting into my rightful place. So yeah, I could take divine judgment on as part of the job description. Why not? It'll be a whole lot more fucking fair than whatever's is going on right now.
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[ Vox. The people's voice. Hell's equivalent of the Speaker of God, but far more proactive. Far more useful.
And it really is both, because Vox should know Alastor well. He isn't the sort to do things for the sake of it. He would certainly never degrade himself, and so if he's experimenting now, it's because he wishes to. He's testing it out to see how he feels about it for his own sake. To that end, he'll go as far as to guide Vox's hand up, placing his thumb over the others fingers to force them to curl before he pushes his cheek against them.
His fingers slide up the others thigh, toying with and testing with his hem. Nimble fingers slip beneath it, pressing against the edge of his torso and sliding along, coming to play with the button of his pants, sliding it through the hole, and -
And stopping, one eye closing before he gives a little tug, and then again, as he hits the limit of his cable. He doesn't try it past that either, or at least not more than once, because it's embarrassing enough, and his smile thinning out instead and his hand retracting, Vox's hand then gingerly placed back on the armrest, before Alastor finally folds his legs and rests both his hands on his knee, eyelids resting low.
They're not talking about it. ]
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Alastor's other hand is up to something much more dangerous, causing Vox to swallow thickly. There's still a chill of goosebumps prickling at him, because while he's uneasy about all of this, there's also a light hint of anticipation weaseling its way in. A twinkle of hope, sputtering and sparking to life against better judgment. His focus slips to the sensation of Alastor's fingers sliding along his torso, and-
And there it is. The distinct sound of a cable pulled to its extreme, refusing any more give. That's as far as it goes.
Vox leaves things as they are. He won't give Alastor any more freedom- especially not after how much he's already given tonight. He's not that stupid. Bitter and unwilling to budge, he uses both hands to button his pants again, then tugs down his shirt to make sure everything's in place. And yes, there is zero intent to talk about it.
Right. The god thing.]
... I'm aiming to be The God, not a god. So once I am that God, I'm the one making the rules. Nobody said the one true God has to be a hermit who refuses to interact with anyone else. So in case that's what you were hoping for, no, you wouldn't be rid of me.
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Such is how their relationship tends to go. Alastor pushes, Vox pulls. Alastor shoves, Vox pulls him down along with him. One is used to cushion the other's fall.
He huffs, exactly like he didn't know how this was going to turn out from the start because he had checked the length of those cables for a reason. Is he actually annoyed? Is he not? Does he just want to be difficult? In this particular case, there really is just absolutely no way of telling with Alastor since it's not like anyone else has gotten this far with him. ]
I wouldn't dare hope to be.
[ HUFF!!! ]
You still haven't picked a movie.
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me trying to hit the preview button like:
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