[As soon as Alastor falls back, the cables stop their frantic push. He can't see it from his current angle, TV still lying flat on the ground, but he can hear the scrambling which indicates even more distance. It's a reprieve. He doesn't know for how long, but it's something.
His chest is still rapidly rising and falling, breath quickened not to the point of hyperventilation, but to something dizzying anyway. His hands clench and unclench into fists at irregular intervals. The sound of his own name muscles its way through the haze and he doesn't know what to make of it. Is he being reprimanded, or is it something else?
The cables retreat for now, sticking near his sides like guard dogs- or, well, snakes- ready to strike again at a second's notice. He doesn't know what happens next, but as long as his arms and legs are being restrained, he's on guard.]
[ Alastor's fingernails scratch against his scalp, and he yanks on his hair. That anger is still there. That restless energy needs somewhere to go, and even more now, but there's nothing that he can do with it. He forces himself to take a deep breath instead. He breathes in once, twice, and by the third or fourth breath he stops pulling at his hair. He wipes his mouth again. The taste of blood is still there. The media overlord's blood leaves a foul aftertaste. ]
You don't want to die.
[ His tone has returned to its normal cadence. He's outwardly collected again. He scrubs a little more before he takes his staff in hand and pushes himself up. It was just one bite, but it was a hearty one. He can see the way that the blood stains his hands and jacket. His hair feels sticky in places. ]
You didn't want to die before.
[ And as he says those words Alastor snaps his fingers, and with it his games come to an end. The tendrils disappear, turning into wisps of smoke in the air. The entrance to the bedroom reappears. The mute button is toggled once more. Everything is put back the way it's supposed to be. Because if he doesn't, if they go any further than this, then Alastor knows that he really won't be able to stop. ]
[In truth, Vox doesn't know. He's already died once. It was a dreadful ordeal, but he 'lived on' past that, reincarnated into something different. He picked himself back up, pushed all the trauma down and kept walking. Dying is different now, just another inconvenience to suffer through. An extended, dreamless sleep quite possibly preceded by some kind of physical agony. And who even knows what happens to those slain during the Exterminations? Maybe there's a lower level of Hell that nobody can know of, since no one comes back from it.
He doesn't know. He does think it'd be nice to follow Alastor's advice and 'disconnect' for a little while. No haunting or obsessive thoughts, no heavy emotions, no responsibilities... Nothing. Just go offline and come back some other day, when there's a chance Hell might be different.
The tendrils vanish and at once, Vox's arms wrap around his bleeding torso. His knees bend, lifting up from the ground. He doesn't even realize the mute's been undone until a single word leaves him in an exhausted groan.]
[ It could be that no one really wants to die, or it could just be that people stop wanting to upon meeting them. But he can't think of one single person who didn't have their life snuffed out wishing that it would continue. Even here in Hell, it seems to him that people don't appreciate how painful it is.
Alastor conjures a towel as he takes a few steps forward to close the gap between them once more. He bends down on one knee beside him to examine the damage. It's nothing that can't be undone, and if the man can't patch himself up then Alastor will at least take responsibility for cleaning up the mess that he made. He doesn't say anything more yet, instead waiting to see if Vox will use his newly returned speaking privileges. ]
[As soon as Alastor steps closer, the cables rise up again, sparking and sputtering, ready to strike if needed. It's not needed, though. The hostility seems to be gone. That doesn't leave Vox any less of a mess, blood still seeping out from underneath his arm. It's staining the faux dirt below him. At most, the static subsides, leaving his facial expression less obscured. He peers towards Alastor from the corner of his eye, apprehensive.]
[ He confirms. Vox looks a mess. Pain is at its worst when a person is cornered, panicked, and afforded nothing else to focus on. Upon looking at the blood standing the ground, he has to admit to himself that leaving the man muted had been a mistake. The silence allowed him to focus on what was beneath claws and teeth alone. He might have caught himself otherwise. ]
Congratulations. You're the first one to survive.
[ He offers cheerlessly, unable to even feign any emotion. For anyone else, the only reward for winning would be a grizzly death. It was just one more way of making them despair. It was a staple for a reason.
He taps Vox's arm, indicating for him to use it. He needs to apply pressure to the area. ]
[Vox doesn't know whether he should be honored or not. He still doesn't even know what made Alastor stop in the first place. He'd seemed real determined to finish Vox off before. That stray thought of 'friends' comes to mind again, leaving him to smile bitterly. As if. There's probably some other reason, but Vox can't be assed to figure it out right now.]
Hurray for me...
[He moves his arm to the side as soon as it's tapped, allowing it to fall by his side. The sleeve's wet now, having soaked up a significant amount of blood. He'll have to teleport straight to his room and get rid of these clothes before anyone sees. The last thing he wants is questions about what went down.]
[ He tucks his other leg under him know, shifting into a proper kneeling position before he presses the towel against the injury. It's not like him to do something like this, and he's not quite sure why he is. It's not out of guilt, and it's not out of fear of retribution either. The pair of them tearing each other up is nothing new.
Alastor sighs, and he has the distinct feeling that he's going to regret what he's about to say, but... ]
You should at least get cleaned up before you leave... [ Or his injury, anyway. There's no saving that outfit. Either way, he'll take the time to clean up the mess that he made. ] Do you need me to stitch you up?
[The towel presses down, and Vox hisses loudly. He can't actually release breath through his teeth, but he sure can mimic the sound. The problem with an injury like this is that it's not just one wound; it's quite a few of them, all lined up in the same area. It hurts like a bitch, and he'll squirm as much as he wants.]
I dunno... Does it need stitches?
[He hasn't actually looked at it, because looking means lifting up his head and part of his upper torso. He'd much rather just remain flat on the ground for now. It leaves him blind to how bad the injury is.]
[ As he thought, Alastor is already regretting this decision. ]
Hold still.
[ Vox should count himself lucky that demons aren't at risk of infection, because Alastor would be pouring a bottle of vodka on that injury next if they were. But for now, he'll just keep applying pressure and ignoring the man's clear discomfort. He's an overlord, and Alastor knows how much pain they're able to endure. ]
I should say so. I bit down as hard as I could. In fact, I could see inside the holes.
[ Granted, it was only because he had his face up against the injury, but he could see how deep those teeth had sunk in. ]
[The notion that Alastor bit down 'as hard as he could' leaves Vox with an odd, conflicted feeling. He should be insulted. Angry. But he's not. Now that he's over, he's strangely alright with it. And it's not that he had it coming- that this makes them even. All it did was push the scales back in Alastor's favor, ensuring that what was done to Vox over the years is ten times worse than any attempt to get revenge.
It's weird.
He lets out a low grunt, eyes closing as he admits defeat.]
Fine. Stitch it up. This body got fixed just fucking last week, I don't need it messed up again.
[ Vox is lucky that he had stopped early, then. He had an idea of what he would do next. He could tear his chest open, a perfect match for what happened to him. He could take his fingers off one by one, joint by joint, and cauterize the wound, and that would just be the beginning. Overlords are quite sturdy, so he could get away with starting with grand displays.
If it were any other time, he might casually note it. But he was just a brush away from it, and that does bother him. He hadn't meant to let things go that far. ]
Oh, you'll be fine. It's just a few puncture wounds... Now, if it were your thigh, you would have a problem on your hands, because you would likely be missing a chunk of it right now.
[ Explaining the difference between the "I want to bite you" bite and the "I want to eat you" bite is probably not much of a step up, but at least it's more in line with his normal behavior?
He works as he stalks. Alastor holds his hand a few inches above the injury, pinching his index and middle finger together with his thumb, and bobbing his hand to thread some imaginary thread and needle as he moves it along. The stitches appear as he does so, closing up the wounds, quick and precise and bringing with it the same sting that would come with having them threaded by hand. ]
[Vox's hands curl right back into fists as soon as he's hit with the additional sting of thread piercing and pulling at his skin. Just another one of those unpleasant pains that he can't quite ignore or flip around into something he might enjoy. All he can do is bear it until the wounds are closed.
Alastor's talking does help to distract a little. The hum in the man's voice somehow always feels like it vibrates somewhere deep inside Vox.]
... That'd be a little harder to hide, yeah. And harder to fix. But at least you'd have a nice snack. [He laughs weakly, reaching that point where he reflexively tries to lift the mood with bad jokes.]
I would. You'd give me indigestion if I had too much, but I wouldn't mind a bite or two... You have quite the unique taste, you know. I think it's the electricity.
[ There's the mechanical parts too, but there's a bit of something extra - or maybe it's just Alastor's imagination. It doesn't really matter. His eyes flick up partway through, but there's not much to be done for the pain that it brings on. Still, his magic (if one could call it that) is a fair bit more efficient than traditional medicine, and so he's able to make quick work of it.
Once done, he examines the neon green stitches that are left in place, double checking to ensure that nothing has been missed. He's done this sort of work on himself countless times, but he can't remember if he's ever done so for another person. Everything looks to be in place, though, and he's stemmed the bleeding... There's the other side too, but that shouldn't require more than bandaging. He had only been trying to keep him in place. ]
[Not really. Is it bad that Alastor's gotten a literal taste of him now? Is the radio demon going to be drawn back to that? Vox hopes not. A little play biting is welcome, he gets that all the time from Val, but this was an outright chomp with very different intentions.
He waits for the stitching to finish, still clenching and unclenching his fists every so often. The prick of discomfort in his other side is barely noted. Whatever's going on there is probably just papercut levels of injury for someone like him. Once the job's done he finally tries lifting himself up into something more of a sitting position, resting his weight on his bent elbows and lower arms.
His first instinct is to complain about the neon green, but he swallows that back down. He's on plenty of thin ice as is.]
[ It's a consideration that he doesn't tend to afford others. It's more care than he shows himself, despite it being the bare minimum, because Alastor is of that generation that believes themselves able to walk things off. If it's something he can't immediately heal, then quick stitches will do.
But Alastor is also a person who isn't inclined to admit to being wrong, much less apologize, and so it's in this way that he can that he can acknowledge that he had gone too far. He doesn't want Vox to be afraid of him in that way. He wants that sort of fear that's born from respect and acknowledgment, from the knowledge of his talent, not the sort of bestial torture he's capable of. The latter is a means to an end anyway, and one reserved for a specific group of people. Quite enjoyable, but in that sort of way that cream and sugar in his coffee are.
They're not friends, but they're... Something. And that look that had been on his face, the prickling tears and static, was something he hasn't seen before - almost like he were the monster he makes himself out to be - and it bothers him more than he thought it would. It tugs at him even as he slips back into his normal demeanor.
He reaches over to tug Vox's shirt down. There's no need to keep him looking like he's about to be dissected. ]
[Vox is also very much of the 'walk things off' generation. That mindset lasted for a long ass time. He holds himself back when he gets into too much discomfort, but even then it's the 'don't make any strenuous movements' type of holding himself back as opposed to just resting. He'll be stumping around Vee Tower again within a day, whether that's wise or not.
The wound still looks messy. Red is smeared all over his abdomen, some of it still shimmering wet. His shirt being pulled down helps to hide it, but he can still smell it and he can still feel it. It's disgusting. The first thing he'll do when he gets back is get in the shower and try to dab himself clean.
He sits up all the way, but doesn't stand just yet. His gaze goes towards Alastor's knees, lingers there for a second, then moves further up to meet his eyes.]
You feelin' better now? Less of a burning desire to kill?
[It feels dumb to ask, but he feels like he has to. Things have been unsteady ever since they made that deal- maybe even since Alastor came back and started working at this stupid hotel. Did this help with the reason he was invited over here at all?]
I don't plan on doing that again, if that's what you're asking. Your blood has a strange aftertaste.
[ Though that isn't stopping him from licking the blood that's left on his hand, starting with his palm. The radio demon is normally far more dignified, and this habit of his in particular is disgusting, but they've known each other too long for pretenses. He seems pleased with that much, at least. His ears are still pinned back, but his gaze does grow more relaxed as he moves onto licking his fingers.
At least it answers the question of if Vox needs to worry about being bitten, at least. His teeth are a part of his arsenal as much of anything, and he's already torn wires and the like with his teeth, but nothing as dramatic as trying to crush flesh and bone alike with his teeth.
He hesitates for a moment before answering more directly, ]
But, I am feeling better now.
[ For some definition of the word better, at least. That need to kill the man before him, to tear him apart, seems to have been snuffed out all at once. ]
[It was partly what Vox was asking, if only because he was considering offering it up as a solution to the bigger problem. That if it made Alastor feel better, they could make an arrangement to have him bite (but not eat!) Vox every so often to vent those emotions that Alastor insists he doesn't have. And then maybe Vox could electrocute Alastor every so often, and between those actions, some kind of twisted truce could roll out. If the aftertaste is too strange, though... No point to it.
The second Alastor starts licking his own hand, Vox's gaze is on the man's tongue, watching it lap along palm and fingers. That's... That's a little distracting. Ahem. He watches for the longest moment before finally tearing his gaze away, staring towards the door instead.]
Okay... Okay good. [A moment's pause, then he feels confident in getting huffy about what happened.] Now. Don't ever fucking put me on mute again, bitch.
[ Alastor drags his tongue along every digit without a care for what effect it might have on present company. The intention wasn't to get a reaction, but there is a satisfaction in watching Vox have to avert his gaze. He doesn't take it personally, but he does think that it really is no wonder that the man had to hook up with a porn director.
His ears finally lift back up in response to Vox's complaints. There's two more licks before he swallows and drops his hand back down. That's about as much as he's going to get off. ]
If you don't want to be muted, you should try staying quiet and listening every once in awhile. I don't think I've ever met a man who loves the sound of their own voice so much.
[That just fuels Vox's indignation even further. The way he remembers it, he was hardly saying anything when Alastor muted him. It was definitely far less than he usually would've spoken, and the hypocrisy is so thick, he has to point it out.]
Are you kidding? You're the one who dragged a simple message out into a twenty minute monologue! Fuckin' typical of radio.
[A dangerous thing for him to say, considering he got invited into this conversation because he'd overstepped some serious boundaries recently, but he couldn't stay silent on that. Which... maybe... proves Alastor's point. Ah fuck.
Shaking his head harshly, he finally starts getting to his feet, using the cables to help lift him up with more ease.]
Because you weren't listening. You stop paying attention the moment that something isn't presented in the form of a ten second sound bite.
[ Maybe he was being more disciplined than usual, but it wasn't enough, and in the end the conversation accomplished nothing except pointless violence. He had known that it would, too, so what was the point of calling him here?
The radio demon was able to get the answers that he was searching for, but even that feels like a waste when they do nothing to help him. It did, however, lead to him doing everything he promised not to in lashing out... The more he thinks on it, the more he's resolving to never do something this ill-conceived and ill-advised again.
Vox starting to get to his feet prompts Alastor to do the same, pushing himself and glancing toward the bedroom door. He's not planning on kicking the man out, but they've reached the part of the conversation where it turns into arguing, which means one of them is going to end it before long. That's just how it is with them. ]
[It's an almost childish little grumble. There's so much more he could protest. So much more he could point out to defend himself, but all those arguments just sort of die in the back of his mind. Opening that can of worms any further means they'll start bickering back and forth again. Vox isn't in the mood for any of that. He just wants to go home, get cleaned up and... whatever. He'll do whatever. It's been a long couple of weeks. Maybe he needs one of those detox treatments Velvette keeps talking about. He doesn't know what they are, but she swears that they help her recalibrate her... something.
He pulls his shirt down a little further and adjusts his jacket with both hands. It doesn't make much of a difference, what with the blood stains, but it still brings a sense of satisfaction just to know the fabric isn't awkwardly bunched up anywhere.]
Okay, well, guess that wraps it up. Next time, send me a letter.
[ Alastor offers no response, but walks to the door in silence. He's already written this entire intersection off, so why waste any more time on it? No, he's quite content to just open the door and gesture towards the hallway with a dramatic little flair, looking just the way heal always does. It's like the conversation never happened. ]
You know the way out.
[ Refusing to even show someone out is poor mannered enough that it tugs at him, but Alastor has exactly zero desire to see anyone while looking such a mess, and even less in answering questions. Vox will just teleport anyway. ]
[All the cables retreat into Vox's body with a discreet little whir and a snap. He doesn't need them to walk. He refuses to need them. It does mean his motions are somewhat stiff as he makes his way over to the door, one leg in particular bending as little as possible. Still, he's walking without support and that's what matters.
This is fucking awkward.
He pauses near the doorway, debating his options. Sends one more stare Alastor's way, even as he prepares to step out into the hallway. Ooh, it's so tempting. He shouldn't say it, but- Eh. Fuck it. He'll say it.]
See you around, friend.
[Boom, shot fired. Now he's going to step out into the hallway, unsure whether Alastor will let him leave on that note or grab him by the scruff of his neck to pull him back in.]
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His chest is still rapidly rising and falling, breath quickened not to the point of hyperventilation, but to something dizzying anyway. His hands clench and unclench into fists at irregular intervals. The sound of his own name muscles its way through the haze and he doesn't know what to make of it. Is he being reprimanded, or is it something else?
The cables retreat for now, sticking near his sides like guard dogs- or, well, snakes- ready to strike again at a second's notice. He doesn't know what happens next, but as long as his arms and legs are being restrained, he's on guard.]
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You don't want to die.
[ His tone has returned to its normal cadence. He's outwardly collected again. He scrubs a little more before he takes his staff in hand and pushes himself up. It was just one bite, but it was a hearty one. He can see the way that the blood stains his hands and jacket. His hair feels sticky in places. ]
You didn't want to die before.
[ And as he says those words Alastor snaps his fingers, and with it his games come to an end. The tendrils disappear, turning into wisps of smoke in the air. The entrance to the bedroom reappears. The mute button is toggled once more. Everything is put back the way it's supposed to be. Because if he doesn't, if they go any further than this, then Alastor knows that he really won't be able to stop. ]
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He doesn't know. He does think it'd be nice to follow Alastor's advice and 'disconnect' for a little while. No haunting or obsessive thoughts, no heavy emotions, no responsibilities... Nothing. Just go offline and come back some other day, when there's a chance Hell might be different.
The tendrils vanish and at once, Vox's arms wrap around his bleeding torso. His knees bend, lifting up from the ground. He doesn't even realize the mute's been undone until a single word leaves him in an exhausted groan.]
Fu-fuck...
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Alastor conjures a towel as he takes a few steps forward to close the gap between them once more. He bends down on one knee beside him to examine the damage. It's nothing that can't be undone, and if the man can't patch himself up then Alastor will at least take responsibility for cleaning up the mess that he made. He doesn't say anything more yet, instead waiting to see if Vox will use his newly returned speaking privileges. ]
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... Game over?
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[ He confirms. Vox looks a mess. Pain is at its worst when a person is cornered, panicked, and afforded nothing else to focus on. Upon looking at the blood standing the ground, he has to admit to himself that leaving the man muted had been a mistake. The silence allowed him to focus on what was beneath claws and teeth alone. He might have caught himself otherwise. ]
Congratulations. You're the first one to survive.
[ He offers cheerlessly, unable to even feign any emotion. For anyone else, the only reward for winning would be a grizzly death. It was just one more way of making them despair. It was a staple for a reason.
He taps Vox's arm, indicating for him to use it. He needs to apply pressure to the area. ]
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Hurray for me...
[He moves his arm to the side as soon as it's tapped, allowing it to fall by his side. The sleeve's wet now, having soaked up a significant amount of blood. He'll have to teleport straight to his room and get rid of these clothes before anyone sees. The last thing he wants is questions about what went down.]
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Alastor sighs, and he has the distinct feeling that he's going to regret what he's about to say, but... ]
You should at least get cleaned up before you leave... [ Or his injury, anyway. There's no saving that outfit. Either way, he'll take the time to clean up the mess that he made. ] Do you need me to stitch you up?
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I dunno... Does it need stitches?
[He hasn't actually looked at it, because looking means lifting up his head and part of his upper torso. He'd much rather just remain flat on the ground for now. It leaves him blind to how bad the injury is.]
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Hold still.
[ Vox should count himself lucky that demons aren't at risk of infection, because Alastor would be pouring a bottle of vodka on that injury next if they were. But for now, he'll just keep applying pressure and ignoring the man's clear discomfort. He's an overlord, and Alastor knows how much pain they're able to endure. ]
I should say so. I bit down as hard as I could. In fact, I could see inside the holes.
[ Granted, it was only because he had his face up against the injury, but he could see how deep those teeth had sunk in. ]
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It's weird.
He lets out a low grunt, eyes closing as he admits defeat.]
Fine. Stitch it up. This body got fixed just fucking last week, I don't need it messed up again.
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If it were any other time, he might casually note it. But he was just a brush away from it, and that does bother him. He hadn't meant to let things go that far. ]
Oh, you'll be fine. It's just a few puncture wounds... Now, if it were your thigh, you would have a problem on your hands, because you would likely be missing a chunk of it right now.
[ Explaining the difference between the "I want to bite you" bite and the "I want to eat you" bite is probably not much of a step up, but at least it's more in line with his normal behavior?
He works as he stalks. Alastor holds his hand a few inches above the injury, pinching his index and middle finger together with his thumb, and bobbing his hand to thread some imaginary thread and needle as he moves it along. The stitches appear as he does so, closing up the wounds, quick and precise and bringing with it the same sting that would come with having them threaded by hand. ]
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Alastor's talking does help to distract a little. The hum in the man's voice somehow always feels like it vibrates somewhere deep inside Vox.]
... That'd be a little harder to hide, yeah. And harder to fix. But at least you'd have a nice snack. [He laughs weakly, reaching that point where he reflexively tries to lift the mood with bad jokes.]
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[ There's the mechanical parts too, but there's a bit of something extra - or maybe it's just Alastor's imagination. It doesn't really matter. His eyes flick up partway through, but there's not much to be done for the pain that it brings on. Still, his magic (if one could call it that) is a fair bit more efficient than traditional medicine, and so he's able to make quick work of it.
Once done, he examines the neon green stitches that are left in place, double checking to ensure that nothing has been missed. He's done this sort of work on himself countless times, but he can't remember if he's ever done so for another person. Everything looks to be in place, though, and he's stemmed the bleeding... There's the other side too, but that shouldn't require more than bandaging. He had only been trying to keep him in place. ]
... There we are. That's much better.
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[Not really. Is it bad that Alastor's gotten a literal taste of him now? Is the radio demon going to be drawn back to that? Vox hopes not. A little play biting is welcome, he gets that all the time from Val, but this was an outright chomp with very different intentions.
He waits for the stitching to finish, still clenching and unclenching his fists every so often. The prick of discomfort in his other side is barely noted. Whatever's going on there is probably just papercut levels of injury for someone like him. Once the job's done he finally tries lifting himself up into something more of a sitting position, resting his weight on his bent elbows and lower arms.
His first instinct is to complain about the neon green, but he swallows that back down. He's on plenty of thin ice as is.]
Yeah... Good enough.
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[ It's a consideration that he doesn't tend to afford others. It's more care than he shows himself, despite it being the bare minimum, because Alastor is of that generation that believes themselves able to walk things off. If it's something he can't immediately heal, then quick stitches will do.
But Alastor is also a person who isn't inclined to admit to being wrong, much less apologize, and so it's in this way that he can that he can acknowledge that he had gone too far. He doesn't want Vox to be afraid of him in that way. He wants that sort of fear that's born from respect and acknowledgment, from the knowledge of his talent, not the sort of bestial torture he's capable of. The latter is a means to an end anyway, and one reserved for a specific group of people. Quite enjoyable, but in that sort of way that cream and sugar in his coffee are.
They're not friends, but they're... Something. And that look that had been on his face, the prickling tears and static, was something he hasn't seen before - almost like he were the monster he makes himself out to be - and it bothers him more than he thought it would. It tugs at him even as he slips back into his normal demeanor.
He reaches over to tug Vox's shirt down. There's no need to keep him looking like he's about to be dissected. ]
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The wound still looks messy. Red is smeared all over his abdomen, some of it still shimmering wet. His shirt being pulled down helps to hide it, but he can still smell it and he can still feel it. It's disgusting. The first thing he'll do when he gets back is get in the shower and try to dab himself clean.
He sits up all the way, but doesn't stand just yet. His gaze goes towards Alastor's knees, lingers there for a second, then moves further up to meet his eyes.]
You feelin' better now? Less of a burning desire to kill?
[It feels dumb to ask, but he feels like he has to. Things have been unsteady ever since they made that deal- maybe even since Alastor came back and started working at this stupid hotel. Did this help with the reason he was invited over here at all?]
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[ Though that isn't stopping him from licking the blood that's left on his hand, starting with his palm. The radio demon is normally far more dignified, and this habit of his in particular is disgusting, but they've known each other too long for pretenses. He seems pleased with that much, at least. His ears are still pinned back, but his gaze does grow more relaxed as he moves onto licking his fingers.
At least it answers the question of if Vox needs to worry about being bitten, at least. His teeth are a part of his arsenal as much of anything, and he's already torn wires and the like with his teeth, but nothing as dramatic as trying to crush flesh and bone alike with his teeth.
He hesitates for a moment before answering more directly, ]
But, I am feeling better now.
[ For some definition of the word better, at least. That need to kill the man before him, to tear him apart, seems to have been snuffed out all at once. ]
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The second Alastor starts licking his own hand, Vox's gaze is on the man's tongue, watching it lap along palm and fingers. That's... That's a little distracting. Ahem. He watches for the longest moment before finally tearing his gaze away, staring towards the door instead.]
Okay... Okay good. [A moment's pause, then he feels confident in getting huffy about what happened.] Now. Don't ever fucking put me on mute again, bitch.
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His ears finally lift back up in response to Vox's complaints. There's two more licks before he swallows and drops his hand back down. That's about as much as he's going to get off. ]
If you don't want to be muted, you should try staying quiet and listening every once in awhile. I don't think I've ever met a man who loves the sound of their own voice so much.
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Are you kidding? You're the one who dragged a simple message out into a twenty minute monologue! Fuckin' typical of radio.
[A dangerous thing for him to say, considering he got invited into this conversation because he'd overstepped some serious boundaries recently, but he couldn't stay silent on that. Which... maybe... proves Alastor's point. Ah fuck.
Shaking his head harshly, he finally starts getting to his feet, using the cables to help lift him up with more ease.]
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[ Maybe he was being more disciplined than usual, but it wasn't enough, and in the end the conversation accomplished nothing except pointless violence. He had known that it would, too, so what was the point of calling him here?
The radio demon was able to get the answers that he was searching for, but even that feels like a waste when they do nothing to help him. It did, however, lead to him doing everything he promised not to in lashing out... The more he thinks on it, the more he's resolving to never do something this ill-conceived and ill-advised again.
Vox starting to get to his feet prompts Alastor to do the same, pushing himself and glancing toward the bedroom door. He's not planning on kicking the man out, but they've reached the part of the conversation where it turns into arguing, which means one of them is going to end it before long. That's just how it is with them. ]
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[It's an almost childish little grumble. There's so much more he could protest. So much more he could point out to defend himself, but all those arguments just sort of die in the back of his mind. Opening that can of worms any further means they'll start bickering back and forth again. Vox isn't in the mood for any of that. He just wants to go home, get cleaned up and... whatever. He'll do whatever. It's been a long couple of weeks. Maybe he needs one of those detox treatments Velvette keeps talking about. He doesn't know what they are, but she swears that they help her recalibrate her... something.
He pulls his shirt down a little further and adjusts his jacket with both hands. It doesn't make much of a difference, what with the blood stains, but it still brings a sense of satisfaction just to know the fabric isn't awkwardly bunched up anywhere.]
Okay, well, guess that wraps it up. Next time, send me a letter.
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You know the way out.
[ Refusing to even show someone out is poor mannered enough that it tugs at him, but Alastor has exactly zero desire to see anyone while looking such a mess, and even less in answering questions. Vox will just teleport anyway. ]
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This is fucking awkward.
He pauses near the doorway, debating his options. Sends one more stare Alastor's way, even as he prepares to step out into the hallway. Ooh, it's so tempting. He shouldn't say it, but- Eh. Fuck it. He'll say it.]
See you around, friend.
[Boom, shot fired. Now he's going to step out into the hallway, unsure whether Alastor will let him leave on that note or grab him by the scruff of his neck to pull him back in.]
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