[ There's neither resistance nor complaint when he's moved back to the desk chair, restrained just as below. It's precisely what he expected, nothing more and nothing left, which makes it on the whole more comfortable than whatever this mockery of a date had been. He had played along a little too much.
He shakes his head once in an unsuccessful effort to sober up. It does little to help, and his ears tilt back with that realization. The taste of whiskey is still on his tongue, and he would rather it not be, because he would really like to pretend this hadn't happened. There's just something about the entire thing that irritates him. There's no sense in trying to determine why that is when after tomorrow, he'll at long last be free of this man altogether, and Alastor instead rolls his eyes in response to his words, not quite looking directly at him.
He doesn't really feel like humoring him any further, but silence is consent in these cases, and so he gives a curt, ]
[Alastor's remark strikes Vox as ridiculous. Pointless. Who made it seem like he even has a choice in the matter? If Vox wants to do it again sometime, they'll do it again sometime. And he wants to push it further, it'll be pushed further. Not in the same sort of way as Valentino would with one of his toys, of course, since Vox has always found that to be in bad taste. Brutish and hollow. He prefers more subtle play, and what he wants from Alastor can't be gotten through that kind of force anyway.
He scoffs, tilting the muzzle around in his hand for a moment. Then he turns around to face the radio demon, grinning.]
Awww, it's cute how you think protesting is an option. It's not. But let's see where tomorrow's big statement gets us in terms of scheduling before planning ahead, huh?
[And with that, he leans in to plant the muzzle on Alastor's face again. No last words to get in for you, buddy.]
[ He recoils when Vox leans in. It's a barely perceptible movement, but more than he'd meant to, and more than enough to irritate him. This entire interaction suddenly has him feeling sore, and there's such a strong flare up of disgust that not even ripping the man before him into pieces could satisfy that emotion. He's unable to find any one thing to blame it on, and so he dismisses it as the liquor - the pendulum swinging in the other direction now that his usual mild manner has been disturbed.
But Vox isn't capable of anything but fucking up, so to pin it on him would be akin to blaming the janitor for mopping the floor. Alastor, on the other hand, should know better than to put himself in such a foul mood.
But he keeps it off of his face, maintaining that slightly bored look, and that's all that really matters. Vox can have his silence, and he can have his false sense of control, and Alastor can wait out the clock without paying him any more mind. Easy enough. ]
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no subject
He shakes his head once in an unsuccessful effort to sober up. It does little to help, and his ears tilt back with that realization. The taste of whiskey is still on his tongue, and he would rather it not be, because he would really like to pretend this hadn't happened. There's just something about the entire thing that irritates him. There's no sense in trying to determine why that is when after tomorrow, he'll at long last be free of this man altogether, and Alastor instead rolls his eyes in response to his words, not quite looking directly at him.
He doesn't really feel like humoring him any further, but silence is consent in these cases, and so he gives a curt, ]
Let's not.
no subject
He scoffs, tilting the muzzle around in his hand for a moment. Then he turns around to face the radio demon, grinning.]
Awww, it's cute how you think protesting is an option. It's not. But let's see where tomorrow's big statement gets us in terms of scheduling before planning ahead, huh?
[And with that, he leans in to plant the muzzle on Alastor's face again. No last words to get in for you, buddy.]
no subject
But Vox isn't capable of anything but fucking up, so to pin it on him would be akin to blaming the janitor for mopping the floor. Alastor, on the other hand, should know better than to put himself in such a foul mood.
But he keeps it off of his face, maintaining that slightly bored look, and that's all that really matters. Vox can have his silence, and he can have his false sense of control, and Alastor can wait out the clock without paying him any more mind. Easy enough. ]