Alastor's ears turn to the source of the sound before his head does. Radio never needed video, and so Alastor never needed Vox. He has always thought in this way, and he continues to now. Even so, Vox is the only one in Hell who can catch his signal, and if he had the self-awareness to realize it he might find some profound thought or another.

But as it is, there has never been any reason to do so and there isn't now, and so Alastor only knows that Vox is here, in this place where he shouldn't be. The sound of his footsteps are muffled by the plush carpeting as he strolls along. He comes to a stop after a spell, raising his microphone and tapping the front of it before he shakes his head. He opts to fold his hands behind his back.

"I know that you're here, Vox. You can't hide from me," He says in a cheerful sing-song voice that shifts into something marginally more formal, "And as the host of the hotel, it's my duty to welcome you. And I did miss you during your visit to the hotel, after all."

He's tactful enough to keep his voice to a reasonable level (mostly for his own sake,) just high enough to be heard, and considerate enough not to immediately flush him out. He'll give him a chance to greet Alastor on his own terms first.