badend | closed to @videokilledtheradiostar

I’ll keep that in mind.

[The wheels of the chair echoed in such a high-ceiling room, forcing him to glance up for a second. It was so frustrating watching Alastor control even the chair, making it move where he wanted it, using it to hit his desk. Couldn’t Vox have one thing that went his way?

There was a snort and a glare and yes, yes, he got what was being laid out before him. That would be terrible ratings, a shitty trope that wasn’t favorable to anyone, let alone himself. He needed Alastor awake, needed his most (ugh) important audience member to witness his triumphs, his victories.

And that meant keeping this asshole in working order. At least, for awhile.]

It would be rather anticlimactic if you did, a letdown after how much you’ve built yourself up. If I wasn’t concerned about the optics, I might almost enjoy how pathetic it would be.

[The door to the office opened, a hesitant sound as his assistant brought in two plates under silver cloches. They were set down atop the desk with a quick reminder to Vox about his two-o’clock meeting, and then he vacated, clipboard clutched in his free hand.

Vox looked over at Alastor, before raising an eyebrow.] Well, what are we doing about your ability to eat? I don’t plan on feeding you.

[ There was a shift in demanor for those moments in which Vox's assistant is in the room. It was subtle, but noticeable, in how he sat at attention. He followed the man with his eyes, his gaze sharp and his grin even sharper, and far more befitting of an infamous Overlord. It was there and gone, slipping back into something more casual the moment that they were alone again.

That was the question of the hour, now wasn't it? He could be so helpful as to give some suggestion, or at least point out the obvious, but there was no fun to be found in that. Besides, Vox would have an answer to this problem and do what he wanted to anyway.

Instead, he leaned to one side, head canted, his ears flopping down to one side. He squirmed just a tad, pulling at the restraints in a fruitless effort to move his hands. He was already looking appropriately pathetic, except it was all performative gestures.

He leans back in his chair, far enough for his feet to come off the ground, tapping the desk with the tip of his shoe. He shrugged. ]

I give up.

[ Very helpful. ]

Edited 2026-01-04 00:37 (UTC)

[Vox’s gaze was on Alastor as Ethan backed out of the room, casually worried that there was a threat. Could Alastor kill his assistant even bound as he was? Probably. But Ethan was useful and had lasted longer than the last seven, so it would be a pain in the ass to lose him now. He didn’t have time for interviews.

But the door closed behind him without incident and they were alone again. The change in body language didn’t go unnoticed, and Vox had his own pieces as well: the relaxation in his shoulders, the pinched edge of his lips, the way his fingers relaxed against the keyboard. But confidence still ran through him, something tangled in deep with his ego, and his grin widened. ]

Yeah, you’re good at doing that, aren’t you?

[Very helpful, indeed. He took off the cloches to reveal two very different meals: one with a rare steak and a potato puree, and the other was a…garden salad. Dry. No dressing.

Vox smiled and slid the salad over to Alastor, before pulling the steak towards himself. As he cut into it, the juices started to spread across the plate, and he made sure to make the most audible MmmmMMmmmMmm noises as he ate. Really quite good.]

Hmmm, quite a conundrum. Looks like you might have to just bend over and try to have a bite, huh?

[Like a deer in the wild.]

[ And there it was!

He's known this man for seven decades, and there was precious little that he could do to surprise Alastor. There was even less that he could do to upset him. In fact, he snorted upon hearing the comment for how ridiculous the suggestion was. Just as Vox has no doubt heard every joke and insult about his TV head, Alastor received no shortage of comments about his deer aspects when he arrived in Hell. ]

I'm impressed that your assistant has lasted this long.

[ It was a casual comment, one with no deeper meaning behind it. The look from before had been akin to putting on his public face, and so that observation was little more than a way of refusing to engage with the suggestion.

Actually, no, scratch that, he would - ]

And don't talk with your mouth full. It's ill-mannered. Boorish, really.

[ Alastor will scold him whether or not he actually was, because making sounds was also impolite. ]

[Was that a threat?

Vox’s eyes narrowed by a degree or two as he tried to read him, before he took another bite of the steak. It wasn’t that he was protective over his staff – he wasn’t, why would he be? – but Ethan was useful and Alastor…

Well, he was Alastor.]

I know how to hire people and bring out their usefulness. We both get what we want.

[And that was what he had offered, once upon a time several decades ago. Of course, one of them had gotten what they wanted back then, to grind the other’s heart into dust with humiliation, but that was just something Vox was going to ignore at the moment. It could’ve been better. It would’ve been better if he hadn’t been such a raging assho-]

Mmmmm.

[Don’t mind him being petty and slightly childish; it felt good. The whole victory tour felt good, and so would these little swipes. Setting the knife and fork down, he leaned back in his chair.]

If you ask nicely, I might untie one of your hands so you can eat.

[ The man really did take pride in making a food of himself. It was enough to make him wonder if the actual torture was intended to be the secondhand embarrassment that watching him brought about.

He had the decency to treat it as a serious issue, but in truth, Alastor was that sort of person who might forget to eat for days if not for the fact that he found it to be one of life's great pleasures. Food was, up until a certain point, more of a want than a need. That was all that much more true in Hell, where there was no worry of dying from it. ]

You've already killed any appetite I had, but feel free to make the offer again in two or three months.

[ That's about the maximum amount of time a normal human could go without. ]

No, that's not nearly long enough... [ The words were said in a mumble. He flicked his eyes up and canted his head for a moment before letting out a huff, ] Oh, forget it. You can just wait until you have something worth asking nicely for.

[Again. Again, Alastor didn’t let it bother him. Smarmy and a…an utter asshole, he was proving to be harder to get what Vox wanted than he had originally thought. If this was showing him nothing else, this was still true: victory hadn’t been the end; it had been the beginning.

It would be worth it when the despair, the true defeat finally kicked in, when Vox found the pieces that broke this outdated hack.

Vox took another bite, but the enjoyment, the flavor had gone out of it, letting it taste like nothing but ash in his mouth. When he was ruling over all of them in Heaven and Hell, then he’d show him. He would finally prove without a doubt that he didn’t need anyone, least of all him.

Then he would really be free.]

If you’re looking for better mass appeal by thinking you’re too good for me and my gifts, you’re going about this all wrong. See, I’m offering you a last meal out of the kindness of my heart, but if you don’t want it…

[He shrugged a little.]

Be a baby about it. I don’t care. You can’t bring me down when I’m winning this fucking hard.

[ Alastor had earned high place as Hell's most terrifying Overlord. He was quite disciplined, and he knew how to maintain control of any situation. And he knew how to handle Vox best of all.

This was all just a temporary affair anyway. Alastor had his own plans. ]

You might have offered me a cigarette instead. I would prefer that over a meal... So, do be a dear and get me a pack of Marlboro the next time you go out. Black if they have it, but red will do if not.

[ The lack of smokes was the most bothersome part of this entire affair, albeit even that was little more than a minor inconvenience. That should be enough to make him feel important though now, right? Alastor was even giving him the chance to deny him something. No attempts at bringing him down whatsoever. ]

[What the-

Vox couldn’t help the offended blink as he was – was given an errand? As Alastor gave him a chore?! His claws curled tighter around the fork before he slammed the sharpened tines into the desk, making the metal sway lightly as it stuck upwards.]

You must be losing your memory with your old age. I am not your assistant.

[Vox pushed out of his chair and slowly, deliberately stalked over to Alastor’s, pulling it away from his desk. Anger wouldn’t release him this time; he had been pushed far beyond his shortened limits. Hands slammed onto the back of the seat so he could lean close, nose to…well, flat television face. Red eyes darkened, narrowed with a rage that covered decades of lingering hurt that never went away, just festered like the wound it was.]

At the end of this, I will be your executioner and your god. [He bared his teeth.] And gods don’t go for cigarette runs.

[He stood up straight, let go of the chair long enough to go stand behind it, and purposefully moved it to the nearest closet. No more threats, just a promise and fulfillment in time out.]

You're boring me. [Which was an utter lie.] And I have work to do.

[ The Radio Demon hadn't quite been going for something as impersonal as assistant, but only because he'd never work the man. He leaned his head back and turned it away as Vox grew a little too close, his ears flopping to one side, but that was all. He kept looking at Vox, and his grin only widened in response to his outburst. If anything, he seemed satisfied.

Vox had wanted a reaction. He gave one instead. That made giving Vox the opportunity to enact some punishment well worth it, because that would fail to get anything out of him too, or if it did, the other man would never know.

He pushed his heels back just enough to keep his feet off the ground as the chair was moved. His gaze remained forward, ears up and at alert, and he paid no mind to the commentary about being an executioner or god. Those weren't worthy of dignifying with a response at present, and least of all when Vox was making such a fuss about a simple request. The final statement is more successful in garnering a response, though it was little more than a shrug of the shoulders and a nonchalant, ]

Go back to your work. I've had enough of you for one day.

[ Man or god, if they can't even get you a cigarette, what good are they anyway? ]

[Always with the response.

It didn’t matter. One of his cables snapped out, wrapped around the doorhandle, and yanked it open with a ferociousness that threatened the hinges. The room was dark and filled with coats, suits, and some storage pieces for the office; it was wholly unimpressive. Was it soundproof? No, and wasn’t that a regret right about now?

Whatever. It was better than staring at his stupid face, better than letting himself get distracted, better than feeling like Alastor was always trying to manipulate him, with trying being the important word. If he was going to have to listened to muffled bullshit through walls, that was preferred to staring at him.]

Enjoy your Time Out.

[It was a weak line to end on, something that really wouldn’t have the snappy staying power, but he didn’t care; he needed a few moments to pull himself together and think. His hand pushed the chair into the darkness, not caring if Alastor got a faceful of coat on the way.

And once the darkness swallowed him, he slammed the door shut behind him.]

[ Vox might have consider himself to be fortunate at that moment. It was a pitiful note to end on, but Alastor hardly had time to offer anything in return. He slapped directly into the fabrics before him, the tip of one foot bumping against something on the ground, and the banging sound of the door being shut echoed in his ears.

But Alastor was selective about when and how he behaved, and right now he was satisfied with his perfect victory over the other. He had managed to get quite the rise out of the other, one that was bordering on leading to property damage, and he had been removed from his watchful gaze. Now, Vox could take comfort in the silence that followed his suggestion being accepted - or rather, being forced into following up on his threat.

Not that he particularly enjoyed being locked in a closet. His ears laid flat back, and he did stare at the door for a few seconds. But it was only for a few seconds before he lifted them and fixed his too-thin smile, and he he rolled himself back enough to bump against the door .It was a gentle bump this time, quiet, and he followed by inching himself forward until he was at just the right distance to be able to lean back against it at a precarious angle. The chair that he was given was quite flexible, even being able to lay down at ninety degree angle. Thus, he resolved himself to stay just like this, so he could fall back and fall out of it. ]

[Vox replayed what he said in his head as he stalked back to his desk, knowing he could have done better. He was wittier than that, sharper than that, better than that. Better than him.

Alastor just had that way of getting under his skin, down through his cables like the electricity that flowed through them, and no matter how much time had passed, he couldn’t stop it. Vox walked back to his chair, dropping heavily into it and trying to keep the unwanted thoughts out of his head. He didn’t want to remember Before. He didn’t want to think about it aside from what it was: fuel to beat Alastor, to humiliate him just as ruthlessly as he himself had been.

But like a virus, they crept in: talks that felt embarrassingly easy and nervous on his end, plotting over drinks, cigarettes that he once-upon-a-time he didn’t mind sharing. A smile he didn’t despise seeing.

And that smile had turned to laughter, mocking and cruel and-

His claw hovered over the keyboard, frozen in thoughts and memories for a few moments too long before he heard the noise from the closet. What…what was he doing? Couldn’t he let Vox have one thing?]

If you are fucking up my suits, I’m going to let Velvette take you apart and stitch you back together again. [He didn’t move from his desk this time, but he did snake out one of his cables and let it cut through the air towards the door. If he didn’t have stuff in there, he might have just left him to do whatever was doing, but it was personal] (it was always personal). It curled around the knob and yanked it open.]

[ And there it was!

Alastor sprung out from the closet like a sideways jack in the box. He was tilted at such an angle that the back of the chair's seat easily fell back, and he found himself laying flat on his back. His legs were still crossed, knees pointed toward the ceiling, and his head lolled back so he could watch Vox. There were a couple blinks, because he actually hadn't surprised it to be that quick. Quick, certainly, but not that quick.

The toothy grin thinned out, and though the smile remained, it would have been hard to describe his expression as anything other than flat. ]

Do you mind? [ He said in some mockery of indignation. It was too dramatic to pass as it, and the undertones of amusement were quite noticeable. But it was playful, too, quite different than how he tended to treat others. ] I'm trying to think. I'm concocting all sorts of plots just for your sake.

[ Can this chair go back further? He experimentally tried pushing back on it, and it could! Now he was tilted further downward and at an even more awkward angle. It was hardly a pose that anyone would associate with such a terrifying figure, but Vox may have been quite used to those little quirks that started to show through once he liked someone well enough. He was at one time quite close to the man, and over the years of strife and insults and disdain, he had only grown more comfortable around him alone.

But all that aside, he hadn't been doing anything. Leave him alone. ]

Edited 2026-01-09 04:40 (UTC)

[Vox didn’t want to be this quick, either, but he couldn’t trust Alastor when he was making noise. …Or when he was quiet. Really, any time at all, but he needed to put him somewhere.

Six feet underground sounded nice.

Vox stared flatly (ha) at the other overlord, annoyed by the very existence of him at the moment. He got up from his desk and wondered if he should just put the lock on the chair so he couldn’t lean back in it anymore, but that would require him getting close. Was that part of his plans? Who knows.]

Do I mind? Yes! Yes, I mind. [His teeth ground against each other before he growled, a low rumble of anger.] Where did you learn to be a prisoner, anyway?

[Because there was distinctly less ~~apologies~~ fear and shame than he had hoped for. His eyes stared at Alastor’s, reading a book in another language, before he shook his head. Fuck it. His cable dipped in, grabbed one of the wheels from the chair and ripped it out. Enjoy a crooked, unbalanced chair.]

Fine, I’ll bite. What plots for me?

[ Alastor only stared in response to the question. His smile thinned out as his lips pursed together, his eyes widened with confusion, and one could practically see the question mark appearing below his upside down head. His head tilted slightly to one side, and his ears did curve accordingly, before both fell back into place.

Did he seem like the sort of person who'd ever learned to be prisoner? Though it was a bit of a facade. His life was nothing but careful acts and acquiescing.to those around him. But here in hell, there he had done no such thing, and least of all with Vox.

His body shook as the chair leaned to one side, unable to support its leg at one angle, and he found himself leaning in that direction. The smile didn't so much as twitch, and in fact returned to being a toothy grin. ]

Well, you see, I've thought of about a hundred new ways to annoy you while I'm here. After seventy years, I thought I had exhausted all options, but now I realize that there's no shortage of them! For example, I could have you pull out one of the wheels on his chair, and then it would make the most horrible sounds when it was moving across the floor! It'd be even worse if I pushed all my weight on it to make sure it was on the ground at all times.

[ Annnd just to make a point, he (still laying sideways,) will lean all his weight on that side and push just a bit - no more than a foot or so, but just to produce a scraping sound. ]

Or I could do absolutely nothing at all! That does seem to wear on your nerves.

[ Oh no. So scary. The most frightening plots. ]

[One digital eye twitched at that scraping sound.

Vox hated him. Fucking hated him. Why couldn’t he just realize he had lost and act like it? Was that so hard?All he had to do was apologize and beg a little, and maybe Vox would forg-

His cable wrapped around one the bottom of chair before yanking it hard to the side, hoping that it would crash onto its side and Mr. Plots-Like-An-Asshole would be forced to lie on the ground, still tied. He didn’t know if it would work – his score at this point was only slightly ahead – but one could hope.

But how much did it really matter?]

You know, I think I see what the problem is now. [His voice was calm, controlled, something cultivated from years in front of a camera, in front of so many adoring eyes looking to him. He even managed a smile, bright and as fake as they come.] I went with a chair rather than what lost animals really belong in: a cage. I’m sure I can borrow one of Val’s and have it brought up. How does that sound?

[ Oh that -

That did strike a nerve, but probably not in the way that Vox intended. Alastor had tolerated the little revenge tour. He tolerated being tied to a chair. He tolerated the being tied up, tossed around, tied to a chair, electrocuted, because all of those things were nothing more than what he himself would do to the other. He might not like it much, but it had always been a part of his relationship.

But his eyes narrowed now, and those ears, flopped down, pinned back. That grin stretched out as wide as it could. The chair did fall sideways as Vox was speaking, and it did leave him at an awkward angle, but that was long since forgotten.

Vox was playing a dangerous game, now. Alastor was treated as subhuman in life. He was an animal. He overcame all the odds, he reached heights that so many could only dream of despite it all, only to be treated as filthier than the dirt itself. It was what led him to such dire straits that he acted as he did. In Hell, he took down every single Overlord who dared to look down in him like that. In both lives, there was pleasure in it. Enjoyment. Fun. It was a high that no drug could give, because suddenly, he was in control. He was the one with power, he wasn't the one who was weak anymore, not the one who was hurting anymore, but the one receiving pleading and demands. It was a thrill that nothing could compare to, not in life, and not in Hell, not when his fellow Overlords had tried to look down on him in the same way.

His nails dig into his palms, and a trail of blood trickled out from below one fingertip. Vox was crossing a line here. ]

... Go ahead, then.

[ It's perfectly calm, though Vox, able to catch radio waves, might be able to catch the slight static of a dead signal that wafts off him. In its place is a venom, something so poisonous that it might melt metal, and that sharp glare is on Vox, as though he really does expect it now. That's quite uncharacteristic of the notorious radio demon who, despite his perchance for violence, was always quite collected. But his voice was equally careful and controlled, but in a different sort of way - something far more difficult to define. It matched his gaze - something old, and mean, but patient. It was what others might see in him, but not quite. It was just a little different, in some way that Vox would never know, having never seen it before. ]

Edited 2026-01-11 05:36 (UTC)

[Everything shifted.

Not visually, but in the air, the waves of sound, of shadows feeling different. Dangerous. Something had had side stepped in a way Vox hadn’t planned for, and he was left standing there, surprised.

No, not surprised. Unwilling. It was fun and satisfying to torture Alastor but not like…this. Whatever this thing was. His own lack of fear was unsettling, finding it replaced with some emotion that didn’t feel like anything of the sort. Respect? Maybe? But not that either.

Shit. Decades of the past came rushing at him, and it took everything in him to shove them down.]

Val’s busy today, so I can’t get ahold of him. You’re lucky.

[It was a weak lie, the screen flickering for a second before he reached down and grabbed the chair. Fuck, what was he doing? Why was he helping him back up? He needed to get out of this room, needed to get away from him, needed to his channels unscrambled. This wasn’t going to get him his goals, and at the end of the day, killing Alastor was what mattered as much as climbing that ladder.

So if he was pissy, why did it matter?

…

Because this way just did.]

Just let me work.

[ His shoulders hunched as Vox approaches, and his glare only grew more fierce. There was no resistance as Vox lifted the chair back up, though, nor did Alastor offer any objection.

Once the chair was upright once more, he adjusted the seat to place himself back in a proper sitting position. The chair now missing a wheel made it trickier to keep his balance, and there was a bit of wobbling at first, but he would manage.

Lucky. It was said to save face, but Alastor just couldn't accept it. Vox had dug his fingers into an open wound, one that had never fully closed, and one that had already been ripped back open. ]

I may have agreed be your prisoner, but I am still the Radio Demon. Do not forget that.

[ His words were as cold as ice, a tone that he had never been much inclined to use with present company. He may have certain deer-like traits, but he was the radio. It was there in everything from the gold teeth and pupils that become dials to the microphone that acts as an extra limb, to the voice that carried that constant filter.

Believing that his point had been point made, Alastor started to defrost. He shook his head, and the sharp edge finally disappeared from his words (though the displeasure was still present) when he continued, ]

Go back to your work.

[It still wasn’t fear that gripped Vox around his electric heart as he listened to that voice drop to tones that he hadn’t heard before, not even in the deepest of fights. He wasn’t afraid of Alastor, maybe one of the only foolish people in Hell who wasn’t.

No, this was an old feeling, a feeling of shame, or doing something wrong, one that he didn’t get by murdering and manipulating and controlling people. No, this was something that just tied to…to Alastor. He remembered something similar in a room full of people and booze and cigarette smoke (so much smoke), and now he had it here. This was a step he shouldn’t have taken, a miscalculation.

For someone so good at controlling people, this deer was never one he could figure out.

A flicker of something apologetic drifted through his eyes, watching him.]

That’s the whole reason I wanted you. [Shit, that sounded wrong. Overcorrect.] This. Prisoner thing.

[Nailed it.]

I’m not afraid of you.

[But Alastor had the situation now, controlled it as he dismissed Vox, as he gave him orders. Ugh. There wasn’t a way to get it back, not now, so he kicked the wall and headed back to his desk, leaving that closet door open. He didn’t want to work now, but there were pressing matters, and-

Dammit, this had all gone wrong.

He fell back in his chair and looked at the laptop screen, at the fifty-seven emails awaiting his attention.]

It won’t be long until I claim Heaven, and when I do, all this shit is going to change. Maybe you should think about how nice I should be.

[ Vox wasn't afraid of him, but he wasn't someone who looked down on him either. It was what allowed Alastor to treat him like an equal, and it was why no apology was needed in order for him to be forgiven. Despite being known for his violent acts, the radio demon was patient so long as he was treated with respect. And Vox, the only person he'd ever truly considered an equal and shared a mutual respect with (if in a way that only they could understand,) and who he'd known for so long, would always be shown more grace.

For him, flash of guilt and willingness to move on was enough. Alastor had gotten his point across.

The intensity of his gaze softened first, and by time Vox kicked the wall the tension had started to ease from his shoulders. He was still displeased, but just placated enough to scoot the chair forward and closer to the desk. He was no longer willing to move up to it, but he would move close enough to be able to study his expression. Based on that kick and the decided lack of work, he must have been sore about what happened.

That was fine. Alastor would entertain him until he felt like going back to it. ]

What does it matter to me? I'm already your prisoner. It's Heaven that should be worried.

[ He was still displeased, but not as much. His ears remained pinned back, but the levity had returned to his voice. ]

In fact, I'd say that I'm the one person that nothing would change for.

[ Or at least not in the same way. ]

[It wasn’t over, wasn’t smoothed and neat like it didn’t happen, but it was…something. Better, maybe, but not fixed. That would take time, and...it always confused Vox why he should care if it was. But there were lines he didn’t cross, one that was so entangled in who they were, and he had unconsciously betrayed those spaces.

Death wasn’t off the table. This – whatever it had been – was.

He watched him roll-ish back over, and it was back to a banter that was easy to sink into, to lose himself into. It fit like a well-tailored suit, and he was eager to put it back on. Eyes flickered to Alastor, up to his ears, then back to his eyes. Heaven should be worried. It made his lips crack into a small smile.]

They won’t know until it’s too late, but if they did, yes, I think they would be.

[A full rebellion.. Weapons. Usurping of their power. A regime change of the highest order. And all with him at the helm.

And Alastor…Alastor like this. At least at the beginning.

Vox blinked, looking at him with a tilt of that television when Alastor spoke. Hm.]

Because you’re going to wind up dead either way? Yes, of course. Think of the ratings if I aired it; one of the rare Radio Demon’s television appearances.

[ That was precisely it. Even if he entertained the idea of Vox succeeding in his conquest and fulfilling his promise of killing Alastor, he saw little point in worrying about it. He had countless guest stars on his radio show over the years, and he had been entertained every reaction that a person can give when faced with death. They would beg, plead, cry, bargain, threaten - none of which ever moved him.

They didn't matter to him all that much. They weren't what he was looking for. What he wanted was their screams, and he had always waited with such anticipation. His heart would race, his breath quicken in anticipation, and that first scream was like popping the cork on a wine bottle. It was always the start of his demon's banquet, a night colored red with blood and filled with agonized wails and moans, and the very thought of it made him shudder now. It had been too long since he last felt such a thrill. ]

If you ask me, a funeral should be a private affair.

[ There was still a wariness to his gaze, a slight tension of the shoulders, but he didn't otherwise complain about the mention of an audience for it. He had no right to. But the wine bottle would never be opened with him, not even as red wine spilled out of his body; it would need to be shattered open, because he could endure any amount of torture without screaming, and Vox was too direct to even try for that.

But, well - he already knew it. The man wouldn't try to kill him at all. He would fail at taking over Heaven. He would break their deal. But even if Alastor somehow miscalculated on all of that, he wouldn't harm him in any way that mattered. ]

But you could at least let me have one final broadcast. [ He shifted in his chair and tugged at his restraints, but not for any desire to free himself. Rather, Alastor was that sort of expressive person who always looked to speak with his hands. He was born for theater, but lived for radio. ] Less is more. You have to let your audience use their imagination at times like this.

[And that was the difference between them, wasn’t it? Where Alastor viewed the murders as an art form, Vox viewed it as a tool, something to clear the road between him and his goals. Obstructions were meant to be removed in a path, after all. It was just that sometimes, the removal process could be…messy. Bloody.

Fun.

Was it the murder that was fun or the victory itself? The single step closer to his divine right? Why couldn’t it be both? And really, he had enough work to get to in a day; there was no way he could fit a full torture session between his 2:15 Stakeholders Touchbase Meeting and his 3:00 Ratings Review.]

Is this your way of saying you want a closed casket? Because, spoiler warning: you might need one.

[Vox wasn’t Alastor, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy killing like him just this once? Hadn’t he earned it? Wasn’t there an irony in it? Or, shit, a poetic justice?

But, then again, who cared about justice in Hell?

There was a short laugh as Alastor was asked…asked for a final broadcast? Really? Really? Did- did he really think Vox was stupid enough to fall for that?

…Don’t answer that.]

Uh, no? Okay, for one: why would I give you the one place where you feel powerful? That’s not profitable for me. [Me, me, me….] And radio is inferior, outdated. Have you looked at people lately? They want to use less of their brains, not more! You need to drip feed them everything with shiny lights, bright colors, stupid jingles, and they thank you for it. The masses love televisions and screens and anything else I can cram in front of their glassy, stupid eyes.

Face it: radio lost that battle decades ago.

[The grin was proud as he swept his arms wide. Seems they both had a home for the dramatics.]

I could have given you podcasts and ASMR if you had taken my offer, but you-

[Were an asshole.]

-were a fool.

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Alastor is such a brat.

Being a brat truly is his thing. Vox wants to be a brat tamer so bad too.

HE DOES! He'll fail at it, but he wants to be!

Listen... I believe him (sort of.) He's just starting with Super Hell Nightmare Mode here.

He's trying Expert Mode and can't even make it through the tutorial with him.

He truly is.... On the plus side him failing is why alastor likes him

At least he has his priorities in order.

This has "sleeping on the couch tonight" energy.

He's pouty about it, but also....he knows he Fucked Up.

He did, but it's okay...... His wife will forgive him.

Buuuuut make him suffer a little first.

Just a little bit, because he deserves it... Those ears are staying pinned back.

It's fiiiiine. He'll pout where he can't be seen.