[The scowl on Vox’s face deepened the more Alastor waxed poetic. The cadence of his voice got on his nerves, but it wasn’t anything more than normal. Those petty gripes were long past just being annoying and more of just par for the course.
No, no, he was scowling because Alastor had a point.
Which was not to say he was right; he wasn’t. But his argument wasn’t without merit either. The stuff they turned out was often drivel, was basic and required the level of consciousness of a five-year-old imp. They needed to explain all their plots over and over again because the masses were so addicted to screens that they needed to have more than one going at any one time. They couldn’t put them down.
But attention split amongst multiple screens did mean a thinner thread holding them there, bound to this entertainment corporation. And if something that could promise them something more – not radio, radio was boring – they might shift to that.
Shit.
But it wasn’t like he was going to tell Alastor that.]
You think I didn’t already pump the masses full of what I wanted them to see? That I didn’t cater everything to them by making them completely loyal and addicted to my programming? [Vox snorted, sitting back in his chair as he stared across to his prisoner. He wished he could have done the same to Alastor.]
I give them villains to hate on “reality” television shows that get them talking and craving their downfall. I give them terrors to be afraid of on the nightly news so I can control when they feel safe enough to leave the house. I tell them what items to buy with every commercial that I pump into their malleable, mushy brains.
And you know what they do? Exactly what I expect them to.
[But Vox wasn’t like the masses. He had enough brain power to want more, to want wonder, to know what true wonder even was. There were stories out there that could tangle around a person and leave them obsessed and guessing and reflecting– and that wasn’t what his stuff was. He wasn’t a writer; he was an exec. He was a controller.
And that was what Alastor was good at. Dammit.]
They won’t leave. Everyone - [He looked pointedly at Alastor.] - is right where I need them to be.
He's happy with his nice, warm chair. Too bad a wheel broke off. Vox could've sat on his lap.
[ Alastor would be a fool to argue the amount of influence that Vox had over the public. The world changed quite a bit over the course of a century. The denizens of Hell were always filled to the brim with vice, but it did seem to him that one day they had stopped thinking altogether. Those who came in later were particularly difficult to connect with.
It was a fragile set up, but an effective one so long as no one found a way to undermine him. His partners would not bet he ones to do so, or at least not properly; he did quite like them, but they were no more intelligent than the rest of the public. He had the impression that they thought of it as something closer to a family business than a marriage of interests, and so blind loyalty was of more significance than anything constructive. If only it were intentional, he could at least think of it as clever.
As it was, he didn't, and instead he just found that they're the same. The pieces on the gameboard were all where all exactly where he wanted them to be. He would watch as Vox's empire collapsed and look to see who would fill the space. It won't be him. He was an entertainer and a person who wished to be able to live as he pleased and without worry; nothing more, nothing less. ]
Yes, you do have your captive audience.
[ Literal and figurative. He leaned back in the chair, adjusting his footing as he did so. His gaze remained on Vox. This was, at least, more comfortable territory. He rocked back in his chair. ]
You're right though. People who want something to be afraid of. People who want to see others fail. People who want someone to blame when things go wrong. No one really wants to take responsibility anymore, so having someone tell them what to do and who to fear is quite convenient.
[ He rocked back in his chair. ]
Though of course, you're the only one who they can blame if this gambit of yours stops being entertaining. [ And so he repeated, ] They'll abandon you at the drop of a dime.
[ Though as for Alastor himself, well - he's a bit different. He's always been quite capable of taking responsibility. And seventy years is a long time to hold interest in someone. ]
He still could if the balance is right. Hard to balance with this weird head though...
The dynamics were slightly different than before, decades of hurt (one on end, at least) had morphed things, altered it slightly, but at its core it was the same: two twisted people discussing hypotheticals and plotting using the thrall of entertainment. It was theory, it was interest, it was hope and flaws and all the general pieces before they would get into the drinks and start digging into the nitty-gritty, or sometimes the weeds depending on the path of the conversation. In some ways, it probably sounded more like two professors talking, musing.
Instead of…them. Time had changed so much, but apparently they could find their way back to this ground.
These weren’t conversations he could have with Val, with Velvette, not this deep. Surface level, plans, some numbers, but the back and forth, someone to challenge him….That wasn’t them. Not like this.
That had always been Alastor, until it wasn’t.
Vox narrowed his eyes before tapping his fingers together, pointed claws clinking sharply.] How could it “stop being entertaining”? It’s an underdog story that shows the protagonist’s victory against every odd and fighting for them. Or, at least, that’s what they think.
[They both knew it was always for himself.]
And because this is “for them”- [Yes, he used air quotes.] - they’re going to personally be invested in this. They won’t be able to look away because what if they miss an important update? What if they can’t be the first one to post about the latest victory? They have to be invested; their lives depend on it.
[He waved a hand loosely.] Face it, I’ve thought of everything. I am entertainment now; I’ve become what I control already. I can never be dropped, and it’s perfect.
You’re just pissy that you didn’t think of it first.
True. Move him to an armchair, then they can both sit comfortably, without the random spinning!
[ Now this is what they both excelled at. There was a reason that he had seen such potential in Vox. He was sharp. He was forward-thinking. He was sharp in a way that those of Hell were not, and seven decades hadn't seen his brain rot out of his ears, as was the case of so many others.
He leaned forward, and already he was able to shift his footing along with the motion to avoid wobbling more than a momentary lean. He planted his feet more firmly on the ground, and his grin sharpened. This was familiar territory. Comfortable. It wasn't the same, but it was, because all that hurt and those sharp cuts could never damage talent. ]
It may be for their sake, but it's your story. Once you fail, they'll lose any and all interest. In fact, they won't have ever known your story at all.
[ The world would never have any need for failures after all. Alastor canted his head. ]
But let's pretend that you succeed in this little gambit of yours. It still stops being entertaining. The audience doesn't wants a few paragraphs telling them of success, not a hundred years of meandering updates on how you ensure that no one can challenge the new status quo.
[ Because about a century was what he would expect. It was a short period of time for any power in the human world, much less here in Heaven and Hell where those living in it had an eternity to claim the throne. Alastor was being quite generous in limiting it to that in his acceptance of a complete victory.
He skid one foot back. His ears remained lowered for a moment longer before they finally lifted back up, tilting forward, because he was listening now.
Old habits die hard, and whatever old hurts there were, however much they wanted to, the pair of them could never really escape each other. Video and radio, still intertwined, still trading signals even seven decades later. ]
The average person hardly cares for the success of others. They care about themselves and their stories.
[ And that is what Alastor had understood best. He had told stories for them. He offered distraction. His shows pivoted seamlessly, from one thing to another, but his stories offered them a distraction from their own lives. They were written for an audience. They were what he wanted, in an escape from his then meaningless life. ]
[But what were slights and scars and offenses other than fuel for ambition? Certainly, they were a way to make sure he got what he wanted when he wouldn’t get it any other way, revenge with the ambrosia of power, ready and willing to drink it up with the blood of those would barred his path.
Hurt only made him hungrier, if history proved anything.]
I’m not failing.
[It was a small sentence than he didn’t need to interject with; Alastor was poking him, waiting for him to fall for the bait and he had. Didn’t matter. Maybe they could both ignore it
His look was flat (ha) as he let Alastor prattle on, going on about what would happen if (when) Vox did win. The hard part was that Alastor wasn’t necessarily wrong: repetition bred boredom, and boredom bred two things: apathy or restlessness. He needed the first but couldn’t guarantee it after hundreds of eons.]
It doesn’t matter after I’ve won; I don’t need them. [Which wasn’t true, but he either didn’t want to admit to Alastor or didn’t want to admit it to himself. Maybe a little of Column A and a little of Column V.] Or maybe I just manufacture another enemy every hundred years and just keep this train a-running.
[It couldn’t be that hard; he created sensationalized stories all the time! What was another several hundred?
But that, too, wasn’t what he wanted to know. His heel tapped across the floor, before he asked, low and annoyed:]
What would you do?
it's like a cat exposing their belly, it's worth the risk of a little love mauling
[ Vox readily taking the bait was well noted. He was as easy as ever, but for just a moment, Alastor was willing to set that aside. ]
I wouldn't do anything. I have no need for that sort of publicity.
[ Alastor didn't have that same desire to be fawned over and adored. His work was his passion, one that allowed him to both connect with others and bring them together, but that was about his talent. He only otherwise asked for the right amount of fear and respect, and for that he only needed power and discipline.
Still, after a short pause he offered an answer: ]
I would simply keep feeding them the promise of something better, ad infinitum. "Happiness" is something that should always be at the tips of ones fingertips, just within reach, but never able to be fully grasped.
[ With happiness being of that sort of lasting and secure sort where one needn't spend their time waiting for the rug to be ripped out from under them. That might lose its appeal at some point too, but it would take time. It was hard to say what would happen if a person traded Hell's torture for a paradise where everything was given freely, but his best guess would be that Sinners would just turn the place into a more colorful version of Hell. That greed and selfishness would remain firmly rooted in them.
Vox had always been adept at tapping into that - he was always searching for something more himself; something bigger, better, and brighter. It was the sort of lie that Vox could sell so well. He could hand people a bucket with a false bottom while promising that they could scoop out all the water from the ocean. ]
Let's be real: Vox is a little bit of a masochist.
[Publicity bred power, control. People were thirsty for the scraps they could glean and the spotlights were bright; it was preferable to being lost in the shadows and forgotten. Forgotten. A footnote in a book that no one reads.
Vox couldn’t live like that.
Hell, Vincent couldn’t live like that.]
That sounds exhausting. [And endless supply of happiness just out of reach, a constant line of promises that he would have to imagine and at least partially fulfill. Would it make them thirstier? Yes. Greed was a helluva drug. But…]
Starving people are more likely to turn desperate. [One claw ran along a discolored line in the wood of his desk, trailing it without thought, attention.] And when people turn desperate, they revolt against the one in charge.
[He had done it. Again. Again. Again. He wanted that happiness of a future he could control, of the money, power, fame…adoration. So much adoration, mesmerized eyes staring up at him as he promised a new future-
He took a deep breath, shoving that memory back.]
I will be a god, Alastor. I don’t need their happiness; I just need their obedience.
Edited 2026-01-30 01:23 (UTC)
Pain n' Pleasure but mostly pain... Our sadomasochists. Al probably grooms you after mauling though.
[ His grin widened as he canted his head. He would speak of the past no more, but he remembered it well. Vox had risen to power at a rapid rate. It hadn't matched his own, but it was as close as anyone had gotten. Alastor had been able to see that there was something special about him. There was greed. There was want. There was something that he needed, and in return there was something that he could give others.
But he wasn't wrong either. It was a balancing act that Alastor couldn't commit to. And so he decided to give Vox an out of a sort. He rolled his shoulders before he leaned back and shook his head. ]
Of course, you have no hope of getting anything from me, and obedience least of all.
[ That wasn't entirely true. Vox had his attention. He had kept Alastor's attention for a full seven decades, been given it at a moment's notice, and who else could claim that? But that wasn't something he was aware of, much less that he would admit to.
But he did think, for just a moment, about how quiet those seven years in which he was gone were. How empty the airwaves had been. ]
[One long claw dug that line in the desk a little deeper. ]
What could else would I need?
[But they both knew, even if he didn’t admit it. There wasn’t a show of bullshit with saying something like Your head on a pike or To see you choke on a microphone; this conversation had moved beyond that surface level hurts and insults. It felt close to being familiar, a slow dangerous dance around the elephants in the room.
He almost wished that Val or Velvette were here to break the moment up, to pull him back and give him an excuse to refocus. To be in the Now. But they were off working or partying or …something. Hopefully working; it wasn’t during overtime yet. ]
You’re not the one I want.
[Which was both a lie and not- fuck, not how he wanted it to come out. Shit. Shit. Shit.]
I don’t need you. [Slightly better.] You just need to be there when I show you what winning really looks like.
[ They both knew what it was that Vox needed, but it would remain unspoken. It was too close to the man's heart, it would be too much to say, and most of all Alastor knew that it wasn't for him to say. It wasn't needed. But he noted the groove drawn into the desk. He noted the effect that he had, and that alone was enough of a reminder of how easy it was for him to touch on it - how much he knew that no one else did.
Vox needed him, and that was better than want. But he was willing enough to relent. He could let Vox move back into more comfortable territory. ]
You need me.
[ He kicked one heel up, let it drop down, and then repeated the motion once more. There was no one who knew Vox like Alastor did. His partners could never compare. ]
You have no hope of winning, but even if you did... You would miss me too much if I was gone. 𝅘𝅥𝅮
The words cut like glass under his blue skin, digging at him like teeth. That wasn’t true. That. Wasn’t. True. He didn’t need anyone. Everywhere he got, he got because he was smarter than other people, stronger, more ambitious. Alastor had nothing to do with it.
Alastor had nothing to do with this tower, this Empire he had built. He did that for himself. He…he did it for his own drive to be better.
Of course.
His voice cracked as he laughed, the smile wide and strained as if Alastor had told a joke rather than the truth lies that spilled like water from his stupid, fucking lips.] I didn’t know you did stand up. Word of advice: give it up.
[That nail did another pass in the desk. Anyone would be able to see it now. ]
If anything, you need me. I’m the only thing keeping you relevant. You’re not necessary, redundant. We replaced you already with more modern technology.
[His eyes stared at him hard, the smile falling from his lips.]
I replaced you.
[With partners who actually wanted to do this with him.]
I didn’t miss you for the last seven years, Alastor. Why would I start now?
STOP that's it... It's him, sort of. I've raised feral kittens so that's my characterization basis.
[ Alastor's hands are tied behind him, and so no one can see the way that his fingers twitch with those last words, curling into tight fists. He doesn't much care for any accusations that he was replaced, because radio was alive so long as Alastor was. There was a reason people tuned in. It was the way that he scratched their brains. It was the way he stimulated their imaginations. It was the way that he offered them a sense of security that no one else could.
There was so much that video could never offer. Vox could never replace him. But that doesn't mean that Alastor hadn't noticed how things had changed. It hadn't even been a decade, it seemed such a short amount of time to him, but it seemed as though the world around him considered it to be so long.
Seven years sounds like such a short and long period of time when Vox says it like that. ]
That's funny. You sure seemed eager to come greet me. You were happy to take me as your prisoner too.
[ He leaned forward. It was Alastor's reputation that Vox needed. It was his status. It was his power. He won't focus on that though, because that was all just a pretense anyway. ]
Though I was happy to be away from you for those seven years. You can imagine how awful being trapped with you now is for me.
[It was a shame he couldn’t see those fists form; Vox would have taken a lot of pride in that.]
I don’t have to miss you to want to make sure that you’re put in your place. [Finally, he pulled his fingers away from the desk, feeling some semblance of control back in his hands. Prisoner. That’s right. Alastor was his prisoner, his captive, his annoying bitch, not the other way around]
And your place is in some backroom to get dusty and forgotten like other outdated tech: VCRs and pagers and you.
[That felt better. That felt like the floor beneath his feet were a little steadier, a little more solid, and he made a show of it by sweeping to his feet. Heels clicked on the floor as he walked to tank behind him and stroked the glass, watching those lights flicker in the dark depths.
He didn’t need Alastor. He didn’t.
He. Didn’t. ]
Don’t worry, Al. Once I’m up there and a god, then you won’t have to deal with, well, anything anymore.
[He smiled, over his should back at him, smug and relaxed. Yes, this was just foreplaying playing. ]
You know, if you just admit that I’m better than you, I might keep you alive for a little while after I’m in place. I’m benevolent like that.
[ He could no longer remember what pages were, but the mention of VCRs did earn a brief tilt of the head. It was difficult for him to keep up with technology, but there were some things that he could member... Wasn't there a time when they were built into TVs? He didn't think Vox had ever used a model like that though.
He might have followed up with something about that, but the offer took his attention away from the mention of technology completely. That deserved his full attention. ]
Oh, I could never lie to you like that... But if you're going to kill me, you really do need to do it properly. I won't allow you to do something ridiculous as slitting my throat while I'm tied to a chair. I want something more personal.
[ He squared his shoulders and tilted his chin up. His ears perked up before they tilted in Vox's direction. He was placated by the change in subject, and he was satisfied with the reminder of just how much the other man needs him. This topic of conversation, now, was just a little game played between them, and Alastor did find himself with a stroke of inspiration. ]
It should be something inspired, like knocking me to the ground before strangling me. The feeling of your hands wrapped around someone's neck is rather pleasant... You might get a few scratches on your hand, a few cracks in your screen, but it's all part of the experience. There's really nothing like having someone writing beneath you.
[ And if that sounds sexually charged and like breath play, no it doesn't. Alastor was no masochist, but he did find it to be a more acceptable suggestion than whatever Vox might have come up with. For two people who have known each other for so long, if one of them was going to kill the other, it really did deserve to have a personal touch to it.
He rolled the chair a few inches forward, and he kept his eyes locked on Vox, curious to see how the other would take that suggestion. ]
[No, Vox didn’t opt for the VCR/TV combo. It felt too clunky after coming off of something that was already slightly clunky itself. Besides, VCR was a TV accessory, not a necessity.
There were rules to this.
He started to open his mouth to comment on just how he would love to kill him when he realized that Alastor was still talking, doing what he did best: weaving a story. Vox could show one, could sell people on it, but Alastor? He could make people imagine what they couldn’t see with a few well-placed sentences and the flow of his cadence, could steer their imaginations.
This wasn’t any different.
Vox didn’t know if it was supposed to sound as…sexual as it did. Maybe he was around Val too much, some of that rubbing off on him, but it felt more charged than that. He could feel the heat in the wires of his flat cheeks, the screen warming as he realized more and more how it sounded. It was close, it was intimate, the motions of his body as they kicked helplessly-
The screen went blank for a moment, dark to hide his expression, before flickering back on. Red eyes looked at Alastor’s ears, his eyes, his stupid smiling mouth and what the fuck was he playing at? This was a game, but Vox had brought cards instead of chess pieces for the board. ]
That’s really cute that you’re giving the executioner suggestions on how you want it to go, but you forgot one thing. [He pushed off the tank and strolled back over, palms on the desk while he leaned over.] It’s not up to you.
[It couldn’t be. Vox had the power. All of it. Fuck the games, we’re back to poker now. It was whatever he said it was.]
Velvette has this idea of doing a poll and letting the faithful subjects vote on what happens to you, since we are going to televise it. I would be happy to add it to the list of options, though.
[ The truth is that it was a little bit of everything. He was far more cruel in his methods in Hell, but Alastor had also been a murderer in life. There was never any intimacy to it. It was fueled by raw emotions, by blind anger and hatred and despair, but he could remember the methods that he used. He could remember well how each one worked. And he is too quite aware of who and how Vox is.
Which is all to say, he wanted to mess with Vox. It did wind up being more charged than he realized, much less intended to be, but he wasn't altogether oblivious to the double entendre. And beside that, it was simply the way that these things were supposed to go. It was one thing to just slit a throat or two for some insignificant person, but for someone who was so well known, it needed a personal touch. That was always how it went in stories.
But more than anything else, he had simply wanted to see if he could get a reaction. Alastor wanted to be entertained, and he wasn't disappointed by the outcome. ]
Hmm. No. You're going to decide on what to do all on your own. If anything, I'm the only one who should be allowed to give input. You won't air it either.
[ He moved his chair closer, then leaned forward in return, grin stretching out. He really was in no position to say these things, but that would hardly stop him. ]
And I'll tell you why.
[ Though he paused immediately after saying that. He had gotten this far, but what he has to say next would mean very little if the other had no interest in this conversation. ]
Alastor wasn’t wrong, again and again, he wasn’t wrong and that made it all the more annoying. Yes, killing Alastor would be different than the murders he did to get to the top of his tower here and the top of his empire there. This was a slight. This was vengeance. This was the thing to close the loop, a project left unfinished and forever haunting him.
But to be able shut that mocking voice up once and for all, to rob the air from it and those eyes staring -
He wondered if he could get angelic gloves, then realized it didn’t matter because he would just have them custom made when he was in charge. Problem solved.]
Ha! [He laughed in his face as he leaned forward a little closer, trying to wrest the control of the conversation back to himself.] If you think I’m not airing it, you don’t know the audience. That would be a rating powerhouse, unforgettable programming. It’s going on prime time.
[He cocked his head to the side a little, still grinning. What a dramatic theater kid. As if he was any better.]
[ He knew his audience quite well. Here and now, Vox was an audience of one, and Alastor was giving him a performance that few would think him capable of. He would excuse minor slights, and he was often content to let lesser sinners run with their tail between their legs after challenging him, but overlords were afforded no such kindness. He had killed for far less than what Vox is promising now.
But this was entertainment for both of them, and Alastor was nothing if not dramatic. ]
You don't share.
[ None of the things that really matter, anyway. Stardom, money, power. The Radio Demon, loved and hated, was tucked in among those things. The Vees were only allowed a piece of the former out of necessity.]
There's only two things that a person can only experience once: Birth and death.
[ True death. Not the transition from one life to another. Not the fatal injuries. Acta est fabula. The play has been performed; the story has ended. ]
But it's only the latter that comes with such a thrill! The blind terror, the defiance, begging and pleading, sobbing and screaming, the silence... You never know what you'll get! That's to say nothing of the ending. That moment when a person draws their last breath, those final twitches and movements and beat of the heart, the moment when that light in a person's eyes is extinguished... It would be a never before seen show, and one that will never be seen again.
[ He spun around in his chair, careful not to cause it to wobble too much, before planting his feet firmly in the ground and leaning forward. That toothy grin only grew wider. ]
You won't let a single soul share in that experience.
[ Maybe Vox didn't think so now, but he would come to that conclusion. He would want that thrill of knowing that everything was done for him alone. Alastor has never been so close as to know what it feels like, but he imagines it would be a feeling like no other.
Even this plan only held a place for one at the top, although Val and Velvette would have trusted second-in-command responsibilities and titles. They were loyal; he could trust them as much as anyone could trust people down here (and for what it was worth, there was a part of him that trusted Alastor. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have agreed to this prisoner plan to start with). But the place of power? The Title? That was his alone.
Was sharing in Alastor’s death the same? Wasn’t the victory after all a part of it, letting people see how far he had fallen and his ultimate defeat? Proving to all those people that Alastor was lying when he said Vox asked him to join the team and he declined him (even if it was true) had to be a part of this. And even if it was true, showing everyone that Alastor made the wrong decision was vital.
See what happens to people that cross him.]
There are ways to control what the audience sees: camera angles, green screen, lighting, background music. I have an entire CGI floor. I can still air everything while keeping parts of it just for me.
[Vox wasn’t stupid enough to think that Alastor would beg, would sob, would admit regrets. He didn’t even think there would be a scream, at least not one of desperation and fear. Would it have been nice? Of course, but he wasn’t going to hold his proverbial breath. Alastor would fight him, would goad him on, would drive in every barb he could, but he wouldn’t beg.
And that didn’t make for the best narrative. It could be spun, but it would be delicate work.
Especially when…Vox didn’t know how he himself would look. Excited, sure. Smug. Victorious like some king. There was nothing else he would show, right? No other reaction to have when the damn deer was finally dead.
Right?
Right?!]
But you’re right about the polls at least. A god doesn’t listen to his people; everyone on Earth could tell you that.
[ There were plenty of tricks as his disposal, but Vox would use none of them. He was resolute in that belief. They were video and radio. They ruled the airwaves. They could never escape each other. Even if they tried (and they had,) Alastor does believe that they'd always gravitate back to each other, drawn to each other's signal like a boat rocking at sea was a lighthouse.
No one else could understand that, and no one else would be allowed to share in it. Those who had known them for decades knew of nothing but their rivalry. Vox wouldn't let anyone in now, no more than Alastor ever would. The death of the other least of all, because to snuff out that signal was to kill a part of themselves too.
His thoughts aren't so organized as to be able to admit to any of that, of course, but he had thought on it before. He'd thought on it many times, even as he took care not to go too far. If he had to describe why that was, he might describe it as selfishness, or even some remnants of respect from a bygone era, but a jealously guarded devotion might be more accurate.
But now that he had said all of that, now that he had been forced to think on it in earnest, Alastor did find that there was a truth to his words. It was a disgusting, fucked up truth, something that no one else would be able to understand. That it was true - if he were really going to die, if Vox were to go so far... That performance needed to be for an audience of one. No one could ever gain the right to see or hear it.
That was just how they were. ]
Of course I am!
[ But he did chuckle as he considered the words. That was right, God wasn't listening. ]
By the seventh day God had finished the work He had been doing; so on that day He rested from all His work. His rest has continued ever since, and it will until the end of time.
[ And it might almost seem like he was wholesale willing to let the previous subject go. He almost was, but there was just one more thing - ]
But you'll think about what I've said here, and you'll realize that I'm right.
[They were entwined, and Vox was unwilling to breathe those thoughts to life as Alastor was. There had been a time where he had, once, in a smoke filled bar, but that had gotten him laughed at, mocked, ridiculed. He didn’t know why Alastor hadn’t killed him that night like it was some great offense; it might have been a mercy.
It was his mistake that he didn’t.
So yes, they were tangled as bad as computer cables plugged in by a non-IT manager, wrapped around one another and knotted up, necessary to exist. But Vox refused to believe that. Refused. Loudly, extremely loudly. And when Val asked questions, Vox was more than happy to growl out how much he wanted to get rid of him or how happy he was gone or how much better his life was without him.
He didn’t know if Val believed him. He should, of course, it was the truth, the complete truth, the whole and unobstructed truth. And Val wouldn’t understand because he didn’t get entertainment as they did. Sure, he had some visions, but it was different, smaller, contained. Nothing could come close to them.][If God even existed anymore. Or ever, really; maybe He was a myth to scare humans into being good people (gross). Either way, He failed, either literally or metaphorically, and here they were, planning for a coup.
Vox stared at Alastor’s too-close face for a moment more, fingers twitching before he fell back into the chair and stared at him. He hated giving up the ground, but-]
You think I have time to think about whatever you’re saying? I have a revolution to run, and revolutions take meetings, negotiations, and more meetings, and none of them are with you.
[One of his cables slid out and tapped Alastor on the forehead, trying to push him back down.]
And even if you’re right, it’s still ultimately up to me, isn’t it? So I would be nice to me if I were you.
[ The tap to the forehead was all it took for him to sink back into a more relaxed position. He canted his head, satisfied with his victory on the matter. He could afford to yield to that last demand. He pushed himself around, sliding over enough that he could look at the man's workspace. ]
Hmm... Fine. Then tell me what you're doing.
[ Or rather, what he was doing before Alastor had interrupted him. He didn't regret that, nor did he plan on relenting, but he would be so kind as to show interest. It wasn't as though the man had any need to hide anything from him, and in fact benefited from doing just the opposite (for some definition of "benefit," given Alastor's tendency to brush him off.)
He had people to meet with, people to negotiate with, but Alastor was the only one who had his ear. It was no different than how no matter how many times he berated Vox, called him a nobody, the man would always be the one person who could command his attention. There was an unspoken give and take between them.
And to that end he added, in a light tone of voice that promised it was only a joke, ]
And just who is it that's so much more important than me?
[He turned his screen as if he could hide it, but gave up halfway through. Alastor’s nosiness didn’t change anything; he could know, honestly. He wasn’t in a position to tell anyone while being stuck here, couldn’t send carrier pigeons or other outdated bullshit back to the hotel. It would be fine.
But it was annoyed spite that tried to keep him out of it anyway. Because making things easy didn’t help.]
Last time I checked, you didn’t want to be part of this operation.
[Bitch.
He snorted and went back to typing on the keyboard, fingers a blur of dangerous teal and blues as a flurry of letters spread across the screen. The truth was, he was responding to some sponsorship inquiries and trying to create an agenda for a meeting with some overlords on his plans. It was a normal day of the usual CEO life, only with less stakeholders that he could throw out windows.
His eyes flickered to Alastor, then rolled.]
Jealous? Because I got a list.
[No one was. They both knew it and wasn’t that the worst?]
I have created enough programs to be well aware that someone spilling all their plans to their rival is the fastest way for it to go sideways. Do I look stupid enough to fall into the oldest trope out there?
[ Alastor could do absolutely nothing so long as he was playing the part of a prisoner, and that was precisely why he could intrude like this. It would just be strange otherwise. But here and now, Vox had told him to be nice, and so he's being kind in nosing around in his business. And in fact, he did follow those letters with interest. He had studied and learned and integrated himself with the higher class, but he had never joined it. He couldn't have, even if he wanted to.
But he was willing to watch, and his grin only widened. No one was jealous, and that really was the worst of it, but Alastor would play along for just a bit here. ]
Oh, what am I going to do now? That particular trope doesn't apply here in Hell, not when we already have a deal.
[ His deal was to be Vox's prisoner, and so he would be. In fact, Alastor was perhaps the one person that he could trust not to spill any secrets now. There were plenty of other things he could do, of course - but he'd promised to be a part of his propaganda parade, and that meant not doing to harm his image. Not in public, anyway; here in private, he could insult the man all that he wanted. ]
But if you'd like, I can go back to pointing out all your obvious flaws and all the holes in your plan instead, along with your pitiable efforts to prove yourself to our fellow overlords. [ With the unspoken the same ones that are afraid of me. ] It's your choice. I'm sure that you'll entertain me either way.
[…what an annoying asshole. Why had he ever wanted to be partners with him?
Because it was the only thing that had ever felt right, felt…easy.
He made A Face, fingers still floating across the keys with the gratifying clacking mechanical sounds cutting through the air. There was no effort to turn the computer for Alastor’s eyes, but he wasn’t hiding it as fiercely as before. Tuning the Radio Demon out had never been his strong suit. ]
It’s sponsorship emails and an agenda creation for a meeting with the overlords. The agenda is for me, not them; they just know they’re coming here to talk to me.
[Was that enough information, Alastor? Probably not. Already he was hitting send on one email, working on a second while also scheduling a debrief touchbase with Val and Velvette after. Alastor didn’t need to know about that one, especially when it would eventually move to a two-person lingering touchbase.]
You wouldn’t understand. Your little radio station was a small, independent project, right? You don’t know the labor and effort of running a real empire in the modern age.
[Boom. Mic drop.]
Have you even had an employee, Alastor, or have you only ever been one?
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The nights are cold and the couch is lumpy. Jealous?
No, no, he was scowling because Alastor had a point.
Which was not to say he was right; he wasn’t. But his argument wasn’t without merit either. The stuff they turned out was often drivel, was basic and required the level of consciousness of a five-year-old imp. They needed to explain all their plots over and over again because the masses were so addicted to screens that they needed to have more than one going at any one time. They couldn’t put them down.
But attention split amongst multiple screens did mean a thinner thread holding them there, bound to this entertainment corporation. And if something that could promise them something more – not radio, radio was boring – they might shift to that.
Shit.
But it wasn’t like he was going to tell Alastor that.]
You think I didn’t already pump the masses full of what I wanted them to see? That I didn’t cater everything to them by making them completely loyal and addicted to my programming? [Vox snorted, sitting back in his chair as he stared across to his prisoner. He wished he could have done the same to Alastor.]
I give them villains to hate on “reality” television shows that get them talking and craving their downfall. I give them terrors to be afraid of on the nightly news so I can control when they feel safe enough to leave the house. I tell them what items to buy with every commercial that I pump into their malleable, mushy brains.
And you know what they do? Exactly what I expect them to.
[But Vox wasn’t like the masses. He had enough brain power to want more, to want wonder, to know what true wonder even was. There were stories out there that could tangle around a person and leave them obsessed and guessing and reflecting– and that wasn’t what his stuff was. He wasn’t a writer; he was an exec. He was a controller.
And that was what Alastor was good at. Dammit.]
They won’t leave. Everyone - [He looked pointedly at Alastor.] - is right where I need them to be.
He's happy with his nice, warm chair. Too bad a wheel broke off. Vox could've sat on his lap.
It was a fragile set up, but an effective one so long as no one found a way to undermine him. His partners would not bet he ones to do so, or at least not properly; he did quite like them, but they were no more intelligent than the rest of the public. He had the impression that they thought of it as something closer to a family business than a marriage of interests, and so blind loyalty was of more significance than anything constructive. If only it were intentional, he could at least think of it as clever.
As it was, he didn't, and instead he just found that they're the same. The pieces on the gameboard were all where all exactly where he wanted them to be. He would watch as Vox's empire collapsed and look to see who would fill the space. It won't be him. He was an entertainer and a person who wished to be able to live as he pleased and without worry; nothing more, nothing less. ]
Yes, you do have your captive audience.
[ Literal and figurative. He leaned back in the chair, adjusting his footing as he did so. His gaze remained on Vox. This was, at least, more comfortable territory. He rocked back in his chair. ]
You're right though. People who want something to be afraid of. People who want to see others fail. People who want someone to blame when things go wrong. No one really wants to take responsibility anymore, so having someone tell them what to do and who to fear is quite convenient.
[ He rocked back in his chair. ]
Though of course, you're the only one who they can blame if this gambit of yours stops being entertaining. [ And so he repeated, ] They'll abandon you at the drop of a dime.
[ Though as for Alastor himself, well - he's a bit different. He's always been quite capable of taking responsibility. And seventy years is a long time to hold interest in someone. ]
He still could if the balance is right. Hard to balance with this weird head though...
The dynamics were slightly different than before, decades of hurt (one on end, at least) had morphed things, altered it slightly, but at its core it was the same: two twisted people discussing hypotheticals and plotting using the thrall of entertainment. It was theory, it was interest, it was hope and flaws and all the general pieces before they would get into the drinks and start digging into the nitty-gritty, or sometimes the weeds depending on the path of the conversation. In some ways, it probably sounded more like two professors talking, musing.
Instead of…them. Time had changed so much, but apparently they could find their way back to this ground.
These weren’t conversations he could have with Val, with Velvette, not this deep. Surface level, plans, some numbers, but the back and forth, someone to challenge him….That wasn’t them. Not like this.
That had always been Alastor, until it wasn’t.
Vox narrowed his eyes before tapping his fingers together, pointed claws clinking sharply.] How could it “stop being entertaining”? It’s an underdog story that shows the protagonist’s victory against every odd and fighting for them. Or, at least, that’s what they think.
[They both knew it was always for himself.]
And because this is “for them”- [Yes, he used air quotes.] - they’re going to personally be invested in this. They won’t be able to look away because what if they miss an important update? What if they can’t be the first one to post about the latest victory? They have to be invested; their lives depend on it.
[He waved a hand loosely.] Face it, I’ve thought of everything. I am entertainment now; I’ve become what I control already. I can never be dropped, and it’s perfect.
You’re just pissy that you didn’t think of it first.
True. Move him to an armchair, then they can both sit comfortably, without the random spinning!
He leaned forward, and already he was able to shift his footing along with the motion to avoid wobbling more than a momentary lean. He planted his feet more firmly on the ground, and his grin sharpened. This was familiar territory. Comfortable. It wasn't the same, but it was, because all that hurt and those sharp cuts could never damage talent. ]
It may be for their sake, but it's your story. Once you fail, they'll lose any and all interest. In fact, they won't have ever known your story at all.
[ The world would never have any need for failures after all. Alastor canted his head. ]
But let's pretend that you succeed in this little gambit of yours. It still stops being entertaining. The audience doesn't wants a few paragraphs telling them of success, not a hundred years of meandering updates on how you ensure that no one can challenge the new status quo.
[ Because about a century was what he would expect. It was a short period of time for any power in the human world, much less here in Heaven and Hell where those living in it had an eternity to claim the throne. Alastor was being quite generous in limiting it to that in his acceptance of a complete victory.
He skid one foot back. His ears remained lowered for a moment longer before they finally lifted back up, tilting forward, because he was listening now.
Old habits die hard, and whatever old hurts there were, however much they wanted to, the pair of them could never really escape each other. Video and radio, still intertwined, still trading signals even seven decades later. ]
The average person hardly cares for the success of others. They care about themselves and their stories.
[ And that is what Alastor had understood best. He had told stories for them. He offered distraction. His shows pivoted seamlessly, from one thing to another, but his stories offered them a distraction from their own lives. They were written for an audience. They were what he wanted, in an escape from his then meaningless life. ]
Sounds like a trap!
Hurt only made him hungrier, if history proved anything.]
I’m not failing.
[It was a small sentence than he didn’t need to interject with; Alastor was poking him, waiting for him to fall for the bait and he had. Didn’t matter. Maybe they could both ignore it
His look was flat (ha) as he let Alastor prattle on, going on about what would happen if (when) Vox did win. The hard part was that Alastor wasn’t necessarily wrong: repetition bred boredom, and boredom bred two things: apathy or restlessness. He needed the first but couldn’t guarantee it after hundreds of eons.]
It doesn’t matter after I’ve won; I don’t need them. [Which wasn’t true, but he either didn’t want to admit to Alastor or didn’t want to admit it to himself. Maybe a little of Column A and a little of Column V.] Or maybe I just manufacture another enemy every hundred years and just keep this train a-running.
[It couldn’t be that hard; he created sensationalized stories all the time! What was another several hundred?
But that, too, wasn’t what he wanted to know. His heel tapped across the floor, before he asked, low and annoyed:]
What would you do?
it's like a cat exposing their belly, it's worth the risk of a little love mauling
I wouldn't do anything. I have no need for that sort of publicity.
[ Alastor didn't have that same desire to be fawned over and adored. His work was his passion, one that allowed him to both connect with others and bring them together, but that was about his talent. He only otherwise asked for the right amount of fear and respect, and for that he only needed power and discipline.
Still, after a short pause he offered an answer: ]
I would simply keep feeding them the promise of something better, ad infinitum. "Happiness" is something that should always be at the tips of ones fingertips, just within reach, but never able to be fully grasped.
[ With happiness being of that sort of lasting and secure sort where one needn't spend their time waiting for the rug to be ripped out from under them. That might lose its appeal at some point too, but it would take time. It was hard to say what would happen if a person traded Hell's torture for a paradise where everything was given freely, but his best guess would be that Sinners would just turn the place into a more colorful version of Hell. That greed and selfishness would remain firmly rooted in them.
Vox had always been adept at tapping into that - he was always searching for something more himself; something bigger, better, and brighter. It was the sort of lie that Vox could sell so well. He could hand people a bucket with a false bottom while promising that they could scoop out all the water from the ocean. ]
Let's be real: Vox is a little bit of a masochist.
Vox couldn’t live like that.
Hell, Vincent couldn’t live like that.]
That sounds exhausting. [And endless supply of happiness just out of reach, a constant line of promises that he would have to imagine and at least partially fulfill. Would it make them thirstier? Yes. Greed was a helluva drug. But…]
Starving people are more likely to turn desperate. [One claw ran along a discolored line in the wood of his desk, trailing it without thought, attention.] And when people turn desperate, they revolt against the one in charge.
[He had done it. Again. Again. Again. He wanted that happiness of a future he could control, of the money, power, fame…adoration. So much adoration, mesmerized eyes staring up at him as he promised a new future-
He took a deep breath, shoving that memory back.]
I will be a god, Alastor. I don’t need their happiness; I just need their obedience.
Pain n' Pleasure but mostly pain... Our sadomasochists. Al probably grooms you after mauling though.
[ His grin widened as he canted his head. He would speak of the past no more, but he remembered it well. Vox had risen to power at a rapid rate. It hadn't matched his own, but it was as close as anyone had gotten. Alastor had been able to see that there was something special about him. There was greed. There was want. There was something that he needed, and in return there was something that he could give others.
But he wasn't wrong either. It was a balancing act that Alastor couldn't commit to. And so he decided to give Vox an out of a sort. He rolled his shoulders before he leaned back and shook his head. ]
Of course, you have no hope of getting anything from me, and obedience least of all.
[ That wasn't entirely true. Vox had his attention. He had kept Alastor's attention for a full seven decades, been given it at a moment's notice, and who else could claim that? But that wasn't something he was aware of, much less that he would admit to.
But he did think, for just a moment, about how quiet those seven years in which he was gone were. How empty the airwaves had been. ]
Awww, see? He does care.
What could else would I need?
[But they both knew, even if he didn’t admit it. There wasn’t a show of bullshit with saying something like Your head on a pike or To see you choke on a microphone; this conversation had moved beyond that surface level hurts and insults. It felt close to being familiar, a slow dangerous dance around the elephants in the room.
He almost wished that Val or Velvette were here to break the moment up, to pull him back and give him an excuse to refocus. To be in the Now. But they were off working or partying or …something. Hopefully working; it wasn’t during overtime yet. ]
You’re not the one I want.
[Which was both a lie and not- fuck, not how he wanted it to come out. Shit. Shit. Shit.]
I don’t need you. [Slightly better.] You just need to be there when I show you what winning really looks like.
He does, you have a kitty and a puppy right here.
Vox needed him, and that was better than want. But he was willing enough to relent. He could let Vox move back into more comfortable territory. ]
You need me.
[ He kicked one heel up, let it drop down, and then repeated the motion once more. There was no one who knew Vox like Alastor did. His partners could never compare. ]
You have no hope of winning, but even if you did... You would miss me too much if I was gone. 𝅘𝅥𝅮
LOL I can't help but think of the fizzie Kitty.
The words cut like glass under his blue skin, digging at him like teeth. That wasn’t true. That. Wasn’t. True. He didn’t need anyone. Everywhere he got, he got because he was smarter than other people, stronger, more ambitious. Alastor had nothing to do with it.
Alastor had nothing to do with this tower, this Empire he had built. He did that for himself. He…he did it for his own drive to be better.
Of course.
His voice cracked as he laughed, the smile wide and strained as if Alastor had told a joke rather than the
truthlies that spilled like water from his stupid, fucking lips.] I didn’t know you did stand up. Word of advice: give it up.[That nail did another pass in the desk. Anyone would be able to see it now. ]
If anything, you need me. I’m the only thing keeping you relevant. You’re not necessary, redundant. We replaced you already with more modern technology.
[His eyes stared at him hard, the smile falling from his lips.]
I replaced you.
[With partners who actually wanted to do this with him.]
I didn’t miss you for the last seven years, Alastor. Why would I start now?
STOP that's it... It's him, sort of. I've raised feral kittens so that's my characterization basis.
There was so much that video could never offer. Vox could never replace him. But that doesn't mean that Alastor hadn't noticed how things had changed. It hadn't even been a decade, it seemed such a short amount of time to him, but it seemed as though the world around him considered it to be so long.
Seven years sounds like such a short and long period of time when Vox says it like that. ]
That's funny. You sure seemed eager to come greet me. You were happy to take me as your prisoner too.
[ He leaned forward. It was Alastor's reputation that Vox needed. It was his status. It was his power. He won't focus on that though, because that was all just a pretense anyway. ]
Though I was happy to be away from you for those seven years. You can imagine how awful being trapped with you now is for me.
[ They are playing. ]
OH I can DEFINITELY see that.
I don’t have to miss you to want to make sure that you’re put in your place. [Finally, he pulled his fingers away from the desk, feeling some semblance of control back in his hands. Prisoner. That’s right. Alastor was his prisoner, his captive, his annoying bitch, not the other way around]
And your place is in some backroom to get dusty and forgotten like other outdated tech: VCRs and pagers and you.
[That felt better. That felt like the floor beneath his feet were a little steadier, a little more solid, and he made a show of it by sweeping to his feet. Heels clicked on the floor as he walked to tank behind him and stroked the glass, watching those lights flicker in the dark depths.
He didn’t need Alastor. He didn’t.
He. Didn’t. ]
Don’t worry, Al. Once I’m up there and a god, then you won’t have to deal with, well, anything anymore.
[He smiled, over his should back at him, smug and relaxed. Yes, this was just
foreplayingplaying. ]You know, if you just admit that I’m better than you, I might keep you alive for a little while after I’m in place. I’m benevolent like that.
no subject
He might have followed up with something about that, but the offer took his attention away from the mention of technology completely. That deserved his full attention. ]
Oh, I could never lie to you like that... But if you're going to kill me, you really do need to do it properly. I won't allow you to do something ridiculous as slitting my throat while I'm tied to a chair. I want something more personal.
[ He squared his shoulders and tilted his chin up. His ears perked up before they tilted in Vox's direction. He was placated by the change in subject, and he was satisfied with the reminder of just how much the other man needs him. This topic of conversation, now, was just a little game played between them, and Alastor did find himself with a stroke of inspiration. ]
It should be something inspired, like knocking me to the ground before strangling me. The feeling of your hands wrapped around someone's neck is rather pleasant... You might get a few scratches on your hand, a few cracks in your screen, but it's all part of the experience. There's really nothing like having someone writing beneath you.
[ And if that sounds sexually charged and like breath play, no it doesn't. Alastor was no masochist, but he did find it to be a more acceptable suggestion than whatever Vox might have come up with. For two people who have known each other for so long, if one of them was going to kill the other, it really did deserve to have a personal touch to it.
He rolled the chair a few inches forward, and he kept his eyes locked on Vox, curious to see how the other would take that suggestion. ]
You saw nothing of my wrong account. :P
There were rules to this.
He started to open his mouth to comment on just how he would love to kill him when he realized that Alastor was still talking, doing what he did best: weaving a story. Vox could show one, could sell people on it, but Alastor? He could make people imagine what they couldn’t see with a few well-placed sentences and the flow of his cadence, could steer their imaginations.
This wasn’t any different.
Vox didn’t know if it was supposed to sound as…sexual as it did. Maybe he was around Val too much, some of that rubbing off on him, but it felt more charged than that. He could feel the heat in the wires of his flat cheeks, the screen warming as he realized more and more how it sounded. It was close, it was intimate, the motions of his body as they kicked helplessly-
The screen went blank for a moment, dark to hide his expression, before flickering back on. Red eyes looked at Alastor’s ears, his eyes, his stupid smiling mouth and what the fuck was he playing at? This was a game, but Vox had brought cards instead of chess pieces for the board. ]
That’s really cute that you’re giving the executioner suggestions on how you want it to go, but you forgot one thing. [He pushed off the tank and strolled back over, palms on the desk while he leaned over.] It’s not up to you.
[It couldn’t be. Vox had the power. All of it. Fuck the games, we’re back to poker now. It was whatever he said it was.]
Velvette has this idea of doing a poll and letting the faithful subjects vote on what happens to you, since we are going to televise it. I would be happy to add it to the list of options, though.
Shhhh... There was no wrong account.
Which is all to say, he wanted to mess with Vox. It did wind up being more charged than he realized, much less intended to be, but he wasn't altogether oblivious to the double entendre. And beside that, it was simply the way that these things were supposed to go. It was one thing to just slit a throat or two for some insignificant person, but for someone who was so well known, it needed a personal touch. That was always how it went in stories.
But more than anything else, he had simply wanted to see if he could get a reaction. Alastor wanted to be entertained, and he wasn't disappointed by the outcome. ]
Hmm. No. You're going to decide on what to do all on your own. If anything, I'm the only one who should be allowed to give input. You won't air it either.
[ He moved his chair closer, then leaned forward in return, grin stretching out. He really was in no position to say these things, but that would hardly stop him. ]
And I'll tell you why.
[ Though he paused immediately after saying that. He had gotten this far, but what he has to say next would mean very little if the other had no interest in this conversation. ]
♥
Alastor wasn’t wrong, again and again, he wasn’t wrong and that made it all the more annoying. Yes, killing Alastor would be different than the murders he did to get to the top of his tower here and the top of his empire there. This was a slight. This was vengeance. This was the thing to close the loop, a project left unfinished and forever haunting him.
But to be able shut that mocking voice up once and for all, to rob the air from it and those eyes staring -
He wondered if he could get angelic gloves, then realized it didn’t matter because he would just have them custom made when he was in charge. Problem solved.]
Ha! [He laughed in his face as he leaned forward a little closer, trying to wrest the control of the conversation back to himself.] If you think I’m not airing it, you don’t know the audience. That would be a rating powerhouse, unforgettable programming. It’s going on prime time.
[He cocked his head to the side a little, still grinning. What a dramatic theater kid.
As if he was any better.]But fuck it, humor me.
this tag is so cursed, i'm sorry
But this was entertainment for both of them, and Alastor was nothing if not dramatic. ]
You don't share.
[ None of the things that really matter, anyway. Stardom, money, power. The Radio Demon,
loved andhated, was tucked in among those things. The Vees were only allowed a piece of the former out of necessity.]There's only two things that a person can only experience once: Birth and death.
[ True death. Not the transition from one life to another. Not the fatal injuries. Acta est fabula. The play has been performed; the story has ended. ]
But it's only the latter that comes with such a thrill! The blind terror, the defiance, begging and pleading, sobbing and screaming, the silence... You never know what you'll get! That's to say nothing of the ending. That moment when a person draws their last breath, those final twitches and movements and beat of the heart, the moment when that light in a person's eyes is extinguished... It would be a never before seen show, and one that will never be seen again.
[ He spun around in his chair, careful not to cause it to wobble too much, before planting his feet firmly in the ground and leaning forward. That toothy grin only grew wider. ]
You won't let a single soul share in that experience.
[ Maybe Vox didn't think so now, but he would come to that conclusion. He would want that thrill of knowing that everything was done for him alone. Alastor has never been so close as to know what it feels like, but he imagines it would be a feeling like no other.
It's what Alastor would do. ]
It's peeeeerfection! *chef's kiss*
No, he didn’t.
Even this plan only held a place for one at the top, although Val and Velvette would have trusted second-in-command responsibilities and titles. They were loyal; he could trust them as much as anyone could trust people down here (and for what it was worth, there was a part of him that trusted Alastor. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have agreed to this prisoner plan to start with). But the place of power? The Title? That was his alone.
Was sharing in Alastor’s death the same? Wasn’t the victory after all a part of it, letting people see how far he had fallen and his ultimate defeat? Proving to all those people that Alastor was lying when he said Vox asked him to join the team and he declined him (even if it was true) had to be a part of this. And even if it was true, showing everyone that Alastor made the wrong decision was vital.
See what happens to people that cross him.]
There are ways to control what the audience sees: camera angles, green screen, lighting, background music. I have an entire CGI floor. I can still air everything while keeping parts of it just for me.
[Vox wasn’t stupid enough to think that Alastor would beg, would sob, would admit regrets. He didn’t even think there would be a scream, at least not one of desperation and fear. Would it have been nice? Of course, but he wasn’t going to hold his proverbial breath. Alastor would fight him, would goad him on, would drive in every barb he could, but he wouldn’t beg.
And that didn’t make for the best narrative. It could be spun, but it would be delicate work.
Especially when…Vox didn’t know how he himself would look. Excited, sure. Smug. Victorious like some king. There was nothing else he would show, right? No other reaction to have when the damn deer was finally dead.
Right?
Right?!]
But you’re right about the polls at least. A god doesn’t listen to his people; everyone on Earth could tell you that.
They are truly just so sick in the head.
No one else could understand that, and no one else would be allowed to share in it. Those who had known them for decades knew of nothing but their rivalry. Vox wouldn't let anyone in now, no more than Alastor ever would. The death of the other least of all, because to snuff out that signal was to kill a part of themselves too.
His thoughts aren't so organized as to be able to admit to any of that, of course, but he had thought on it before. He'd thought on it many times, even as he took care not to go too far. If he had to describe why that was, he might describe it as selfishness, or even some remnants of respect from a bygone era, but a jealously guarded devotion might be more accurate.
But now that he had said all of that, now that he had been forced to think on it in earnest, Alastor did find that there was a truth to his words. It was a disgusting, fucked up truth, something that no one else would be able to understand. That it was true - if he were really going to die, if Vox were to go so far... That performance needed to be for an audience of one. No one could ever gain the right to see or hear it.
That was just how they were. ]
Of course I am!
[ But he did chuckle as he considered the words. That was right, God wasn't listening. ]
By the seventh day God had finished the work He had been doing; so on that day He rested from all His work. His rest has continued ever since, and it will until the end of time.
[ And it might almost seem like he was wholesale willing to let the previous subject go. He almost was, but there was just one more thing - ]
But you'll think about what I've said here, and you'll realize that I'm right.
Completely. I love them.
It was his mistake that he didn’t.
So yes, they were tangled as bad as computer cables plugged in by a non-IT manager, wrapped around one another and knotted up, necessary to exist. But Vox refused to believe that. Refused. Loudly, extremely loudly. And when Val asked questions, Vox was more than happy to growl out how much he wanted to get rid of him or how happy he was gone or how much better his life was without him.
He didn’t know if Val believed him. He should, of course, it was the truth, the complete truth, the whole and unobstructed truth. And Val wouldn’t understand because he didn’t get entertainment as they did. Sure, he had some visions, but it was different, smaller, contained. Nothing could come close to them.][If God even existed anymore. Or ever, really; maybe He was a myth to scare humans into being good people (gross). Either way, He failed, either literally or metaphorically, and here they were, planning for a coup.
Vox stared at Alastor’s too-close face for a moment more, fingers twitching before he fell back into the chair and stared at him. He hated giving up the ground, but-]
You think I have time to think about whatever you’re saying? I have a revolution to run, and revolutions take meetings, negotiations, and more meetings, and none of them are with you.
[One of his cables slid out and tapped Alastor on the forehead, trying to push him back down.]
And even if you’re right, it’s still ultimately up to me, isn’t it? So I would be nice to me if I were you.
Same. They're freaks, but they're our freaks.
Hmm... Fine. Then tell me what you're doing.
[ Or rather, what he was doing before Alastor had interrupted him. He didn't regret that, nor did he plan on relenting, but he would be so kind as to show interest. It wasn't as though the man had any need to hide anything from him, and in fact benefited from doing just the opposite (for some definition of "benefit," given Alastor's tendency to brush him off.)
He had people to meet with, people to negotiate with, but Alastor was the only one who had his ear. It was no different than how no matter how many times he berated Vox, called him a nobody, the man would always be the one person who could command his attention. There was an unspoken give and take between them.
And to that end he added, in a light tone of voice that promised it was only a joke, ]
And just who is it that's so much more important than me?
*smooshes them together*
[He turned his screen as if he could hide it, but gave up halfway through. Alastor’s nosiness didn’t change anything; he could know, honestly. He wasn’t in a position to tell anyone while being stuck here, couldn’t send carrier pigeons or other outdated bullshit back to the hotel. It would be fine.
But it was annoyed spite that tried to keep him out of it anyway. Because making things easy didn’t help.]
Last time I checked, you didn’t want to be part of this operation.
[Bitch.
He snorted and went back to typing on the keyboard, fingers a blur of dangerous teal and blues as a flurry of letters spread across the screen. The truth was, he was responding to some sponsorship inquiries and trying to create an agenda for a meeting with some overlords on his plans. It was a normal day of the usual CEO life, only with less stakeholders that he could throw out windows.
His eyes flickered to Alastor, then rolled.]
Jealous? Because I got a list.
[No one was. They both knew it and wasn’t that the worst?]
I have created enough programs to be well aware that someone spilling all their plans to their rival is the fastest way for it to go sideways. Do I look stupid enough to fall into the oldest trope out there?
NOW KISS...
But he was willing to watch, and his grin only widened. No one was jealous, and that really was the worst of it, but Alastor would play along for just a bit here. ]
Oh, what am I going to do now? That particular trope doesn't apply here in Hell, not when we already have a deal.
[ His deal was to be Vox's prisoner, and so he would be. In fact, Alastor was perhaps the one person that he could trust not to spill any secrets now. There were plenty of other things he could do, of course - but he'd promised to be a part of his propaganda parade, and that meant not doing to harm his image. Not in public, anyway; here in private, he could insult the man all that he wanted. ]
But if you'd like, I can go back to pointing out all your obvious flaws and all the holes in your plan instead, along with your pitiable efforts to prove yourself to our fellow overlords. [ With the unspoken the same ones that are afraid of me. ] It's your choice. I'm sure that you'll entertain me either way.
[ He was the one who told Alastor to be nice. ]
♥♥♥♥
Because it was the only thing that had ever felt right, felt…easy.He made A Face, fingers still floating across the keys with the gratifying clacking mechanical sounds cutting through the air. There was no effort to turn the computer for Alastor’s eyes, but he wasn’t hiding it as fiercely as before. Tuning the Radio Demon out had never been his strong suit. ]
It’s sponsorship emails and an agenda creation for a meeting with the overlords. The agenda is for me, not them; they just know they’re coming here to talk to me.
[Was that enough information, Alastor? Probably not. Already he was hitting send on one email, working on a second while also scheduling a debrief touchbase with Val and Velvette after. Alastor didn’t need to know about that one, especially when it would eventually move to a two-person lingering touchbase.]
You wouldn’t understand. Your little radio station was a small, independent project, right? You don’t know the labor and effort of running a real empire in the modern age.
[Boom. Mic drop.]
Have you even had an employee, Alastor, or have you only ever been one?
[Double mic drop.
At least in his own mind.](no subject)
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Hey, Al, look. You broke him.
But can I break him harder?
The answer is always "yes".
oh ariana we're really in it now
*leans against the poster*
does this give him more or less motivation to take over heaven
Too early to tell. Depends on how bad he fucks it up LOL
He has a chance, but if he fumbles it, he has to take over heaven to unlock the R18+ scene
Look, he fumbles SO MUCH.
He does, but I get it on this one... If I had this man in front of me, I would fumble too.
Guilty as charged.
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This man is sobbing on the inside.
Ohh, Vox, honey... Complicated and sad and so very stupid.
It's a wonder that Al puts up with him.
Codependency is a Hell of a drug.
These two fools. Also, sorry about Vox's bitchy temper tantrum.
It's fine, is it really Radiostatic if somebody isn't making an ass of themselves?
You're definitely not wrong!
lbr Alastor is being pissy and petty too, just in the opposite way.
Giving him the silent treatment is weirdly effective.
He needs his wife's attention to live... :( cries we can probably wrap here tho
Just one last one, first!
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