[War sure was Hell, wasn’t it? And now that Hell was Heaven, it was a place too bright, a place too pristine, with a bunch of suck-ups that tried to keep smiling when they lost again and again and again. The exterminators? Those were gone, and Vox delighted in broadcasting those executions across every signal he controlled…and those numbered all of them now. Sure, a few of those murderous bitches had escaped, slipped through his fingers like Charlie and those losers from the hotel, but they didn’t matter anymore.
Nothing did but the throne he lounged in.
It had been a few weeks and things were …settling, falling in line. Val and Velvette had sat in with some strategy sessions, dividing up things to work on between them while he ruled on high. He was the face, after all. The mastermind. This was all because of him, every inch of his victory. They were just conducting his Will.
(so he told himself)
And the hole inside him was smaller. Not gone – it couldn’t be, wouldn’t be, he was broken - but this made it a lot more manageable.
He called for Ethan to bring his prisoner in. Revolutions were surprisingly time-consuming, and it kept Vox from playing with the Radio Demon. Things had been distant, colder than normal since That Day, and they never talked about it. Now, with Heaven and Hell under his complete control, they never would.
Vox had finally won.
When his “esteemed guest” was brought into the room, Vox rose from the large chair on the dais, arms wide. Light streamed in from the many stained glass windows; he had a commissioned for new ones to be created, ones of him and what others were calling Liberation Day. He liked the sound of it, sure, but he hadn’t done this to liberate anyone other than himself.
His grin was wide, hungry.]
I’m waiting for my congratulations, Alastor. I think I’ve more than earned it. [He sat back down and relaxed in the opulent throne of gold and marble. Uncomfortable as hell, stone was. Cushions were being commissioned as well.]
I think you’re going to love what my first official decree was. Can you guess what it was?
Alastor did that and look at how Vox betrayed his trust!!!!
[ If it was a congratulations from the Radio Demon that Vox was waiting for, he would be waiting for all eternity. Alastor would be buried with it, shut up in his coffin with all the answers to questions left unasked, with those secrets that made him up, none of them shared with another soul.
He'd had long weeks to try to process what had transpired, but even now, he found himself in a state of shock, because this wasn't how things were supposed to go. He had broken one deal, but not the other; he had won against Rosie, but lost to Vox in every way. It was a fact that ate away at him as he had sat with nothing but his own thoughts - the wonder of what had gone wrong, where it was that he had miscalculated - and each time his mind went back to that fleeting moment in time where they had shared the same space. It was that brief warmth, that brief closeness.
He thought that now, too, as he was slid in front of Vox. To an outsider, it no doubt would have been a downright comical sight to see the two men - one set upon his grand throne, the other tied to a simple office chair.
What a mistake.
What a fucking mistake.
He stared up at the other demon. His ears were pinned flat back. His eyes were just as defiant as they were before, but more tired, more worn, though whether that was from the emotional strain or the fact that he'd long since stopped caring bothering with unnecessary things like eating and sleeping. The only thing that he wanted, that he needed, were his cigarettes, and those he still had. Those, and his powers still in tact, and so he was able to have just enough to reek of smoke.
And as always, the smile was there. It didn't slip for even a second. ]
Something stupid, I'm sure.
[ Alastor said in a dismissive voice. That, at least, he managed to keep the weariness out of it.
Maybe he shouldn't provoke Vox, but he didn't care. The man would either torture and kill him, or he wouldn't. Alastor's actions had no bearing on that decision. ]
GASP! I meeeeeean...did he reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeallly?
Claws twitched as he was mocked even now, but it didn’t really matter. He was resting on his bloody, hard-earned laurels and nothing that Alastor said could bring him down. Not while he wore this crown, a crown earned on the backs of dead followers.]
I banned radio. All of it. I made sure they were all rounded up and set on fire, which wasn’t hard to do. Outdated tech like that went up like paper.
[Radio towers couldn’t be dismantled, not when television still required it, but R&D was working on technology. But this was still a W, even if it was petty, small, and aching for a response. All attention was good attention.
(look at me, dammit)
Besides, this was just the preamble to the larger show, the more important one hanging over them. There would be an ending. They had been promised a series finale. ]
How are you enjoying Heaven?
OFC he trusted him to fuck it up, break both deals, and then they'd go back to normal :(
[ It should have bothered Alastor, but it didn't. He was the radio, just as much as Vox was television. The airwaves belonged to them alone, and once one was gone, there would be a gaping hole that would never be filled. He believed that with his entire heart, though he could no longer remember why.
It was a thought, some revelation, found at the bottom of some bottle, tapping at a microphone from the 1950's, rotating it up and down on his stand. He'd thought it then - that of all of Hell's torture, that was the worst, and certainly the pair of them were made for each other. They were made to be each other's Hell. There or gone, they'd torture one another for the rest of eternity.
But that thought has long since passed, buried along with the hangover, with every other miserable thought and feeling.
So he didn't feel sad now. Instead, he found Vox to be some pathetic creature. He nodded in response to confirm that he'd heard, but nothing more. ]
It's gauche, overstated, and dull, much like everything else that you favor.
[ Alastor leaned back slightly. There's a thoughtful hum before he decides to give Vox the attention he wanted after all, ]
Radio will die when I die and not a moment sooner. And I won't live to see that, so what do I care what you do with some trinkets?
[The answer was expected, but it didn’t stop his eye from twitching. Of course Alastor wouldn’t care; burning radios had been more about his own catharsis than to get a response out of this demon, yet it failed to do either.
The hole inside him grew again. Subconsciously, he could feel it, the first time since he sat on this throne.
Leave it to the Radio Demon to make even Heaven sour. This magnum opus, and it was dulled by him simply being here. That feeling of the ground under him being suddenly uneven was there, and even sitting made him feel the barest twinges of vertigo. Why couldn’t Alastor admit he won once?! Why couldn’t he be impressed for one fucking second?!
No.
No. It was fine. Heaven fell, godhood was on his shoulders. He didn’t need Alastor’s approval when he had all of Heaven and Hell.
Except for the part where he did..]
You know, it’s funny that you bring that up. I was going to ask you what you want for your last meal. The execution date is coming up, after all, and I want to make sure we can fit it in our busy schedule.
[Unmarked in his calendar, as if he didn’t want to do it. He did. He didn’t. He did.
He needed to be fucking free of him and death…death had to be the only way. ]
Honestly, I think that he's the only one who could. Give him an award.
The question caused him to cant his head, as though Vox had asked something truly strange. It didn't seem to much matter to him what it might be, nor had he thought about eating in some time. The ache in his stomach and the nausea had disappeared at some point, as he knew it would, and his magic would keep him from suffering the worst effects of starvation.
It seemed strange to him to want one. ]
Whiskey and a cigarette.
[ Simple, easy, and nostalgic. The same simple wants ever since life, the same ones that he'd shared with Vox for those years, and the same ones he'd taken only in private since. ]
Those are my oldest and most loyal companions. I don't need anything else.
[ And just what did that say about him? But it's only anything, and not anyone, and there was just one more thing. ]
[The image came to him with all the delicacy of a freight train: Alastor sitting at the far end of the bar, a drained whiskey glass with the ice cubes slowly melting to the room air. Cigarette smoke curling around them both like a serpent through the air. Talking shared between them, both of them smiling before-
Before only one was.
Vox beat the memory over the head with a shovel and buried it in the shallow grave it crawled out of.]
Perfect, sounds wonderful when we air that part. Some really great set pieces to create the tone; the audience will eat it up.
[He spread his legs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on them. Decisions had been made. It was going to end and there would be something in it for him, dammit. There…there had to be.]
I set up for a little pre-death camera work, B-roll. Maybe a quick interview.
[Because that was what happened before any murder.]
You were right: I’m not willing to share that moment with anyone other than you. [Which might have been romantic if it hadn’t been about slaughtering him.] But there’s nothing stopping me from doing a little Pre-Game show, right? "Final Sign Off - an Alastor interview". We're still workshopping the title.
True, a smarter man would've consummated the marriage by now.
Hm? Is that it? In that case, I'll pass on it altogether. Like all celebrities, I value my privacy. The common masses can use their imagination as to my preferences and any questions they might have.
[ He crossed his legs. The only two people who knew anything about him now were Husk and Niffty, and he owned them. There was no need to worry. There was no risk of betrayal. It was no different than talking to the air. But even then, it wasn't the same. There was never that softness. There was never that easiness. It was something else entirely. And even then, it wasn't the same. There was no piano, no whiskey with the ice cubes melted; no walking home with ears tilted back, jacket tossed over someone's shoulder and an arm leaned over them, wobbly from drink and finding ways to tease one another.
Alastor grinned as he canted his head. ]
As far as the public knows. I'm a monster that none can comprehend. That's precisely how a horror story should be, don't you think?
[ And that was him. To the general public, he was nothing more than a horror monster. Even to his fellow Overlords, he was something separate from them. He was a creature that went bump in the night, that preyed and feasted upon the flesh of those with status and notoriety.
Vox was the only one who had missed him who he was gone, and it was only Vox who would miss him when he was gone. He has no doubt that it was nothing short of a thrill for his fellow Overlords to see him overthrown after a century of being under his heel.
They could continue to wonder. He would be a faceless monster, a grinner, beyond comprehension. ]
[This wasn’t a ‘If you want to’ sort of scenario; it had to happen! The humiliation, it was part of the ritual, the full circle where he could feel that single moment of superiority. He didn’t fear Alastor; he never had; this wasn’t about breaking out from under his shadow like other overlords might.
He just wanted what was rightfully his: acknowledgment.]
People want to see the monster in the movie, Al. They want to see the heroes escape and kill it; that’s what the audience is paying for. If they see someone else kill it, they’re safe from it when they get past the credits. I’m not giving them the safety of watching your execution, so I need to give them something just as exciting.
[Too much monster took the horror and mystique out of it, though. It was a fine line to walk, but he left that up to directors and where they were putting in the product placement. Hmm…]
That reminds me, I should reach out to some of the whiskey companies and see if they want to sponsor your last meal. It would be good advertising.
[He pushed out of the throne, heels clicking against the floor as he walked to that rolly office chair. Silly thing, but it was convenient at this point. It didn’t matter. Vox just leaned down and looked him the face.]
It is. I choose if I can have a last meal, and I can choose to answer questions. You'll just have to find some way to spin glitchy videos.
[ Unless Vox truly does intend to force it, but that would be tacky at best. The man wasn't wrong. People did want that sort of ending. They wanted to know that they were safe from harm. They also didn't, though, because they wanted that mystery. They wanted the intrigue of being able to run into the boogeyman, they wanted the fear of that which went bump in the night - they wanted so much. They wanted so much, but always safe fears.
There was so much that he could say on that, too, but he had already spoken his peace. There was so much he could say, but he didn't feel any need to tell Vox whether or not he could comprehend him. But rather, he decided to do something else entirely, and Vox could decide for himself based on that. ]
But I'll be sure to put on a nice show for you... I'll give you my last words and my last breath.
[ Alastor said in a sultry whisper, and then he leaned forward to get as close as he could, tilting his head back in the process. Once he was close as he could be, he took in a deep breath before very deliberately breathing out, with every intention of fogging up the other's screen. ]
Edited 2026-02-20 05:45 (UTC)
Look, he would drop to his knees with the right word from Al. A good little puppy.
[No. Fuck, no. He wouldn’t force it and that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? The humiliation was fine when it was parading him around, when it was the petty, surface level dramatics. But something that serious? He couldn’t.
And that was frustrating.]
Oh, so you’re leaving your legacy up to me? I’m honored.
[That was a lot of power in his hands. He didn’t promise to use it responsibly.
Vox was still eye to eye with Alastor when he said that, like it was a gift. The tone twisted up that ache in him, igniting sparks that had started a fire weeks ago that smoldered but never burnt itself out completely. Being with Val was good, but it wasn’t the same, didn’t hit what he needed. His face brightened as if the settings had adjusted, and then darkened the asshole fogged up his screen. Everything went hazy, blurred, and he hissed as he used his sleeve to wipe it off.]
If we don’t need to wait for last meals and interviews, what’s to stop me from doing it right now?
[But the steadfast nature that was required was missing from his eyes. What would be his life without Alastor?
On the other hand, his last breath, his last words? Those were treasures no one could take from him. ]
stoppp when he does and that's Vox's downfall bc he's too distracted to notice the infiltration
[ The sight of Vox trying to wipe the fog off of his screen elicited a snicker from Alastor. It was unfair, but there was no other way of testing to see how far he could push things now. They'd already shared breaths with him, so close that he'd been able to feel the heat of Vox's breath and inhale warm air, and this was only so different.
Maybe Vox would kill him. He rocked back and forth on the issue now, like a boat at sea, but somehow, the other always felt like a lighthouse that could guide him. He always settled on that Vox wouldn't, even if the argument repeated.
Their relationship had been like that for seventy years. ]
Nothing. If you're satisfied with the shows I've put out until now, if you feel there's that I could add, then I've completed my job as your host. I'll take a bow. Acta est fabula; plaudite.
[ And that voice was one of a performer. His words still had that theatrical flair to them, but it was soft and warm, even hopeful, because one always hopes that what they say will be taken and remembered and built up upon - the finishing lines, the period on a sentence, with that affection that was reserved for a willing audience.
His voice was meant for radio, but without a doubt, if he weren't tied up, there would have been the gestures to match in perfect synchrony with those words. Alastor was a man who acted as though he was built for theater, yet hid himself away. His performances were ever for the smallest audience.
But none of that answered Vox's question. He stared at him, his gaze unwavering. ]
... But, if I've done my job as an entertainer, you'll spend the rest of eternity wondering about the infinite amount of possibilities that could have come to be. That's all we do.
[ Perhaps Vox didn't weave stories in quite the same way that Alastor did. Their talents were different, but neither one was worse than the other, and it amounted to the same thing. They thought of what could be rather than what was set out before them. They saw an audience. When not appealing to the lowest common denominator, or even if they weren't subjecting it solely to the lowest parts of Hell, they could stimulate imagination and let people create entire worlds. Vox was the audience for this show, he had been the sole member for well over seventy years, and he would be it until the very end.
Vox could end this broadcast whenever he was satisfied. That toothy grin was still there, yellow teeth and red eyes like an old radio flipped upside down, and his look promised that. ]
[Dragging that out across three syllables was the hint of annoyance the world needed, but it didn’t matter. This was all show, the back and forths that were soon going to come to an end. What would the after be like? Peaceful? Quiet? Would it be what he wanted?Vox had a taste of it in the seven-year absence, and that had done nothing but make him a workaholic to an unhealthy degree, as if he built his company big enough and bright enough, then Alastor might catch a glimpse.
But clearly that was just because he hadn’t been the one to do Alastor in himself, right? That was the missing piece of that equation. When he did it, it be better. It would close the loop. He could finally forget everything.
But Alastor wasn’t wrong, either. It would leave that infinite wonder of what could’ve been, what a few more centuries would uncover. And he didn’t want (or need) that ghost to haunt him anymore than it already did.
Shit.
Vox needed to stall the execution while he figured it out. He needed to give himself some time to fucking think without this smile over his shoulder. He needed-]
What if I gave you one final hunt instead? Let you kill one person of my choosing. [He straightened up and backed up a few paces.] I mean, this is purely my generosity of pretending you have a choice; you’re a prisoner and that should require you to do what I say.
True, you couldn't ask for a better one. You could argue it's still a win of a sort.
[ It was hardly necessary to draw the word out like that, and Alastor rolled his eyes in response. The complaint was duly noted, though, and he did at least follow up with a nod of acknowledgment.
Vox was stalling. The man had no doubt spent decades fantasizing about it, but he couldn't take that final step needed to bring their story to a close. He might never do so. It was no different than how despite his constant threats and posturing, Alastor had never once even brought Vox close to death. He didn't desire an ending, or at least not one that was so permanent. ]
To a point.
[ Their deal was simple, even hastily done, without a set of clearly defined rules and boundaries. Alastor was his captive, which meant certain limitations, but he only had so much control over him. But certainly, him being captive meant there should be some way or another to force his hand. ]
Perhaps. If you're really that desperate to get me to put on some silly performance or another, I'll at least think about it.
[N-No! Of course Vox would do it! Killing Alastor was the only thing that mattered! It-it was just…it had to be perfect. Like a live broadcast, there was no room for error, for re-shoots, and that meant making sure everything was in order.
That’s all. That’s all it could be, right?
Vox’s eyes narrowed a little at the to a point. He could argue that prisoners didn’t exactly get a say in what happened traditionally, and even if Alastor didn’t before, well, Vox was a god now. There wasn’t much of a choice.
So…so he just needed to hurt Alastor. Maybe living with pain was worse than death and then the permanent fix wasn’t the best. And if that was the case, he could kill two birds with one stone. After all, clearly Alastor cared about the princess if he wanted to protect her with the original deal and if he worked under all her stupid – really, really stupid – dreams. Besides, if anyone was going to try to create a rebellion to fight against his power, it would be her; better to destroy it before it starts.
Everything could be solved with her blood spilled across the ground.]
This isn’t a request; it’s an order as your captor and your god. [Just throwing that around, and why wouldn’t he? He had earned it.] Our deal says I can’t touch that little princess, but there’s nothing saying I can’t make you do it.
[And he grinned as if he found the loophole, instead of falling right into a trap.]
[ Vox was in luck, because just the threat of being kept under someone's heel for the rest of eternity was enough.
It was that one singular thought that caused him to freeze up at the mention of the princess. It was only for a second, but the reaction was there, because Vox was right. There was nothing saying that he couldn't hurt her to begin with, really, but using another person to do his dirty work would be all that much more effective. It would cut off any possibility of their deal being broken.
But it only took so long before he switched his thinking around, and with that he found that there was an opportunity to be had here. ]
... No, there's not.
[ Alastor said through gritted teeth, because Vox had no right trying to order him to do anything. ]
Though I can't imagine why you'd choose her of all people. There's not a soul in Hell who pays any mind to her, and she's hardly a threat to you.
[ And that is true on both counts. The truth is, Charlie wasn't ready to be a leader. The fact that she'd so thoroughly failed to do anything here was proof of that. ]
I can't wait until the aftermath of his failure and see if Alastor still wants him as his idiot then
[That expression looked so good on Alastor’s face. It only served to make Vox smile wider.]
Oh, I know. Hell, there’s no one anywhere who’s a threat to me.
[Hello? God, anyone?]
And I want to keep it that way. It’s well-known that she’s not my biggest fan – might have to do with the exposes we did on her – but there’s always a chance that she might get stupid enough to try something. Why leave that story-thread out there running around?
[One of his cables grabbed the back of that chair and gave it a little spin, finally feeling like he was getting somewhere. Alastor was annoyed, Vox had the strings, what more could he want? He knew there would have to be stipulations, more details, time frames and that, otherwise Alastor would try to worm his way out of it by trying to do it six hundred years later or something annoying. But for now…now, he had this.
And it meant he didn’t have to kill him.]
What, don’t you want to? [His screen cocked to the side a little.] I’m giving you every person’s wet dream: kill your boss.
Unless you like her or something?
[That…wasn’t it, was it?]
He's going to take the ring off and throw it in Vox's face but then come back two days later
[ The spin was unexpected, and he squeezed his eyes shut before reopening them when the chair came to a stop. Vox had found a sore point to press down on, now. Even if there was opportunity to be found in it, there was just as much unease. He couldn't afford to make any further mistakes. ]
Even I have to draw the line somewhere.
[ And Vox would have some sense of where his limits were. Alastor had been quite particular about his victims in life, going out of his way to avoid harming women and children. He was looser on that front in Hell, but he never went out of his way to target those who were of no threat to him. And Charlie - a naive dreamer, passive to a fault, powerful yet lacking any sort of control over her abilities, and so thoroughly attached to him, could never be called that. ]
If I had wanted to kill her, I would have done so by now. But, thus far she's given me the most entertainment I've had in years.
[ Alastor doesn't say it quite so directly, but like is too strong of a word. Rather, she was useful to him. ]
The crashout is going to be *chef's kiss*. I'm a sucker for angst.
[That was interchangeable, right? And it wasn’t a big deal, just one person who could have the potential to cause problems later on. After all, if she was dead, he also couldn’t lay a hand on her, so wins all the way around.
This was called “being a boss”.
Also, don’t think about the dig of her giving him the most entertainment. Whatever. It didn’t matter. He just glared a little, before turning and walking back up to the throne, letting his own silence carry in the moment. He wasn’t sure if Alastor would agree, although if he didn’t care about her, he didn’t see why he wouldn’t. Since when would he put a life above his own?
Other than when it conveniently made Vox’s life more difficult, of course.]
Take the order, Al. You benefit out of this, and that is a rare chance from me.
Oh, hard same. It's going to be a disaster and I'm living for it. He's really losing it all. <3
[ The word order was enough to make him want to refuse it. His ears laid a little flatter in response, and he fell silent for a long moment as he weighed his options. ]
And what's in it for me? It's hardly worth it to me to put in all that effort just to live for a few more days, and spending the rest of eternity tied to a chair doesn't hold much appeal either.
[ He leaned forward. There was no world in which a person should make demands in response to an order, but there was no helping it. He was neither refusing it outright or hurling out insults in response, and that should be considered to be an improvement over his typical bratty attitude. Rather, it would be more concerning if he were so eager to work against his own interests. ]
[Vox had his attention, at least. The lack of smarmy bullshit proved that: no jokes, no digs. The first obstacle was cleared.
His elbow settled on the arm of the cold marble, and he rested his rectangular head in the palm. Fine, Alastor wanted out of the chair? Vox could make that happen, for the right price.]
This isn’t a negotiation.
[That would have meant that Alastor had some sort of power in this, and that couldn’t be true. He wouldn’t let it be true. The tip of his wingtipped shoes tapped against the floor.]
But if you want to offer up something instead, I might listen.
[ What else was there? Vox had wanted Heaven, and now he had it. He had wanted to own the Radio Demon, and now he did. Alastor was a prisoner rather than an obedient pet, but surely this was more fitting for them anyway.
He canted his head. It took a concerted effort to bite back a smart remark, but he didn't want to derail the conversation so long as there was the potential to gain something from it. ]
... What do you want?
[ Alastor was already making himself amenable to the ridiculous idea of killing the Princess of Hell for such a low price. ]
[If he was ever honest with himself, he would have admitted that the idea of Alastor being an “obedient pet” would bore him more than anything. Sicken him, too. After all, respect was the first thing he had ever felt for him, and the only pet he respected was Shock.wav, his sweet baby.
So yes, this was more fitting for them. This was more fitting for what he no-so-secretly wanted.
And to speak of wanting…That question made him stop and blink. What did he want? He had everything. The worlds were his oysters, pried open and waiting for his claws to take the pearls within. This was his. What could Alastor even give him anymore?
He thought of the office, silent and theirs in the tower and the way his body felt against his. He thought of a younger man, aching for his approval.]
Tell me I won. Tell me – and fucking mean it – that you regret not taking me up on that offer, because we could’ve been doing this together. Tell me what the fuck was up with what happened in my office.
[ That was quite the list of demands. Any one of them would have been ridiculous on their own, but when put together, Alastor had to wonder if the man was joking. He wasn't, of course, but it did feel as though he should be.
He accordingly had every right to dismiss the request out of hand for the greed of it all alone, but ultimately decided not to. Like as not, it could work to his favor to offer a bit of give here. But Alastor was nothing without his smile, and so no matter what he did, that would stay locked firmly in place. ]
I'll give you one of those things.
[ He leaned back and watched the other expectantly. It would have to be be between the first and the third, the second not being viable, but he could be fair on these issues when he so chose to be, and he was having one of those rare moments where he was feeling generous.
That was nothing! There were four things, and he was offering one? When Vox here had all the fucking strings?! It made him want to laugh. No, it did make him laugh, an airy bark of something short and vaguely broken.]
Three.
[He was giving up ground here, which didn’t bode well for him in terms of negotiations. It was a foolish mistake not to let Alastor hang on that. He had no plans on being a benevolent god, but here we are.]
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Time to take over heaven if you trust the Vees...
Nothing did but the throne he lounged in.
It had been a few weeks and things were …settling, falling in line. Val and Velvette had sat in with some strategy sessions, dividing up things to work on between them while he ruled on high. He was the face, after all. The mastermind. This was all because of him, every inch of his victory. They were just conducting his Will.
(so he told himself)
And the hole inside him was smaller. Not gone – it couldn’t be, wouldn’t be, he was broken - but this made it a lot more manageable.
He called for Ethan to bring his prisoner in. Revolutions were surprisingly time-consuming, and it kept Vox from playing with the Radio Demon. Things had been distant, colder than normal since That Day, and they never talked about it. Now, with Heaven and Hell under his complete control, they never would.
Vox had finally won.
When his “esteemed guest” was brought into the room, Vox rose from the large chair on the dais, arms wide. Light streamed in from the many stained glass windows; he had a commissioned for new ones to be created, ones of him and what others were calling Liberation Day. He liked the sound of it, sure, but he hadn’t done this to liberate anyone other than himself.
His grin was wide, hungry.]
I’m waiting for my congratulations, Alastor. I think I’ve more than earned it. [He sat back down and relaxed in the opulent throne of gold and marble. Uncomfortable as hell, stone was. Cushions were being commissioned as well.]
I think you’re going to love what my first official decree was. Can you guess what it was?
Alastor did that and look at how Vox betrayed his trust!!!!
He'd had long weeks to try to process what had transpired, but even now, he found himself in a state of shock, because this wasn't how things were supposed to go. He had broken one deal, but not the other; he had won against Rosie, but lost to Vox in every way. It was a fact that ate away at him as he had sat with nothing but his own thoughts - the wonder of what had gone wrong, where it was that he had miscalculated - and each time his mind went back to that fleeting moment in time where they had shared the same space. It was that brief warmth, that brief closeness.
He thought that now, too, as he was slid in front of Vox. To an outsider, it no doubt would have been a downright comical sight to see the two men - one set upon his grand throne, the other tied to a simple office chair.
What a mistake.
What a fucking mistake.
He stared up at the other demon. His ears were pinned flat back. His eyes were just as defiant as they were before, but more tired, more worn, though whether that was from the emotional strain or the fact that he'd long since stopped caring bothering with unnecessary things like eating and sleeping. The only thing that he wanted, that he needed, were his cigarettes, and those he still had. Those, and his powers still in tact, and so he was able to have just enough to reek of smoke.
And as always, the smile was there. It didn't slip for even a second. ]
Something stupid, I'm sure.
[ Alastor said in a dismissive voice. That, at least, he managed to keep the weariness out of it.
Maybe he shouldn't provoke Vox, but he didn't care. The man would either torture and kill him, or he wouldn't. Alastor's actions had no bearing on that decision. ]
GASP! I meeeeeean...did he reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeallly?
Claws twitched as he was mocked even now, but it didn’t really matter. He was resting on his bloody, hard-earned laurels and nothing that Alastor said could bring him down. Not while he wore this crown, a crown earned on the backs of dead followers.]
I banned radio. All of it. I made sure they were all rounded up and set on fire, which wasn’t hard to do. Outdated tech like that went up like paper.
[Radio towers couldn’t be dismantled, not when television still required it, but R&D was working on technology. But this was still a W, even if it was petty, small, and aching for a response. All attention was good attention.
(look at me, dammit)
Besides, this was just the preamble to the larger show, the more important one hanging over them. There would be an ending. They had been promised a series finale. ]
How are you enjoying Heaven?
OFC he trusted him to fuck it up, break both deals, and then they'd go back to normal :(
It was a thought, some revelation, found at the bottom of some bottle, tapping at a microphone from the 1950's, rotating it up and down on his stand. He'd thought it then - that of all of Hell's torture, that was the worst, and certainly the pair of them were made for each other. They were made to be each other's Hell. There or gone, they'd torture one another for the rest of eternity.
But that thought has long since passed, buried along with the hangover, with every other miserable thought and feeling.
So he didn't feel sad now. Instead, he found Vox to be some pathetic creature. He nodded in response to confirm that he'd heard, but nothing more. ]
It's gauche, overstated, and dull, much like everything else that you favor.
[ Alastor leaned back slightly. There's a thoughtful hum before he decides to give Vox the attention he wanted after all, ]
Radio will die when I die and not a moment sooner. And I won't live to see that, so what do I care what you do with some trinkets?
Leave it to Vox to fuck up fucking something up.
The hole inside him grew again. Subconsciously, he could feel it, the first time since he sat on this throne.
Leave it to the Radio Demon to make even Heaven sour. This magnum opus, and it was dulled by him simply being here. That feeling of the ground under him being suddenly uneven was there, and even sitting made him feel the barest twinges of vertigo. Why couldn’t Alastor admit he won once?! Why couldn’t he be impressed for one fucking second?!
No.
No. It was fine. Heaven fell, godhood was on his shoulders. He didn’t need Alastor’s approval when he had all of Heaven and Hell.
Except for the part where he did..]You know, it’s funny that you bring that up. I was going to ask you what you want for your last meal. The execution date is coming up, after all, and I want to make sure we can fit it in our busy schedule.
[Unmarked in his calendar, as if he didn’t want to do it. He did. He didn’t. He did.
He needed to be fucking free of him and death…death had to be the only way. ]
Honestly, I think that he's the only one who could. Give him an award.
The question caused him to cant his head, as though Vox had asked something truly strange. It didn't seem to much matter to him what it might be, nor had he thought about eating in some time. The ache in his stomach and the nausea had disappeared at some point, as he knew it would, and his magic would keep him from suffering the worst effects of starvation.
It seemed strange to him to want one. ]
Whiskey and a cigarette.
[ Simple, easy, and nostalgic. The same simple wants ever since life, the same ones that he'd shared with Vox for those years, and the same ones he'd taken only in private since. ]
Those are my oldest and most loyal companions. I don't need anything else.
[ And just what did that say about him? But it's only anything, and not anyone, and there was just one more thing. ]
Only if the award is a dunce cap.
Before only one was.
Vox beat the memory over the head with a shovel and buried it in the shallow grave it crawled out of.]
Perfect, sounds wonderful when we air that part. Some really great set pieces to create the tone; the audience will eat it up.
[He spread his legs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on them. Decisions had been made. It was going to end and there would be something in it for him, dammit. There…there had to be.]
I set up for a little pre-death camera work, B-roll. Maybe a quick interview.
[Because that was what happened before any murder.]
You were right: I’m not willing to share that moment with anyone other than you. [Which might have been romantic if it hadn’t been about slaughtering him.] But there’s nothing stopping me from doing a little Pre-Game show, right? "Final Sign Off - an Alastor interview". We're still workshopping the title.
True, a smarter man would've consummated the marriage by now.
[ He crossed his legs. The only two people who knew anything about him now were Husk and Niffty, and he owned them. There was no need to worry. There was no risk of betrayal. It was no different than talking to the air. But even then, it wasn't the same. There was never that softness. There was never that easiness. It was something else entirely. And even then, it wasn't the same. There was no piano, no whiskey with the ice cubes melted; no walking home with ears tilted back, jacket tossed over someone's shoulder and an arm leaned over them, wobbly from drink and finding ways to tease one another.
Alastor grinned as he canted his head. ]
As far as the public knows. I'm a monster that none can comprehend. That's precisely how a horror story should be, don't you think?
[ And that was him. To the general public, he was nothing more than a horror monster. Even to his fellow Overlords, he was something separate from them. He was a creature that went bump in the night, that preyed and feasted upon the flesh of those with status and notoriety.
Vox was the only one who had missed him who he was gone, and it was only Vox who would miss him when he was gone. He has no doubt that it was nothing short of a thrill for his fellow Overlords to see him overthrown after a century of being under his heel.
They could continue to wonder. He would be a faceless monster, a grinner, beyond comprehension. ]
HE WANTED TOOOOOOOO
[This wasn’t a ‘If you want to’ sort of scenario; it had to happen! The humiliation, it was part of the ritual, the full circle where he could feel that single moment of superiority. He didn’t fear Alastor; he never had; this wasn’t about breaking out from under his shadow like other overlords might.
He just wanted what was rightfully his: acknowledgment.]
People want to see the monster in the movie, Al. They want to see the heroes escape and kill it; that’s what the audience is paying for. If they see someone else kill it, they’re safe from it when they get past the credits. I’m not giving them the safety of watching your execution, so I need to give them something just as exciting.
[Too much monster took the horror and mystique out of it, though. It was a fine line to walk, but he left that up to directors and where they were putting in the product placement. Hmm…]
That reminds me, I should reach out to some of the whiskey companies and see if they want to sponsor your last meal. It would be good advertising.
[He pushed out of the throne, heels clicking against the floor as he walked to that rolly office chair. Silly thing, but it was convenient at this point. It didn’t matter. Vox just leaned down and looked him the face.]
I “comprehend” you.
[Did he?]
? HE STILL COULD? BUT HE'S A COWARD?
[ Unless Vox truly does intend to force it, but that would be tacky at best. The man wasn't wrong. People did want that sort of ending. They wanted to know that they were safe from harm. They also didn't, though, because they wanted that mystery. They wanted the intrigue of being able to run into the boogeyman, they wanted the fear of that which went bump in the night - they wanted so much. They wanted so much, but always safe fears.
There was so much that he could say on that, too, but he had already spoken his peace. There was so much he could say, but he didn't feel any need to tell Vox whether or not he could comprehend him. But rather, he decided to do something else entirely, and Vox could decide for himself based on that. ]
But I'll be sure to put on a nice show for you... I'll give you my last words and my last breath.
[ Alastor said in a sultry whisper, and then he leaned forward to get as close as he could, tilting his head back in the process. Once he was close as he could be, he took in a deep breath before very deliberately breathing out, with every intention of fogging up the other's screen. ]
Look, he would drop to his knees with the right word from Al. A good little puppy.
And that was frustrating.]
Oh, so you’re leaving your legacy up to me? I’m honored.
[That was a lot of power in his hands. He didn’t promise to use it responsibly.
Vox was still eye to eye with Alastor when he said that, like it was a gift. The tone twisted up that ache in him, igniting sparks that had started a fire weeks ago that smoldered but never burnt itself out completely. Being with Val was good, but it wasn’t the same, didn’t hit what he needed. His face brightened as if the settings had adjusted, and then darkened the asshole fogged up his screen. Everything went hazy, blurred, and he hissed as he used his sleeve to wipe it off.]
If we don’t need to wait for last meals and interviews, what’s to stop me from doing it right now?
[But the steadfast nature that was required was missing from his eyes. What would be his life without Alastor?
On the other hand, his last breath, his last words? Those were treasures no one could take from him. ]
stoppp when he does and that's Vox's downfall bc he's too distracted to notice the infiltration
Maybe Vox would kill him. He rocked back and forth on the issue now, like a boat at sea, but somehow, the other always felt like a lighthouse that could guide him. He always settled on that Vox wouldn't, even if the argument repeated.
Their relationship had been like that for seventy years. ]
Nothing. If you're satisfied with the shows I've put out until now, if you feel there's that I could add, then I've completed my job as your host. I'll take a bow. Acta est fabula; plaudite.
[ And that voice was one of a performer. His words still had that theatrical flair to them, but it was soft and warm, even hopeful, because one always hopes that what they say will be taken and remembered and built up upon - the finishing lines, the period on a sentence, with that affection that was reserved for a willing audience.
His voice was meant for radio, but without a doubt, if he weren't tied up, there would have been the gestures to match in perfect synchrony with those words. Alastor was a man who acted as though he was built for theater, yet hid himself away. His performances were ever for the smallest audience.
But none of that answered Vox's question. He stared at him, his gaze unwavering. ]
... But, if I've done my job as an entertainer, you'll spend the rest of eternity wondering about the infinite amount of possibilities that could have come to be. That's all we do.
[ Perhaps Vox didn't weave stories in quite the same way that Alastor did. Their talents were different, but neither one was worse than the other, and it amounted to the same thing. They thought of what could be rather than what was set out before them. They saw an audience. When not appealing to the lowest common denominator, or even if they weren't subjecting it solely to the lowest parts of Hell, they could stimulate imagination and let people create entire worlds. Vox was the audience for this show, he had been the sole member for well over seventy years, and he would be it until the very end.
Vox could end this broadcast whenever he was satisfied. That toothy grin was still there, yellow teeth and red eyes like an old radio flipped upside down, and his look promised that. ]
But what a good way to lose, right?
[Dragging that out across three syllables was the hint of annoyance the world needed, but it didn’t matter. This was all show, the back and forths that were soon going to come to an end. What would the after be like? Peaceful? Quiet? Would it be what he wanted?Vox had a taste of it in the seven-year absence, and that had done nothing but make him a workaholic to an unhealthy degree, as if he built his company big enough and bright enough, then Alastor might catch a glimpse.
But clearly that was just because he hadn’t been the one to do Alastor in himself, right? That was the missing piece of that equation. When he did it, it be better. It would close the loop. He could finally forget everything.
But Alastor wasn’t wrong, either. It would leave that infinite wonder of what could’ve been, what a few more centuries would uncover. And he didn’t want (or need) that ghost to haunt him anymore than it already did.
Shit.
Vox needed to stall the execution while he figured it out. He needed to give himself some time to fucking think without this smile over his shoulder. He needed-]
What if I gave you one final hunt instead? Let you kill one person of my choosing. [He straightened up and backed up a few paces.] I mean, this is purely my generosity of pretending you have a choice; you’re a prisoner and that should require you to do what I say.
True, you couldn't ask for a better one. You could argue it's still a win of a sort.
Vox was stalling. The man had no doubt spent decades fantasizing about it, but he couldn't take that final step needed to bring their story to a close. He might never do so. It was no different than how despite his constant threats and posturing, Alastor had never once even brought Vox close to death. He didn't desire an ending, or at least not one that was so permanent. ]
To a point.
[ Their deal was simple, even hastily done, without a set of clearly defined rules and boundaries. Alastor was his captive, which meant certain limitations, but he only had so much control over him. But certainly, him being captive meant there should be some way or another to force his hand. ]
Perhaps. If you're really that desperate to get me to put on some silly performance or another, I'll at least think about it.
Everyone wins! (also, Vox is an idiot.)
That’s all. That’s all it could be, right?
Vox’s eyes narrowed a little at the to a point. He could argue that prisoners didn’t exactly get a say in what happened traditionally, and even if Alastor didn’t before, well, Vox was a god now. There wasn’t much of a choice.
So…so he just needed to hurt Alastor. Maybe living with pain was worse than death and then the permanent fix wasn’t the best. And if that was the case, he could kill two birds with one stone. After all, clearly Alastor cared about the princess if he wanted to protect her with the original deal and if he worked under all her stupid – really, really stupid – dreams. Besides, if anyone was going to try to create a rebellion to fight against his power, it would be her; better to destroy it before it starts.
Everything could be solved with her blood spilled across the ground.]
This isn’t a request; it’s an order as your captor and your god. [Just throwing that around, and why wouldn’t he? He had earned it.] Our deal says I can’t touch that little princess, but there’s nothing saying I can’t make you do it.
[And he grinned as if he found the loophole, instead of falling right into a trap.]
He is, but he's Alastor's idiot. 🥺
It was that one singular thought that caused him to freeze up at the mention of the princess. It was only for a second, but the reaction was there, because Vox was right. There was nothing saying that he couldn't hurt her to begin with, really, but using another person to do his dirty work would be all that much more effective. It would cut off any possibility of their deal being broken.
But it only took so long before he switched his thinking around, and with that he found that there was an opportunity to be had here. ]
... No, there's not.
[ Alastor said through gritted teeth, because Vox had no right trying to order him to do anything. ]
Though I can't imagine why you'd choose her of all people. There's not a soul in Hell who pays any mind to her, and she's hardly a threat to you.
[ And that is true on both counts. The truth is, Charlie wasn't ready to be a leader. The fact that she'd so thoroughly failed to do anything here was proof of that. ]
I can't wait until the aftermath of his failure and see if Alastor still wants him as his idiot then
Oh, I know. Hell, there’s no one anywhere who’s a threat to me.
[Hello? God, anyone?]
And I want to keep it that way. It’s well-known that she’s not my biggest fan – might have to do with the exposes we did on her – but there’s always a chance that she might get stupid enough to try something. Why leave that story-thread out there running around?
[One of his cables grabbed the back of that chair and gave it a little spin, finally feeling like he was getting somewhere. Alastor was annoyed, Vox had the strings, what more could he want? He knew there would have to be stipulations, more details, time frames and that, otherwise Alastor would try to worm his way out of it by trying to do it six hundred years later or something annoying. But for now…now, he had this.
And it meant he didn’t have to kill him.]
What, don’t you want to? [His screen cocked to the side a little.] I’m giving you every person’s wet dream: kill your boss.
Unless you like her or something?
[That…wasn’t it, was it?]
He's going to take the ring off and throw it in Vox's face but then come back two days later
Even I have to draw the line somewhere.
[ And Vox would have some sense of where his limits were. Alastor had been quite particular about his victims in life, going out of his way to avoid harming women and children. He was looser on that front in Hell, but he never went out of his way to target those who were of no threat to him. And Charlie - a naive dreamer, passive to a fault, powerful yet lacking any sort of control over her abilities, and so thoroughly attached to him, could never be called that. ]
If I had wanted to kill her, I would have done so by now. But, thus far she's given me the most entertainment I've had in years.
[ Alastor doesn't say it quite so directly, but like is too strong of a word. Rather, she was useful to him. ]
The crashout is going to be *chef's kiss*. I'm a sucker for angst.
[That was interchangeable, right? And it wasn’t a big deal, just one person who could have the potential to cause problems later on. After all, if she was dead, he also couldn’t lay a hand on her, so wins all the way around.
This was called “being a boss”.
Also, don’t think about the dig of her giving him the most entertainment. Whatever. It didn’t matter. He just glared a little, before turning and walking back up to the throne, letting his own silence carry in the moment. He wasn’t sure if Alastor would agree, although if he didn’t care about her, he didn’t see why he wouldn’t. Since when would he put a life above his own?
Other than when it conveniently made Vox’s life more difficult, of course.]
Take the order, Al. You benefit out of this, and that is a rare chance from me.
Oh, hard same. It's going to be a disaster and I'm living for it. He's really losing it all. <3
And what's in it for me? It's hardly worth it to me to put in all that effort just to live for a few more days, and spending the rest of eternity tied to a chair doesn't hold much appeal either.
[ He leaned forward. There was no world in which a person should make demands in response to an order, but there was no helping it. He was neither refusing it outright or hurling out insults in response, and that should be considered to be an improvement over his typical bratty attitude. Rather, it would be more concerning if he were so eager to work against his own interests. ]
I have plaaaaaaaaaaaaans.
His elbow settled on the arm of the cold marble, and he rested his rectangular head in the palm. Fine, Alastor wanted out of the chair? Vox could make that happen, for the right price.]
This isn’t a negotiation.
[That would have meant that Alastor had some sort of power in this, and that couldn’t be true. He wouldn’t let it be true. The tip of his wingtipped shoes tapped against the floor.]
But if you want to offer up something instead, I might listen.
eyes emoji.....
He canted his head. It took a concerted effort to bite back a smart remark, but he didn't want to derail the conversation so long as there was the potential to gain something from it. ]
... What do you want?
[ Alastor was already making himself amenable to the ridiculous idea of killing the Princess of Hell for such a low price. ]
waggles eyebrows
So yes, this was more fitting for them. This was more fitting for what he no-so-secretly wanted.
And to speak of wanting…That question made him stop and blink. What did he want? He had everything. The worlds were his oysters, pried open and waiting for his claws to take the pearls within. This was his. What could Alastor even give him anymore?
He thought of the office, silent and theirs in the tower and the way his body felt against his. He thought of a younger man, aching for his approval.]Tell me I won. Tell me – and fucking mean it – that you regret not taking me up on that offer, because we could’ve been doing this together. Tell me what the fuck was up with what happened in my office.
[Answers. Fucking answers.]
And do it without a smile.
no subject
He accordingly had every right to dismiss the request out of hand for the greed of it all alone, but ultimately decided not to. Like as not, it could work to his favor to offer a bit of give here. But Alastor was nothing without his smile, and so no matter what he did, that would stay locked firmly in place. ]
I'll give you one of those things.
[ He leaned back and watched the other expectantly. It would have to be be between the first and the third, the second not being viable, but he could be fair on these issues when he so chose to be, and he was having one of those rare moments where he was feeling generous.
Take it or leave it. ]
no subject
One?
That was nothing! There were four things, and he was offering one? When Vox here had all the fucking strings?! It made him want to laugh. No, it did make him laugh, an airy bark of something short and vaguely broken.]
Three.
[He was giving up ground here, which didn’t bode well for him in terms of negotiations. It was a foolish mistake not to let Alastor hang on that. He had no plans on being a benevolent god, but here we are.]
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