[Of course. Of course. To Hell, the Radio Demon was nefarious, he was what lurked in Overlord’s nightmares, he a demon with the promise of death and dismemberment for the audiences of all. His name was spoken with all the fear and reverence one could have for something far more deadly and stronger than them.
But to Vox, he was Alastor.
And in its own way, that was powerful. People were assets, pawns to move around the board, an adoring and dedicated crowd who were ultimately faceless, nameless, expendable. They were shares on a graph, eyes on a television: disposable and easy to manipulate. Why did he need anything from them other than devotion and allegiance? Why did he need their names, their company?
But he wanted both from Alastor, name and company. He acknowledged him, he was distinct in a shadow of shapes, full formed. His eyes mattered. He mattered most. And that made Al far more dangerous and important to him than all of Hell combined.
Not that he would – or maybe even could – explain it to him. Feelings were complex and convoluted things that made him vulnerable and weak, that opened him up far too much. Better to have the bravado of a man in charge (which he was! He was in charge, dammit!) than letting the quiet reality of Alastor being the key to everything settle at the forefront. His eyes flickered up to those ears, then back down to his face.
He had fucked up somehow. He didn’t know how exactly, and it wasn’t as egregious as talking about fucking Val in various chairs (don’t bring up the bed, don’t bring up the bed, do not bring up the bed), but it was something. Vox pulled his hand away, moving it to rest on one of Alastor’s knees.]
No more chair. Unless you want to…?
[His eyebrows bopped up and down with a hinted intention, before he started to stand up. Once he was on his feet, he held out a hand to Alastor as a silent offer for help if he so chose.]
You can stay here; I can do Walk and Talks. [Phone in meetings, getting bombarded while he walked through the halls, the usual.]
[ Alastor responded to the first suggestion with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. But there was only a moment of hesitation before he took Vox's hand and pulled himself up and off the floor. He let his hand linger for just a moment before he took it back to begin the process of fixing his own appearance.
He wasn't entirely satisfied with the outcome, but Vox was right. This wasn't courting, and Alastor wouldn't want it to be. They didn't have the sort of affection that was required for that. This was one more of their games, and Alastor wasn't offering anything other than to spend the night with him. Even that could be said to be for Alastor's own benefit, spurred on by some cocktail of curiosity and convenience.
Right. That was all it was.
Alastor shook his head. His staff appeared in his hand. He held it in one hand and cupped the microphone with the other. ]
You don't need to worry about that. People only see me when I want them to.
[ That was true enough. There was no escaping this prison that he was kept in, and he was trapped on one spot so long as Vox said that he was, but that was all. In the end, the Radio Demon was as impossible to catch as the shadows themselves. Still, he wasn't in a position where he could say no. He just wanted to keep some shred of dignity in all of this. He shrugged. ]
I can stay here, and you can go do what you need to.
[ It was probably the best response that Vox could ask for. ]
[That would be enough, right? Alastor would come back tonight, he’d uphold what he said? Vox didn’t need to worry about anything else other than possibly being murdered in his sleep, which…felt pretty normal as far as all things went.
And yet, here he was feeling reluctant to leave, like if time got in the way it might make Alastor rethink this. Might make himself rethink this stupid, stupid thing. There were a million reasons why it shouldn’t happen, a million reasons he should tie him back to the chair or do his execution, and a million questions like was he just doing this to stop Vox from that killing Charlie order? just bouncing around in his rectangular head.
But he reached out with both his hands and settled them on the Radio Demon’s shoulders like the fool Vox was, leaned forward, and kissed him again with a little spark. This path to Hell was well-worn, familiar, and he kept walking it over and over again, each time with different shoes.]
That works. [They could work out the secrecy later, work out whatever this was later (was it a even a thing to work out?). Future Vox problems could be analyzed with returns reviewed, could decide what the best strategy was; looking at it that way made him feel safely disconnected instead of these raw moments right now.
He wasn’t sure which he preferred. He just knew which one was smarter.
Vox pulled away and turned to walk across the room to head towards the door. Already he was taking the Do Not Disturb off his phone, his screen flickering as the calls started. He stopped for a second, looking back at him.
I’m looking forward to tonight.
But he couldn’t actually say that, so instead he just smiled.]
[ There was no point in overthinking it. For the moment they had an agreement, and with that a momentary peace. They kissed once more, and that seemed to seal the deal between the two of them.
It really was for the best. Vox was already getting called upon again. If they'd continued here, then they would have been interrupted, and with that any chance they had of continuing would have been lost for good. There was a chance that one of them would choose to back out of this now, but at least something could still be salvaged from that.
And in the interim, this was still a victory. Alastor could do as he pleased. He had the freedom to act. There was plenty that he could do with that, albeit not immediately. It made the entire situation seem less hopeless, because nothing had fundamentally changed. And maybe they could get somewhere, with this torrid affair of theirs - something more than having things come to a halt at the starting line. A win-win scenario.
[There was an impossible amount of overthinking happening between now and then, and more than once he saw Velvette and Val give each other questioning looks when Vox didn’t answer their questions right away. Or the meeting with Carmilla that resulted in incomplete PowerPoint presentations. Or Zestial asking about blahblaholdpeoplestuff. Not that he needed to answer to any of them; he was in charge now, he was a god. But he did explain that this new role took a lot of work, more than originally planned, so presentations and questions needed to fuck off for the moment.
Really, his mind was just wrapped up in Whatever The Satan Just Happened. Alastor just roaming (mostly) free, a threat of death that they both knew probably wasn’t going to happen now, an order ignore, a date for tonight. A date. Was it a date? Shit, should he bring something?
He was overthinking it. He knew he was overthinking it, and when the hour came (and he cited a headache and piles of work to Val, not tonight, babe), he had a bottle of unopened whiskey on the table a box of cigarettes on the nightstand. Two whiskey tumblers star next to it, waiting for them.
The infamous last meal.
Vox played with the idea of leaving his coat off, maybe sitting with his shirt open or the tie off, or-or-or- But he ultimately decided that the full experience led to a good story, and that included the slowburn of everything. Jacket, tie, it all stayed on. Certainly it had nothing to do with how good it felt when Alastor took it off him.
He did pour himself a drink, though.
And then had another one.
And a third just because.
He wasn’t worried. He wasn’t. He was in control of this situation. This was fine. This was fine, as he sat on the edge of his bed, swirling amber in the bottom of his tumbler.
Alastor would come.
It wouldn’t fall apart again. Maybe they would only fight half of the time. That would be considered a vast improvement.]
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no subject
But to Vox, he was Alastor.
And in its own way, that was powerful. People were assets, pawns to move around the board, an adoring and dedicated crowd who were ultimately faceless, nameless, expendable. They were shares on a graph, eyes on a television: disposable and easy to manipulate. Why did he need anything from them other than devotion and allegiance? Why did he need their names, their company?
But he wanted both from Alastor, name and company. He acknowledged him, he was distinct in a shadow of shapes, full formed. His eyes mattered. He mattered most. And that made Al far more dangerous and important to him than all of Hell combined.
Not that he would – or maybe even could – explain it to him. Feelings were complex and convoluted things that made him vulnerable and weak, that opened him up far too much. Better to have the bravado of a man in charge (which he was! He was in charge, dammit!) than letting the quiet reality of Alastor being the key to everything settle at the forefront. His eyes flickered up to those ears, then back down to his face.
He had fucked up somehow. He didn’t know how exactly, and it wasn’t as egregious as talking about fucking Val in various chairs (don’t bring up the bed, don’t bring up the bed, do not bring up the bed), but it was something. Vox pulled his hand away, moving it to rest on one of Alastor’s knees.]
No more chair. Unless you want to…?
[His eyebrows bopped up and down with a hinted intention, before he started to stand up. Once he was on his feet, he held out a hand to Alastor as a silent offer for help if he so chose.]
You can stay here; I can do Walk and Talks. [Phone in meetings, getting bombarded while he walked through the halls, the usual.]
What will you tell the others if they see you?
no subject
He wasn't entirely satisfied with the outcome, but Vox was right. This wasn't courting, and Alastor wouldn't want it to be. They didn't have the sort of affection that was required for that. This was one more of their games, and Alastor wasn't offering anything other than to spend the night with him. Even that could be said to be for Alastor's own benefit, spurred on by some cocktail of curiosity and convenience.
Right. That was all it was.
Alastor shook his head. His staff appeared in his hand. He held it in one hand and cupped the microphone with the other. ]
You don't need to worry about that. People only see me when I want them to.
[ That was true enough. There was no escaping this prison that he was kept in, and he was trapped on one spot so long as Vox said that he was, but that was all. In the end, the Radio Demon was as impossible to catch as the shadows themselves. Still, he wasn't in a position where he could say no. He just wanted to keep some shred of dignity in all of this. He shrugged. ]
I can stay here, and you can go do what you need to.
[ It was probably the best response that Vox could ask for. ]
no subject
And yet, here he was feeling reluctant to leave, like if time got in the way it might make Alastor rethink this. Might make himself rethink this stupid, stupid thing. There were a million reasons why it shouldn’t happen, a million reasons he should tie him back to the chair or do his execution, and a million questions like was he just doing this to stop Vox from that killing Charlie order? just bouncing around in his rectangular head.
But he reached out with both his hands and settled them on the Radio Demon’s shoulders like the fool Vox was, leaned forward, and kissed him again with a little spark. This path to Hell was well-worn, familiar, and he kept walking it over and over again, each time with different shoes.]
That works. [They could work out the secrecy later, work out whatever this was later (was it a even a thing to work out?). Future Vox problems could be analyzed with returns reviewed, could decide what the best strategy was; looking at it that way made him feel safely disconnected instead of these raw moments right now.
He wasn’t sure which he preferred. He just knew which one was smarter.
Vox pulled away and turned to walk across the room to head towards the door. Already he was taking the Do Not Disturb off his phone, his screen flickering as the calls started. He stopped for a second, looking back at him.
I’m looking forward to tonight.
But he couldn’t actually say that, so instead he just smiled.]
See you in a few hours.
no subject
It really was for the best. Vox was already getting called upon again. If they'd continued here, then they would have been interrupted, and with that any chance they had of continuing would have been lost for good. There was a chance that one of them would choose to back out of this now, but at least something could still be salvaged from that.
And in the interim, this was still a victory. Alastor could do as he pleased. He had the freedom to act. There was plenty that he could do with that, albeit not immediately. It made the entire situation seem less hopeless, because nothing had fundamentally changed. And maybe they could get somewhere, with this torrid affair of theirs - something more than having things come to a halt at the starting line. A win-win scenario.
He lifted a hand in a little wave. ]
See you soon, Vox.
no subject
Really, his mind was just wrapped up in Whatever The Satan Just Happened. Alastor just roaming (mostly) free, a threat of death that they both knew probably wasn’t going to happen now, an order ignore, a date for tonight. A date. Was it a date? Shit, should he bring something?
He was overthinking it. He knew he was overthinking it, and when the hour came (and he cited a headache and piles of work to Val, not tonight, babe), he had a bottle of unopened whiskey on the table a box of cigarettes on the nightstand. Two whiskey tumblers star next to it, waiting for them.
The infamous last meal.
Vox played with the idea of leaving his coat off, maybe sitting with his shirt open or the tie off, or-or-or- But he ultimately decided that the full experience led to a good story, and that included the slowburn of everything. Jacket, tie, it all stayed on.
Certainly it had nothing to do with how good it felt when Alastor took it off him.He did pour himself a drink, though.
And then had another one.
And a third just because.
He wasn’t worried. He wasn’t. He was in control of this situation. This was fine. This was fine, as he sat on the edge of his bed, swirling amber in the bottom of his tumbler.
Alastor would come.
It wouldn’t fall apart again. Maybe they would only fight half of the time. That would be considered a vast improvement.]