[ 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.]
[ There was certainly enough to keep him busy. True to form, Alastor had no difficulty avoiding notice. The building was large enough to avoid bumping into anyone without much effort, and there wasn't anyone present who had reason to be looking for the Radio Demon. It made matters simple enough, and it gave him time to organize his own thoughts.
This was all a terrible idea. They weren't meant for this sort of closeness. Alastor wasn't built for something like this. Their efforts had proven that much. But that was only him overthinking things, because Vox had made it quite clear that he wasn't looking for anything serious. He was wishy-washy as one could be, and it seemed that he wanted Alastor to take it seriously without being willing to do so himself. And that was better, because neither of them should be putting themselves in a position such as this to begin with.
But none of that was stopping them, and Alastor was nothing if not punctual. The knock on the door came right on time, and he pushed the door open and stepped in. His own jacket had been taken off and was draped over one arm, giving him the appearance of someone who was returning home at the end of the day. He felt somewhat exposed without it, perhaps a bit too casual and too comfortable for his own liking, but Vox was the only one here to see it. They'd known each other for decades, and it was that which allowed him to behave in this way. ]
I'm here... I didn't keep you waiting long, did I?
[Dammit. He shouldn’t have worn his coat after all.
There was an awkward moment where he didn’t know if he should get up or stay there on the bed, then silently berated himself for overthinking. He wasn’t nervous – why would he be nervous!? Ha! ha. – but there was something more than the normal electricity buzzing under his skin. Finishing the drink in the glass, he set it on the nightstand beside the bottle.
One hand held itself up, the hologram project of a clock interface showing up, accurate to the second. It cast a soft blue glow across his coat sleeve.]
You know you’re on time. It’s part of the business.
[Broadcasts couldn’t be late, after all; inconsistency resulted in lower audience scores.
His fingers curled into a fist, making the hologram disappear. Phones were already turned off. One cable slid out, snaked across the floor and locked the door. No one could interrupt them. Nothing could happen. The only one who could fuck this up were the two people in the room.
So, that meant that there was still an eighty-three percent chance of it being a disaster.
He pointed at the bottle and the cigarettes.]
I think I got your favorites.
[Except he knew for sure he did. Perfect. He remembered those little details as much as he tried to forget them, but they came in handy now.]
Unless you already had dinner.
[There was a small smirk. How could there not be?]
[ That was true - there were many things that an audience could forgive, everything from the occasional shoddy performance to controversies - but a lack of punctuality and consistency would be harshly punished.
One ear flicked a few times in response to the click of the lock. If Vox were being honest, he had just cut off the last way that anyone had of interrupting them. The two of them were truly alone. Alastor can't remember the last time that was true.
He padded over to the bed. Alastor folded his jacket once more before resting it on the edge of the bed, then rested his staff on it. The pack of cigarettes was lifted off the nightstand next, and it was only once he had that in hand that he took a seat next to Vox. He turned it over in his hand. Like the bottle of whiskey, it's a familiar and comfortable brand. It's the same one he's always favored. ]
The very ones.
[ He tapped the top of the carton against his palm. ]
I'm surprised that you remember.
[ That wasn't entirely true. It came as no surprise that Vox would remember, especially when Alastor was so habitual, but he wouldn't have expected the man to go out of his way to get them. His whiskey of choice wasn't difficult to find, but nor was it as common as it used to be. Nonetheless, he seemed pleased by the gesture, and his smile softened just a tad. ]
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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.]
no subject
This was all a terrible idea. They weren't meant for this sort of closeness. Alastor wasn't built for something like this. Their efforts had proven that much. But that was only him overthinking things, because Vox had made it quite clear that he wasn't looking for anything serious. He was wishy-washy as one could be, and it seemed that he wanted Alastor to take it seriously without being willing to do so himself. And that was better, because neither of them should be putting themselves in a position such as this to begin with.
But none of that was stopping them, and Alastor was nothing if not punctual. The knock on the door came right on time, and he pushed the door open and stepped in. His own jacket had been taken off and was draped over one arm, giving him the appearance of someone who was returning home at the end of the day. He felt somewhat exposed without it, perhaps a bit too casual and too comfortable for his own liking, but Vox was the only one here to see it. They'd known each other for decades, and it was that which allowed him to behave in this way. ]
I'm here... I didn't keep you waiting long, did I?
no subject
There was an awkward moment where he didn’t know if he should get up or stay there on the bed, then silently berated himself for overthinking. He wasn’t nervous – why would he be nervous!? Ha! ha. – but there was something more than the normal electricity buzzing under his skin. Finishing the drink in the glass, he set it on the nightstand beside the bottle.
One hand held itself up, the hologram project of a clock interface showing up, accurate to the second. It cast a soft blue glow across his coat sleeve.]
You know you’re on time. It’s part of the business.
[Broadcasts couldn’t be late, after all; inconsistency resulted in lower audience scores.
His fingers curled into a fist, making the hologram disappear. Phones were already turned off. One cable slid out, snaked across the floor and locked the door. No one could interrupt them. Nothing could happen. The only one who could fuck this up were the two people in the room.
So, that meant that there was still an eighty-three percent chance of it being a disaster.
He pointed at the bottle and the cigarettes.]
I think I got your favorites.
[Except he knew for sure he did. Perfect. He remembered those little details as much as he tried to forget them, but they came in handy now.]
Unless you already had dinner.
[There was a small smirk. How could there not be?]
no subject
One ear flicked a few times in response to the click of the lock. If Vox were being honest, he had just cut off the last way that anyone had of interrupting them. The two of them were truly alone. Alastor can't remember the last time that was true.
He padded over to the bed. Alastor folded his jacket once more before resting it on the edge of the bed, then rested his staff on it. The pack of cigarettes was lifted off the nightstand next, and it was only once he had that in hand that he took a seat next to Vox. He turned it over in his hand. Like the bottle of whiskey, it's a familiar and comfortable brand. It's the same one he's always favored. ]
The very ones.
[ He tapped the top of the carton against his palm. ]
I'm surprised that you remember.
[ That wasn't entirely true. It came as no surprise that Vox would remember, especially when Alastor was so habitual, but he wouldn't have expected the man to go out of his way to get them. His whiskey of choice wasn't difficult to find, but nor was it as common as it used to be. Nonetheless, he seemed pleased by the gesture, and his smile softened just a tad. ]