Chapter Text
It was quiet.
No one breathed.
Even Alastor wasn’t sure what to do. His retina's still burned from the flash of light, and whether it was a natural human response or the instincts of a deer drilled deep into his demon psyche, he froze in place. Uncertainty wasn't an emotion he handled well. It made him itchy, and when he couldn't scratch that itch via his usual methods (research and/or murder), it grew like a rash until he resorted to peeling back his skin.
So, he focused on other important things, like getting his panting under control. His rib twinged with each short inhale, still buzzed from the rush of the fight. It was uncomfortable, but the pain re-centered him, pulling his attention away from the three Overlords at his back and to the new threat in front of him.
Instinctively, Alastor reached for the shadows, but he had officially exhausted his limits because they only shifted a few inches before sliding back into place. Dammit. Even if he tried shadow-traveling away, he’d only get a few feet at best, and Vox was in far better shape than he to even attempt it.
Vox.
It was strange putting the name to the face. The man in front of him was Vox, screen, antenna’s, and all. But at the same time he was a stranger. An off-color shade of Vox, less like a flashy, vibrant entertainer and more like the shadow stretched at his feet. The kind of inky, solid pitch that only the piercing fluorescence of stagelights could produce. Alastor had known him for over seventy years now and despite their falling out he had long since stopped seeing him as a stranger.
He was just Vox. Pure and simple.
Now, however.
Alastor didn’t need to pull to know he couldn't break Vox’s grip. His large, thick hands were steady and firm, molded around his wrists and locked into place like a pair of welded shackles. Tiny zips of electricity scuttled through Vox’s hands and up Alastor’s arms. Not enough to be painful, but the effortlessness of them, the way they emitted from Vox's touch as naturally as body heat, gave the impression that he was more of a lightning bolt trapped inside a container than a man.
It set Alastor’s teeth on edge.
His Vox had emitted an electric charge too, but the way the air crackled around this one felt alive. Thrumming from his presence like an aura of heat around a flame, as seamless as the static that buzzed around Alastor wherever he went, but larger. Stronger.
Consuming.
Alastor repressed a shudder, refusing to shy from its intensity, and met Vox’s gaze.
Those familiar vermeil eyes, still fulgurating in victory, were already picking him apart and Alastor studied him in kind, digging in his fingers to strip away Vox’s hyper focus and examine the gears underneath. To gauge what he was thinking and figure out what his next move was. But Alastor's heart punched hard in his chest when he didn't get an immediate read on him. The intensity of Vox's gaze was like a nail drilling through his skull, but when it would stop, where it was going, Alastor had no idea.
A long beat of silence held the room in suspended uncertainty.
Then, in an unexpected turn of events, Vox’s expression smoothed into a debonair smile and let go of Alastor’s wrists, taking a step back.
Alastor’s hands hovered in the air for a moment, frozen in confusion. He shared a quick side-eye with his shadow, who mirrored his disbelief, feeling strangely at a loss.
Tentative steps picked through the rubble behind him. A shuffling combination of clicking heels, thudding boots, and slithering scales. Alastor’s ears twitched toward the sound and uneasiness pressed on his neck at having three opponents behind him, but he didn’t look away from Vox.
Unlike Vox, who looked past him and his smile morphed into a scowl.
“Mista Vox,” Angel Dust greeted him, trying for confidence but nervousness threaded his words. “We was just about to contact ya. Found the guy ya warned us about. We were—”
Vox held up a hand and Angel Dust went quiet. His eyes roamed behind Alastor’s shoulders, likely taking in the disheveled state of his goons, and his scowl became a sneer.
By the time he spoke the air was heavy with tension, but his voice was as smooth and put together as Alastor's ever heard it. An exact replica of Vox’s timbre that felt strange coming out of his mouth. "You’ll receive your performance reviews by the end of the night." Was all he said and when the three didn't move, his eyes narrowed. “That means get the fuck out of my sight!”
Alastor still didn’t take his eyes off him as the others hastily walked around them, shoulders tight, lips flat, and heads ducked. Criminals trudging to the gallows, already certain of their sentencing. Vox waited until they were gone before his attention settled on Alastor again and his charming smile returned.
“You’ll have to forgive them. Competent workers are surprisingly difficult to find in a city as big as ours.” He held out an arm. “A moment of your time?”
Alastor glanced at it but didn’t move. It was just a formality, anyway. His only two escape routes were the door across the room and the giant hole in the wall behind Vox. He wouldn’t make it to either one. Vox was blocking the wall and he was watching him with such intense fixation, he'd be lucky to make it two steps towards the door. The itch in his skin intensified.
A moment passed before he smoothed his own smile and accepted Vox’s arm. Better to buy himself time.
“I suppose I can spare a few minutes.”
Vox barked a laugh, like the very idea was absurd, but led him out of the room. Following a trail of destructive bread-crumbs, Alastor quickly found himself back in the ballroom. It was quiet between them, despite the heavy weight of Vox’s presence. They stopped in the middle of the room when Vox turned to face him. Just as he did the speakers along the walls crackled to life and a smooth, classical song wafted through them.
He held out a hand. “I don’t suppose you know how to dance?”
“Do you treat every stranger you meet this way?” Alastor drawled, but accepted it, only barely masking his startlement when he was tugged into Vox’s body, far closer than anticipated.
“Only a special few,” Vox replied and seamlessly led him into an easy, swaying rhythm, ideal for talking and not so much dancing itself. “Oh, right, right,” he laughed, a sound so close to Alastor’s Vox it squeezed his chest. “I haven’t introduced myself. The names Vox, CEO of Vox Enterprise, in case you didn’t already know.”
“Hard not to. Your branding is everywhere.”
“Go big or go home.”
Alastor hummed, allowing a slow spin, before falling back into step. “I am surprised you’re not as present in the media. A prestigious figure like you, I’d think your face would be everywhere.”
“Only when I want it to be, unlike you, mister…?”
“Alastor. Alastor, the Radio Demon.” Alastor searched his face for recognition, a line of surprise between his brows or a crease around his lips, anything to suggest he’s heard of him, but Vox simply cocked his head with an amused expression.
“The Radio Demon,” he repeated with an “oooh’ing” intonation. “A title and everything. Bold.” His eyes twinkled. “I like it. So, you’re the one who’s been messing with my airwaves.”
Alastor shrugged indifferently.
Vox snorted. “You know, normally, I wouldn’t tolerate people messing with it. It’s not good for business. And it is a little, well,” he leaned in and whispered, “invasive. But I’ve got a feeling you’re not just anyone.”
“One of the special few?”
“Exactly. Not just anybody can tap into my waves. Nobody, in fact. It’d take a fuck-ton more power than any of the useless fuckers in this city have, so I can’t help but wonder,” they stepped apart, connected by only their hands in a semi-turn so he could look Alastor up and down, “where the hell you came from?"
Alastor gave him a sly side-eye. “What do you mean? I’m a Sinner, same as you. Where would I be but here?”
“Nah,” Vox curled him back into his body. “A signal like yours? I would’ve felt you long before you could sense my frequencies, much less connect with them. So, how’d you do it?”
“A lot of hard work and dedication.”
“All qualities I admire,” he twirled Alastor in a spin that left his arms wrapped around himself, caged by Vox’s arms, so he could murmure in Alastor's ear, “but we both know that’s bullshit. Sinners don’t get as powerful as you overnight, and I sure as hell didn’t sign off on it. So, I reiterate,” he released Alastor from his hold and they fell back into step, “who are you and where did you come from?”
“I’m Alastor, the Radio—”
“I’m not talking about your name, or the cute little title you’ve given yourself. I want to know where you’ve been all this time and how you got so many of my souls.”
“Your souls,” Alastor snorted. “Wow. How ambitious” He smirked. “Maybe you’re just not as sharp as you think you are. It hasn’t been too hard slipping under your radar.”
His headache said otherwise, but Vox didn’t need to know that. He tested his tether to the shadows again, but it was feeble and strained. Exhaustion clung so heavily to his bones, he could barely keep up with Vox, slow dance or not. He was in desperate need of a recharge. Maybe if he was quick, if there was a hole in the wall or crack in the floor he could slip through...
Surprisingly, Vox laughed, entertained by the idea. “Yeah, alright, I’ll admit you’ve been a massive pain in the ass to find. But,” he eased Alastor into a dip, “I like a good challenge.”
Alastor’s smile tightened. “Always happy to be a problem.” He eyed the room again as he was pulled up and spun, searching for the tiniest nook, anything to escape through, and Vox’s grip tightened, as if sensing his thoughts.
“And a problem you are,” he agreed, and as the song came to an end he tugged Alastor in, pressing their bodies together. “It’s been a while since someone’s given me the run-around like that. Honestly, I’m impressed.” His lips curved up. “I’d love to get to know you better. How about we take this to a more comfortable setting.”
Alastor’s heart quickened, all too familiar with the intrigue in Vox’s eyes. The interest. He let go of his hand and shoulder and tried to step away, but like before, Vox held him in place. Alastor's eyes flashed black and his smile sharpened in warning.
“Let’s not. I’m plenty comfortable where I am.”
“Why’s that? So you can keep looking for a way out?”
He stiffened.
“You think I haven’t noticed you eyeing the place? I see everything in my city. Everything.”
The cameras in the room simultaneously buzzed and only then did Alastor realize they were all trained on him. He hadn't noticed when they moved. Hadn’t even felt a shift in their signals as they’d honed on him, masked by the overwhelming feel of Vox’s presence. His frequency was like a giant radio-wave forcibly attaching itself to his receiver.
Alastor's nerves prickled. “Let me go.”
“I don’t think so.”
He pushed at Vox’s body, and when that did nothing, called on his shadow. It moved too slow and had only covered him up to his knees before Vox yanked him in, letting go of his arm to grip his jaw and forced him to look him in the eye. It wouldn’t be the first time Vox tried using his hypnotism on him, especially after their friendship had gone belly-up. It had mostly been annoying, like a wriggling worm in the back of his head trying to chew through his skull. More often, it left him with a headache. Maybe a migraine, depending on its intensity.
That was nothing compared to this.
The magnitude of the sudden pressure on his mind nearly buckled his knees. It hit like a punch. A slam over the top of his head that instantly numbed his thoughts and made his mind go dizzy. It was almost enough to overtake him.
But Alastor knew Vox. He had fought him off so many times, he could read him like a book. However different this Vox was, their signals were similar enough at their core. Alastor clenched his jaw and regained his footing. Glaring, he met Vox’s stare head-on and pushed back with all his remaining strength, forcing the hands around his brain to let go, unhooking its fingers one by one.
The pressure receded, pulling back with Vox as he recoiled, eyes wide and stunned. Alastor kept his gaze, jaw aching and eyes ablaze, wrestling together every ounce of his composure to hide how muddled his brain felt and how loud his heart pulsed in his ears.
But ice shot through his system when Vox’s smile widened. A slit of his lips that showed off his glowing cyan teeth as his eyes flashed, not out of surprise, but excitement.
“You are something else,” he breathed.
Before Alastor could pull his thoughts together enough to hatch a plan, however haphazard, Vox seized his jaw again, yanked him back, and to Alastor’s shock, both of his eyes swirled with dark, hypnotic spirals. The charge in the air pulsed, effervescing over his skin like thousands of acidic bubbles that put the metallic taste of burnt aluminum on his tongue. A deep, anesthetizing hum smothered his mind with so much speed and force, he didn’t have a chance to fortify himself. It ripped through his mental barriers as easily as tissue paper and drove its fingers so deep in the meat of his brain, he had no chance at removing them, even if the world hadn’t immediately descended into a red haze.
For a single, mind-numbing moment, he was locked in an empty void. The hum of Vox’s internal fans faded. The smell of ozone snuffed itself out. The pinch of Vox’s grip on his skin became nonexistent. He couldn’t even feel the exhaustion that’d been hanging off his body for hours.
All he heard was static. All he felt was the smooth, resonating hum of Vox’s frequency, his presence, wrapped around him, heavy, tight, and too strong to tear through. Cupped in his hands like a small, injured bird, hidden from the world outside.
Then Alastor blinked and he was somewhere else.
He wasn’t in the ballroom, anymore, or even at the club. He was sitting on a sleek, leather couch, staring straight ahead at a modernistic jumble of colors framed on the wall, with a rocks-glass tucked in his hand.
“Welcome back,” a voice said from across the room and Alastor whipped to the side, only to instantly bend over and dig his claws into the armrest with a low, miserable groan. Nausea twisted like a knife in his stomach and he was suddenly aware of the pain planted behind his eyes.
His words were loose, slurred, and confused. “Wh-what did you—”
“Hm? Oh, yeah, hypnotism is a bitch. But you’re handling it like a champ. Most people would’ve thrown up by now, so thanks for not making a mess. The cleaning lady is a bit of a freak.” Alastor squeezed his eyes shut, smile shy of a grimace as he dug his fingers into his forehead, willing away his panging headache. “Don’t worry, the side effects wear off,” Vox added. “Give it ten minutes. Or less! Who the fuck knows? You’ve been chock full of surprises.”
Alastor's claws dug deeper into the armrest as he swayed again. Not only had his exhaustion not gone away, it had doubled, pulling on his bones like it were trying to drag him to the floor. Lord above, he almost let it.
Through deep, steady breaths, his nausea receded just enough so he could open his eyes and look around. The neon blue strips lining the bottom and top of the walls made him wince—all the lights made him wince. Vox always favored neon accents in a dark color scheme. It made for a popping ambiance, but an annoying headache.
He was in a sitting area of black, leather couches, glass tables, and boxed lamps that seemed more decorative than necessary, considering the floor-length windows that spanned an entire wall. The conglomeration of screens, advertisements, and signs outside illuminated the room better than any light fixture could; and if not that, then the glowing aquarium on the other side of the room, also spanning an entire wall, would’ve done it.
“Where am I?”
“My penthouse,” Vox answered easily and Alastor followed his voice to the side, where he was picking through an extensive collection of spirits behind a polished granite wet-bar, back turned to him. “Figured we could talk somewhere a little more private than Angel’s Heaven fetish club. You looked like you needed a break, anyway. Lot’s of running around you’ve been doing.”
Alastor’s stomach churned again and he only then remembered the glass in his hand when it cracked under his grip. He slid it onto the glass table in front of him, movements slow and lethargic, like he’d just woken up from a long nap. The kind that left you more exhausted than when you closed your eyes.
His mind twisted in on itself, stuck on the dissonance of being in the club one second and a penthouse in the next.
“How did I…”
“Eh, I put you under,” Vox shrugged, like it were no big deal. “You’re a slippery guy. Figured it’d be the easiest way to get you here.” He looked over his shoulder, pixelated lips twitching in amusement. “Made me work for it though. It’s been a while since I’ve had to use both eyes. The last time was, hmm,” he thought for a moment. “Zestial? Maybe Carmilla? Ah, I don’t remember.”
The hair on the back of Alastor’s neck stood on end. He stared at Vox’s back, the broad width of his shoulders, the stark lines of his boxed head, his cyan tipped claws. Like this, he could almost convince himself this was his Vox. It calmed the riled, animal side of his brain that wanted to bare its teeth, strangely enough.
His Vox he could handle.
From the corner of his eye his shadow pulled itself out from beneath the couch, meeting his gaze with the heavy eyes and slack frown his exhaustion warranted. Seeing it also soothed him. Relax, he told himself through a deep, steady breath. This was just another Vox.
A Vox that had hypnotized him.
He fought back a shudder. His Vox came close once or twice, but he had always been able to shake him off. However powerful he had become, Alastor was still a step above him. Still a master over the radio-waves, FM, AM, or whatever other frequency band Vox tried.
His eyes drifted to this new Vox, watching as he finished stirring his drink, body loose, shoulders relaxed, the picture of ease and not the least bit tired. Alastor swallowed hard. It’d been so easy for him to put him under. Unnervingly easy. A wide, yawning pit opened in Alastor's chest cavity, large, unfamiliar, and swelling with an emotion he hadn’t felt since…well, since Adam’s guitar nearly sliced him in half.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to drag a reply out of his dry throat, because Vox carried on, unperturbed. “But it is nice to know how you ended up with so many souls. Interesting that you’re still connected to them despite being, you know, here. Might have something to do with Lucifer’s kid and all that archangel magic bullshit, but what do I know? Which, whoa-ho, wasn’t that a fucking surprise?” He gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “The bastard actually managed to squeeze one out. Heard he tried for a while on our side, but,” a shrug, “guess that didn’t get very far.”
Alastor blinked hard, sorting through the influx of information, and his eyebrows knit together. “You…know..how do you…”
“Oh, I asked a few questions while you were out of it. So, a different Hell, huh? That’s a new one.” Vox sipped his drink and let out a sharp, satisfied hiss before rounding the bar. “But why not? Heaven orbits us like a fucking moon, the devil is a shut-in nobody, and I woke up with a goddamn TV for a head. Why not add inter-dimensional travel to the mix?”
On one hand, it was a relief that someone finally understood Alastor’s whole…situation. Except for Lucifer, of course, not that anything had come from that. But another part of him snagged onto the fact that Vox had questioned him while under his influence and that he had answered. Honestly. The pit in his chest grew wider, bloating his lungs. With every word that came out of Vox's mouth, he felt more constricted, like his skin no longer fit right on his body.
With a deep, comfortable sigh, Vox settled on the couch opposite of Alastor. If anyone could be the human embodiment of leisure, it’d be him. He’d forgone his jacket and wore a simple white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top three buttons undone, showing off thick forearms, a corded neck, half-hidden collarbones, and the hint of a muscled chest. He threw one arm over the back of the couch, held his glass in the other, and spread his legs in the picture perfect definition of “man-spreading.”
He studied Alastor over the rim of his glass. “Hmm, nothing to add? No questions? Comments?” Alastor didn’t reply. “You were a lot more chatty at the club." He sipped his drink. “I think I preferred it.”
With a final, steady breath, Alastor leaned back into the couch, sliding on an air of casualness. “Well, that’s new. You appreciate it a lot less where I’m from.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“I’m surprised you haven’t already asked that. You know,” his voice crackled, “while I was under.”
Vox smirked, unfazed. “Who says I didn’t?”
Alastor’s ears twitched, but he schooled his agitation by leaning forward and grabbing his glass off the table. He examined it for a few seconds, looking for any changes in the amber color.
“I didn’t spike it if that’s what you’re wondering,” Vox said, propping his screen on two fingers and grinning like Alastor were the most amusing thing he’d seen in a while.
Alastor’s smile hardened but in the grand scheme of things, yes, there was no point in Vox drugging him. His hypnotism worked better than any powder or pill could hope to achieve. For appearances sake, he inspected the drink a little longer before taking a small sip. Vox raised an eyebrow as if to say “See?” and he had the impulse to spit it at him just to be petty.
Vox languidly swirled his glass between two fingers. “So, tell me about yourself.”
“Don’t you know already?”
“Eh, I got a synopsis, but I want the rest from you.”
“Mhm, and why’s that?”
“It’s more fun that way.”
“Seems unnecessarily difficult.”
“Well, I can put you back under if you prefer,” he leered, looking Alastor up and down. “It’s pretty relaxing when it’s done right. Or, so I’ve been told. Can’t exactly put myself under.”
Alastor tilted his head. “You’ve tried?”
“A few times. For curiosity’s sake, but,” Vox clicked his tongue, “guess you can’t hypnotize the hypnotist, right?”
“You tell me.”
He snorted. “Anyway, you were just about to tell me about yourself.”
“Was I?”
“Why not? It’s not like you’ve got anywhere else to be.” He met Alastor’s eyes cheekily, like they were sharing a joke. Blandly, Alastor tossed the rest of his drink back and slid the empty glass on the table.
“There are plenty of places I’d rather be. But seeing how I’m stuck here,” he narrowed his eyes, filter crackling harsher, “for now, I’ll indulge you. Ask your questions and I’ll decide if I want to answer them.”
A few strings of electricity zapped between Vox’s antenna’s. “You’ll decide huh?” His voice distorted slightly, tinny and synthetic, as if talking through a speaker, but it didn’t sound offended. More…enlivened. “Aright, I’ll play.”
Play. Deciding to go along with it as if it were a game he was merely indulging him in. Alastor’s fingers curled in his lap, but he hid his indignation by crossing his legs and getting comfortable. He tipped his head. “Go on then.”
Vox thought for a moment before asking, “When did you die?”
“Nineteen-thirty-three.”
“Huh, almost a century, then. And you were an Overlord in your Hell?”
“Still am.”
He snorted, but dipped his head. “Yeah, alright, alright. You check all the boxes, I guess.” He pursed his lips as he examined the liquid in his cup for a moment, as if in thought. “How long have we known each other?”
“Hmm, I’d say about,” Alastor checked his non-existent watch, “over twenty-four hours. Close to forty-eight. Unless we’re only counting the times you got a glimpse of me, which is roughly, I don’t know, a few hours? If that.”
“Funny, but no. I’m talking about you and the Vox from your world. How long have you known each other?”
“Seventy years, give or take.”
Vox nodded. “Mhm, mhm, and, uh, what’s the relationship like between you two?”
Alastor squinted. “Why do you ask,” he ventured cautiously, tone flat.
“Just curious. I’d like to know what your relationship is like with all the other,” Vox snorted, eyes twinkling, “Overlords. Technically speaking.”
Feedback crackled around Alastor’s head. “And how do you know you’re even an Overlord in my Hell?”
Vox scoffed, like the idea that he wasn’t was ludicrous. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He said it so matter-of-factly, so blatantly, it burned Alastor that he was right. Oh, how he would’ve loved to tell him he was nothing but another one of the “useless fuckers” meandering through the streets, as forgettable as the disease ridden rats sniffing through the garbage.
He contemplated saying just that, but Vox continued, not even waiting for him to confirm or deny his status. “Speaking of Overlords, who else is still kicking back there?”
Alastor swallowed his distaste. He could refuse to answer, just to be petty, but Vox already demonstrated a nonchalance toward hypnotizing him to get answers, and the thought of going back into that numbed, red haze…
Begrudgingly he listed, “Zestial, Carmilla, Rosie, Zeezie, Maestro, Velvette, Valentino—”
Vox choked on his drink and bent over, laughing so hard the rest of it sloshed over his hand and onto the couch. “Valentino and Velvette. Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. A porn star and my fucking seamstress? Overlords?” He guffawed, slapping his knee. “That is, that is something else. Wow.”
His seamstress, Alastor mentally noted. Outwardly, he nodded slowly, “Yes. They’re part of the Vee’s. The little group you founded.”
Vox shook his head, still snickering as he wiped an invisible tear from his eyes. “Jesus, Husk mentioned something about the 'Vee’s,'" he finger-quoted, “and those two low-life's, but I didn’t actually think it was true; and with me of all people.” He downed what little remained of his drink and wagged a finger at Alastor. “Hate to say it, but you’re Vox sounds like a weak-ass loser.” He shook his head again. “The fucking Vee’s. Please. Give me a break.”
Alastor snorted, but deigned not to comment. On some level, he agreed. He’d never taken the Vee’s seriously, either. The sheer fact that it took all three of them to build their media empire was laughable. But, he didn’t want to give Vox any reason to think they actually had something in common.
“Ah, wow,” Vox sighed one more time, leaning back into the couch. “I needed that. But you still haven’t answered my question. What’s the relationship like between you and me? Your Hell’s me.”
“Oh, nothing special,” Alastor said, examining his nails. “We rub elbows now and again. Attend Overlord meetings. Occasionally deal with overlapping broadcasts. The works.”
“Uh-huh. So, why didn’t you join his group then.”
Alastor’s eyes snapped to him, skin prickling. How the hell did he…
“Oh, come on, it's obvious. Radio. TV. However pathetic your Vox sounds, he had to have at least propositioned you.”
You have no idea.
“What happened to disliking the Vee’s?” Alastor sniffed.
“Fuck the Vee’s. It’s with Valentino and Velvette, for godsake. Of all the people to shack up with, I don’t know what the hell he was thinking. It’s a shit name, anyway.” Vox leaned forward on his knees, propping his head in his knitted hands. “But a partnership with you? Now that makes a lot more sense. I’d be surprised if he didn’t at least bring it up.”
Alastor glanced away, only briefly, but it was all Vox needed and he slapped his thigh in vindication. “Ha! I knew it! He did, didn’t he? So, he’s not a complete moron. That’s something, at least. Buuut,” his eyes bored into Alastor, “I have an itty bitty little feeling that you said no.” He arched an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I wasn’t interested in sharing power with someone incapable of getting it themselves,” Alastor waved off dismissively. “I wasn’t about to drag around dead weight, nor was I in the business of making friends, however close our mediums are.”
“I didn’t say anything about friends,” Vox smirked. “But noted.”
Alastor pressed his lips together, cursing his fumble. The building itch of frustration under his skin prickled, irritated for a number of reasons. Vox. This discussion. The smug, calculating shine glinting off his overly dark screen. Alastor wasn’t used to him being so…put together. Calm and collected. Observant.
It was so easy to needle him back home. All it took were a few well-placed remarks and a mocking lilt in his voice, and his Vox would sputter, flicker, and spew electricity like a tantrumming sparkler. This Vox was more like a fuse box that had been welded shut. No matter what tools Alastor used, he couldn’t seem to crack him open. All the crevices, the scars and wounds he’d normally slink under, were gone. The tactics he’d cultivated, the ones he had come to rely on, had become moot and he was scrambling to find his footing. All he needed was one hand-hold, one crack in the wall, to dig his fingers into so he could climb back up to solid ground.
He just couldn’t find it.
Vox snickered quietly, as if reading his thoughts, and Alastor’s eyes snapped back to him.
“I have a question,” he sneered.
Vox gestured a hand. “Ask away.”
“What about me?”
“Hm?”
“Where am I in this flashy, over-advertised flea-market? There’s a you in my Hell, so there has to be a me here.”
Vox glanced to the side, considering that. “Honestly…” he shrugged, “I have no idea. I’ve never seen you before.”
Alastor’s ears twitched downward in displeasure. “Really? With all these cameras, and eyes, and your constant watching, you haven’t come across me even once?”
“Mmm, nope, can’t say that I have, and believe me, if the you here is anything like, well, you, I definitely would’ve remembered.” He sat back in the couch, meaning to grab his glass where he’d set it on the side table before remembering it was empty. From the corner of Alastor’s eye, a cable dropped from the ceiling, curled around the crystal bottle that had been left on the counter, and carried it to Vox like an obedient dog so he could pour himself another. He glanced at Alastor’s empty glass and lifted the bottle in question, but Alastor held up a hand. As much as he’d like to guzzle the entire thing, a tipsy head wouldn’t do him any good.
Vox shrugged and settled back, glass in hand, carrying on with the conversation like it had never stopped. “But there were a few radio-based Sinner’s back in the day. Well, before my day, that is. I’d felt some of them in the air-waves, even employed a few, but most of them died off with the medium.” He perked up, as if just getting the thought. “Huh. Are Exterminations a thing in your Hell?”
“Yes, yes,” Alastor waved off, “Heaven loves killing us too. More importantly, do you know anything about those Sinners? The radio ones. Any names? Characteristics? Calling cards?”
“Not really. Radio was dying regardless, no Exorcists needed, haha. Once I figured that out, I didn’t see a point in following up on them. The Extermination’s were fucking brutal back then. Not a lot of fail-safes. I mean it took, like,” he pondered for a second, “two decades? Three? Before we even touched on Angelic Security.”
Alastor’s ears flicked up. Huh, so he did manage to get that off the ground.
Noticing his interest, Vox smirked. “Yep,” he popped the ‘p.’ “Figured out a few ways to lower the kill-count. Not to brag or anything.” It sounded very much like a brag.
“How noble.”
“The public sure thinks so, and that’s all that matters,” he tipped his glass at him with a wink. “Of course, we can’t give the Exorcists nothing. The demand needs to match the supply. I need to give them some blood to drag back to Heaven. So if a few systems fail here and there and they invade a building or two, or five, well,” he chuckled darkly over the rim of his glass, “there are kinks to hammer out in any product.”
Well, it explained how he’d gotten so powerful, at least. If he did figure out how to protect Sinners during the Exterminations, then throwing a few under the bus once a year was a small price to pay for a steadily growing population, and thus, a steady influx of power. No wonder there were so many blasted buildings.
Alastor waved him off. “Mhm, yes, very clever. Back to the subject, you think I was killed during a past Extermination?”
“Guess so. Which is a real shame, considering your skill-set. I would’ve snatched you up the moment I found you.”
Alastor’s eye twitched. “Charming.”
Vox lifted his hands. “It’s just business, babe.”
Before Alastor could come up with a retort to that, the door across the room slid open and an Imp wearing a crisp white servants uniform stepped inside, hands behind their back and body so straight they could’ve been another one of the sharp geometric lines etched into the walls.
“Dinner is ready, Sir.”
“Finally.” Vox hauled himself up, took a moment to brush down the front of his clothes, and stuck a hand out to Alastor. “Shall we?”
Alastor looked past it, eyes flinty. “And if I’m not hungry?”
One of Vox’s eyes enlarged, flashing with swirling spirals for only a split-second before going back to normal. “Humor me.”
Though his tongue soured, Alastor kept his smile in place. Just to be difficult, he kept him waiting for a beat, before dropping his hand in his and allowing himself to be pulled up. Automatically he turned, reaching for his cane, and stiffened when he found nothing.
Damn, it must still be at the club. None the matter. He reached out with his power to summon it, and though it took longer than it should’ve, he sighed in relief when its steady weight manifested in his hand.
“Neat trick,” Vox commented.
Alastor dropped the butt of it on the ground, feeling more put-together than he’d been since waking up from Vox’s hypnosis.
"Now then, what was that about dinner?”