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"You simply must talk to him!" Emily insisted, her angelic wings fluttering with effort as she tugged relentlessly at Alastor’s right arm.
On his left, Charlie mirrored the effort, digging her heels into the hotel's garish carpet. The two girls pushed and pulled, forming an absurd tug-of-war against the Radio Demon. Alastor looked positively murderous. His trademark smile remained plastered on his face, but it was strained at the edges, twitching with suppressed irritation, while his crimson eyes sparked with dangerous, crackling static.
"I assure you, ladies, I require absolutely nothing of the sort!" he protested, his voice heavily filtered through an old-timey radio broadcast of annoyed distortion as he tried to dig his cane into the floorboards to resist them.
"Come on, Al! He's really trying to change," Charlie pleaded, her puppy-dog eyes on full display. "And you're the one person he needs closure from to finally move on."
"I harbor zero intentions of providing help to that picture-box," Alastor sneered. "My distinct preference is to watch him suffer in exquisite, perpetual agony!"
"Oh, don't be a sourpuss," Emily scolded lightly. Drifting upward into the air, the Seraphim rested her chin delicately on Alastor’s shoulder. "I know you two used to like each other."
"Friends? Ha!" A burst of canned laughter echoed from his staff. "My dear, naive girl, there are no friends in Hell!"
Emily merely smirked, her halo tilting playfully. "Then you don’t like me, Ally? And I suggest you choose your next words very carefully, mister."
"We are... well, I... you..." Alastor’s broadcast faltered into a confused dial tone. For a rare moment, the articulate Overlord was entirely bereft of words.
Taking full advantage of his momentary linguistic malfunction, the girls gave one final, synchronized heave, shoving the Radio Demon straight through the double doors of the therapy room.
The heavy wooden doors clicked shut behind him. Sitting on Charlie’s overly plush, aggressively pastel therapy sofa was Vox. The Media Demon looked startlingly different. Gone was the flashy, pinstriped suit and the arrogant posture. He wore simple, casual clothes that hung loosely on his frame. His flat-screen face flickered as he looked up. The usual electric blue hatred that burned in his digital eyes was absent, replaced by a hollow, muted sadness.
"Hi, Al," Vox offered a weak, half-hearted wave. His voice lacked its usual auto-tuned boom. "I know you don't want to be here. I tried telling Charlie that."
"Truly? I possess no desire to squander my precious time with a pathetic, washed-up has-been? What a shocking revelation!" Alastor smoothed down his ruffled coat with overly dramatic, sharp movements. He sauntered across the room, leaning casually against the wall opposite Vox, his shadow stretching menacingly across the floor.
"I deserve that," Vox admitted softly, his screen dimming slightly. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't expect anyone to."
"And yet, here you sit!" Alastor spun around, throwing his hands wide with theatrical flair. "In this delightfully miserable Hotel! Groveling for 'redemption'! Oh, it is deliciously pathetic."
"Mock me all you want." Vox turned his gaze toward the window, watching the chaotic red sky of the Pride Ring. "I'm not looking for redemption. I'm just trying to be a better person... for the people who love me. Even when I didn't deserve it."
Alastor’s smile tightened. It was terribly boring to hurl insults at an opponent who refused to volley them back. The lack of a game drained the amusement from the room. "That is just profoundly sad, Vincent," Alastor purred, using the TV demon's given name like a poisoned dart. "You had the potential to be the most powerful Sinner in Hell."
"You were the most powerful Sinner. Technically, you still are." Vox finally met Alastor's gaze squarely. "Did that make you happy?"
"Of course!" Alastor twirled his microphone staff with a flourish of green energy. "I have thoroughly enjoyed my tenure in this dreary pit! Minus the seven years of forced absence, naturally."
"Bullshit. You were lonely." Vox offered a faint, glitching smile. "You chose to push everyone away because, at some point in your life, someone pushed you away first. I know, because I did the exact same thing. I was so caught up in my own brightness, my own persona, that I completely missed the people right in front of me. But Val and Velvette... they didn't abandon me. Even when they had every reason to."
"They need you," Alastor countered sharply, a burst of feedback whining from his microphone. "You are merely a useful asset."
"No." Vox's voice grew painfully soft, making the usually imposing Overlord seem incredibly small against the cushions. "For some unfathomable reason, they still love me. Despite the damage I did to our brand, to them. They still want me back."
"You are making me physically ill, Vincent. Wasted potential," Alastor sneered, his shadow pacing restlessly along the wallpaper. "You always were weak. Always clinging to others for support."
"I liked you, Al," Vox said, remaining infuriatingly calm despite the barbs. "I liked you because, for the first time since I fell down here, I felt like someone actually saw me. The real me. We shared a vision. Beliefs. So yeah, I wanted you to be my partner. Not because I couldn't conquer Hell by myself... but because I wanted to do it with you."
"Needing companionship is an egregious act of weakness!" Alastor snapped, his smile stretching to a manic, unsettling width.
"Then why did you choose that Angel?" Vox smirked, a spark of his old self flashing on his screen. "You know, when I saw her step in to save your ass, I was certain she was dead meat. But I've watched you two since. Being together." He clasped his clawed hands together, the metallic scrape echoing in the quiet room. "That's what really got me thinking. If even the terrifying Radio Demon can manage to improve himself for someone who cares about him... maybe I can, too."
"Absolute nonsense!" Alastor’s antlers suddenly grew, branching out toward the ceiling as the room darkened with sudden, violent static. "I need absolutely no one! And I certainly have not 'improved' for Emily!"
"Just accept it, Alastor. You like her. And she likes you. That doesn't make you weak."
"I simply tolerate her presence!" Alastor hissed, his eyes reverting to twisting radio dials.
"You're helping out around the Hotel more. You've stopped airing live tortures on your broadcasts. Hell, you're standing here talking to me right now without trying to rip my screen off my neck—which I am entirely sure you want to do."
"Do not flatter yourself," Alastor growled, though his antlers slowly shrank back down to normal.
"My point, Al, is that you've changed. You're still a terrifying Overlord, and let's face it, people like us are probably never going to be 'good'." Vox sighed, the cooling fan inside his head whirring softly. "But we are capable of improving. For the sake of those who have the extreme misfortune of loving us."
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the ambient hum of Vox's monitor. Alastor stood entirely frozen, the radio static fading into a profound, heavy silence.
"I wanted to say I'm sorry, Al," Vox finally broke the quiet. "For... everything. For blaming you all these years. For trying to destroy you."
Alastor straightened his lapels, clearing his throat with a short burst of static. "There is no need for apologies, Vincent. For what it is worth, I had an absolute blast humiliating you."
"And I had fun plotting your gruesome demise," Vox chuckled dryly. He paused, nervously tapping his fingers against his knee. "Say... I'm planning to propose to Val. I know, it's stupid and sentimental. But I want to prove to him that I'm committed. That I love him."
Alastor tilted his head, his smile returning to a more natural, albeit condescending, curve. "And pray tell, what does this sordid affair have to do with me?"
"Will you be my best man?" Vox asked, a genuine, soft smile displaying on his screen.
Alastor blinked, a record scratch audibly echoing from his person. "You must be jesting."
"I'm not. You're the closest thing I've ever had to a real friend, Alastor. And while at one point I was stupid enough to hope we could be more than that... I've accepted reality. And in the end, you rejecting me led me to find Val." Vox stood up slowly. "So... it would mean the world to me if you said yes."
Alastor stared at the TV Demon, a complex array of emotions flickering behind his scarlet eyes. "Perhaps you have changed, Vincent. And perhaps... it is for the better."
"Well," Vox shrugged lightly. "Love changes a man. I think we both know that better than anyone now."
Instead of shaking a hand, Alastor stepped forward and surprisingly placed a firm, clawed hand on Vox's shoulder. His wide, sharp-toothed grin returned in full force.
"Very well, Vincent. I shall do this," Alastor declared, his voice booming with vintage radio warmth. "But only because I know exactly how utterly miserable you are going to be in holy matrimony!"