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<< HZ-HX-HEY THERE, BIG GUY. No, not you. Down in front! Yeah, yz-yx-you! >>
Alastor gave an ungainly start and stared wide-eyed at his microphone.
<< Got any plans for Sz-Sx-Saturday night?>>
What in the nine circles was Vox’s voice doing coming out of his microphone? Alastor’s lip curled in a sneer.
<< You do now. How about a dz-dx-date with me? >>
Alastor’s face twisted with disgust, holding his microphone at arm’s length. “What kind of pathetic ruse is this?” Alastor demanded--but the voice didn’t even wait for him to finish:
<< Vox. Mz-Mx-Media mogul. Entertainer extrz-trx-traordinaire. Culture creator. >>
“Yes, unfortunately I know who you are,” Alastor spat.
<< Finally, a chance to rub shz-shx-shoulders with the man who makes all your dx-dz-dreams on sz-sx-screen come true…>>
“What--what are you talking about?” Alastor spluttered in a low growl. “You must have a screw loose--or- or- a wire. A fuse blown. ”
<< How about it? A pz-px-personal invitation from yz-yx-yours truly.>>
Nonplussed, Alastor responded flatly. “No.”
<< Overlords only. Sz-Sx-Sinners need not apply. It’ll be the gz-gx-greatest night of your life. Hxa hza! Well--the gz=gx-greatest night of your eternal torment. >>
Confused, Alastor looked around. Was he hearing things? His staff was lighting up and the sound came modulated and colored by his frequency seemed to be the only source of the obnoxious noise.
<< Keep your schz-sxhz-schedules open, sz-sx-sweethearts. More details to come. >>
Alastor narrowed his eyes at his microphone as the light went dim and the transmission ended. He waited a beat, suspicious. Then he finally brought it closer, up to his face. “... Hello?”
“Yees?” His microphone burst to life, the eye expressive, iris rolling to look up at Alastor.
Alastor frowned in that way that he did in which he did not actually stop smiling. “Were you receiving transmission?”
“Why, I suppose I was!” the microphone replied brightly.
“... Direct or broadcast?” Alastor asked, his gaze growing sinister as his grip tightened on the stem of his staff.
“Easy there!” his microphone chuffed out a protest, but it went ignored by Alastor’s leering gaze. “You’re the one in control of all that! I don’t know what to tell ya!”
A growl crept low in Alastor’s throat and he cast another suspicious gaze around him.
The next time, Alastor was not so lucky as to be alone.
<< Sz-Sx-Saturday night … >>
The gravitas of the announcement came low but resounding in the quiet club. Alastor looked horrified at his microphone.
<< There will be an ez-ex-event … that will change EZ-EX-EVERYTHING … >>
“Oh, for pete’s sake,” Alastor blurted. He glared at his microphone, fangs set on edge. He gave it a shake, rattling the components.
“Hey, I’m just the messenger!” his microphone complained in a queasy voice.
<< … The Mz-Mx-Mange Mansion will be host to the GZ-GX-GREATEST night of entertainment Hell has ever seen … >>
Alastor cast an angry, furtive look around the club and scoffed as he stood swiftly and marched toward the door.
<< One night only … A night to see and be seen by the PZ-PX-PREMIERE class … >>
Alastor had the impression that he was only getting half of the message, if the dramatic sound effects blasting in the background of the transmission were anything to go by. It was hardly Vox’s style to only transmit audio--he worked in a much more visual style. But that was besides the point--why was he receiving transmission at all?
He hadn’t crossed paths with Vox in quite some time now. The television demon seemed preoccupied with some new project, in one of his phases where Alastor had him blissfully out of his hair for a while. That always boded trouble, but this little stunt hardly seemed like the precursor to a personal attack--aside from the fact that it was coming through on his frequencies.
Alastor had seen Vox splashed in the press with some… partner of sorts. Valentino, if he recalled correctly, though he hadn’t bothered much to commit the details to memory. Something salacious, from what he surmised. It appeared visceral fornication was gaining more traction under the guidance of this new somebody on the scene.
Why Vox would stoop to pick such low hanging fruit was beyond Alastor. Truly, a man without class. As to be expected. Alastor was disappointed, really--
<< The DZ-DX-DEVIL made me do it … >>
Alastor found himself bristling with irritation, mulling over the why --so much so that he had missed most of the… advertisement, or whatever it was, until that last line. He stopped dead in his tracks and narrowed his eyes at the microphone.
He and Vox operated on different broadcasting bands--that was the nature and difference of radio and television and never the twain shall meet. Alastor doubted Vox could even commandeer his signal--much less broadcast directly to his microphone. The logistics were inconceivable, and the first time Alastor had assumed it was some fluke. Some coincidence to do with where he had been standing--too close to a broadcasting tower, something.
But if Lucifer was involved…
Why his old friend Ol’ Scratch would do such a thing--well, why did anyone do anything? He and Lucifer had that much in common: a mutual love for entertainment, at any cost. Perhaps it was just for a lark. Some little joke that Alastor had yet to know the punchline of.
He looked warily at his microphone.
At least Saturday was nearly upon him, and hopefully the end to these little interruptions.
<< Whz-Whx-Who do you think you are? >>
Alastor cursed as the sudden accusation startled him. He didn’t let it break his stride, continuing to stroll with stubborn determination not to be ruffled, albeit gripping his staff tight enough to make the casing creak.
<< You’re a sz-sx-superstar, baby. >>
Alastor rolled his eyes. A fizzle of irritation rolled through him as he even gave that much acknowledgement.
<< Come show off your cz-cx-crown, if you’ve got the TZ-TX-TERRITORY to prove it. I’ve got a Vox GZ-GX-GUARAN TEE you won’t be slaughtered! >>
“On your word?” Alastor scoffed. His jaw tightened. Why was he responding?
<< Hxa hza! Don’t take mz-mx-my word for it? What about a bz-bx-bonafide promise from the Bx-Bz-Big Guy Downstairs? Our Lz-Lx-Lord and Master - Morning Sz-Sx-Star - Morning Glory - Dz-Dx-Devious Dynamite Dz-Dx-Dominator - our humble host - for a no holds barred TRUCE? >>
Alastor shot a subtle, dubious look at the source of yet another advertisement.
<< The inaugural Overlord’s Ball is the only place to be. Be there or be sz-sx-square. >>
Against his will, that brought a chuckle out of Alastor. He could all but hear the irritation in Vox’s voice. He knew him too well-- knew that was not a joke he would make at his own expense.
“Knew that one would get a few yukks out of you,” a chipper voice sounded from… somewhere.
Alastor, already thoroughly ruffled by these ad-read interruptions, gave a little twist on his heel to pinpoint the voice. Somewhere--above-- “Ah. Mon roi, ” Alastor greeted Lucifer with a thin, suspicious smile. The King of Hell was seated in a tree and looked for all the underworld like a boyish youth. “ There you are.”
“Were you looking for me?” Lucifer asked with a shining grin that one might have confused for angelic.
“As a matter of fact, I was,” Alastor replied, glancing at his traitorous microphone before planting the staff before him to turn fully to the Serpent. “I should have known I would find you lurking in a tree. ”
“Lurking? I’m not lurking, I’m larking-- why does everyone get it wrong?” Lucifer insisted almost petulantly, swinging his boots.
“You certainly do seem to be in a larking mood…” Alastor drawled.
Lucifer’s grin sharpened and brightened, the brightest-white thing in Hell. “Wasn’t sure you’d heard about the big blow-out! But, you’ve got TV on the radio! That’s a trick,” Lucifer laughed.
Alastor glanced at his staff again, then raised a brow at Lucifer. “Just my luck,” he said with thinly veiled malice.
Lucifer looked surprised. “What? You think I put that on? Oh, Al, I would never do such a thing.”
Alastor didn’t believe him for a second--although, it was unlike the king not to admit to a prank when there was one he was responsible for.
“So, you’ll be there, then,” Lucifer said, an expectant look in those wide eyes.
Alastor chuckled. “Me? Why should I be in attendance? Overlords only, if I heard correctly. The premiere class. ” He could hardly bite back his amusement. Such petty squabbles over meaningless titles.
“Oh, c’mon, Al!” Lucifer insisted. “You should be there.”
Alastor shot Lucifer a dubious look. “Do you think that wise? ” he asked, drumming his fingers on his microphone. He had dismissed the event out of hand. He was not in the habit of attending any sort of Overlord functions, and he knew he was not well loved by those Powers That Thought They Were.
“No,” Lucifer answered with a giggle. “That’s why it’ll be fun. ”
Alastor couldn’t help but share his amusement. “And what of your guarantee of a truce?”
“More of a suggestion,” Lucifer quipped back. Despite his amusement, Alastor did not look convinced. “There’ll be music. And dancing,” he goaded.
That did not enthuse Alastor much in this day and age. “Of a certain kind, ” he mused dismissively.
“Oh, c’monnnn, Al,” Lucifer whined in a most un-kingly way.
Alastor’s smirk twitched up a few degrees.
“Please?” Lucifer implored. “Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”
Although Alastor deplored the very concept of Overlords, he could not deny that it might be… entertaining. If the music was so terrible, he could correct that. And it did not hurt to be abreast of who’s who in Hell. Besides… he had missed tormenting Vox. His nemesis had--intentionally or not--gotten his fair share of that in the week leading up to the event.
“Well… it would be foolish of me to deny a royal invitation…” Alastor finally conceded with an exaggerated bow cut only by a sharp smirk. He felt a certain spark in his chest at the thought that he would go to the event--that he would see Vox after such a prolonged time apart. Surely the idiot would be dulled by their distance. All the better to needle him.
“Oh, goodie,” Lucifer said cheerfully, clapping his hands together. “You’ll be my guest of honor! ”
Alastor balked and stiffened. “No-no-no,” he tried to dissuade him, but the Serpent had already vanished in a poof of comical smoke.
A too grand entrance greeted Alastor at the Mange estate that Saturday night, and after much forced clapping and smiles, Alastor was granted the false pleasure of mingling into the crowd. He supposed there was one benefit to Lucifer’s special attention: there were more sneered words behind his back than addressed to him directly.
It did make for a fair bit of entertainment, watching the Overlords posture and make thinly veiled threats as small talk. Of course, it took no time at all for him to set eyes on Vox. Even though his stature was nothing to write home about--practically diminutive in comparison to others--he had a glow about him that made him impossible to miss. More so: his speech was so loud and jarring, it cut through the chatter with its halting, glitched style.
He was in the company of someone--not wholly unusual at events like these, but a rather unusual sight to Alastor’s eyes. This someone towered over him, making his stature all the more comical. They moved through the pockets of conversation together. As a unit. Although he could not catch all the words, he heard the cadence, the easy banter that volleyed between them, all but putting a show before every cluster of Overlords they deigned to grace their presence with. Vox alone was a performance, but with this--this Valentino, he was a duo.
The longer Alastor watched, the more his displeasure grew.
If it had not been Lucifer who had directed Vox’s advertisements to his microphone, it had to have been Vox. There was no other way. And if Vox had done so-- why? Why invite him to a party only to be witness to him with… with someone else?
It should be of no concern of Alastor’s who Vox decided to associate with--to partner with. But he had the irrational notion that he should have been consulted on the matter. Vox was his nemesis. His rival. His foil, perhaps, in the grand scheme of things. Alastor was assailed by the uncomfortable feeling that Vox was changing the rules. Perhaps even… moving on.
What a way to announce it! What--were the commercials on television and the print-up in the papers not enough? Did Vox really have to go to such lengths to ensure he was in the loop? Ha! As if he cared!
He had just made up his mind to leave, stewing at a table, when he was-- yet again --startled by that damned familiar voice.
“Az-Ax-Alastor!” Vox greeted him loudly. “What a pz-px-pleasant sxxxurprise!”
“Oh, don’t be smart with me, V--” Alastor sneered with barely bridled rage as he turned on his nemesis, stopping short only when he saw the other demon towering there beside him. They shone nigh-matching grins down at him and Alastor’s stomach turned. He curled his sneer into a grin and stood with forced poise.
“Hz-hx-he doesn’t get out mz-mx-much,” Vox said to his tall companion.
“I c’n tell,” Valentino replied. “Bu’ don’t worry, honey. I know who you are,” he said to Alastor, his voice heavy and smooth with a smoker’s drawl and a Londoner’s accent.
“Then I suppose introductions are superfluous,” Alastor replied.
“Oh, dz-dx-don’t be rz-rx-rude, Alastor,” Vox chuckled. “Allow me to introdz-dx-duce my pz-px-partner, Valentino.”
Alastor’s ears twitched at the gratification Vox took in the word ‘partner’ and the shadows deepened around him. “A pleasure, ” Alastor said with as much vitriol as one could drip into two syllables, offering his hand.
Valentino took his offered hand with a surprisingly delicate grip. “Vox s’ told me all about ya,” the moth said with cloying warmth that hardly suited his razor pink smile. “Wuz expectin’ you t’ be th’ life a th’ party…” He chuckled quietly. “Bu’ we all have our off days, hey?”
“I wasn’t hired as entertainment. I was under the impression that was Vox’s duty tonight,” Alastor replied thinly. “I’m impressed he was able to find anyone who would put up with his bluster for more than five minutes. You must be… easily entertained,” he told Valentino pleasantly.
Valentino did not miss the veiled insult and his smirk dropped into a blatant sneer.
“We’ve jz-jx-just made things ofz-ofx-official, ” Vox cut in sharply. “So, I thought a pz-px-party was in order. Valentino’s debut. ”
Valentino’s ire was soothed somewhat by that, pride renewed enough for him to lift his chin, curling one of many hands over Vox’s shoulder. Alastor noted with some… dismay that Valentino’s hand did not receive a shock upon touching the electrified media demon.
“Th’ first a many,” Valentino boasted. “Gonna be a party every night from here on.”
“ Felisitasyon,” Alastor said, devoid of any congratulatory spirit. “I’m sure you two deserve each other.”
“Took ‘im long enough,” Valentino said, unfazed by Alastor’s implied insult. “How long you been goin’ stag down here, Voxxy?” he asked his partner with a preening smile.
Alastor would not look at Vox, but Vox could look at no one else, particularly as Valentino uttered the word stag. After a beat of Alastor solidly, obviously, ignoring him, Vox tipped his screen up at Valentino. “Whz-whx-what are you trying to sz-sx-say?” he accused with a laugh, defensive that his age was being implied.
“Nothin’,” Valentino replied with false innocence. He was far from ignorant of the tension brewing between the two disparate media demons, and in hopes of seeing some action, he excused himself, “ Rivetin’ as all this is, I’m gonna let you buffers carry on. Grab a drink.” He turned on his heel and started to stride away, all fluid and grace despite his towering frame. “Want me t’ grab one f’r you, luv?” Valentino teased over his shoulder.
Vox let out a static-grating laugh. “Yz-yx-yeah, babe. Have one oz-ox-on me,” he replied flatly, surprisingly permissive of Valentino not only teasing about his age, but also his physical inability to drink. Both things Alastor had seen Vox fry demons for without a second thought.
Alastor felt Vox’s current spike as his screen turned to face him. Alastor was still watching Valentino glide away through the crowd, still refusing to look at him.
“Bz-bx-been a while, Az-Ax-Al,” Vox prompted him, tucking his hands into his pockets in a handsome stance.
“Has it?” Alastor replied lightly, gaze finally fluttering to land back on Vox. “I suppose I have been unusually free of your obnoxious shenanigans for a while. I was just starting to get used to it.”
“But you cz-cx-came anyway,” Vox pointed out with a smile. “Mz-mx-miss me?” he asked, eyebrows jumping.
Alastor scoffed to cover the sizzle of static in his throat that almost betrayed him. “You were so determined to get my attention…” he grated out through his fangs. “Commandeering my microphone signal?” he snipped, then his lips curled wide in a grin. “No, not determined. I think desperate is the word I was looking for…”
Vox’s display flickered from grin to surprise, then settled in a bemused smirk. “Cz-cx-commandeered…?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Alastor started, but the tirade died in his throat with a croak of channel-change static.
Alastor was taken aback that Vox would not own up to it, either. Without a doubt, he would lord it over him if he had such power. The television demon had all but set himself up to bat, led himself right into a bragging retort--only to drop it, untouched.
Which meant… If it hadn’t been Lucifer, and it hadn’t been Vox himself… the only one that could be responsible for letting that signal through was… himself. Alastor had done it. Subconsciously, he had been reaching out and let Vox through.
Vox had scarcely seen Alastor so tense over so little. The little red twig was all but frozen. “Pz-px-playin’ dumb with the Rz-Rx-Radio Demon is bad for one’s hz-hx-health,” Vox replied in banter-verse, trying to suss out what had choked up his rival. “Sz-sx-speaking of health… you look a little pz-px-pale, bz-bx-buddy. You been gz-gx-getting enough exercise without mz-mx-me around to run you through the pz-px-paces?”
Alastor glared at those familiar narrowed eyes, the damned familiar grin--different than that he wore on television or in print. A grin that shot through him like a bolt, saw through him, knew him in ways no other demon could.
“Lz-lx-let’s have a dance,” Vox pressed on. “Get that bz-bx-blood pumping. What d’you sz-sx-say, Az-Ax-Alastor?”
“I was just leaving.” Alastor simmering anger and betrayal was threatening to boil over, and he would have none of Vox’s damned charm at this stage.
“Aww, cz-cx-c’mon, Al,” Vox implores him. “They’re plz-plx-playing our song. ”
Alastor’s ears twitched, fur bristling indignantly at the insinuation that they had a song. They had no such thing--and anything Vox deigned worthy of playing was sure to add insult to the injury of the night.
But as the band picked up, Alastor’s ears twitched again. Gone was the more modern, rolling funk that had been playing, and instead a tune that Alastor recognized began to play, as if right on cue. Vox took this moment of uncertainty to take Alastor by the hand. His touch was electric and burned Alastor on contact, set his teeth on edge, but he was determined not to let it show.
It was too late, Vox had already felt a twitch of Alastor’s fingers. But to his pleasure, Alastor was as proud and stubborn as to be expected, and instead of recoiling, Alastor doubled down and gripped onto that painful touch instead.
“You hz-hx-haven’t had any fz-fx-fun at all!” Vox protested as he drew Alastor toward the dance floor. “I’d be sz-sx-slacking on my duties as hz-hx-host if you didn’t ez-ex-enjoy yourself a little. ”
If Alastor pulled away now, he really would make a scene. And not the sort of scene he wanted to make. While ignoring or dismissing Vox was usually in his repertoire, it was never under these circumstances. He was under Vox’s thumb--or, rather, in his arms--and it would look like a retreat if he backed down now.
“I know you were a fine dancer, Vox,” Alastor said through clenched teeth. “But you’ve hardly had time to practice.” He improvised a quick double step right out the gate to intentionally stagger Vox, gripping him by hand and shoulder without any care at all to the electric sizzle of his hands.
Vox almost tripped, but caught himself with an excited little sizzle of static, returning the attack with a little turn on his heel. “Might be a little out of pz-px-practice with you, sz-sx-sweetheart,” he returned with a sharp grin.
“Oh, does Valentino dance with you?” Alastor asked too sharply, too quickly.
Vox recognized the malice in Alastor’s voice and fought not to laugh. “Jz-jx-jealous?” he sneered.
A flare of radio frequency shattered a nearby glass.
Vox’s face fell, startled by the honest non-verbal admission. He was amazed. He was shocked. He was… thrilled. Although there was no shortage of sparks that flew between them, animosity kept them at arm’s length. In fact, he could scarcely recall a time when he had been this close to Alastor without his claws around his throat, pierced through his ribs, wrist-deep in his guts.
“I mz-mx-meant, it’s been tz-tx-too long,” Vox corrected himself in a low voice meant just for him.
It had been too long, yet Alastor found himself easily in step with Vox. Though they had never danced before, not like this, they had exchanged blows for long enough to know the pattern, the rhythm, of each other.
“This is a nz-nx-nice change of pace,” Vox said lightly, alluding to the fact that they were not drenched in gore and screaming feedback across ten square city blocks.
Alastor felt Vox’s current under his fingertips. From this prolonged contact, this proximity, it was more hum than crackle, but there was no shortage of electricity burning through his veins. “From your new beau? ”
“Beau?” Vox echoed quietly.
“Oh, he’s made you soft and stupid,” Alastor snapped, deflating with an exasperated roll of his shoulders before he lunged hard and sharp into the next step, righting his posture. “What a waste, ” he sneered.
Vox’s grin inched up pixel by pixel. “You think I’m dz-dx-dating him?” he asked with quiet amusement. “That’s why you’re so sz-sx-sore? Oh, Al. ”
Alastor felt his blood rush hot to his face, his extremities chilling to a painful tingle as he stared wide-eyed at Vox. It was Vox’s current--he felt it rushing off him, through him, in pleasant waves. “... You’re not?” Alastor asked in a small crackle of radio static.
“Whz-whx-what was that? About it being sz-sx-such a wz-wx-waste? ” Vox insisted, screen beaming brightly.
“What was all that about--about his debut. About him being your partner, ” Alastor argued, ignoring how Vox fixated on his derisive admission.
“Sz-sx-strictly business, sweetheart,” Vox assured him with a warm glow.
And Alastor knew it absolutely to be true. Not just the line about it being all business, but the fact that Vox cared to reassure him--truly. He didn’t know what to make of this… earnestness coming from Vox. He hardly had to think about moving. Vox led and he followed, he led and Vox followed, trading off effortlessly as if they had done it a thousand times before.
“The tz-tx-times are a-chz-chx-changin’, Al. High tz-tx-time for a new business venture,” Vox explained conversationally to Alastor’s cheek, as the deer had once more chosen to avert his gaze. “A mz-mx-mutually beneficial arrangement… albeit with a few... cz-cx-caveats in the contract…”
Alastor’s hands adjusted on Vox, fell more naturally against his suit, rested more lightly.
“He’s a shrewd bz-bx-businessman, Valentino.”
Alastor remained silent, but Vox didn’t need words to feel his frequency calming. Vox had never felt it smooth out like that in his presence.
“You’re just fz-fx-full of surprises tonight,” Vox said, his grin dimmed in favor of looking, really looking, at Alastor this close up. They were on speaking terms, sure, able to carry a conversation without it resulting in violence, but never so close. It was the first time Vox had held Alastor so close in his arms without intent to maim or electrocute him. (He would say without fear of being maimed, but he would not discount that that was still on the table.)
Alastor’s eyes turned to meet Vox, but his chin did not follow, resolutely pointed proudly toward his shoulder.
“Did you think I’d mz-mx-moved on?”
The gentle, warm buzz of Vox’s tone resonated right down to Alastor’s bones. He felt that horrible electric current all but embrace him, though Vox’s hands remained properly in position.
“I’m moving up, ” Vox said. “Not moving on, sweetheart.”
That sardonic pet name had never rung so true in Alastor’s ears. They twitched along with his lips.
The song ended and Vox slowed to a stop. He released Alastor all but by his hand, which he brought handsomely to the bottom border of his screen. A sizzle of visible electricity marked a facsimile of a kiss from inorganic screen to Alastor’s knuckles. “It’s az-ax-always been you, Az-Ax-Alastor,” he said without defining what had always been him. “It’ll az-ax-always be you.”
Alastor left the party in a daze, uncertain just what had happened on the dancefloor. Usually, after he left a bout with Vox, his skin felt raw as a sunburn and a taste of metal lingered in his mouth that could not be quelled for hours.
So many emotions had cropped up unbidden during his time at the ball. But leaving it, he was filled with the strangest sense of relief.
“Well tha’ was a fuckin’ disappointment,” Valentino said when Vox finally returned to his side. “Wot was all tha’?” He gestured with his chin toward the grand doors Alastor had drifted through. “Thought your radio boyfriend wuz s’pposed t’ be bloody feral,” he snorted, plucking an hor d'oeuvre off a tray as it passed.
“He’s not my bz-bx-boyfriend,” Vox said for what must have been the hundredth time, smirking up at his partner, soured only slightly by Valentino’s enthusiastic way of eating.
“Could’a fooled me.” Valentino looked down at Vox with hooded eyes, cleaning his fingers with a casual sensuality. Then his mood swung bright and sinister, his form straightening from its usual lean. “Wot d’you say we take th’ after-party t’ his door?” His cerise grin broke wide across his lips. “F’r our honeymoon, baby,” he purred, running his too-friendly hands over the front of Vox’s coat. “I want a feral radio demon showdown,” he pouted.
Vox stiffened, but remained indulgent. At least on the surface. “That’s not in the cz-cx-contract, Val,” he reminded him with a tight grin. “The Rz-Rx-Radio Demon is mine. ”