Chapter Text
“….admitedly, he is somewhat more of a gentleman than most of the folks dwelling down here-”
“Then agree.”
“-but under that thin layer of manners, he’s still an obnoxious and crass buffoon-”
“Then don’t.”
Alastor narrowed his eyes. Once he replayed the audio from three days prior so many times through his microphone staff that he could hear scratches forming on the otherwise imaginary record, he concluded that he needed a fresh perspective. He decided to talk about his predicament to Angel Dust, because he assumed he’d be the best person to bounce off — Angel wasn’t scared of him, which while foolish, meant he spoke to him openly and bluntly, instead of trying to guess what Alastor himself wanted to hear. At the same time, he was close enough with Husk to not risk upsetting Alastor too much, or worse, later gossip about the conversation and see him pay the price. And, unlike some other hotel’s residents, Angel was too blase to care and thus make the interaction annoying by assigning it weight it certainly didn’t have.
What he apparently didn’t account for, was that Angel was also too blase to offer any worthwhile feedback.
“It’s not as simple as you’re making it sound, my dear,” he said dryly.
Angel raised a brow, looking up from his portable telephone he was sliding his finger up and down on.
“Look, I’ve dated more guys than ya’ve prolly ever been in the same room with. And let me tell ya, it literally fuckin’ is.” He placed the telephone down on the couch and crossed his lower arms. “So instead of givin’ me this guy’s entire bio, just ask yourself this; ya like him?”
It was a question without a clear cut answer. Admittedly, him and Vox have recently been on better terms (speaking, even) than they have been in decades. Nonetheless, the animosity from all the time they spent as bitter rivals still lingered, seemingly not interested in leaving any time soon. But so did the fondness from even further past.
“...I suppose so.”
It wasn’t often that Alastor allowed hesitation to slip into his tone, even if it was mostly masked by an increase in static. If Angel noticed, he didn’t let it show.
“That’s a start,” he nodded. “Ya love him?”
Alastor considered the things he did love; strong black coffee first thing in the morning, musky smell of bayou, thrill of a challenging hunt, good music that grabbed you by the hand and tugged toward the parquet. Then, he put them side by side with Vox. It wasn’t an all too favorable match-up.
“...He’s the most entertaining demon I’ve met here,” he settled on eventually.
“Guess comin’ from ya that’s basically a yes, huh?” Angel chuckled.
In a way, there was something that rang true about that. Still, Alastor didn’t think it was quite right. He hummed, noncommittally.
“Well, there ya go! Now go and take your new boyfriend to like a museum or whatever shit you dinosaurs are into.”
Now he was certain this wasn’t quite right. He very much didn’t like how the word “boyfriend” sounded, even more so than “beau” or “moll”.
“I have to admit, I…” he started, not exactly sure how to express himself so that Angel would understand him. “...never was the one to enjoy dating.”
That seemed to surprise Angel a little.
“You’ve dated before? No offense but-” He looked him up and down. “Actually, full offense. Ya creepy as fuck.”
“During my lifetime, yes. It helped to blend in.” Alastor shrugged. “I’ve had two or three sweethearts, but all in all I’d say the whole ordeal was...” a carte blanche for people to put their hands all over him unpromptedly, to stick their nose into his private matters and harass him about where he went and with whom, to invade his life and talk nonsense about “marriage” and, Lucifer forbid, “children” “...Rather tedious.”
For some reason, Angel flashed him a grin.
“Can relate. So basically what you’re sayin’ is you’re not after this guy’s heart but his cock, huh?”
Alastor gave him a flat stare. Then, the stained glass in the windows started to rattle.
Angel nearly showed his head between his knees, as he pressed both sets of palms against his ears to cover them from the shrieking static.
“Fuck, Jesus fuckin’ Christ-! Sorry, shit, I’m sorry, okay?!”
The noise rang for ten seconds longer, scaring a horde of cockroaches from under the lobby’s furniture — huh, Nifty really wasn’t joking when she said the bugs were still winning. When it stopped, Angel glared at him.
“Fuck you,” he mumbled. “All I was sayin’ is that I don’t judge, ‘kay? Sometimes ya just want a nice piece of dick. We’ve all been there.”
“Speak for yourself.”Alastor bared his teeth in a condescending smile.
Angel sighed.
“Why am I even helpin’ ya with this?”
“Because my shadow found the counterfeit you have hidden around the hotel,” Alastor reminded ever so kindly, examining his claws.
“No, I mean- Ya don’t wanna date him. Ya don’t wanna fuck him. Like what’s stoppin’ ya from tellin’ him to fuck off?”
A grimace cut through Alastor’s face, which in his case meant that his upper lip curled to show a bit of the gums and his brows fell low.
“Presuming I were to reject his advances, he’d most likely throw himself in the arms of someone else.” Many very grubby arms.
“Sure, maybe. I mean, rejection is a bitch.” He waited a moment, expecting Alastor to keep talking. When he didn’t, he frowned in confusion. “Wait… that’s it?”
Alastor tilted his head.
“Ya considerin’ this only ‘cause the dude who asked ya out might have a messy rebound?”
“Not “might”, and not just a “rebound”,” he corrected.
“What, he like broke up with a boyfriend for ya or somethin’?”
As much as his ego wanted to say yes, the facts about Vox’s so called love life suggested otherwise. He hummed reluctantly.
“I suppose that’s a possibility, but I wouldn’t exactly bet on that.”
Angle opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the puzzle pieces finally clicked into place and a realization dawned on him.
“Holy shit,” he said under his breath, “Wait, wait, wat- Ya thinkin’ about going out with Vox?”
For just a moment, Alastor froze. Then, a studio laughter filled the lobby.
“That conceited picture box? God gracious, no! What has come over you to even suggest that, my dear fellow?”
The unimpressed look Angel gave him showed he didn’t buy his bluff in the slightest.
“Oh puh-leaaase,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe I didn’t get that sooner. He’s the only fucker crazy enough to go after ya.” Rude. But not fully untrue. “And let me tell ya, he’s crazy, alright. I only believe like half of the shit Val told me about him and that still makes him sound like a fuckin’ nutcase.”
His expression gained a more serious quality to it and he leaned forward.
“The guy’s a nasty ass stalker, Al. He like has cameras on the cameras he’s got on ya. Instead of thinkin’ if ya wanna date him or not, ya should be thinkin’ ‘bout how many feet ya want on your restrainin’ order.” He paused for a moment, musing. “Ya know, Charlie’s dad’s a king, she might be able to actually get ya that…”
Alastor bristled and straightened, puffing up his chest.
“I’ll have you know that I’m more than capable of handling myself, thank you very much,” he said coldly. “And as for Vox, I, ah, value his… dedication.”
That was a bit of a half-truth, but he wasn’t about to explain to Angel that he felt underappreciated by his peers. Oh, common Joes of Hell were terrified of him, no doubt about that. But other overlords treated him basically like an acquaintance from work. It was insulting. People in the living world wrote books about his feats as a serial killer, but here? The current (well, forever) ruler didn’t even knew who he was, after he’d been terrorizing the masses for almost a hundred years! Vox was the only one who gave him the amount of attention he deserved. Of course he’d want to follow his every move, of course he interrupted the scheduled broadcasts to talk about him, that was what the public, newspapers and radio did as well when he turned Louisiana into his personal playground. As they should.
Angel cringed.
“Right. Sorry, I forgot you’re mother fuckin’ insane as well, my bad.”
“If I were you, I would learn to watch my words when I’m speaking to my superiors,” Alastor’s voice crackled threateningly through heavy static, but he paid him no mind, slumping on the couch.
“So, lemme summarize; ya don’t wanna fuck him and don’t wanna date hum, but ya don’t wanna see him fuck or date other people and he’s like, dunno, the highlight of your existence.” As he talked in exasperated tone, Alastor varied between noding and swinging his head in a so-so gesture. He sighed heavily. “Ya can’t seriously expect me to-” He stopped suddenly, as his eyes widened. “Hold on, I think I know how to deal with this cluster fuck situation.”
Vox’s apartment was decorated in an extremely modern, bordering on futuristic style. The art prints hanging on the walls were geometric and lacked frames. Every aspect of the slick furniture was minimalistic, every, that is, beside the surfaces. Because those were currently occupied by countless alcohol cans and bottles, full and empty alike. The Media Demon himself half-sat half-laid on the armrest-less sofa feeling and looking pathetic. His eyes were bloodshot and his usually neat bow tie hung undone, exposing a stained collar on which, along with his unbuttoned vest, he spilled multiple beers. Having no proper dimensional lips made drinking difficult, especially when his coordination was out of whack after a whole night of drowning his sorrows.
Stupid fucking mouth. Stupid fucking face. Was it because of it Alastor didn’t even have the courtesy to reject him and have been ghosting him for the last three days? He bet it was. He bet it was because he was an ugly fucking freak. But fuck Alastor! Who cares! Certainly not Vox, that’s for sure! Yeah!
He let out a low whine which quickly turned into full-on ugly crying, heavily glitching between the sounds. He was one beer away from digging his phone from between the cushions and begging Val to take him back and two beers away from doing so through a dick pic. So, that was it. No more beer. He shakily got up from the couch and trudged toward the mini-bar. It was time for vodka.
Before he reached his destination though, the shadows began crawling from under the furniture. They shot up from the floor, and formed into a familiar skinny silhouette.
“Hello, old pal! You look absolutely dreadful!”
Vox yelped and stumbled over a bottle, which sent him flying to the ground.
“Holy shit!”
Alastor paid his bewilderment no mind, bending over him with arms clasped behind his back and a smile close to splitting his head in half.
“Say my dear, does the word "queer-platonic" mean anything to you?”