Welcome to the Multiverse

He'd been locked away in a self-inflicted (term used lightly) isolation for months since the sequence with the Might of Lilith. Term used lightly because Vox wasn't a moron and he could tell when he wasn't wanted. Beyond the frankly weird invitation he'd received from Alastor, there'd been hardly any attempts at engagement from the grander world, or his partners- a sharp 180 from what had been before with every Tom, Dick, and Harry bending over backwards to get on his good side.

He'd found his way out for a rare chore, and against the advice of the other Vees (Distant at best), or perhaps specifically to spite their advice, Vox found himself outside of Vee Tower for the first time in literally two months.

The nature of the task (virtually unimportant) was only emphasized by the part of Hell he found himself in. A haunt he used to frequent so many decades ago, back when everything had been so different.

He' wandered in, pulled by an unexplained force, a wide eyed glance around leading him deeper- Finding that for all the innovation, upgrades, and digital transformation across the realm (fronted by him) everything in this god forsaken dive was exactly as he'd left it. Including the gruff Rhino-sinner working the bar, wiping it down with a dingy yellowing rag.

Even without decades of patronage the Rhino bartender slid the same drink he used to order here without fail every time. Remembered. But better than that. Remembered, not for his crash out. But for the whiskey on the rocks he used to grab here weekly.

Taking a seat at the bar, and picking up his drink, this was how Vox found himself bitching a monologue of complaints to the same bartender, a few empty glasses piled up around him with his screen pillowed in his arms over the bartop as he slurred about his woes.

"Thiss is why'I like youu man. your'a man of lil' words. But your a GREAT listener."

Vox smacked the counter utterly belligerent.

In the aftermath of the disastrous failure of Vox's plan to take over Heaven, Alastor had thrived. It wasn't surprising, he had been expected to, now that he was back to full power and, especially, free of any leash. Having rekindled his relationship with the Hotel crew, Charlie especially, and being able to mess with Lucifer knowing for certain that no harm would ever come from it were added bonus.

These days, his ever-present smile was slightly larger, slightly brighter, even if not less unsettling, than it had used to be. He had almost forgotten how it felt like, to be able to make his own choices, planned or on a whim, without having to worry about whether or not they would be approved. He hadn't realised how much that fact had been ruining his entertainment and now that he no longer had to care, everything felt more fun.

There were, of course, a few downsides. Nothing he couldn't handle, but they still irked him at times. Now that the Hotel was full, the amount of work he was expected to do had grown a tenfold, which meant that he had much less time for his other private project. More guests also meant that he had to play nice, since Vaggi refused to tolerate any sort of "creepy behaviour" towards the souls they were in charge of.

Also, with Angel back with the Vees, Husk had gone back to being as moody as he had used to, if not more, and that made him a bit of a pain in Alastor's side. The Radio Demon would have never admitted it, but being at the Hotel and bonding with the spider had been good for the former Overlord. He had become sharper, more motivated, all in all a better tool, even if it came with a stronger rebellious streak. Now, they were back to square one, with extra bitterness.

Last but not least, there was the matter of Rosie. Saying that things between them had remained strained after he had escaped her contract was an understatement and that came with plenty of unpleasantness. First and foremost, he was no longer welcome in Cannibal Town, with all that it implied. Secondly, he had lost the person who had been the closest to a confidante he had ever had, in both life and death, and that left him feeling a little unbalanced, as if something was missing, something important enough to make the ground under his feet uneven.

Perhaps, that was what had eventually led him to return his attention on another presence that had pestered his existence for decades and that had been sorely absent in the past weeks.

Vox.

At first, Alastor had thought nothing of the disgraced Overlord's silence. The defeat had plunged him to depths probably unknown to him, so it made sense that it would have taken him time to bounce back from it. However, the more time passed without his rival seeking him out, out of pettiness or demanding revenge, the more the stag found himself unwillingly looking for signs of the other's presence. In vain.

No drones followed him around. No cameras turned as he passed in front of them. The screens in the shop windows no longer burst with static as he walked past them.

He had even tried to cross the boundaries of the Vees' territory, making a bit of a show of trespassing, but even that hadn't caused a reaction. It was like Vox had finally decided to leave him be, to stop getting in his way and haunting him for attention.

Deep down, Alastor knew that he should have been glad. He no longer had to handle with creepy stalking, invasions of his privacy, annoying interruptions. He had an easier time sneaking behind everyone's back without a digital eye constantly locked on him.

He should have rejoiced, felt like it was another chain he had managed to break, and he had, at first, until he hadn't. In spite of everything, Vox had always added a unique spice to his existence, throughout the decades of their rivalry, and even before, back when they had been friends acquaintances. Despite the violence and the ugliness, the twisted and perverse details of their dynamic, no one had ever been capable of holding his attention as that silly picture box could.

As much as he loathed to admit it, the Radio Demon hadn't realised how much he cherished and relied on it until it was no longer there. Vox's presence was something he had gotten used to, something he had taken for granted and now...it just wasn't there and it felt...wrong.

And then there was the odd feeling, the knot that formed in his chest whenever he thought about that moment. Vox standing on top of his weapon, ready to destroy the whole Pride Ring just to wipe the smile off his face. Alastor hadn't expected his rival's obsession to go that far, that deep and now, looking back at it, he felt...flattered. Or rather, it evoked a sentiment akin to flattery that he couldn't decipher, especially not while the two of them no longer interacted.

Thus why, eventually, he had decided to take the matter in his own hands and sent an invitation, certain that Vox would have jumped on the chance to resume their usual routine. Expect that not only the TV demon hadn't answered him, but he had stood him up, leaving him to wait for hours without a warning or an apology in the aftermath.

That had been the last straw. If the dumb TV head thought he could avoid him and give him the cold shoulder because of his stupid hurt feelings, he couldn't have been more wrong.

So the table turned, with Alastor's shadows keeping a close eye on the Tower, ready to jump on the first chance offered. His strained patience was eventually rewarded when Vox was spotted leaving the building, alone, only to wander to a certain old-fashioned alcove the Radio Demon too was very familiar with.

Perfect. What better setting than a trip down the memory lane for their first interaction after this senseless break they had taken from each other?

Alastor lingered hidden away, watching unseen until Vox got inebriated to the point that would make him pliant, and only then he materialised, making a beeline for the counter.

"You know, old pal, leaving people waiting on you is extremely rude," he casually commented, sliding into the stool next to the other. Despite the neutrality of his tone, his grin betrayed how displeased he was. "Honestly, I thought you had better manners! You never cease to disappoint, don't you?"

The bartender eyed them both for a moment, before sliding a drink before Alastor without being prompted, the exact brand of rye he had used to order decades before.

“Knock yourself out.”

In honor of one of my fave episodes, Unmortricken.

❅ A small startled deer bleat escaped him as he was lifted up bridal style into the others arms. Alastor may or may not have known how much saying that had meant to Vox. It was just how he felt and so he said it to him. As if he could ever hope to get rid of him now, no matter what.

Slumping his head against the others shoulder, sighing as he relaxed from being startled. " I am su.... sure w.... we'll have .... a good t... time together..." He wondered if the other liked romcoms as much as he did.

...Fuck, now that was a cute noise.

Vox shouldn't really be surprised, considering that it wasn't the first one he heard coming from the blue deer and that the other had acted cute around him plenty of times. The waggling of a tail barely concealed by his coat being proof of it.

Yet, it still caught him a bit off guard. Deep down, he knew that it was because he was too used to the Alastor from his Hell and, no matter how much it vexed him, his mind kept reacting as if he had been dealing with the asshole and not with Hoarfrost. Hopefully, he would get over it, eventually, but until then he would have to keep reminding himself that this was a different Radio Demon.

"You say it's sweet, I say it's just a fact, honey," he talked back in a flirty tone, discarding those thoughts. "And if it's true, why wouldn't I think that?"

Once they had reached the room, the Media Overlord set Alastor down on the couch first, dimming the light with a snap of fingers as he went to retrieve the remote. He could have easily control the TV without one, but he wanted to give his companion the chance to adjust the settings to his liking.

"Want snacks or something to drink?" He asks, letting himself fall on the sofa in turn, one arm resting on the seatback, right behind Alastor's shoulders.

That fucking insufferable prick.

Vox knew that he could have a temper when properly provoked, but he had always prided himself in his self-control. No matter how hot and strong his rage could be, he usually managed to hold it back, let it simmer and then redirect it into a more profitable plan. Most of the time said plan also involved getting rid of and murder whoever had caused it, but that was just an added bonus.

Yet, whenever Alastor was involved, his ability to remain cold and calculated crumbled to dust. He could never be in control when it came to his rival, even when he should have been. And he fatefully made a fool of himself every single time.

The worst part was that he couldn't help himself. Even when he realised that he was playing right into the other's hands, he couldn't stop. The red prick hit buttons Vox hadn't even known existed inside him before meeting the Radio Demon.

"Oh fuck you, why would I stoop low enough to flatter you when I know that it would get me more mockery? It's just a fact, don't read too much into it."

It wasn't a lie. Vox was almost compulsive when it came to keeping an eye on his people of interest, whether they were his Vees or his most dangerous adversaries.

Still, that didn't mean that there weren't other reasons that push him to watch Alastor constantly. And much more obsessively closely than he did with anyone else.

🧠 Krang shrugs his tentacles at the 'I'll help, not because you asked' part. "You know I care little about motivators as long as the work gets done. Your attempt of pettiness is LOST on me."

Which is only partially true though, but it stands in this case. After all, he had to bribe Morty into this. Which is something he is quite used to by now. "But, judging by the reaction of your mutant allies, the aforementioned games appear to be... entertaining. They already play them, as we speak."

As Krang motions Morty to open up a partition of the Mandroid's left arm with a hexagonal screwdriver, he's asked the inevitable what happened question. Krang sighs, or huffs. It sounds like a combination of both.

"Oh, just another run-in with those bothersome reptiles because my minions have failed me once again! As it happens, those self-appointed justice-warriors of Planet Earth have a terrible hard time just minding their own darn business!"

Morty rolls his eyes at Krang's dismissive answer. He was expecting it, but it still irks him because the Utrom can oh-so-easily get under his skin while he is hardly able of giving the other a taste of his own medicine. Or, if he can, the alien is much better than him at hiding it.

Still, that isn't enough to stop him from keeping on trying.

"Y-You know, maybe if you weren't such a dick all the time, y-you wouldn't need to motivate people so hard," the teen points out, grabbing the tool he's instructed to use. "J-Just saying."

Despite his words, the familiarity he shows while handling the screwdriver is proof of how well Krang's current methods of persuasion work. By now, he knows the pink blorb's toolkit almost as well as he knows Ricks. And that says a lot.

Hazel eyes dart on the side for a moment as the alien reluctantly answers his question, before returning their focus on the mandroid's arm. Morty can't really blame Krang for being so disgruntled. He can imagine how frustrating it has to be, having your plans foiled and your efforts wasted over and over again.

"M-Maybe you should just...stop trying to conquer the planet? T-They'd stop bothering you i-if you stopped giving them a reason to do it, r-right?" He argues, setting down the screwdriver and prying open the panel, so that Krang can reach inside and take out what he needs. "I-I mean, there are better ways to, uh, insert yourself in this dimension?"

The dynamics between the Technodrome gang and their nemeses aren't fully clear to him, but he has been around the group enough to grasp the basics. Krang is trying to conquer the Earth to prove his worth to his race, Shredder has some revenge beef with the turtles' sensei, and Bebop and Rocksteady...well, they are basically just along for the ride.

"D-Do you even want to go back? T-To your Dimension X, I mean. D-Don't take it the wrong way," he's pretty sure the Utrom will, but never mind that, "b-but you got used to living here, r-right? So...why not just keep on doing that? W-With how smart you are an-and with all the alien tech you know, y-you could make this place great. An-And we humans love it when someone makes things better for them, s-so why they might as well just hand you the planet over out of gratitude."

demonstration

i will not participate in vox week

His head was swimming, from the want for Vox. A desire he deeply felt, and and hadn't acknowledged in so long. And once he had, since dinner he felt like he hadn't known a moments peace.

Later, if he needed to, to protect himself from embarrassment, he'd blame in on mating season. To himself at least. But he knew, it was deeper than that.

He made a noise somewhere between a bleat and whine when Vox said, 'You want me to fuck you?'. Hearing it said twisted his guts hotly. The Deer demon wasn't submissive by nature, he was dominant, aggressive, and he took. He's taken from Vox before. He'd do it again.

Being rolled onto his back with the other between his thighs made him grasp at the other's arm's, not wanting to let him get away.

The soft, needy noise Alastor let out went straight to Vox's groin as his processors glitched yet again. He had no idea that his rival could sound like that, so small and almost vulnerable. Even in his most secret fantasies he had never dared to entertain the idea of the other being so pliant and openly craving, so eager to offer himself for the TV demon to consume it.

How could he have when in their reality he had always been the one to leave himself exposed and defenceless?

Yet there he was now, with those crimson claws gripping at his forearms, their almost pleading hold confirming that he wasn't hearing or seeing things and that Alastor truly craved him with a desperation that matched his own. A sentiment that was echoed by the next sound the Radio Demon let out, even more revealing than the previous one.

And then those sinful words started to pour out of the deer's lips, sounding filthier than anything Vox had ever heard in his life. Deep down, he knew that it was hardly the best dirty talk he had received, and it was far from being the more creative, but that fact that it was Alastor's voice spelling it out made it the hottest ever.

The Media Overlord's eyes grew comically wide as his screen lit up, cyan heat spreading over it too fast for his fans to keep up with the sudden shift in temperature. Images burst in the front of his consciousness, unfiltered in their lewdness, and he bent down to smash their mouths together once more, to prevent himself from saying something utterly stupid.

Either way it hadn't taken very long for the young brunette to slip from consciousness. The moment he had settled down and closed his eyes, he was out like a light, breathing softly in and out, his lips parted ever so slightly with his glasses close to his palm.

As the younger version of his rival slept, the small heap of a man never stirred, even when a blanket was carefully draped over his petite frame. The tiny mortal would huddle deeper into it's warmth, with only a softened sigh to show his satisfaction while he slept.

Hours would creep by before the brunette would slowly stir to life. He'd groan quietly, eyes fluttering with a grimace and a wince before slowly and hesitantly, hazel eyes would break from the long lashes blinking open.

For a moment the world around him was but a distant blur, then he'd blink a few more times to steady the picture around him. When the dots left his vision, Al first noticed that Vox was nowhere to be found. He'd stare around, but he wasn't here...

The next thing he noticed was the smell, something good, something new. Not his cooking sure, but the scent wafted with something delicious. Was he in the kitchen? The mortal sat up from where he slept, noticing the cozy blanket draped over his person.

Honeyed eyes would slowly scan the room before him. His cabin still had quite the hole in it but it looked well on it's way to being constructed again. Where splintered pieces of debris once laid, sat a calmly cleaned yet cracked floor in its place all around him. The man had kept his promise at least. A wonderful sign of improvement he guessed.

It would still take plenty of work to fix his darling home, but this was a good start. He had to wonder just how Vox was able to manage all of this in his wounded state...

Before he could really come to thoughts with that, his gaze would then follow the trail of blood he saw dribbling down upon his already battered floor. A caramel face followed the ruby line to its owners. Oh? Tugging the blanket off of him, he'd cock his head curiously at the leftover meal upon his table. Tch. Such a mess.

Was that a car battery? Hmm. Surprisingly, it made sense, he supposed.

But not even the courtesy to use his plates? How undignified. "Such a brutish eater." Alastor muttered under his breath as he held back his want to lick the blood up.

He felt rather famish himself and whatever it was Vox was cooking up was only making him realize just how hungry he truly was. Al hoped these were tourist. The last thing he needed were more locals going missing. It was starting to catch the eyes of unwanted guests. His pool of potential dinners was narrowing...

Just as his thoughts began to muddle, the kitchen door opened with a start. Alastor jolted upright like a frightened cat and with a glare, he'd swivel his head towards the noise of it opening. His scowl didn't last long. Instead, his brows eased, perking upwards at the display before him. Oh my...

Vox or...Virgil as he told him, looks like a right mess, even in his human disguise he had fashioned for him. His salt and pepper hair were messy and shaggy in upturned tuffs, he bare chest lined with bandages where silver patches could be seen smearing the first aid tape the other places they were tightly wrapped fared no better. And his eyes...

He looked so tired.

There it was again, that painful squeeze from before. That echo of something almost akin to regret. The mortals scratched knuckles turned inwards where they sat upon the somewhat cleaned floor, turning into tight fists that scraped against the wood. Alastor's gaze briefly followed the cracks in his facade, lingering over each fracture slowly.

"I'm fine." Unlike the demon, he had no hesitance to offer. With a grimace, he'd finally push himself to his feet. Albeit slowly, he was still able to stretch himself up in a stand. He would sway only once before promptly steadying himself on his feet with a shaky breath. The dizziness was still there, but he would manage.

"Better than before, anyways." Al muttered, pushing his glasses to slide back on their place upon the bridge of his nose. The blur in his vision subsiding once he did.

The brunette would dust his knees before turning to the man before him as Vox settled the bowl down between them. He was acting more awkward than usual...he could imagine why. "It's fine. This floor of mine is well acquainted with the stains." He half joked. Truly he could not count the many MANY times he ran the floor red with his latest kills. If Vox looked hard enough, he'd see ancient stains that crossed the wood from many a prize. Countless bodies had been cooked and served in this very room alone.

Happened all the time, really.

"I should be the one to ask how you fell, really. Not the other way around. What of you? Better, I'd hope?" The mortal would asked quietly, his words softer now as he took the time to look over pale cream flesh and the obvious shows of exhaustion under Virgil's eyes. Hesitatingly, Al would press forwards, stepping through the gap between them. A chocolate gaze would roam, fingers hovering over the cracks in his face...the want to touch him, to mend what he had broken intensified with the closeness...

Alastor swallowed before finally pulling back and stepping out of his personal space. What was he doing...? Tch. He'd look away then, clenching and unclenching his jaw till he'd settle with looking instead at the remains of Vox's hunt with faux interest. "Eherm...right. Well thankfully you feasts on out-of-towners. Easier to mistake their deaths with another alligator accident. Sweep it up to fools in the forest, hmm?"

Well it was nice to know the fool could cover his tracks at least. Alastor hummed in acknowledgement before leaning over to a pool of blood on the table and casually dabbing his finger in the crimson. The poor lad was hungry, he couldn't help it. He'd swipe his index finger through the puddle before bringing his stained pad to his lips with a needy whine. How long had it been since he had a cool swipe of blood on his tongue?

Alastor would lick his finger slowly, his tongue savoring the iron upon his lips. He was well aware Voxy was watching the whole thing. Ooooh, tasted like Floridians. That had a sweet taste to them~ "Mhmm, and you didn't leave me any? You dog." He purred, licking his lips like a satisfied cat once he was finished with his little sampling. Al would flash back his own demonic smile back, giving but a flash of his demon to be.

Oh? He did made him something to eat? How splendid. "I wouldn't mind trying a Virginian delicacy." He thought about his next words slowly, unsure if it was yet time to show some leniency...but he did fix his house..."In return for such a gracious meal. You may use my bathroom to shower if you wish." Alastor gestured to the mess of splattered blood all over Vox's person.

Vox's whole body tensed at the sight of the mortal swaying when the latter firstly attempted to get on his feet, making it obvious how hard he had fought himself to resist the urge to rush forward and help the other up. Before their fallout, he wouldn't have hesitated, but right now he had no idea of where they stood with each other, despite the help and energy Alastor had willingly offered to him earlier.

He couldn't stop himself from thinking that his touch would have been unwelcome, even in the more impersonal form of a cable, and he didn't want to risk making things ever more sour and difficult between them than they already were.

So, he merely stood in his spot, almost frozen, as the radio host carefully made his way towards him, surveying their surroundings and the work the Media Overlord had done while the human had been sleeping. The man seemed somewhat satisfied with the results he had obtained and that knowledge allowed the TV demon to relax, even if just slightly.

"I'm..." He started to say, but he instantly cut himself off, even before he could decide how much to downplay his current state, when the mortal made to reach out for his face.

Vox's breath audibly hitched, as he eagerly waited for the contact, only for him to feel like an idiot when it never came. Alastor was tired, probably a little disoriented and with his mind caught in a haze now that the adrenaline rush had faded, but that didn't change anything of what had passed between them. He didn't deserve the human's touch and affection, he didn't deserve the soothing relief that those fingers could have gifted him with the lightest caress.

After how much he had hurt his now former lover, it shouldn't be surprised if the man had decided to never lie a kind hand on him again.

"...I'm managing. It's nothing I can't deal with," Vox finished, even if, deep down, he knew that it wasn't that simple. He had no idea of how long the cracks on his body and the bruises on his soul would have taken to repair themselves, especially since he wasn't surrounded by Hell's natural power and magic.

Yet, he would have handle it, one way or the other. Even if the radio host had decided to turn his threat into a reality and to keep him captive there, enslaving him for his blood.

Mismatched eyes followed that nimble finger as it collected some of the blood, bringing it to those thin, soft lips, before a pink tongue showed up to lap at it. The Overlord felt his too pale cheeks grew warm, even if he couldn't have said if it was because of the small action or if it was Alastor's light scolding to spark embarrassment inside him.

"Uh, I...sorry, I didn't know when you were going to wake up and...I sort of got caught up in the...y'know." He rubbed the back of his neck, using it as an excuse to glance away from his companion. "Hunger and bloodthirst?"

He usually had a much better self-control and almost never went on rampages, not unless he was driven out of his mind by rage, but this time the need for substance had overridden the rational part of his brain, leaving the monster and the animal in control.

Clearing his throat, Vox set the rag he had brought with him along with the bowl of water on the table. Cleaning up would have to wait. The food was basically ready and Alastor was obviously hungry, so he should take care of his mortal first and foremost. Then he would turn his energy back on fixing the cabin.

...After he had taken a shower, because apparently the cheeky motherfucker thought that he desperately needed one. On one hand, that was a little insulting, because Vox didn't think he smelled that bad, but on the other he could see the tentative olive branch hidden in the offer, so he knew better than not to welcome it.

"Ha, yeah, I guess I should clean up myself a little. I'm covered in...well, everything." Dirt, blood, leaves, mud. Not to mention that his clothes were beyond saving. "So...Thank you. Let's just...you can eat in the kitchen while I shower? The soup is basically ready, I was just waiting for it to thicken up a little."

He waved a hard towards the next room, awkwardly trying to prompt Alastor to head in first, before slowly following after him, keeping a careful distance.

Alastor had been invited to the venue by a benefactor of information, and had only noticed Vox upon his exit. Where Vox was deeply and utterly hammered seemingly out of his wits, Alastor’s night had been spent sipping tonic water with a bit of lemon, and that had really been it. He was painfully sober, and he nearly decided to leave until he failed to notice Valentino’s long antennae bobbing up amongst the crowd, or a flash of Velvette’s couture. Even that little eel sinner Vox kept around didn’t seem to be mulling about.

So Vox was drinking alone, past the point of control, and in a hell that fucking hated him. That was what caused Alastor to inhale, roll his eyes, and sidle up next to him. That, and perhaps a touch of curiosity that only soured once the TV-head opened his mouth. Ugh.

“I’m not picky, and it’s not my problem if you find them tempting. I don’t like being touched often, certainly not by surprise and certainly not from behind. If you wanted to touch my ears back then you should have asked, it’s not that difficult,” Alastor hissed, eyes sharp as he took a sip of his tonic, trying to remind himself that this was Vox entirely without a filter. Most of what he was going to be saying would embarrass him were he unlucky enough to remember it tomorrow.

He swirled the ice around in his drink, flagging down the barkeep for a bit of coffee for both of them to hopefully drag Vox back to some sort of awareness. Alastor would get him out of this place and back to Vee Tower, one way or another.

“Why are you here all alone? I would think at least Valentino would be happy to come party alongside you,” he said, voice falling back into something a bit lighter. “I hope you won’t mind me saying I think you’ve had enough, and that it might be time to head back home. You have a driver, do you not?”

Perhaps it was old fashioned, but Alastor would be riding along with him and sticking around until he saw him through the front door. He owed Vox that much, at least. “Come along, you drunk baby, take your little cappuccino with you.” 

At Alastor's answer, Vox's digital eyes went wide, in both incredulity, the utter shock of what, to his audio inputs, sounded like complete bullshit sobering him up long enough to leave him speechless for a few moments. Was the red freak serious? Did he truly think that he was that approachable for someone to go ahead and ask him that sort of thing?

Fucking asshole. Of course he was trying to spin it as if this too was all the TV demon's fault, as if it was him and only him who was wrong, lacking, a fool.

Rage boiled up next, its edges at the same time sharpened and dulled by the alcohol in his system. Sparks flew around the edges of his screen as the urge to lash out burned in his chest, but at the same time his limbs were too heavy, too numb to move with that kind of violence. No surprise there. He was constantly exhausted, drained, hollow these days. Everything was at the same time too much and never enough.

"...Fuck you, an' not in the fun way. Especially not in the fun way," he slurred as he turned back to his drink, his mind too dazed for him to come up with a wittier comeback. "It might not be difficult in itself, but you are. You've always been. Untouchable...unreachable...jus' fuckin' difficult."

He knocked back what was left of his liquor and swallowed it with a displeased grunt, before flashing his middle finger in the Radio Demon's direction. He clung to his empty glass, refusing to acknowledge the coffee that was set before him.

"Why would Val...or anyone...be happy to be 'round me? Or with me in general? Aren't you s'posed to be smart? You should know, you planned it," he went on then, his voice colouring with bitterness and a hint of hostility. "An' no...I mean, yes, I do mind. 'Cause 'm not done. You don't get to say enough, Al, only I do. You don't get to say a damn thing when it comes to me. Not anymore. Never again."

Especially when it came to sobering him up. He was not doing that. Being sober sucked, at least when he was this wasted he felt something that wasn't emptiness and misery. Even if it was merely nausea or a headache.