Hell Bounded

"Agree to disagree."

There was not much that would distract Alastor from Vox's royal fuck-up, unfortunately for the television. But more to his benefit, it was not Alastor's present desire to simply beat the event further into the other's head. Not unless he felt compelled to because of some sort of snide remark that hit his aggressive center more than typical banter might. Thus far, he was very capable of managing a 'fuck you' or two, his grin unfading as he fought the urge to snicker at Vox's ever-present temper.

It just made this entire encounter a bit more familiar to him, hearing the other gripe as he often did.

Patiently, he waited for Vox to scout out a pair of shoes, assessing them once he finally did pluck them from the shelf, head tilting slightly to one side as he did. But it took all of a few seconds before he gave an approving nod. Good, yes. Those would do. Though admittedly, he did miss those silly blue-toed heels that Vox had taken on as a bit of a status symbol in recent years.

Ah well. That would come later.

"Of course," he replied. "What, you think I'm simply going to let you walk out of here without knowing how it fits? Things may need to be tailored to your specific... shape." Further illustrating the word by reaching with hands to give a few light pat-pats to Vox's sides. Not necessarily to imply that the other was looking at all shlumpy, but he would not refute the assumption, if it were made of Vox's own volition.

"You're not shy. Go on."

From what Alastor knew, the television had always been a show off. And considering there did not seem to be anyone else in their immediate vicinity (with the assumption that both patrons and workers had made themselves scarce with the potential threat for another city-leveling fight between the radio and TV demon), Alastor did not find it to be much of a big deal.

"But if it helps you - I will let you pick one singular piece that I can try on, as well. Though I reserve the right to veto anything that is terrible."

"Are you calling me fat??" He couldn't help but trip into the very provocation Alastor had knowingly set up for him.

Okay, so maybe he'd let himself go a bit this past month, but it wasn't anything significant!

And... yeah, it was true, he'd not exactly demonstrated shyness before... Not after rolling Alastor's chair into his bedroom and in a mostly literal sense, swung his dick around to express dominance (since neither Al nor Val had been overly impressed with the figurative performance). He felt an tsunami's wave of regret and retrospective shame for his actions now that he was nothing more than a great, big, fat, loser, in Alastor's eyes. Who also apparently couldn't dress well.

"Wait you mean you want me to change right here?" This implication also sparked a hint of panic on Vox's part as he looked around the boutique in desperate search of a fitting room and coming up short. No employees, no curtain to hide behind, just Alastor and his knowing look.

"Uhhh-"

The only way to conceivably level the playing field was to take Alastor up on his offer. And Vox was so preoccupied with finding the perfect article of clothing to solve his predicament he forgot to feel any level of excitement by the prospects of what Alastor had just offered him. In another context he would have certainly realized how rare the opportunity that had just been thrust upon him actually was.

"Fuck, I don't know?" he scanned the store for something to wear. Then his eyes skittered to the shirt. It was rather simple but... Something that had grown oddly popular in his own era on Earth. One of those striped button up bowling shirts, with a frocket on the front. Oh, actually he really wanted to see Al in one of these. It was on just the right side of tacky (at least in Vox's opinion) and just whimsical enough to possibly get the greenlight on Alastor's side of things. Besides there was a whole hipster fashion counter-culture to back it up as a reasonable option to wear outside the bowling context.

"Hey look, this one's even in your colors," he took it off the rack trying to seem casual about it. "Red and black."

Now it was his turn to hold it up near Alastor's body, not actually touching him at any point, but squinting in feigned analytics.