△ on the air △

"Old man admits to liking stim toys, twenty-twenty-six." Came out of her in her dry humored way.

She just had to wait for him to drift away from that spot to slip the next folded bill note.

"...I do not know what a 'stim toy' is."

But she seemed to get him in one, and with the slinky pocketed, Alastor resumed his trek through the store, though nothing else seemed to quite capture his attention as much as the trinkets he'd already pilfered.

"Ah - with the classic little open and shut of its cover. I've had a few of those over time. I've not needed one for quite a while, but-"

Alastor paused, turning to give her a little bit of a curious stare.

"Has your metaphysical hunger been sated for the moment, or were you here in search of more? Because if you are just trailing around after me now, I might be inclined to feel rude."

"This isn't a split personality thing...look I'll explain it later..."

One of her ribbons reached up to most bright colourful world she could find. She didn't care too much about the content more the vibe she got from one simple look at the orb. She then offered it towards the red deer with a small look of determination. Something that carried over from when she wore the mask from before. Still lingering even now.

"We have to put the others back where they were. Though...I'll have to do the best I can...let's see...this one...over there...that one...here..."

Gangle hadn't paid attention to the order of the orbs when she came in too consumed by her own wonder of the space to fully track everything. Perhaps, she could try to get into Caine's headspace and try to think on how he would organise them? They were both creative! Either way she picked up the orbs that got moved around and tried to put them back into where she believed they would go. There, that was part of putting herself on the line for Alastor so he wasn't alone with their crimes.

"If you want to look around at anything else feel free. I do feel like we're overstaying now, perhaps if we make it to my hidden place we drop off the orb quickly enough so that Caine doesn't find it on us."

That was a vain hope at best, yet Alastor was right Gangle was full of optimism right now. She had to be despite how deep down she was one step away from freaking the heck out from all of this stress.

"Well, whatever you want to call it."

He would not argue, watching as she seemed to select an orb for herself, stepping over to peer closely at it once it was in her possession. To Alastor, it did not look any sort of special, his head tilting to one side as he tried to squint and understand the contents within. From his understanding, these were Caine's adventures - but not just any of them. Perhaps the ones that he had a tendency to hold onto were those that had some significance...?

Either that or he had more tucked away somewhere.

With the permission granted to him, he took the orb that she'd chosen and stared at it a bit more closely, gleaning nothing very important from it before he opened his maw to deposit it right into there.

Surely that would not come back to bite him.

With the deed done, he did not exactly offer himself up to assist Gangle in placing the orbs back in their rightful places. (Or the general estimation of what their rightful places were.) The little deer watched silently, only stepping away to glimpse into one or two more orbs which still told him very little.

These humans... Drawing so much intrigue and interest in these little worlds crafted just for them. What did Caine hope to achieve in harboring them so tenderly like this?

Silly, Alastor thought.

"Let's go then," he said, matter-of-factly, not wanting to risk getting caught too soon either and making his way back over to where they had placed the hole in the wall - and he paused to squint at it.

He doubled down then into the kiss. Letting go of the shirt to try and find and pin of of the deer’s wrists as he start. Vox didn’t pull back until he felt the first tendril touch his arm.

Shit— no no he wasn’t losing control in this argument—

His own cords popped out from his back, ripping his shirt, unlike Alastor’s conjured limbs. They immediately met the other’s and resisted the grip becoming something solidifying. But unlike Alastor, Vox had a fixed limit of four that he could produce. And he was immediately maxed out. The cord that gripped the tendril around his neck pulled down on it to keep the other from getting that ace in the hole… damn him for figuring that one out early on. Maybe he didn’t remember it.

One could hope. (Or hope not..?)

Vox’s face became a bit flushed in the center as the other’s speech pattern dropped further and became more intentional. He was not immune to shows of power like a peacock’s display. It made him a bit weak in his chest, some small portion of him wobbling a bit in thought of just giving way to the other. Something he would have done much easier before it all. He had an excuse to give in, one that no one could or would deny.

But this had been his flex— his show of power.

So he waited until the other was in the throes of his flex, then yanked on the limb over his own throat and tilted his head to lurch downward and bite down on the others shoulder. Marking was the only thing Vox knew affected the other. One for one maybe.

So he played his card as strong as he could and made an exaggerated sucking noise. Like he wanted to not only mark, but taste it.

Vox's fault was that he was still perceiving this as an argument to be won. Alastor had not seen it as that since the other had coaxed aggression from him a few moments prior. Now, this was simply a communication of understanding; a way to write their intent and meaning in blood and pain. His tendrils wound around the cords that revealed themselves and did not seem to balk at their attempt to wrench Alastor's hold free of Vox's limbs. But nor would they abandon their efforts, returning in a surge no sooner than the television believed himself to be free of their hold.

He absolutely did remember the secret that the other harbored about the tenderness of his windpipe. And while Alastor was not looking to immediately play that card, he knew that even the tease of it would be enough to spur the other into a quick act of defensiveness, lending further fuel to their mutual fire which felt like a breathe of fresh air after choking on the smog of their regret for so long.

The teeth in his shoulder pulled from him a deep and heady growl in response, claws that had not removed themselves from Vox's back digging in to the point where he knew they would leave pinprick wounds of their own. A gasp tore itself from him similarly, spine arching upwards until he could feel the press of their bodies flush against one another's. His tendrils assisted with keeping them rooted there, snaking their way to assure the proximity, even if Alastor had no immediately plans to choke Vox with the one that remained loosely draped around his neck.

Alastor knew he had already been marked once. To have the other making an attempt to do it again was, somewhere in his animalistic hindbrain, appreciated. Whether it was a cover for Vox's own uncertainties or not, that did not seem to matter, in the moment.

To be claimed was to be loved.

Or something like that.

Amid the flush of his own features, he did not think he was in quite the right frame of mind to come to such a conclusion.

"Don't toy with me," he finally managed to grate out, his tone slightly strained, but swarming with the distinct pitch of want. The appendage around Vox's middle gave a slight squeeze - needy as its master's lidded gaze made its way down to where he could see what he could of Vox's head.

Still, he just rolled his eyes.

"It's not that absurd that I don't want to strip down in the middle of a store. I thought you cared about decency or whatever..."

Even if it was deserted. This whole scenario was turning more and more ludicris.

Especially as Alastor agreed to try on the shirt Vox had picked out for him. Even if it was 'painfully 50s'. His eyes grew round with interest as Alastor seemed to acquiesce to the whim, which was- Wow. Okay. Unexpected.

His whole system kind of stalls when Alastor opens the first button of his shirt, then the next.

"R-right," he pretends he didn't just stutter as he moves to disrobing himself, tearing his eyes away from the stripping Alastor, though very aware of the movement and shuffling clothing in his periphery. Vox doesn't think it through, going for his pants first just to start the process, letting them fall down his legs, before zipping open the hoodie he's got on, he puts it to the side in a move akin to Alastor's, then gives in to a glance back at the Radio Demon.

He just barely catches that nasty brand at his back, wondering what the hell that is, before the bowling shirt covers it. As surprised as he is to have seen that he's also pretty sure Al won't be taking questions. So he files it away for another time.

By the time Alastor has put the shirt into position Vox is standing without a top on and his pants are still stuck around his ankles, trying not to look so much like he's ogling. He's not used to seeing Al wear anything so lose on his frame, or with such short sleeves. His lips pinch thoughtfully.

Then he considers his own state and jumps back into action, shaking his ankles free of the pants before quickly snatching the trousers Alastor had picked on for him and shucking them on.

"I care about propriety - not necessarily decency. If that were the case, I do not think I would be down here at all," Alastor griped in turn. Even after knowing each other as long as they had, Vox still had some preconceived notions as to how the radio demon behaved and operated - though he wasn't alone in that. Most individuals who thought they had a bead on how Alastor worked and functioned were generally wrong, and that was by design. He'd never once made an effort to draw people in close enough to be certain of any one thing, and thus had a tendency to remain an enigma, shrouded in assumptions and estimations.

It kept people guessing, at the very least. Like it was doing to Vox now.

Vox, at least, had the wherewithal to display a bit of intelligence in keeping his questions about Alastor's scarring to himself, as he would receive no real answers here and now. (Or in the near future, either.) Instead, he would stand and stare at the other dully, cocking his hip out slightly with his general effeminate stance as he watched Vox scramble to not look the fool that he was by simply standing there, pants down.

But the compliment, almost entirely devoid of snark or sarcasm, caught him slightly off guard -

And made him suspicious.

With the smallest of squints, he glanced from Vox down to the shirt, hands running slightly over the way it rested over his form. It was fairly loose - and casual. Both things he did not necessarily find himself wearing in public on a regular basis, only preferring the fit and style when he was alone in his room.

He hummed lowly in his throat, as though giving it some thought.

"If this is your attempt at indoctrinating me into your preferred style, you will have to try a bit harder than that," Alastor finally decided to say, not wanting to put any real stock in the statement, knowing that it could very well be some sort of trick to ensure that he himself looked as foolish as possible. But he had agreed to wear the stupid thing, for now, and so he did not make an effort to remove it, folding his now exposed and scarred arms across his chest while he waited for Vox to finish his own changing 'ritual'.

Which was taking entirely too long, he thought.

"That sweater does you no favors."

anonymous ⧐ So obviously it's subject to change if a vox ever decides to do warrior cats rp with you, but just baseline, did stagtooth have a horrible "not friendship" breakup with brightstar. (I send the brightstar ask, forgot to say that is the coolest possible name you could have made for vox) OOC ASKS.

Oh yeah. I imagine they had a similar falling out, where Brightstar (probably known as something else entirely as a rogue) and Stagtooth were originally rogues together and Brightstar had it in mind for them to go and start their own clan together - outside of the rules that the clan cats have to adhere to and away from the reach of Starclan. Where they would BOTH be leaders instead of one leader and one deputy. But as ideal as that sounded, Stagtooth knew that Brightstar would have ambitions for something greater, and eventually would try to position himself as the more powerful of the two. The disagreement likely resulted in a fight between them, where Brightstar tried to insist that it wouldn't be that way and Stagtooth could only ever see it as the only outcome. Stagtooth gave him the two nicks in his ears during that fight and they parted ways, though I imagine it hurt them both to do that. Brightstar eventually founded his own clan, as he'd intended to, ant put himself at the forefront of it, surrounding himself with other cats that were skeptical of Starclan's rule and law, while Stagtooth has embedded himself into a traditional clan, looking to find some sort of belonging and security for himself. He misses what they had, though.

Paused to summarize and dig through memory. "Television didn't quite grab my interest yet, I had trouble parsing the sameness of the grayscales visually. But I enjoyed the radio plays that played when I was doing overnights in a stakeouts. Or, ya know, drinking at home."

Even a fairly lukewarm reception or recollection of her favorites was enough to maintain his rapt attention, nodding along, though he could not seem to conjure up the name of which play or show she was speaking of in particular. He'd have to go digging about to see what he could find.

"If they are still to your liking, I'm sure I could dig up a few from my archives for you to listen to in your free time," Alastor offered, much more cheerfully than anyone else might have pulled from him with any other subject matter. "I've got a rather extensive collection in a variety of genres - not just my preferred mysteries, though that is typically my specialty. I've also got historical dramas, comedies, news hours, science fiction... And even a few romances for those so inclined." But she did not strike him as the sort.

It got a polite nod as it retreated to its ambient-light dictated position.

Recovering more of himself, he did manage a grin for Alastor at that little flirtation. "Offering someone immortal such a rare treat as novelty? Quel délice absolu." And how utterly addictive, too. Especially since death didn't have quite the same hold on Alastor either, these days.

"Oh, well you could always slum it with me, and we could just break into some half-abandoned tenement building, but I thought that being so cramped might put a dampener on this indulgent mood of yours," he teased back, setting off on their route. He had a good head for directions once he was oriented in a place, so his phone retreated back into his pocket.

"I suppose that must get tiresomely monotonous; at least here you stand out much more vibrantly."

"I spend more than enough time slumming it than I would like whenever I am away from the hotel," he said with some honesty, given the corners of the city that his 'work' often ferried him off to. Pentagram City was certainly not all glitz and glam, with its own urban sprawl of destitute areas and even those cordoned off with the specific purpose of being a place for chaos and anarchy. "I will take the preference of your selection, thank you."

Alastor followed behind the other more slowly once they were walking, not in any particular hurry as he permitted his eyes to wander. Since being given license to venture up to the surface by Vox, he'd not had much an opportunity to explore, though most of the modern additions to the day's environments did not immediately hold much interest for him.

"You must be fairly well off to drop so much money on a whim," he mentioned after a few minutes of their stroll, ensuring that he remained at Rene's side, matching his stride as well as he could with his much longer legs.

𖦏 𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙑𝙀:  ENEMY 

𖦏 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙎:  INJURED

Shok.wav growls low. He blinks his large glowing eyes at the [ ENEMY ]. The biomechanical shark huffs. He was not given permission to eat. How disappointing.

...He shall be thankful that it seems he is not to be so rapidly made into an hors d'oeuvre on this particular afternoon, no matter how his fur is bristled in tension and alarm for being approached by the creature at all.

"Er- I do not speak shark, if you are meaning to tell me something," Alastor says, still unmoving from where he stands. The radio demon doubts that the beast has anything particularly profound to say, but...

The temptation to give him a harder time (by getting hold of his little antlers and wiggling them) about that was interrupted and dispelled by his discovery of a slinky.

His antlers were not for touching, and her doing so might have earned her a very aloof and cat-like swat of his claws. Not necessarily to cause any real damage, if he even could, but to offer a warning all the same.

Thankfully, she seemed to resist.

"Plastic?" He repeated with a scoff.

"It's the metal that makes the delightful little warbly sound when you push it down the stairs. Plastic entirely defeats the purpose." In his opinion, anyway.

Especially if there could be some give and take, a little ribbing and needling without undue offense.

René brought his hand up and gave a throaty laugh behind its false modesty. "Well, as someone said at some point, what really flatters a man is that you think him worth flattering," he replied, giving a fanged grin as his hand fell away.

The question did give him the briefest moment's pause.

"Ah, no, not directly-- he was a guard, an officer. They had doctors and magicians and higher up personnel to try and figure me out." He gave a somewhat dismissive wave and would pull up a more recent image of Viktor on his phone. Soft and domestic and captured in the morning light with refracted rainbows over his pale hair and brow. "He's done a lot to work on himself." There was effusive affection there, even though he did still have nightmares sometimes about the facility they'd met in.

"Hardly the first or the last time people have tortured me, in any case."

He let that drift between them as he turned his attention to the sudden and jarring movement of that shadow. Yes, he did jump half a foot, startled briefly before it departed.

"Yes, well, Summer does its best to put me back in the dirt but it is still my fav-- merde!" he cursed as the shadow returned. He was still getting used to that sort of thing. And he truly was the worst vampire-- his heart was hammering against its ribs like it wanted to escape.

"You are... so very full of useful surprises."

He forcefully cleared his throat before looking up at Alastor and presented his phone. There was a nearby hotel with suitably grand suites that boasted generously high ceilings and a decadently indulgent bathtub.

It was only a little ludicrously priced, and René had money put aside for these sort of reasons.

Alastor, admittedly, held little interest in this Viktor, for the time being, as the man existed in this nebulous place in Rene's phone and only in pictures. Beyond that, the radio demon had never been excellent at sharing attention that was being offered to him - and though the other man had been introduced as a 'partner', that did not mean that Alastor was in a hurry to start offering compliments or asking how he was.

That was not his style. He was much more selfish than that.

Instead, he found himself amused by Rene's reaction to his shadow, having forgotten that the creature was not something that most would be accustomed to here. (Or really even in Hell, but it was just a might bit more commonplace down there.)

"Ah. Did I mention my associate here?" He joked, gesturing to the shadow which seemed to find a similar delight in frightening the vampire, its own hollow grin wide and even considerably playful as it flitted back and forth with eagerness for a few acquaintance met. But before it could get carried away, Alastor waved it away. "Go on, now."

It knew better than to question its master, and so it swept back into its proper place, acting as any other shadow would.

"I guarantee you that there are plenty more surprises in store, the longer we remain in orbit."

Wit and charm seemed to emanate from him as he offered the other a small wink before turning his attention down to the selected hotel, ears twitching with intrigue.

"Luxury, I see. Mm. It will have to do!" Alastor teased with a toothy grin of his own.

"I appreciate the lack of reds, however. It's entirely too prevalent down there. A different color scheme is welcome, every so often."

With the bag in hand, he beckoned the other to depart with him.

"Radio plays?"

She might as well have rattled a whole bag of cannibal catnip at him with such words, his ears swiveling stark upright with obvious interest and investment in that particular topic.

"Fascinate you, did they? Which ones? Poirot? The Falcon? Tales of the Texas Rangers?"

Unbeknownst to him, his tail was giving a rather eager wag from side to side. Her tastes probably expanded far beyond the crime shows he had a tendency to enjoy and sometimes feature on his own broadcast, but that was his larger frame of reference.