△ on the air △

Vox was still grinning as he watched the effects of the orgasm shiver over the others body subtly. He didn’t know how the acesexual thing worked- but he was still proud that he was the first and only that the other was interested in.

The statement snapped Vox out of his appreciative (of himself) moment, and the large eyes dropped to flat across the top.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean-“ when Alastor guided his hand back over and he felt the same thing. That did not answer his question as to what they were. He took his hand back, pulling it free of the hold, then pushed more intentionally to brush back and hold the fur away from what he was trying to see.

“My eyes aren’t fucking x-ray vision.. how would I have seen this…”

His head tilted just a bit to get a better view, then blinked a few more times.

Unfortunately for Alastor, he was stupid.

“What the fuck am I looking at.” He said blandly, and genuinely. He had never had a pet, or reason to look into the health of one. His interest was in ocean life, if any animals at all.

First and only. That was significant, but not in a way that Alastor really knew how to define. No one had ever turned his head other than the television - and he would not bother to expose this much of himself to any other, even if years and years passed without Vox's involvement. In the seven years of isolation, there had been no opportunities and no interest - nothing except... being alone.

Having Vox now...

Ugh. He was going to get further into his head with that line of thinking.

Instead, he was sufficiently distracted by the others general idiocy. Frustrating as it was, so too was it stupidly endearing, and Alastor rolled his eyes before reaching to swat at Vox's hand as his tendrils retracted in full. His intent was not to pull away - but it seemed as though the television was not about to give up the intimacy between them either.

He would bring them back, if necessary.

"I can't stand you, genuinely," he said with a huff, smoothing his own fur back down to hide them once again. Now he was just moderately embarrassed. Vox would have to earn the privilege to touch them again.

"Most humans have two. I have six. And if you still can't figure it out from that context clue, then I have no hope for you. They are irrelevant, anyway."

And if his face was slightly flushed from having to explain at all, then he would thank the other kindly for not acknowledging it.

"Thank goodness, though; I've spent enough of my time slumming it as well. You wouldn't believe how many times I've had to just start over from scratch with no more than the clothes on my back and whatever I happened to be holding when I died." It certainly taught him to think outside the box and to be somewhat ruthless in securing things for himself, but it was always an exhausting endeavour. "These days are much easier to manage, what with mobile banking and global transport."

He did shrug a little and let out a peal of laughter about his finances. "Yes, well. My situation does drastically reduce the amount of resources and expenses that are strictly necessary-- food, health insurance, that sort of thing. A few investments here and there, occasionally producing some "lost" art for auctions... I figured out in the 1800s there would be increasing value in stashing away some things for later." He had enough to indulge, in short. "And my photography work is still enough to keep me with a comfortable income when I need it."

He paused at an intersection, then turned their path through the city's grand and sprawling parks, figuring that it was still more scenic than the urban jungle, and it would bring them out at the hotel with only a minor delay in comparison.

Keeping up with Rene as they continued on, he found the other's eagerness to divulge more about himself rather interesting. Most individuals Alastor ran into had a tendency to clam up when it came to themselves, their resources, or their histories. Or perhaps that was just him projecting. Rene seemed much more amenable to sharing what he could.

Perhaps because he had little to hide.

Maybe.

"Implying that I bring you joy?" Alastor chimed after they came to the forefront of the hotel, his eyes traveling up to the building in question and finding it to be relatively satisfying to look at. Not so blatant and garish as the Hazbin (or like everything else in Hell), but still pleasant and surely with an interior to match.

"You'll have to show me a bit of that squirreled away art sometime. Or photography." A thought occurred, suddenly, and he glanced back down to Rene.

"Any photos of nature? Landscapes and trees and things?" He had his doubts that the other might have any pictures floating about of the radio demon's preferred biome, but... it was always worth prodding.

Another thought popped into his mind, suddenly -

"I know...but since I already sparked something into life. Maybe I can also...put things back together too? I mean, if imagination truly has power then...how can I not shoot for the moon?"

Gangle drew the door in her notebook as she remembered it when they first got here. That had been something she had focused on for a longtime before the bomb happened. If she could recreate how the door looked then perhaps they could hide that anything happened to begin with? It was another vain hope but she had to keep going.

"Not like you've got anything else to lose! Yeah, **"£ it! You're free to do what you want! Double down! Right now is all that matters! Future? Nah! Past? Nope! Only the moment matters Gangle! Live out all your dreams you deserve it! You deserve so much! So take it! Take fate by the £&*$* and carve out your own path for once! You can do it!"

Wait, was that another voice? She had heard it before within her dreams but now it was coming to her so clearly. A voice of chaos screaming at her to not give a damn and live life the fullest. Even if you crash and burn least you went out in a blaze a glory rather than a pathetic whimper. Don't think...just feel...feel everything...

A flash of pink went over her for a moment unlike the purple of the other being Gangle knew the pink far more encouraging than the Cruelty Mask was. It was egging her on in this moment, and like the follower she was Gangle listened and gave into her wants and desires. She desired to fix this door because it meant more excitement. If they got caught the fun would end, and Gangle didn't want it to end.

Deep down she had wanted that orb for herself. She wanted her own world, so she could live all out of the dreams she had denied herself! Why shouldn't she want it? Caine got to have all of the power and control. Taking a small amount back wasn't a bad thing right? Indulging in a little bit of wanton chaos was fine! Why deny her wants anymore?

So, with her notebook in her hands she focused, she fixated, and like that something sparked once more. A flash of pink danced across her mask as a cheeky smile appeared upon Gangle. But, unlike feeling with sick to the stomach, this sensation felt more being drunk? Drunk on life? Drunk on sensation? Drunk on desire? Drunk on love? She didn't know but it felt so strange but wonderful. It did make her dizzy though.

Thankfully it seemed her desire came true in this moment as the door manifested itself back to its original state. Or as much as Gangle could? But, she fell over from the effort before starting to giggle to herself. Traces of bright pink were spreading across her ribbons but she soon pushed them away once she regained some composure. That was when she realised there was still a problem the two faced.

How were they going to get back down to the floor below?

Not finding much fault with her suggestion, Alastor watched as she seemed to utilize that notebook of hers to continue exploring the ability to manifest. Or conjure, he supposed, as was the more common term. To him, it was much more innate and 'natural', in a manner of speaking. But he was not human. He was programmed for that capability.

Not that he would share that with any of the others within the circus. But there was a curiosity, anyway, in how Gangle seemed to feel as though she needed the notebook and the drawings within to channel that ability for herself, rather than simply relying on her own merit.

How funny.

What she finally produced, evidently with the use of another strange quirk that he still had a hard time parsing, was at least a fairly close reproduction of what the door had been before. Whether or not it would fool Caine remained to be seen, but Alastor was much more concerned with staring down at the heap of ribbon and mask that she had been reduced to after the effort expended to create it.

"You baffle me, Noodle," he said aloud, no longer seeing fit to use her actual name in favor of the nickname he'd settled on. "Have you ever considered therapy?"

Or whatever Caine's equivalent of that might be.

On second thought... the little deer did not quite believe that Caine had any real capacity or ability to take on the role of therapist without causing irreparable harm.

Or otherwise being very annoying.

Opening his mouth once more, Alastor reached down into his throat to produce what looked to be a flat, black circle, reminiscent of something one might find in an old cartoon. With an unceremonious (and sort of gross-sounding) slap, he tossed it onto the nearest wall, stepping up to it before sticking a hand right through and watching it vanish into the inky blackness.

"Yup. This shall do," he said, soon turning back to Gangle before nabbing her by her collective of ribbons and, without so much as a warning, tossing her into the abyss where she would fall for at least a few brief, terrifying moments, before eventually landing right back onto the main floor of the circus.

And he would give no explanation as to how he managed that strange feat as Alastor jumped in right after her, utilizing a pleasant looking little pink parasol to float gently down to land right next to her.

" YEAH TAKE THAT MOTHERFUCKERS!!! " Pixel had screamed over the roar of the carnage ensuing in the Doomsday District that sparked up during a rekindled turf war between Prick and Hatchet. The video game Overlord had taken to helping out Hatchet during such times finding enjoyment in being able to let loose and unleash chaos. This time around Pixel had decided to unleash a small conjured horde of Creepers from the Minecraft game. " Get em' fluffy! " She cried from atop her broomstick as a unquie black and white Creeper charged into a group of sinners exploding upon impact.

" That was fucking wild! " Pixel was laughing in the aftermath as she let loose a couple pixlated spiders to clean up the remaining sinners while her attention was caught by the feel of another Overlord's power who wasn't Prick or Hatchet. " Who's this now... " Curiosity got the better of her as she left the recent carnage and found herself standing before a vauge figure her ears pricked up questioningly.

He should not have been as offended as he was that this sinner who made her presence known soon after his arrival did not know who he was by simple recognition alone. In his opinion, his absence should not have been long enough the radio demon's name and reputation to be entirely wiped from Hell's collective memory.

But that, he supposed, would have to be remedied.

With a stare of clear and dull derision, Alastor eyed her approach in turn, unmoving from the spot he had cemented as his own no matter the level of destruction that this other sinner had left in her wake.

"Not quite the way I would greet a stranger," he said aloud, the filtered tone with which he spoke giving the faintest crackle. It was a signature of his annoyance, but enough to be missed for anyone who was not overly familiar with his mannerisms.

"One typically introduces themselves first."

Alastor had always been difficult, no matter the false, permanent grin etched upon his features.

"Don't mention such tasks if you don't want me to put them on your shoulders on top of this," Alastor chided, but did not immediately deign to put his drinks at risk of not being completed. Instead, he hushed, waiting not-so-patiently with a light tapping of claws against the wood grain of the bar top before the full selection was placed before him.

In spite of his desire to maintain his crank, Alastor's ears lifted as he glanced down at the options, eyes narrowing only briefly as he began to wonder if the other was trying his utmost to butter him up.

Probably.

"I know for a fact that these are not your most popular."

Vox rolls his eyes at Alastor's contrarianism. Like he's not so used to the Radio Demon's mastery in disagreement just for the sake of stealing away small victories. Even seeing through it, it still irked him. So. Seemed the intended effect still landed.

Feeling Alastor squirm, Vox wondered if this was it, if Alastor would finally push him away and end the absurd string of events they'd just shared. But. No. Somehow that hadn't happened yet. So Vox, pathetic asshole that he was, buried closer, ready to milk the moment while it lasted. He told himself it wasn't an Alastor thing. It was just that he was generally lacking person to person contact lately.

It wasn't a particularly strong excuse, and he was mildly aware it would fold under any deeper scrutiny.

"They're not an erogenous zone, asshole- Or. I mean. They kind of are. But that's not the point, okay! Either way it's fucking weird of you to stick your fingers in them. That's even more 'not normal' if you want to go there-- Woah!"

Vox's spine firmed up as he felt the shift down below and the sticky crusting suddenly turned to dry freshness, his eyes widened and he blinked a couple times processing.

"Why would I want your underwear?" Alastor shot back, staring at the other incredulously. "No! I just replaced it with something that does not make me look like a deviant by association while you continue to cement yourself to me." A final acknowledgement of Vox essentially sticking to him like a rather insistent glue.

"You could have kept me from putting my hands in there any time, by the by. You are not helpless."

If he was going to be blamed for chasing a curiosity, then he would turn that right back around on the other, reaching up with a hand that still lightly tingled from the earlier shocks to flick at one of those stupid antennae.

Ears still folded back, he stared at Vox from where they were. They could not just stay like this, he thought with a grunt of acknowledgement.

"Speaking of - are you planning on staying here, because I am going to smell like you if you remain for much longer."

Not that he could not free himself - or dip into shadow - if he were truly frustrated by it.

Mood rather instantaneously brightened, Alastor accepts the nuzzle rather graciously, nosing a bit against her strands of hair that filled his vision.

"Seems as though you've planned out a much more preferable evening. Though I have my doubts on whether or not they realize or are reminded of much of anything."

It took Valentino about half an hour to get everything sorted out. He booked the skating rink for the evening, rounded up some of their lower-paid employees for a surprise outing, and made sure transportation was ready to go.

By the time he finished, a limo was waiting outside.

He'd even found something cute to wear. The dress was flowy and, honestly, covered a lot more than most of the things he owned. It wasn't exactly conservative, but it wasn't one of his usual attention-grabbing outfits either. The one exception was the large heart-shaped cutout over his chest.

And yes, maybe that had been intentional. He knew Alastor had a particular fondness for that part of him.

Valentino gave himself one last look in the mirror before heading out to find his partner. The second he spotted him, his face lit up.

"Look at yooouuuu, you look so cute," Valentino cooed, reaching up to straighten one of the points of Alastor's collar. "You know how much I love you in pink." He lingered for a moment, admiring the outfit with obvious satisfaction before patting his chest.

He had to admit - he did appreciate the fawning, his tail giving a light waggle as Valentino approached and fiddled with the collar of his neatly pressed shirt. Similarly, he found himself eyeing the other's outfit with some significant appreciation, the hand that was not holding his staff reaching out to smooth palms over the fabric.

"I figured you might appreciate an opportunity to wear the same color," he replied, knowing that Val had a tendency to favor pinks. Beyond that, they made the radio demon seem a bit less... intimidating - a trait that was not necessarily needed if it was just they two (and whatever employees Valentino saw fit to conscript).

The mention of the picture prompted from Alastor a small, apologetic smirk.

"My control over it is a bit minimal. I may be able to diminish it some, but... Only if that picture does not make its way anywhere aside from your own collection."

"Romantic is not usually a word used to describe me."

Valentino's presence washes over him like the smoke that emanates from the moth at any given moment, his own cold stare watching the other's approach. Alastor's ears give the smallest of twitches, undeterred by the question posed to him, though he can feel a quiver of awareness at the back of his neck.