NOW I AM THE SICKNESS.

But he also wasn't going to give Alastor the satisfaction of telling him to sit back down. This was all part of the gamble when he'd left the coffee in Alastor's reach instead of arranging a position more to his own liking. It was all part of the gamble, he told himself. There was going to be a worthy payoff in the end.

There had to be, or Vox would bang his own screen in trying to get through to Al somehow.

As Alastor peaks with that mischievous glow in his eye, like he's the one doing something he's not supposed to be, Vox still can't help feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

With the accusation out in the air between them, ridiculously, Vox feels a swell of resentment. Not just because of Alastor cutting to the chase so quickly, but because of the root of the accusation. He just assumes Vox has done something to the coffee, like there's always some ulterior motive between them.

So what did it matter that he did spike the coffee? The sting still resonated. Fucking hell.

Instead, of demonstrating any kind of upset, Vox merely sucked his teeth disdainfully, before shaking his head.

"You're so paranoid," he grunted dismissively like Alastor was some kind of irritating nutcase in line for the next lobotomy -- Maybe it was an apt metaphor considering Vox had definitely paid attention to the manic wideness of his eyes when they'd first arrived in Vee Tower.

Then. Brazenly. Alastor brought the coffee back to his lips, taking another indulgent sip.

One of Vox's eyes twitched. The absolute asshole.

Oh, he couldn't be the first to backdown now, not after that.

But he doesn't. Can't, in fact. He can't give Vox the satisfaction of knowing that fact with any degree of certainty. No one surprised the Radio Demon. Not really. They just stepped outside of... established parameters, occasionally. Instead, with just enough time to lower the coffee, a single harsh laugh escaped him—ʜᴀʜ!—as the mug clicked softly on the saucer, not-quite-empty. His grin widened as he turned a little more fully towards him, creasing the corners of his eyes, but he didn't move from his position.

"Mmm, no," he said, the exact same sound as that first night at Vox's desk as Alastor tilted his head, neck cracking from the unnatural bend in his throat. Now that he had consumed most of it and the caffeine was cutting through the pain in his temples, he'd slowed down. Not that there was much left to worry about slowing down to. "That's not how this works."

He didn't bother reminding him that their deal said nothing about obedience, no more than it did about answering his questions. Instead he rolled his eyes, and continued to sip his coffee, crimson eyes trained on Vox now. Vox might've been forgiven for thinking he was maintaining eye contact as he did so solely to piss him off. However... his slitted pupils had dilated fractionally over the last few minutes, and his eyes had gone a little less focused than they were before, the first signs of the drugs taking effect.

The effects of the caffeine on him was almost indistinguishable from what the drug itself was doing. It was already starting to run its course, by the way it made the drift of his lazy eye worse when he watched Vox. It was slowly loosening his mind, his joints, digging into his nervous system. He was starting to feel it, but by the time he recognized the feeling as off, the part of his mind that would've started breaking down what he was feeling had already powering down.

What was left was the part that still grinned at him with razor teeth.

There was a pause as he glanced at the cup. Crimson eyes swept back up towards Vox as Alastor raised a brow pointedly at him.

❛❛ Don't be such a baby. You're lucky I found you when I did; you about dropped dead on the street out there, you know. ❜❜

As he spoke, Alastor seemed to take in his surroundings, understanding slowly slotting into place. Vox could practically feel the guarded confusion rolling off of him in waves. He took this opportunity to let his own eyes sweep over the other demon, assessing his condition now that he was conscious.

In all honesty, he didn't look much better than he had when Vox scraped him off the streets. At least the blood had been cleaned away, and Alastor no longer had an open gaping hole in the middle of his chest. But his face looked sunken-in, lacking color, his irises bright and hunted-looking. Everything about his posture was sharp and defensive, despite the pain evident in the tightness around his eyes and mouth.

Stubborn bastard. Couldn't he see that Vox was trying to help?

There was something almost self-conscious to the slump of Alastor's shoulders, and it made Vox realize that he hadn't seen him this unclothed in decades. The thought hadn't even occurred to him when he'd stripped him of his top layers earlier ; his mind had been all practicality then. Now, he let his eyes rove, taking in the map of scars and tattoos. They made Alastor look dangerous, world-weary and experienced — a beautiful mosaic — Vox struck that last thought from his mind.

Before he could do anything else, Alastor attempted to stand, and Vox nearly had to catch him to keep him from collapsing right there. A frustrated Come on, left his speakers as he reached out to steady the other man, but Alastor's flashing eyes warned him away. Instead, Vox stood back, crossing his arms and looking distinctly unimpressed.

❛❛ Morphine, ❜❜ he answered the question matter-of-factly. ❛❛ You’re welcome, by the way. You'd better let me put that IV back in if you want any more. I need it to administer the antibiotics too, you've got a crazy infection. I don't even know how you're still alive to be honest. Probably spite. Would you sit the fuck down? ❜❜

Irritated static escaped between his fangs as he was pushed back onto it, but he acquiesced, sinking down onto the edge of it, a slight slouch to his posture. It spoke volumes to the state he was in that the fatigue had won out over the stubbornness, his staff dematerializing from his hand even as a half-mad cackle bubbled up out of his throat.

"The radio demon, felled by an infection," by the white noise as he inhaled, it hurt, even under the effects of the morphine. "Oh, that's hysterical." As hysterical as being mistaken for a deer and waking up with antlers, he thought bitterly.

None of this made any sense. He wanted to reach up for his hair, to pull, to tug, to feel his claws scrape deep into his scalp. Instead they curled into the edge of the mattress, not quite tight enough to puncture yet. He thought he understood people and their whims, but his and Vox's relationship had been a tale of violence for several long decades now, and this? This didn't fit the pattern. Why the sudden change? Why now?

Then just as quickly the laughter had come, it was reined in, his head lifting abruptly to meet Vox's eyes. Red eyes, although the light from them was dim, were a little too wide, wild with the fever burning beneath his skin. He'd been too disoriented before to notice, but now that Vox had pointed it out, he was keenly aware of the small tremor that hit him along with the chills he suddenly felt. Vox's hand felt so warm against the bare skin of his arm.

"Why do you care if I make this difficult or not?" Alastor's eyes narrowed as he held Vox's gaze, heedless of the state he was in. "I'm surprised you didn't take the first chance you had to put a blessed blade between my ribs."

Normally, Alastor manages to keep this cool, unlike Vox. This time, however, he can't keep his feelings from seeping out. He is bothered, told in his body language, expression, the unease in Alastor's signal. Vox's bared teeth quirks into a smirk. Success! He is getting somewhere. He will continue to scratch away at the surface until he gets what he—

Electricity fills the air. The glow of lime green casts over them.

Deal?

Huh.

For a brief moment, wide-eyes stare at Alastor in disbelief. That was easy. A grin overtakes his features, giddy at the thought of winning. And he almost jumps on it.

But that was easy. That was too easy.

Giddiness evolves into something malicious. Knowing. Eyes narrow, and his teeth almost seem sharper. Arms fold behind his back, leaning in (he's always leaning in; is it intimidation or more than that?).

"I don't know. Doesn't— heheh— doesn't seem enough." A thoughtful tilt of the head, Vox considers Alastor. Is that desperation he smells? "Hrm..." He brings a claw to his screen, tap-tapping a metaphorical chin. "But... Maybeee we can work something out. Something more appropriate. Wouldn't want everyone knowing Alastor ran away, tail tucked between his legs, would we?"

Tension hangs in the air, thickening in the silence. It's brief, amusing for Vox, but for Alastor? Probably not. The grin manages to somehow widen, spreading from edge to edge of his screen, as a thought creeps its way to the forefront of his mind. Ooh, brilliant, Vox!

"How about this: I won't tell anyone a thing about this, but in exchange, you aren't allowed to lie to me." His hands suddenly clap together - SMACK! - and he rubs them, electricity crackling between them as he does. "I think that's MORE than fair."

Alastor's grin tightened, barely containing his emotions, his own eyes narrowing in return. His head tilted minutely as his signal twisted in the air around him, no longer the latent hum of static behind his eyes but something discordant. If it were a sound it would be like twisting snarls of metal crashing around him, the kind of noise that would make beasts whine and howl their discomfort. The air around them was silent, dead, except for the crackle of ghost fire, still silhouetting Alastor's shoulders. The pale light from Vox's screen set against those green hues made him look like a spectre in that dusty, forgotten place.

It should have stayed forgotten. Damned Rosie. Damned Vox.

Cold rage flared hot inside of him, exploding like a grease fire doused with cold water. Raging. His smile should've been easy; it wasn't. It was a vicious thing full of teeth; teeth he wanted to turn on Vox, to clamp down on his throat until he felt an artery puncture. Would it contain blood? Antifreeze? Some other oily substance keeping his semi-synthetic body going? Alastor wasn't sure it would taste good, but it wouldn't stop him biting down until the wires caught in his teeth.

Alastor drew his hand back, fingers curling. He didn't lean back from Vox as he leaned in, though the way he tensed was apparent.

He took a steady breath in. Slow exhale. No static crackling at the back of his throat. Then he rolled his eyes, if only so that when he turned his face away, Vox didn't see the brief flash of radio dials in those neon pink irises, a manifestation of rage he was never that good at suppressing.

"Fine," he said, a tightness to his voice that he hoped only conveyed annoyance at the negotiations as he tossed both of his hands up in a carefree shrug. He still sounded like he was in control, even as he felt it slip between his fingers like smoke.

He amended the phrasing, careful in his word choice; it was intended to give him room to slip out of Vox's grasp the very first moment he was allowed while keeping the noose tight around the media demon's throat. "Then all of this stays between us, and in return, I’ll tell you, with complete honesty, everything you want to know about him.”

His hand gestured to the corpse. Whoever was on the floor was clearly important to him, but not so important that he wouldn't leverage that information to get what he wanted, apparently.

for a moment there, lucifer feared the other may simply knock the cupcake out of his hands. after all, he'd come by unannounced, and their first and following encounters were far from friendly until just recently. but here he was, with an olive branch disguised as a miniature cake and a slight, hidden concern that he didn't dare voice at catching the radio demon alone instead of celebrating with anyone else.

husk had made it obvious the information wasn't to be shared. he couldn't help wonder why. so many of the other sinners he'd around seen still celebrated their birthdays even in death, funny things they were. charlie indulged them with cakes and streamers and lucifer stood off to the side not feeling close enough to the guest of honor to partake. so why was he bothering with alastor?

even if he wanted to think it through ( he decidedly didn't ), the cupcake was being taken and his eyes caught the movement of shadow as a silent invitation to sit. the hesitation was non-existent as he moved to carefully sit on the edge with him, a faint smile showing but not shared as he looked away to hide it. it was gone when he turned back to the radio demon at the sound of snapping, and... oh, that was neat, actually.

he chuckled quietly and watched the smoke for a moment before his eyes found the other and he urge to smile returned. for the second time, he kept it to himself.

his throat gently cleared before he nodded. "yeah, sure. don't worry about it."

lucifer looked away, down into the city instead of up at heaven, and lightly kicked the heels of his boots back against the hotel they sat upon. he'd taken the offer for a seat, but then found himself uncertain what to say. the whole atmosphere was... not jovial, that was for certain. for being clueless most of the time, he could read a room whenever he actually cared enough to. he simply listened to the music for a bit before finally speaking once more.

He pulled the candle from the top and stuck the icing covered end into the corner of his mouth, fangs holding it in place. The ears gave way his surprise at the taste before the raise of his brows did. Heavens, it was so sweet. He didn't hate sweets, but he'd also never acquired a taste for them, and therefore didn't really indulge them often.

When Lucifer didn't initially speak, Alastor let the silence settle back in around them. He looked out over the city for only a moment before his eyes were eventually drawn back up towards the heavens again. Silence was nearly antithetical to him, as was stillness, and yet there he was indulging both. With Lucifer sitting beside him, no less. Someone who, a few short months ago, had inspired a rage in him he hadn't felt in nearly a century. By the time Lucifer spoke, his thoughts had almost pulled him back down into the static. One ear twitched, angling towards his companion, before he turned his head to look over. The candle—apparently forgotten—was still stuck in the corner of his mouth.

Alastor raised a brow. Then a snort escaped him, followed by a giggle. Not the manic, adrenaline fueled little thing that escaped him before he'd slaughtered half a dozen sinners, but something softer. Something that might've been genuine. All the more so when the laugh deepened and he curled a little like he was trying to suppress it, leaning forward precariously. Even his shadow seemed concerned that he might go right over the edge. Not because either of them could see it's expression, stretched out behind them as it was, but because thready tendrils of darkness curled over his shoulder to pull Alastor back slightly.

It shouldn't have been that funny. Even Alastor knew that. But the comment had hit something, apparently. Some old, dusty memory he hadn't thought of in a long time.

Alastor braced his heel on the side of the building, straightening up. A hand came up to wave the shadow off, of which it did, but not before reaching forward to snatch the candle where he still gripped it between his fangs. That had Alastor looking back with narrowed eyes, his expression somehow petulant. A huff escaped him, but his expression settled into an easy smile as he looked to Lucifer again.

"Mm..." that tinny hum again as he did the math mentally, eyes glancing away in thought. He didn't have to supply the exact answer often, and in reality, he often tried not to keep track of it, anyway. "A hundred and twenty-nine," he said after a beat, eyes returning to the devil, and then his lips spread into a grin. "But I suppose a few hundred years isn't that far off for you."