‎ ‎ ‎ Truthfully, he doesn’t like birds. He doesn’t not like them, either. Just particular birds. Pigeons would sit on the lines run by the railroads, big flocks of them gathered on the thin wires, and they’d chirp and coo like silence was their predator. Vox could always feel their beady little eyes, watching him. He’d seen an article later on, siphoning internet into Hell’s belly, that they were government drones and he’d laughed, and then he’d thought, and some of it made sense in the back of his mind. Why else would they watch him so intently?

‎ ‎ ‎ He likes the birds in Hell. There’s nothing more watchful than Vox himself, and the walls and floors are already covered in eyes— why would they need birds?

‎ ‎ ‎ The mixture in his palm is going to make it stink. He’ll get home and someone will complain. The thought will sit in the corners of his mind like a piece of rot and spread the smell he can never know is there. He grins, cooly, and it doesn’t wobble, flexing his fingers and raising his hand away from a beak too hopeful for him to oblige.

‎ ‎ ‎ “You think this is trying hard?” His eyes narrow, squint lines gathering at the corners. “This is like a vacation for me; sit around and do fuck all for an hour or two. What about that screams trying hard to you?” Talk about an overinflated sense of self. You treat one person right and they’re in their heads about it, convincing themselves they’re special!

‎ ‎ ‎ He curls his fingers around the feed, using a small gap left by his little finger to drip-feed the hungry bird that’s resorting to pecking at his thigh, too close to poking a hole in his pristinely laundered dress pants. Mindlessly, he snags it to place it on his lap, holding his palm flat below its beak while his other hand rests heavy on its back, forcing its wings to tuck.

‎ ‎ ‎ He clicks his tongue and makes a show of rolling his eyes, the height of his eyebrows chipped away by the top edge of his screen. “Wow. Goes to show what you think of me! Not every interaction I have is for souls. I have enough as it is! I mean, look at the fucking size of the building I own. You don’t get that by begging a singular person to sign a contract.” He laughs to himself, once loudly and then softer, fondly. “No. I’m getting to know you. Like a gentleman! Consider it a compliment, and maybe an investment— not for your soul —that’s entirely unobtrusive to yourself.”

‎ ‎ ‎ “I think a better question to ask is, if you’re so suspicious,” His eyes grow a touch heavier, more intense, “Why do you keep entertaining me?”

"Entirely unobtrusive, he says." His words parroted through something like a smirk, Miss Cat-Caught-The-Canary that she is. "That drone tailing me last week was pretty obtrusive." And certainly more work than most put in. Maybe he's not trying hard, but he's not lazy either. She's more amused than she is bothered. Why does she entertain him? Her mind gnaws at the question, a dog with a bone. She reaches over to pry his claws off the wild bird's back and it doesn't fly away, content to sit in Vox's lap and eat from his palm. Uncaged. Unobstructed. Free to pursue its biblical gluttony, as if she knew it would.

"Why does anyone entertain anybody?" The truth of the matter — she doesn't rightly know. An answer unsatisfactory to the both of them. More beasts resembling geese and loons begin to gather, some boasting many heads and triple-serrated tongues. Hydras squabbling for breadcrumbs, their tail feathers fanning proud. She's surrounded by a hundred little avian imitations of him. "Usually my meetings down here waste fifteen minutes of my life over the worst cup of coffee I've ever fucking tasted. Feeding birds is a nice change of pace."

It must be important, what she thinks of him. Vox mentioning it at all, even in mockery, is as close to a real confession as she expects. "Your snooping paid off, so far." She blinks. She smiles. "I enjoy your company more than I thought I would."

Margot states a feeling like a fact. Her eyes stay on the swan settling in her own lap, closing its many spider eyes. Black nails roll a pin feather free from the prickle of keratin, the bird humming and honking in a content baritone all the meanwhile.

"Alright— not for my soul. What do you think this investment is, then? On both our ends." She answered his question, his turn to dig deep. Scratching under the surface is a start for him. "You've got eyes all over the place. I imagine you could just keep on watching me from a distance, if getting to know me was really all you cared about."

their nightstand.

their voice memos.

their junk drawer.

their car visor.

their desk.

their dorm room.

their basement.

their laundry basket.

their sock drawer.

their keyring.

their notebooks.

their safe.

their cup holders.

their shoe rack.

their gym bag.

their old hard drives.

their USBs.

their medicine cabinet.

their garage.

their e-reader.

their center console.

their shower shelf.

their trash can.

their workstation.

their notes app.

their spare tire compartment.

their spam folder.

their email inbox.

their tablet.

their storage unit.

the place they never let anyone look.

their makeup bag.

their phone.

the back of their closet.

their underwear drawer.

their jeans pockets.

their shared bedroom.

their storage bins.

their passenger seat.

their bookshelf.

their suitcase.

their bed.

their razor drawer.

their spice rack.

their shoebox of keepsakes.

their driver's seat.

their dresser.

their filing cabinet.

their computer.

their bathroom sink.

their playlists.

their freezer.

their online shopping carts.

their glovebox.

their toolbox.

their coat pockets.

their browser bookmarks.

their pockets right now.

under their bed.

their camera roll.

their pillowcase.

their backpack.

their trunk.

their saved passwords list.

their kitchen counter.

their pantry.

their sketchbooks.

their closet.

their loose papers.

their unsent messages.

their purse.

their toiletry bag.

their fridge.

their overnight bag.

their cloud storage.

their shed.

their school bag.

their attic.

their photo albums.

their childhood bedroom.

their wallet.

their headboard shelf.

their locker.

their blocked contacts list.

their burned CDs.