Set in 1959, when Vox and Alastor first meet.
Vox was trying to make connections with other demons. Get his foot in the door, so to speak. The best place to do that was a late night bar that was more swing music than people fighting. Perfect for a more refined set of hands to aid in his endeavours to build an industry around precision and innovation.
He had been in the middle of a conversation, drink in hand, when his eyes glanced over. An indifferent movement.
The double take he did was not indifferent.
His eyes widened on his screen. Mouth slightly open. Champagne glass almost slipping from his hand before he caught himself and gripped it tightly - too tightly.
A demon- no, an angel, surely. But what would an angel be doing in Hell?
Red hair with bangs long enough to cover the forehead. Undercut. The length of his hair just barely avoiding the shoulders. The tips of which were black. Deer ears. Little antlers.
Each step was graceful as he walked by. Long, slender fingers holding his own glass of red wine. As red as the red of his ensemble. One foot in front of the other that made his legs look longer and unintentionally brought attention to the way his hips moved in time with his steps.
Vermillion eyes. Lashes barely brushing over the cheeks when he blinked. And the lighting of the bar made that gaze look alluring and dangerous at the same time.
A slow blink, like time had slowed down just for this moment. Vox could have sworn he heard fireworks in the distance. Or perhaps he was having a heart attack.
In that slow blink, that vermillion gaze met his beneath lidded eyes-
And then the demon was walking past him. But Vox let his eyes follow. Heart beating much too fast.
"Who's that?" Vox murmured to one of the other men he had been conversing with.
The demon leaned to the right to follow Vox's gaze. "Oh!" His voice went hushed, as if afraid the demon in question would overhear. "That's the Radio Demon, Alastor. Been here since the thirties and controls the airwaves. He became an overlord overnight, practically." The awe in the demon's voice was unmistakable.
But Vox wasn't interested in any of that other information. His screen flickered as he watched the deer demon...Alastor...walk out of the bar with much too grace to be a demon.
"Alastor...," Vox murmured the name under his breath. Testing the way it felt on his tongue. Completely entranced.
And now he desperately wanted to hear how his name would sound coming out of Alastor's mouth.
This wasn't stalking. No, he was...conducting research. On a potential partner-
BUSINESS partner...obviously.
Vox looked at his reflection in the cafe window, adjusted a sleeve cuff. Whole nine yards. What he would give to have a normal head again with hair and more defining features-
No, he had adjusted to this new body. He was still handsome. But was he handsome enough for Alastor?
Vox shook his head. Internally hyped himself up. And walked into the café that Wednesday morning. He should casually get a coffee first and see if Alastor noticed.
The deer demon was sitting by himself in the corner of the cafe, looking out the window like he very well owned that spot. Coffee steaming in front of him. Vintage book open like he had been in the middle of reading it.
Vox ordered his coffee. Black. The same kind Alastor had ordered (not stalking) because that would be a great conversation starter if he ran out of things to say.
You got this. Just be cool.
"Hi," Vox approached, stopping near the table with just enough distance to be respectable. "You must be Alastor." He lifted the inflection of his tone, pretending to be guessing or unsure, even though he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was Alastor.
And when those vermillion eyes slid up to his? His heart stopped. The smile looked even better from this close up. The way it looked like Hell had transformed this demon's body into everything Vox had ever dreamt about. Like God was still blessing him, even down here, with something as beautiful asâ
"Yes?" Alastor confirmed, head tilting slightly. "And you are?"
"Vincent." Was that too breathless? No matter. "Vincent Whitman." He extended a hand, not bothering to introduce himself as his brand name. No, he wanted to hear his real name from Alastor's lips.
Alastor glanced briefly down at the hand before giving a polite smile. "Vincent."
Oh- it sounded heavenly. Vox's knees nearly buckled and he swore he was seconds from getting to one knee and pulling out a ring.
"Pleasure to meet you." Alastor accepted the hand, holding it gingerly like he expected Vox to initiate any movement.
And he did. Vox gave one nod, fingers not daring to wrap around that elegant hand, lest he ruin the moment. But the feel of Alastor's fingers against his was better than any drink he had ever tasted.
"Pleasure's all mine." Again. Probably too breathless. But Vox cleared his throat subtly to pave over it. He gestured toward the empty chair. "Mind if I sit?"
"Not at all," Alastor shook his head, smile still in place. And Vox wondered if this deer always smiled or if this was meant for him only.
He took a seat across from Alastor and knew, immediately, that he would do anything to have this every single day.
This was the best morning of his afterlife. Possibly whole life, too.
His thoughts were interrupted when Alastor spoke up again, his head tilted slightly in curiosity. "Have we...met before? You look familiar.â
That had to be a good thing, right? Familiarity meant heâd been noticed, even if for just a second. And Vox knew well enough that the only moment Alastor had looked his way for that long had been at the bar. But it had been such a brief glance, too. And if he mentioned something about it, Alastor might think him crazy (he was; in love).
Best pretend he didnât recall the night at the bar, either.
âYouâve probably seen me on TV,â Vox said instead, smiling easily and sitting up a bit straighter like that would help jog Alastorâs memory.
A hearty laugh from Alastor had his smile flattering slightly. The deer demon waved a dismissive hand. âOh, trust me, that isnât it. I donât bother with those picture boxes. I must have seen you someplace else.â Then, after a moment, he shook his head once like it was too much trouble to bother figuring it out. âNo matter. I take it you approached me for a reason.â
Vox internally deflated from the âpicture boxâ comment. Which was fine! There were plenty of demons who were from older times and just didnât feel like keeping up with the modern age. Vox could work with that. So long as Alastor didnât consider him to be one of the âpicture boxesâ he didnât bother with.
âNo reason in particular,â Vox answered almost automatically. A blatant lie, but saying âmarry meâ would probably be coming on a little too strong, even for hellish standards where the concept of going steady was basically non-existent. If nothing else, his poker face remained in tact. âIâve been social networking for my business.â
âAh, a freelancer,â Alastor mused into his mug as he took a sip.
âRising overlord,â Vox corrected slowly, hesitant to bring politics into the conversation, because that wasnât what he had wanted to talk about. He wanted to talk about Alastor. To know this famous Radio Demon. Likes. Dislikes. Passions. Hobbies.
Alastorâs ears pricked at that, though. Overlord. His eyes studied the TV demon differently now. Not assessing competition, never that, but like something was clicking. Then, finally, recognition. âYouâre Vox.â A statement, not a question. And Vox was honestly more surprised that Alastor didnât seem offended that he had introduced himself under a different name.
âUh, yeah,â Voxâs claws traced random patterns on his cup. A nervous tick. âI started going by Vox down here for my brandâ but Vincent is my actual name,â he explained quickly. âYou canâŠyou can just call me Vincent.â
Alastor hummed, not particularly concerned about the names or aware of the emotional weight of either one. âWell, your approach makes more sense now. Interested in learning from the best, are you? Or perhaps wanting to make a deal?â
Definitely not the last one, unless the deal entailed golden rings and a kiss. Vox highly doubted that was what Alastor was implying, but one could dream.
âActually, IâŠjust wanted to talk.â The most honest thing he had said since walking into this cafĂ©. He shrugged one shoulder, glancing out toward the window before meeting Alastorâs gaze again. âYouâre the Radio Demon. I figured talking was your thing.â
It wasnât an insult. Just a statement of fact. And, really, Vox wanted nothing more than to hear Alastor go on for hours about whatever his heart so desired.
By the short bubble of laughter that came from Alastor, it seemed the comment had been well received as a good joke. Vox relaxed at the sound, eyes going full again and screen brightening a bit. He wished he could record the sound.
âYouâre entertaining, Iâll give you that,â Alastor tilted his head, reassessing Vox with that same smile. He hadnât dropped it once since this whole conversation, so now Vox had to wonder if it was some kind of tactic. How did one person maintain a smile for that long?
Before he could parse that thought further (or worse, ask about it), Alastor stood up, leaving his now empty mug on the table and tucking his book in the crook of his arm. âWell, come along, then.â
Vox blinked, already pushing his chair out, but too confused on the sudden departure to stand. Luckily his cup was to-go. He would have hated to toss it, especially if it would still serve as a good conversation topic (because black coffee!). âOh- uh, whereâŠare we going?â He pushed his chair in.
âTo talk, of course!â Alastor stated brightly, already waving politely to the barista and heading out the door with Vox trailing close behind. âYou said you wanted to, didnât you? Or did you change your mind that quickly? Such fickle demons, these days.â
âNo, no, I justââ Vox stuttered, falling into step beside Alastor as they went in some random direction down the sidewalk. Or maybe not random for Alastor. Was this another tactic? Was Alastor taking him into an alleyway somewhere or leading him into a trap? Surely not. But Vox had already overheard so many stories during his totally not stalking period before this. âYou didnât want to talk in there?â He gestured, vaguely, with his free hand back toward the cafĂ©.
Alastorâs smile seemed a bit brighter now, almost child-like, as if this were merely a game to him. âDarling, I sit and talk all day, just as you said.â The word âdarlingâ nearly had Vox tripping over his own feet before he righted himself quickly. âAny excuse to expand the horizons is a good one.â
Well, Vox supposed that as long as they were still going to talk â and that Alastor wasnât leading him into a trap â he certainly wasnât going to complain.
Watching where he was walking was going to be difficult, though, due to the deer beside him.
