#&envoye.

xoxo xoxo.

accepting bingos

"YOU KNOW WHAT FUCK YOU." Snide drips through fangs like venom from a snake. Arms cross over chest, a futile attempt to create a shield ; to protect himself from Alastor's judgement. "I'll have you know Velvette designed this suit thank you very much." He doesn't need to know Vox had it commissioned special. "You're lucky your ancient ass accidently fell into something that was trending. What's it feel like TO NOT BE LEFT IN THE STONE AGE?"

"THAT'S IT TONIGHT FOR VOXNEWS ; TRUST US WITH YOUR DAILY DOSE OF INFORMATION." Cameras cut and interns babble, Vox's own shark tooth grin fading out just as quickly as the stage lights. "Alright people, I wanna see new reports on my desk first thing in the morning! New headliners at Ozzies, what's Bee pushing for her newest consumption campaign : and can someone please get a god damn beat on that weird fuck doll ; fizza-something?" There's a slew of ' yes Vox! ' and ' right away Vox! ' To with he answers with a professional smile plastered against digital features. The studio is still small ; at least in his opinion, but it's ever growing and of course that's what matters. He's been here long enough to understand the game and the television star has even begun amassing contracts of his own! It wouldn't be long before he saw his dream become a reality ; a tower, ornate and massive, large enough for every sinner in Hell to witness ; to gaze upon his greatness.

After hours Vox finds himself unwinding at Tequila Mockingbird ; a bar just south of the clock tower. Cigarette in one hand and whiskey neat in the other he lets the air wash over him ; this wasn't just his favourite place for a night cap, TM sometimes lent itself to the most tantalizing stories this side of the pentagram.

He recognizes a voice then ; distorted and uncanny but not unfamiliar. Digital eyes find themselves scouring crowd until they land upon crimson red garb ; trademark staff propped comfortably against bar top. For a moment Vox forgets to breathe, the radio demon was here ; in his bar, and within spitting distance! He's glad then his drink holds no ice, the shaking of his hand threatening to jostle the glass and it's contents within. Not only did Alastor hold he power the television demon so coveted ; but an interview with him would do wonders for his broadcast! Think of the ratings! Vox steadies himself a moment and finds the will to push away from his seat. Quick hands toss the contents of glass down his throat, hoping the burn might give him a boost of courage. In just a few short steps he'd reached his target and couldn't help but feel his heart thrumming in his ears. "Excuse me, I hate to be a bother ; but you're THE RADIO DEMON, AREN'T YOU? ALASTOR?"