#333 host mortem

“In that order of preference?” He couldn’t say he was too surprised that killing him made the list, though the rest was interesting, to say the least. “Are you really surprised I can prattle with the best? I’m a radio host, I’m supposed to be talkative, haha!”

@333-host-mortem​ said:

What would The Worst potentially entail 👀🍿?

( WELL LET’S SEE. it could entail a few different things, but what i specifically had in mind was that it’d be interesting to pair him against someone that enables his violent, self - destructive tendencies. usually his partners are pretty invested in his well - being and try to keep him from spiraling too far off the deep end.

so i was thinking it’d be interesting to explore a partnership where the other is either just as if not MORE fucked up than he is, loved his wrathful tendencies, and encouraged him to keep upping the ante. while my alastor resents authority and does all he can to spite it, he also has something of an unfortunate tendency to want approval and acceptance so badly he’s willing to slowly succumb to another person’s whims if it means he’s loved. i’m a big fuckin’ FOOL for mutual dependency and obsession esp when it’s confused for romantic attachment so having this person in his life that’s dragging him down but he just can’t function without would be. Quite Neat.

@333-host-mortem​ said: ❛ self reflection is important! whether you like what you see is up for debate. whether it can be contained in a dark basement is another matter entirely! ❜

Amusing as it was to hear of some kind of lawsuit, he wouldn’t have spared the news more than a chuckle had it not been for one surprisingly tempting detail - Vox’s grumbled desire to not have to deal with a forthcoming meeting on the subject. That had tickled him with an idea - he could do Vox a... favour... He wanted to get out of that meeting? Alastor could make that happen - it had been a while since he’d last twisted a wish, and it being the walking idiot box’s fleeting desire added spice.

Of course, he couldn’t simply leap out and stuff Vox into a comical kidnap sack, that was nonsense - he’d had to find out when and where the meeting was to occur, before carefully laying a concealed magical trap. Specifically, one intended to transport Vox - and only Vox - into the secure bunker of one of the boltholes he maintained in his territory for emergencies.

As soon as dawn broke, he was back, waiting eagerly in the concealment of the shadows for the butt of his jape to arrive.

Niffty couldn’t shake the feeling that Alastor wasn’t very comfortable with this choice of topic, and honestly who could blame him. It wasn’t like her to be so...melancholic. A part of her did want to talk about the things that were plaguing her mind, instead, she smiled at him in what she hoped was a reassuring way. Perhaps it would be best that they returned to the frivolous small talk they were so accustomed to. 

It was one of those days.

On his way back to the shitty hotel he was hiding at to keep from things getting too hot, Striker rubbed his arm. He was coming back from the clinic after just barely being on time for getting a testerone shot. It was something his mother had taught him. It helped break up the stuff inside and make it hurt less. Something like that, anyway.

His phone buzzed. He pulled it out. A text from the cream puff that had hired him. God, what he wouldn't give to put a bullet in her brain as well. But later. Much, much later. Her, bitching about how slow he was being.

A startled buzz of static emerged as Alastor’s ears flicked towards the sound of Vox’s voice, an eyebrow arched. “An apology? From you?” Even as begrudging and apparently insincere as this seemed, it was quite unexpected. Was someone twisting his arm, perhaps, or was it a ruse of some kind?