#6pointsazerack

"So it doesn't look like much right now, but it's a work in progress, alright?"

He should've waited. Vox knew he should've waited before offering to bring Alastor here. He'd told himself he would wait until it was something properly impressive, fully outfitted with state-of-the-art equipment and with a slot of cutting-edge programming. Not that Al had ever been one for state-of-the-art or cutting-edge. But he wanted it to be professional, polished, perfect. Something so goddamn undeniable that even the Radio Demon himself would have to be impressed with how far he'd come in such a short time.

But it had already been a week since he'd closed on the space, and they'd been drinking, and he'd been talking, and he really, truly just couldn't wait anymore. So he'd invited him to take the next drink in his shiny, brand spankin' new office.

The newness was hard to ignore as he opened the door. It was mostly tidied up by now, scrubbed of every inch of dirt and grime that had built up while the place had been abandoned, and the handful of squatters taking up residence within the warehouse sweettalked into soul contracts. He'd needed the manual labor anyway, with just how much there was to do. Boxes of lighting and sound equipment were strewn throughout, organized, albeit haphazardly, in a way that made a twinge of discontent roll down his spine. He'd have to deal with all of that later. But for now...

"Pentagram City's gonna have its first broadcast television news setup, right over there," he said, pointing down one corridor. "Furthest along with that one so far. It'll take a little longer to get the bigger productions up and moving, but I tell ya, I got plans. Sitcoms, westerns, romance, drama, the works."

He flashed Alastor a grin, nudging him in the side.

"They even talk now too! That's changed since your time. Not that I didn't like the silent film days--I grew up on Keaton and Chaplin and all that too, y'know--but time marches on. Had to wait for the people who even knew how to make the technology to start dying so we could manufacture it down here, but I met a few folks, did a bit of networking, got real lucky. I know, I know, it's not really your scene, but trust me, these are gonna be so good it'll even get your ass in a theater seat."

"Anyways!" He started up a dusty, somewhat rickety set of stairs. "Office is right up here. It's a bit more, uh... lived in."

Send me a ◭ and I'll tell you something my character does or would likely do around yours that is unique or specialized to their interactions.

Vox had finished off one of his work bouts. He may not be allowed to be seen publicly but despite what anyone might think he did plenty behind the scenes. Was a lot of it redundant and was he more involved in things then he ever actually needed to be? Yes. His need to check the work of his employees made him very annoying at time, lucky for them he had more time then ever for that. Actually lucky for them, he wasn't all that interested in actually seeing anyone so he wasn't yelling on purpose.

5 days. Roughly 15 hours of sleep in all of them. Being a bit generous with some failed attempts at naps. In an attempt to sleep proper, he was actually in his apartment and in his room. A place he had been spending less and less time in. And he did fall asleep. And now it was 36 hours later and honestly he could hardly bring himself to get up again. Maybe he was left alone with his thoughts for too long or maybe he was just really and truly drained.

He was fading in and out of sleep. It took him a few moments longer then it normally would have to notice his door had been opened. He turned slightly to see who it was then promptly let himself fall back into the bed.

"Who would I be to reject the company of such a sweetheart?! Four bingos!"

"Ohmygosh look at the little drawing!!" It's going right on her fridge.

"So close yet so far!"