@killerhosts || Vox is very portable right now
It was the late hours of the night when Alastor went into VeeTower, little more than a crimson shadow in it's liminal spaces. At this hour, he'd learned from watching the place for the last couple of days, there were very few active staff members on the route he'd need to take to follow the signal upwards; not much more than janitorial and maintenance staff, a couple of security officers that wouldn't be long for the afterlife if Alastor had to deal with them. He didn't need to; most barely noticed the shadow slip around the corner and up the stairwell, those that did dismissed it out of hand as exhaustion, or the effects of whatever substances they used to self medicate their miserable existence into tolerability.
On top of that, Alastor thought he'd have to contend with a security system detecting his presence, alarms blaring, but he was surprised to find no alarms triggered as he made his way. The halls were silent as he followed the signal. It was weak, compared to what he knew Vox's signal to be normally... but unmistakably there, and easy enough to track upwards, upwards, upwards until he finally came to the floor it was on, one last hall between him and wherever Vox was being kept.
Once his shadow slithered out from under the stairwell door, it braided up into his full, seven foot form, black fading to crimson as he appeared in the dim hallway. A cursory glance back down the hall, ears angling as he listened, and then he was moving. His heels clicked on tile like the hooves of a much larger beast, carrying him forward, closer to the media demon's signal until he came to a door with a plaque indicating whose office this was. Instead of trying the handle, he simply dissolved under it, reappearing on the other side. He tried to ignore the pain in his joints, like old gears clogged with grit, wearing down from the events of the last few days. He was too giddy with his newfound freedom to truly be deterred by something so simple as pain, not when his mind felt unfettered, attached to his body by little more than his own strings.
Inside, Alastor took a moment to inspect the room, before he was circling around the desk; the signal was coming straight from it. He wanted to laugh. The cruelty of it was delightful, considering he thought these people were supposed to be the ones Vox considered his closet friends now.
I told you once, Vincent, he thought distantly as he grabbed the knob and pulled it open without ceremony. Alastor can't hide the small jerk of his head as light suddenly flooded up from the drawer, a flashbang of blue light across his eyes as it filled the darkness with more than just the red glow of his own gaze and whatever dim, neon glow filtered in through shuttered windows. His ears flicked, agitated, as they pinned instinctively back to his head, his lips peeled back from black gums as he bared his fangs. Then he blinked, quick, then another, slower, white spots dancing in his vision, and finally he was opening them fully as he reached in to pull the screen out. The blue light was the only thing illuminating him, washing his warm skin out until it was corpse pale.
"Oh, good, you do still have power. I was concerned I'd have to find a way to plug you in!" Giddy laughter bubbled up from his ribs as he sat back into Vox's office chair, swinging his legs up to rest his feet upon the desk, one crossed over the other. He didn't actually know if it worked that way; did Vox need a power source in this state?...It didn't matter, either way. What mattered was that Alastor had found him, and now he placed the Overlord-turned-tablet in his lap, angling the screen so that Alastor could look down at him. Vox was secure this way, yet despite that, crimson claws and charcoal hands still cradled the sides of his screen, keeping him steady.














