Discussed starter for @mexoria
For Satan's unholy hot balls.
Vox was no stranger to getting his hands dirty, even in the literal sense. You didn't climb the ranks and earned power as quickly as he had, both on Earth and in Hell, without getting all the sort of stains on your skin and soul. It was a lesson he had learnt from a very young age and he had never been afraid to apply such teachings whenever it served to his advantage.
However, even with that experience on his shoulders, the kind of junk he found and had to clean up in that place still looked like a whole new level of insane in his eyes. How could Niffty find handling it fun and rewarding, it was very much beyond his understanding.
Perhaps it could be that she didn't have it as bad. After all, for all he knew, people could be making it worse on purpose because they knew he would be the one to deal with it. With how his latest plans had crashed and burnt, literally, it wasn't such a farfetched suspicion to entertain.
Someone might have called it "karma", especially when he had, on top of all that, to wear that hideous red uniform and a name tag that spelled "Box". Way to add insult to the injury.
Grumbling a curse under his breath, the TV demon blew out a mouthful of smoke, leaning more heavily against the railing. After picking up the umpteenth unspeakable piece of junk, he had decided that he had earned a break from those trashy horrors and had sneaked to the roof, a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of cheap booze in hand.
The spot had become some sort of safe haven for him during the past few weeks. Nobody ever came up there, which meant that he could easily overindulge in a few vices, safely away from judging eyes. And if he did it a little too often, especially during his sleepless nights...well, sue him. He had to cope without blowing up somehow.
Unfortunately, that wasn't his lucky day. Not that he had any anymore, but everything had been going worse than the usual since the very start of the morning. There had been an extremely alarming number of clogged toilets to deal with and Niffty had forced him to go bug hunting with her in the dirtiest Satan-forgotten corners of the building. Not to mention how the Princess had pretty much demanded that he sat through some sort of demented group therapy session because, according to her, he was in dire need of psychological help.
Oh, how he wished he could have told her where to stick it.
And now the sound of the roof leading up to the roof opening betrayed that his solitary respite was being prematurely interrupted, much to his annoyance.
Vox let out a low growl of frustration, claws gripping more tightly at the neck of the bottle, as he started to turn around, with all the intentions of chasing off whoever had had the bad idea of interrupting him.
"...Look, I'm on my fucking break, in case you didn't notice, so whatever you need, how about you fucking deal with it for a little longer and...-"
The rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat as soon as his eyes landed the too familiar figure who was standing a few steps away from him. The Media Overlord's eyes grew wide with shocked surprise as he literally choked on his own voice, freezing in his spot.
A burst of static and electricity rushed through his system as his whole form glitched, turning black and distorting in brief flashes of colours. It lasted for a second, two at most, but it left him feeling dazed and unsteady, even when his body stabilised back to its usual consistency.
...Fuck. What the hell was Alastor doing there? No way it was a coincidence. The red freak must have known that he was there. A knowledge that filled him with mixed feelings, most of them bad.
Gritting his teeth, Vox turned around once again, not caring if giving his back to the Radio Demon put him in a vulnerable position. It was still better than allowing the motherfucker to see the broken look in his eyes.
"...Have you come to gloat? Took you long enough," he spoke up, barely managing to keep the tremor out of his voice. His tone was carefully blank, but the static in it betrayed the edge he was feeling. "I expected you to do it the moment I was allowed to stick around."
He brought the bottle to his lips, gulping down a generous mouthful of liquor. The burn in his throat was a steadying comfort and he allowed himself to savour it before plucking the cigarette back between his teeth.
"Well, go ahead. Don't mind if I just ignore you while you do. I'm not in the mood."
Not that it would have stopped Alastor for enacting whatever plan or act he had come to fulfil. Still, it didn't mean that Vox was ready to make things easy for him.
