#videodoomed

The offer is momentarily forgotten as Vox is staring at a younger version of himself. That boxy head, those wide eyes, that sweater vest. Oh, it's all coming back to him.

"Shrimp Jello....." Well, that didn't sound too bad. ".... Is this a hallucination or are you actually here?"

Send 🎼 and I’ll pick a song my muse will sing to yours

It wasn't rare for Chaz to head to a club and make an absolute fool of himself , even rarer for him not to take the chance to sing whenever given the opportunity. And tonight was no exception , he'd gone to some club in Pride , hoping to distract himself from the fact that he had faked his death and ran from everyone and everything he'd ever known and loved . The bright , flashing multi-colored lights and loud , blaring music was enough to put his mind elsewhere , and when he'd been encouraged to head up on the karaoke stage , of course he dashed up there once his turn rolled around .

Stepping up on the stage , he grabbed the mic , double-checking to make sure it was on , before singing …

NOW PLAYING: A CONVERSATION OUT OF TIME, ft. @videodoomed

It’s not the foul language or violence or lewdness that shock him, then, but rather the fact that there’s someone down here who doesn’t engage in that sort of thing. Vincent has been perfectly polite (at least in front of Olimar), with only the occasional slip into vulgarity. But who can blame him for that when he’s surrounded by it day in and day out? Olimar’s certain that if he were to be brought up to Heaven, all of that filth would wash away in no time! Despite Vincent having somehow become quite powerful here, Olimar knows in his heart that the poor man doesn’t belong in a place like this.

“Come with me,” he blurts out, his thoughts spilling forth without conscious choice. “When we find a path back to Heaven, you should come with me.”

Now that he’s said it out loud, he rushes to explain himself before Vox can laugh him out of the room.

“I’m certain it’s all just one big misunderstanding, you being here! You’ve been so kind to me all this time… whatever you’ve done… surely it’s nothing compared to the goodness you’re doing now.”

@videodoomed (plotted!)

So Vincent's shown up to Vee Tower, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, looking for his future counterpart for....some unknown reason. None of the interns are bothering to ask, because they half-fear getting snapped at if they try inquiring as to why there's a past version of their employer wandering around, and in any case half of them are willing to handwave it away as being some new experimental technology Vox is trying out. All they're willing to disclose, or say more than a monosyllabic response to Vincent to, is that Vox is....nowhere to be found at the present moment. There's a few muttered excuses about a sabbatical of some kind if he pries further, and attempts to handwave the strange clamor in the background and Velvette's distant shouts of what do you mean he got out, you bloody useless pieces of shit, FIND HIM or you'll all be taste-testing my formulas for the next YEAR, but other than that all of the employees seem strangely cagey about answering any detailed questions.

It's only when someone suggests that you should try calling him, perhaps, here's his number, the nearest courtyard really has the best reception that there's harried nods and yes, yes, definitely statements that come rushing out of all of them like a tidal wave, and then Vincent practically gets picked up and shoved out of the nearest doorway. The click that sounds behind him a minute later speaks of said door being bolted behind him too, which. Huh. Little rude. Either Vox is dreadfully ill and they're trying to save face, or there's something decidedly more fishy going on here.

(As it turns out, that pun's not far off the mark.)

So maybe Vincent goes wandering. Maybe he comes across the gigantic hole that seems to have been carved out of one of the sides of the tower, like something gigantic busted through it, high enough up that he can't simply crawl back through it to try and get inside--or the marks on the pavement that look an awful lot like something dug its claws in and dragged itself away. Any of the employees that he tries signaling to are seemingly pretending not to notice him, trying their best to tend to repairs with varied amounts of success--up until a low, droning hum starts sounding in the background, and then they skitter away like frightened ants, leaving the courtyard quiet and oddly deserted until--

"rUn RaBbIt RuN rAbBiT rUn RuN rUn--"

It's not quite speech. There's a distorted, echoing quality to it, like it's playing through an old speaker or being parroted by something. It almost sounds like Alastor's intimidation tactics, but the metallic clicking noise that underscores it definitely isn't him, nor is the low hum or the steadily increasing feel of static electricity--

Click. Click. Click.

....okay. That's a skyscraper-sized.....strange shark hybrid of some kind, stalking towards Vincent on its many centipede-like feet, flat head with several screens surrounding it lowered towards him and long jagged teeth dripping with a liquid that looks suspiciously similar to blood. Its long tail, a mish-mash of wires and flesh, lashes behind it as it sniffs the air, and then it's skittering towards Vincent at a speed that seems borderline impossible for something that size to reasonably achieve, jaws agape--

Skid. There's a loud screech of feedback as it slides to a halt in front of Vincent, pacing from side to side, lashing its tail and letting out warbling snarls. It wants to eat, wants to hunt, wants to tear with teeth, but this little thing is emitting an electrical signal that seems so familiar, and it can't quantify why. A frustrated huff, rattling out of its massive gill chambers, and then it uses its dangling front limbs to point with one massive claw towards Vincent.

"tHrEe Am AmOnGuS cHaLlEnGe--ImPoStEr SuS iMpOsTeR sUs--"

That seems like parroted advertisements from Earth. Seems this thing isn't exactly capable of human speech, per se, but it can express enough to wonder why Vincent looks so strange and yet so familiar. At least it's not attacking. Yet. It might stay that way, if Vincent plays his cards right.

Angel, this sharp, angular woman with an even sharper mind knew what a brand deal could do for her. She also knew what partnering with the so called god of entertainment could do for her. Much more than a brand deal, in simple terms. But chance meetings were so blasé. No one believed them, anyway. No one but idiots and children.

So she sends an email, an invitation, an off the record meeting to find a way to move forward in a relationship that was purely business, but highly marketable and highly profitable for both parties.

She watches from the window of her penthouse apartment in the heart of Charleston, South Carolina. Watches him pull up in his honestly ridiculous death trap of a car. Angel laughs to herself. She has a feeling this will be all too easy. Men were often far too easy.

Dressed in a long, golden dress, her pale blonde hair done up in a soft updo that frames her face, she answers the door not the first, but the second time he knocks. When she pulls it open, she's all smiles, all faux excitement to meet someone who might be useful to her.

@videodoomed