#videokilled

▹@videokilled

A cruel twist of fate. Or perhaps entirely intentional, simply by nature of Rosie knowing precisely what would get his goat enough in the process of fulfilling her ridiculous requests. The irony was not lost on him as he strode forward towards the district he once adamantly avoided. There would be no amicable rendezvous here - and if Vox had managed to cobble together what remained of his empire, Alastor did not entirely discount the possibility of another fight, even if he'd not come here specifically for that purpose.

What he had been told, instead, was that he was meant to seek out the recovering megalomaniac for the sake of a pact. The threat to the Pentagram had not been eliminated entirely, though Alastor had not been present to see the obvious intervention of the first Son between the conflicting angels, he'd heard about it after the fact. And even now, he did not doubt that the near rogue exorcist might make a return. It was difficult to argue with Rosie's reasoning, no matter if he still did not understand her ultimate concern.

The Pentagram had almost undergone one nuclear event. And given the damage that still lingered, it was in no real condition to undergo another at the hands of Heaven's fast and loose agent of Death. And so now here he was, an emissary that he knew would likely be rejected just as quickly for his audacity to come back at all.

He did not expect to be forgiven. Not after the events between them devolved so quickly. He'd seen the hurt - the outward expression of vitriol the other gave him. He imagined Vox had convinced himself - no thanks to the radio demon's actions, he was sure - that there had never been anything after all.

A lie. But one Alastor had been made to commit to for the sake of his own freedom; for the sake of the hotel residents he was still beholden to. Desperation and the bruising of his own ego, culminating into his venomous actions.

He was not here to try to grovel. He was here to fulfill what he needed to do, stepping blatantly over the boundary and making his way towards the tower itself.

In truth, he no longer had qualms with the other two. They had been amusing enough. And in the end, they had seen precisely how far Vox had been willing to go to assert himself - to make himself feel better, regardless if they were left behind in the process. And he had to admit, their quick actions had been the catalyst for the solution.

Alastor was just surprised they did not outright kill him. But he could sense that bond there. Did not know what to do with it. But he could see it.

As he walked through to the plaza, he anticipated being intercepted. If not by one of the Vees, then by that ridiculous guard dog Vox still surely had locked away somewhere inside.

He would cope. Take it as it came.

A tug on his leash. A tug elsewhere in his chest.

Ghost didn't often visit bars.

Usually when they did, they were usually one-and-done.

Tonight, however, they were in a shitty mood. They'd had a lot of things on their mind- things they didn't like to think about. Their life, their sin, everything they'd ever done wrong.

They wanted to forget. So they asked for fries and a cocktail- and asked the Bartender to keep said cocktails coming. The price didn't matter to them, though they were sure they'd regret it later. That was fine, they could skip a few meals if it meant numbing themself to everything.

Now, most Sinners would be wise enough to get away from the Overlord who entered the bar. Ghost simply didn't care at the moment, however. So when Vox, someone they already weren't fond of, took a seat next to them, they merely watched him out of the corner of their eye, observing.

After a good five minutes or so, they weren't really paying attention, their eyes narrowed at the Media Demon, ears pinning back before they finally spoke.

There was something bothering Vox, Valentino could always tell these things. The moth demon didn't know what it was, but there was something there. There were no others out there that he cared about or for more than the other Vees-- he couldn't let this foul mood stay and strangle the air. So he grabbed Vox by the arms with his lower arms and pulled him close, then took him by the screen with his upper arms and leaned in to plant a kiss right on those digital lips. It was lewd and dramatic, but that was the point. Who could stay upset when Valentino kissed them like that? Nobody.

▹@videokilled

The end of a performance was arguably much more important than the opening. Though his set had not been an exceedingly long one, Alastor had nonetheless spent at least the last hour blending rhythm, jazz, and heavy house beats to a gaggle of both Sinners and hellborn alike, all clamoring in eagerness within the venue - taking pot shots at one another to get closer to the stage while Alastor spent the majority of the evening paying them no heed. He was here to create, no matter how much more modern the genre seemed to be from his preferred - and as the final mix, both song and visuals on the stage behind him collided. So that there would be very little mistaking this as a production, ultimately, of the Vees.

Imagery of technological significance which paired with colorful beams of light and at the height of it, the VoxTek logo danced along with the beat, the only brief glance up Alastor spared directed to the box seats where he knew Vox had to be.

Perhaps looking for just a touch of approval. He'd created the visuals himself. Or... had designed them, anyway.

But his focus shifted back to finish out the event, the cacophony of voices and cheers echoing as the song came to its conclusion and Alastor stepped back from the booth, giving a small bow and one final glance down at the crowd from behind his red-tinted glasses before practically sashaying off the stage.

He did not do encores.

Backstage, Alastor swept himself out of the spotlights, giving a little shake of his ears and his hands which had begun to slightly cramp. He did not care what the rest of the venue staff did to close out the show. They knew their jobs, and he did not have to hover to ensure that they got done, opting to instead look for his path up to where he knew Vox to be -

Only to get suddenly stymied by a small hoard of press with blaring cameras that were suddenly in his face. It was one thing to suffer the bright lights of the stage - quite another for flashing to be so close to his eyes. And he shut them tight as he reeled back, putting some distance between he and the media as they rattled off question after question.

'Early next week' was not much of a wait - but enough to make him marginally impatient. On the day of, however, he'd made an effort. To dress in something comfortable enough that made sense for wine and for... possibly more. If he was able to chase his impulse to confess something to the television in lieu of their earlier subject of conversation.

The Hotel was facing some rather dire realities - the exorcists would undoubtedly be back. Alastor had heard tell of Adam's lieutenant retreating with an obvious chip on her shoulder - not likely to let the savage killing of the First Man to go without retribution. And though the efforts to maintain the hotel's defenses were well underway, Alastor had some small doubts that they would be enough.

And so there was no better time to pose a possible question. Vox had connections that could make it happen- could indulge the radio demon's wishes and desires if he so pleased.

Now all it took was some convincing.

Which was why he'd taken it upon himself to gather a few of the other's ideal things - a sampling of both cigarettes and cigars, liquor to sample if the wine was not enough, coffee for... presumably the morning after (if Vox did not see fit to abscond before the end of the night) and just a small surprise that would hopefully too make up for his faulty decision making with the bat.

Alastor was not a gifting sort. So this was quite a bit of effort for him.

And he'd made certain to arrive at the apartment first, settled in a rather luxurious and calm lay across the couch with a book in hand that he thumbed through, comfortable in his sweater as he waited.