The issue of Alastor and Valentino did not exist so much as a choice in Vox's mind. As it worked from his perception- they were both strictly tolerating him, and who tolerated him more or less in any given moment was as variable as the acidic rain storms in Hell. It wasn't because he was insecure that he came to this conclusion- though whether or not he was insecure was another matter entirely -it was just the established norm.
For the longest time Alastor had spent dodging him, undermining him, and making him feel less of a man, while Valentino stroked his ego and supported him. Recently... The tables had sort of reversed, with Valentino giving him the cold shoulder and hardly even looking at him in the day to day, meanwhile, here he was with Alastor, wide eyed and holding hands.
Unexpected, but a reality no less.
That wasn't a choice, that was just being power blasted by the whims of temperamental overlords. In any case he knew it was a problem (especially if Valentino found out)- just that it was not a today problem.
And Alastor seemed okay to breeze past it, and Vox wasn't going to stare a gift horse in the mouth.
"Yeah, yeah, so I've heard, whatever helps you sleep at night, Debby Downer."
He was being made fun of again, and one of Vox's eyes squinted as he peered at Alastor's ungrateful reply. He'd been anticipating praise for his ingenuity! Not this back handed comparison to a pet cat.
"Oh. Rest assured, I can gut a bitch," surely even in his weakened state he could handle one racist fuck from Louisiana. "But I thought you'd rather have the honors for yourself. If that's not the case then by all means, we can forget about the whole ordeal, I've got other shit I could be doing."
So Vox's ego made its appearance.
That wasn't true. Not really. His involvement in VoxTek was at record breaking lows.
