Alastor's anger and disapproval weren't lost on Vox. He noticed every spark of them and filed it away, to add it to the already roaring fire that had been openly fuelling his self-loathing since the night of his disastrous defeat.
As much as he hated it, he couldn't say that he was surprised to see that the human didn't believe him. How could he when the demon's actions had mostly told a different story from the one his words were trying to spin? The urge to argue against the irate silence built on his tongue, but he swallowed it down, just as the mortal had done with his freshly mounting rage.
This wasn't the time for another fight. There was so much to do and they were both drained down to their bones.
So, he forced himself to let it go, just as he ignored the sarcastic jab that followed. On top of everything, it was all very much deserved, so he should have stood there and bore it in any case.
All Alastor got from him was the wave of hand, dismissing the concerned objection the radio host had brought up and the twitch of digital lips as the Media Overlord heard his old name rolling on his companion's tongue. Oh, he had been looking forward to hear how it would have sounded, even if in his fantasies it would have been spoken in much more pleasurable situations.
"Sleep well, Al," he murmured, waiting for the human to have properly lied down before focusing on his steps once again.
Keeping his balance as he made it back towards the centre of the destroyed living room took a lot of efforts and concentration, but he managed it, his teeth gritting in agony just a few times. He could do this. He had to.
What was physical pain when you knew how it felt like living with a bleeding soul?
By the time Alastor came back to his senses, the night had fallen and, if there had been a clock in sight, it would have shown that it was already well past midnight. The TV demon had worked quietly, careful not to wake the tired mortal, in spite of the extra effort and pain that had cost him. His own suffering didn't matter if it meant allowing the radio host to get the rest he needed.
A blanket had been laid over the mortal at some point, warm and soft, to keep the chill of the late hours from disturbing his slumber.
All the debris had been cleared from the destroyed living room, leaving an empty, clean space and a ruined but patched up floor. The salvageable pieces of furniture had been moved against the surviving walls, along with all the objects that hadn't been destroyed beyond repair. Everything else had been piled in the yard, ready to be disposed of.
The gaps in the walls and ceiling were still there, but they had been temporarily covered with large, thick sheets of plastic, so that the inside of the cabin would no longer be openly exposed to the elements.
The table Alastor had used as a shield when the cypress had slummed into the building had been returned to its proper position, the once smooth surface now ruined by scratches and splinters. Yet, in that moment they were hardly visible as its surface was fully occupied by the spoils of a very peculiar banquet.
Blood was splattered all over it, some of the red lymph having dripped down on the floor. On top of it laid what looked like human remains, or rather bones, enough to form two skeletons. They were perfectly stripped of whatever flesh had once covered them, shark teeth marks indenting their surface. Among them, a car battery, torn open by claw marks and fully drained, not a single spark emitting from it.
The metallic scent of blood still lingered in the air, betraying how the carnage was pretty recent, but it wasn't the only smell filling the room. From the kitchen very different ones came, a mixture of cooked meat and a hearty mixture of vegetable. Someone was obviously in the middle of cooking in the next room.
Almost on cue, Vox stepped back into the living room, carrying a bowl of water and a rug, obviously meant to clean up the mess he had made on the table. He had used the ring to shift into his human form, merely because it was more practical when it came to handle the kitchenware, which were far too small for his demonic size. In his mouth, filled with cyan sharp teeth that didn't belong on a human body, hang the half of a humerus that was slowly being chewed.
Even through the magical disguise, however, the damage his body was sporting was still visible. His heterochromatic eyes were bloodshot, dark and deep bags surrounding them, and there were dark marks running over the too pale skin of his face, mimicking the cracks that still decorated his screen. He was barefoot, his shoes discarded in the hall, and still shirtless, makeshift bandages wrapped around his torso, forearms and neck, lightly stained with silvery blood.
The Media Overlord froze as his gaze landed on the now awake human, eyes widening for a split second, causing him to look very much like a deer in the headlights. Oh, the irony.
"...Oh, uh, hey, Al. How...How are you feeling?" He hesitantly asked, shifting his weight on his feet, obviously torn on what he should have done.
He wanted to approach the radio host and help him up, but he was afraid that the closeness would have been unwelcome. So, in the end, he just cleared his throat and set the bowl down on the dirty table.
"Ha, sorry about the...mess." He vaguely gestured at the blood and bones. "I...I got really fucking hungry and...I didn't want to, uh, devour your stash, so I went out on a quick hunt. Don't worry, I left no traces. Not my first murder in the living world, if you catch my drift."
He flashed a shaky, weirdly digital grin at the mortal, before focusing on starting to collect the bones.
"There's...I thought you might be hungry too, so I...made dinner. Or well, shit, more like a midnight snack at this point. It's Brunswick stew, this soup they make in Virginia. I had to alter the recipe a little and work with what you had, but...it should be edible."
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