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ACTIVE SHIP VERSE TAGS >
verse ;; ⭐ nobody's eyes but mine ⭐ - voxtekcrown
verse ;; 🐍 i'm ready now 🐍 - sirserpentine
verse ;; 📺 crimson nights like these 📺 - videokilled
verse ;; 🌖 just too much for you 🌖 - the-devil-less-known
verse ;; 📻 on this lonely heart 📻 - alteregozowie
verse ;; 🦌 when the world slows down 🦌 - rradiio (alex)
verse ;; 🔪teeth are where your heart was🔪 - angelichooves (adaile)
verse ;; ☠ tuning out of the poison ☠ - venisontransmission
verse ;; 🩸 blood on a marble wall 🩸 - kingdomofbellows (irene)
verse ;; 🕸 let loose and love all 🕸 - a-hazbin-spider
verse ;; 🚬 smoke in my hair 🚬 - veelentino
verse ;; 🩹 the parts that won't heal 🩹 - pentious
verse ;; 🎙️praying for a wayward spark🎙️ - hellishbind (vox)
verse ;; ⚔ make a mercy out of me ⚔ - truearchangel
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IMAGE/ARTWORK TAGS >
Vox - ▽ mediocre video podcast ▽
Lucifer - ◬ path of most resistance ◬
Angel - ⧩ effeminate fellow ⧩
Charlie - ⧋ potential to guide ⧋
Nifty - ⨞ twisted little mind ⨞
Valentino - ⧊ morality in a chokehold ⧊
Rosie - ⟁ delightfully debonair debutante ⟁
Husk - ◭ graduate of bad beats ◭
Sir Pentious - ◥ remember you now ◥
Vaggie - ⨻ re-formed ex-exorcist ⨻
Cherri Bomb - ◺ explosive late entry ◺
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OTHER/BASIC TAGS >
▲ sense of self ▲ : images & art of alastor
△ on the air △ : in character posts
⨹ tune on in ⨹ : posts containing snippets of the broadcast
⨞ dash commentary ⨞ : commentary on dash happenings
▶ after-hours broadcast ▶ : out of character posts
▲ promotional material ▲ : promo posts
◭ ask memes ◭ : ask memes free for anyone to submit
⟁ starter call ⟁ : posts that can be liked for a starter
⨻ answers ⨻ : answered asks
⧊ hellish headcanon ⧊ : personal headcanons for alastor
⨺ white noise ⨺ : music or inner thoughts
⨨ nsfw ⨨ : nsfw threads or images
⧍ queued ⧍ : posts from the queue
◸ saved ◹ : saved posts
⧊ flashback ⧊ : threads occurring in the past
#⧎ crack ⧎ : 'crack' posts that may not be explicitly canon
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Credit for Icons/Avatar/Header:
Official Art - Hazbin Hotel
PFP - @/samzikei
Icon/Pinned Art - @/alloplush
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SHIP TAGS ON HIATUS >
verse ;; 🤡 fools and kings 🤡 - circus-frog
verse ;; 🥀 while your wrists are bound 🥀 - mothvalentino
verse ;; 📶 two birds on a wire 📶- hypnotic-broadcast
verse ;; 🔗 somewhere along the way 🔗 - damnedrainbows (husk)
verse ;; 🖤 won't wake up this time 🖤 - hailvoxp0puli
Vox would wander out of the bathroom, and make a detour over to his bar. Fishing around, he did manage to find a baggy of some ivory colored powder that was half used and then tucked away where it didn’t belong. He didn’t know what it was, but he would take anything at this time. So he just upended the bag into his mouth. His expression predictably soured at the bitter sharp taste of it, and grabbed the closest decanter of amber liquor to drown the taste.
After putting that back and digging around for a more predictable upper with no luck, he settled on one of his pricier cigars. It had a more velvety and woodsy smell and he loved how it tasted so he saved them for comfort.
Wandering back over to the kitchen, he made a little blue arch of electricity that wiggled around between his thumb and pointer finger. Similar to those electric lighters. After it started smoking he inhaled deeply and sighed out a contented breath.
Still just in his boxers, he would need a shower soon. Part of him had resisted getting in the tub with Alastor, for more than just mobility reasons. His chest resisted. Sure they had just fucked (or whatever that had been). But snuggling in a hot tub was more intimacy than he was ready for. There was a lot happening— very quickly. A week ago Vox hadn’t spoken to the traitor in months. And as fast as Vox loved to move, his emotions still tracked like a slug.
Vox observed the food in prep, and poked at the meat just to see it spring back, then pouted when there was nothing to immediately sate his munchies. Sure he had taken part in some cooking shenanigans, but he had no interest in actually cooking. So He just shuffled over to the comfy chair in the corner that let him see both the hallway and the kitchen to wait for the radio. He spread his legs out comfortably and slid down a bit. Resting his head back on the chair and smoking slowly.
On and off debating how best to get in without being seen. And trying to suss out what and who Rosie would be looking for, Alastor mentioned that they were to investigate Lute as a ‘danger to all’.. but that felt like a cover. Why would that be of help to Rosie.
His shark boxers rode up his thighs a quite a bit when he had slid down and sort of made his junk look comically pronounced. Not helped by having two in there. But he didn’t notice his eyes mostly shut. The hand that held the cigar was picking at the scabs on his chest again when he wasn’t taking a hit.
The scent of the cigar smoke reached Alastor's nose as soon as he ventured back into the living area, glancing over to where Vox had tiredly settled and was nursing his usual habit. In a bit of a lazy, sloppy manner that left very little to the imagination, but Alastor supposed there would be no better place to act as such.
The radio demon did not seem to mind, in any case, stepping towards the kitchen to where he had left the food undone. Leaning, he gave it a sniff to ensure that it had not gone off in the time between when he'd been pulled aside and now, and found himself satisfied that it had not. It was easy then to slip the tray into the oven to let it start cooking. His own hunger biting at him, Alastor then slunk back towards the living area and the sofa, finding it rather unappealing looking in the moment and deciding instead to settle on the floor, cross-legged as he brought his arm up to inspect the stitching there that had remained from his encounter with Vox's shark.
It was looking better, in any case, than the stitches in his own chest, but that was not saying much.
A brief pause to stare at Vox's scritching claws gave him the urge to call him out on the behavior, knowing that it would only slow the healing process of the wound itself if he managed to accidentally open it back up, but Alastor decided to say nothing. It would only be poorly received, he was sure.
The silence did not feel oppressive, but nor did it feel particularly comfortable. He preferred the energy between them as it had been on the sofa, but he was loathe to make any efforts to recapture that. Not when his stomach griped at him and he knew it had to be sated before he did anything else that could be considered physical.
Though his own worrying at the stitching against his arm rather quickly turned into a more fixated, agitated nibbling of his teeth at the ends of the threading that poked out slightly from his flesh. The sensation was odd - and it felt itchy, likely exacerbated by the heat of the bath.
Now he could really not say much about Vox's claws scraping at his own wounds. He was doing the exact same thing.
“Whatever,” a reply Vox is quick to make, then cringe at. He feels like a broken record in more ways than one. “And do you ever talk normally? A flagrant assault on present company? Try getting our asses mugged and beat.” Though his words are pointed, they are a blunt-ended spear to bruise. He’s talking to fill the space. He points up a finger with a heightened voice, “Let us move fast to escape those dastardly miscreants! Tally-ho!”
His talking quiets once they’ve reached the storefront. It looks dodgy. Small and tucked away, which may be undesirable up top but a breath of fresh air in Pride ―no one’s going to try and bother them here. It’s a smart choice to make.
He keeps his head down, stare fixed on his shoes. He feels like a mouse nosing through some straw, trying not to attract the attention of any barn-cats. It’s been a long time since he’s frequented places like this; his tower made it so that he never had to. Back in the apartment complex, he’d spent a majority of time out on the town. How else would he have met someone like the Radio Demon?
Situating himself at the table, Vox’s claws go to work. They are nervous, twitchy things that tap-tap-tap like second-ticks between each thought in his head, and his eyes flick from wall to wall, person to person, an owlish rotation while he waits for something big to start happening.
To order, he asks for two cups of coffee. One for now, and the second he’ll work on for the walk back. Drumming his fingers, he asks, “So, after this, what’s next?”
"Oh, I'm sorry - shall I dumb down my lexicon for your sake? I figured you would be more than capable of acting as a living thesaurus," Alastor shoots back, recognizing the weak shot for what it is, even if he soon after gives the other a small squint, doing his utmost to stifle what might be something close to a laugh for the ridiculousness of the impression.
"I've never said tally-ho in my life. I'm not British."
Inside, however, Alastor does not see fit to make a scene, ordering his own black coffee with a breakfast spread to sate his more egregious morning hunger pangs. Vox's fidgeting is obvious, and the radio demon breathes a small sigh for how on edge he appears to be in such a place.
"In such a hurry," he says, fighting the urge to reach out and try to still some of those more obvious taps of those obnoxiously large claws. But indeed, there are a few things he needs to do and some other things he needs to collect, whether for himself or for the hotel.
"There are a few suppliers I need to visit - to adjust some incoming inventory for the kitchen and bar." Boring and standard. "Only two, but they are settled on the outskirts of Carmine's district, so we will need to venture there next. And then-"
He pauses as their orders are delivered, and he indulges himself in the coffee with little delay or desire to wait for it to cool any. The heat is nice, no matter how blistering.
"I received an update from one of the local antique shops I visit that they've got a new shipment of things from the upstairs. I'm a bit eager to sort through and see what I can find." Because it's no secret, his love for the nostalgic and vintage. Even as he speaks about it, he seems more cheery.
...Or perhaps that's the rather large platter of food he's digging into soon after. One or the other, really.
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.
So temperamental... Always looking for Alastor's approval even now, it seemed.
He watched Vox for a few lingering moments before giving a small exhale of decent humor, bringing their joined hands up towards his lips, pressing a small, but slightly lasting kiss right to those pointed and bright claws.
"Meet in the middle. You find him, bring him to me, but I let you do the deed while I watch, hm?"
It was not as though he could not handle the man himself, surely, and to be granted an opportunity to behave badly after so long of being monitored as he was at the hotel would have been something worth valuing. But so too did he want to ensure that Vox did not feel needless, otherwise there was little doubt that he'd end up venturing elsewhere, to fill that cup somewhere Alastor did not want him to. So the offer would come with the slightest flutter of lashes, as though working to entice.
He would acquiesce, feeding into that eagerness as best as he could, even if it was with his own brand of dry commentary and teasing.
"As long as you're able to find a place where we will not be disturbed, I'm sure you're more than capable of putting on a decent show for me."
It couldn't be the hotel. Couldn't be the tower. For now, they had a tendency to rendezvous at Alastor's no-longer-abandoned home, but they were certainly not exiled there.
Alastor snaps back, still choosing to act like it's entirely fucking Vox's fault for actually trusting that his old friend wouldn't screw him over for a change, and all of a sudden he positively sees red. "You taught me fucking PLENTY," he hisses, wires emerging to start snapping at the air like a thousand tiny whips. "You taught me that I was pathetic for actually wanting to make connections with people down here. You taught me that I could never fucking be that vulnerable with someone ever again, because they'd throw it back in my face and then spit on it for good measure. You taught me that after years of knowing each other, it apparently was all worth less than the fucking dirt under your shoe. But hey, apparently being so emotionally constipated that you see everyone as fucking pawns in your centuries-long little game and never actually have anyone in your fucking corner is how you get ahead in life! My fucking mistake!" A harsh laugh. "My mistake for actually fucking wanting you to act like I fucking meant anything to you, for a change."
His ire only grows the more Alastor pokes at him, a low growl leaving his throat as he gnashes his teeth like some kind of rabid animal. "I don't want fucking ANYTHING from you, asshole. Not anymore. Guess third time was the charm, huh?! Laugh it up! Rub my nose in it like a fucking dog that made a mess while you're at it, why don't you? Since you just love to pick at all my fucking insecurities all the damn time." He paces away from Alastor for a moment, gritting his teeth. "'The TV is buffering' ring any bells? I told you that I used to stutter as a kid and got bullied for it in confidence, you sick fuck, and you used it to humiliate me in front of the whole fucking Pentagram. Why the fuck are you acting like I'm the only person who's capable of causing hurt in whatever the fuck is going on between us?! Why are you acting like it's entirely my fault that we're even like this to begin with?"
It's only when Alastor accuses him of not listening that there's finally a harsh feedback squeal as he raises himself up on his wires, electricity lancing around him. "I ALWAYS fucking listened to you, you insufferable PRICK. If you'd said jump back then, I would have asked how fucking high! If you never wanted to fucking see me again, you could have just SAID SO instead of making me--don't you EVER fucking imply that I never--" His voice is distorted with anger, with hurt, and his entire body trembles like he's earnestly debating whether or not to fling himself at Alastor in a whirlwind of electricity and claws--
And then he gets a microphone to the face, which promptly takes the wind out of his sails so embarrassingly fast that he's left to briefly flail around like a startled cat before crossing his arms and letting out a huff of exasperation. "If you want me to fucking shut up so badly, just say so. Prick. And the fuck are you going to do about it if I complain the entire time, huh? Make some deer noises at me? Oooh. Terrifying." He rolls his eyes as he follows Alastor again, grumbling to himself. "I'm coming. But I'm getting the roll myself. As previously established, I don't need shit from--"
Oh. They're here. Fucking took Alastor long enough. He pauses, gaze sweeping over the front of the establishment. It's....homey, he supposes. A bit more domestic-looking than he would have thought Alastor would go for, but hey. His eyes flit over the baked goods displayed in the window, regarding--
Noooo fucking way. They have shoofly pie here? He hasn't had one of those in so fucking long. He has to know if they make it properly, with just the right mix of sugar to molasses to really give it that--
....yeesh, okay, maybe he burst through the door to the place a little more exuberantly than he meant to. Sheepish grin. "Heh. Sorry. Door opened faster than I....okay. Nothing's damaged. Whew. Uh." Pointing at Alastor. "I'm with him. And.....you have shoofly pie? I didn't think anyone had even heard of that down here. That's impressive. You mind if I get a slice? And ask about the recipe?"
It's a good thing that Vox is so easily distractible, otherwise the airing of grievances might have certainly exploded into something more, the accusations being slung in his direction sending the fur on the back of his neck bristling and his lip curling in a slight snarl. In a way, he cannot fault Vox for the perspective that he has, given that Alastor has hardly ever provided an explanation for his behavior or his choices. Cruel, he has ever been, biting back whenever he believes it to be necessary in keeping others - and especially Vox - at arm's length. But with the firm belief that the other has only ever had it in mind to use him for something or other, Alastor's justification, in his estimation, is sound, no matter how many crocodile tears Vox tries to worm into his arguments about his insecurities.
The only reason Vox has not returned the effort at broadcasting Alastor's - outside of what he's already done, anyway - is because the radio demon is exceptionally good at playing such things so close to the vest that even one who he has considered himself to be more familiarly acquainted with (close to...?) would find it hard to pinpoint anything in particular to dangle over his head. Alastor is not at all convinced that Vox would not do the same if the tables were turned in terms of information held.
Despite his own growing distaste for the topic of conversation, Alastor maintains his cool, save for a pinch in his brow and a slight crackling of malcontented white noise that chases his aura before Vox startles it out of him by causing a scene with the door.
He rolls his eyes, stepping inside after the other to peer at the treats behind the counter with interest. As always, his hunger defeats any other emotional concerns he may or may not have.
"What is shoofly pie?" Alastor asks instead, raising a brow at Vox while he permits his earlier frustration to simmer. "Sounds ridiculous." But he will try anything once, as long as it's not cloyingly sweet, glancing at the hellborn behind the counter who is doing his utmost to not shrink back at the sight of two rather prominent overlords.
Especially two who had, only a few months ago, decimated quite a bit of the Pentagram with their shenanigans.
"While you're at it, two bombay rolls, please. I know you've got fresh ones this time of day generally, yes?" He is cordial, despite his inherent disinterest in hellborn as a general rule. "And one mango lassi."
The hellborn nods, though says nothing to either of them as they skitter off to retrieve the requested foods (as well as a hastily scribbled recipe on a post-it note for Vox), and Alastor steps away to find a small table in which to settle, still quietly ruminating on the earlier aborted argument.
Frustrating, he thinks. Knowing that there will be no convincing Vox of much of anything in terms of his own perspective, it bothers him to have accusations slung so fervently at him - especially when here he is, making some modicum of effort to treat the other well.
While he didn't have the strength to throw cars around or demolish buildings, he was stronger than most mortals, and had learned to be mindful of himself, especially when compromised. And he was, in his own mind at the very least, a considerate lover, so grabbing was something he only did with caution, and his hands in this case fell to the plush comforter of the bed they were on.
Plus, he was still mindful of Alastor's teeth.
But in any case, René was enjoying the wash of endorphins and other pleasant chemicals through his body, the sense of release, and the knowledge that while Alastor could have ripped him apart likely as easily as a wet paper towel, he chose not to, and was being extremely indulgent with him.
It was a heady mix.
Spent, he allowed himself to languidly un-tense all his muscles, head dropping back onto the pillow to bask a little in the afterglow. And then let out a soft snort from his nose at the complimentary tease. "I did work in an opera house for a time, you know, and busking is a time-honoured tradition for those regularly on the move-- it does literally pay to figure out how to make the most of your voice. A sentiment I'm sure you understand."
And it was one of those human activities that could be done anywhere, at any time, to stave off boredom, to share stories, to just... enjoy the act itself.
"Let them appreciate the free show, if they paid attention enough to hear."
He turned onto his side, giggling at the sight of Alastor with his legs up and kicking, that cute tail of his wagging, like some sorority girl out of a low-budget cliche. An entirely charming sight, and the question did get an affectionate eye roll from him. "Like that? How scandalous, though I'd confess myself immaculately jealous of any lucky enough to cross your path."
René hummed in consideration, shifting a little down on the bed so he could first lean in to press a kiss to Alastor's cheek, another quick one ot the corner of his mouth, and then start up the previously requested petting again. "There are several factors to consider," be began, dragging his nails up the back of Alastor's ear, thumb caressing the delicate edge, before his hand drifted back to the base and Alastor's scalp.
"The aesthetic sight, your technique, the satisfaction achieved... Beyond having no complaints about any of these, I would say they were exemplary; inspired; a memory I shall look back on over the centuries in awe and gratitude that I was so blessed with such an experience." Perhaps laying it on a little thick, but that was part of the game of it. "I may even compose an aria about it."
Ripping him apart was not entirely out of mind just yet, but it was certainly muted and in the background, his enjoyment primarily coming from the other's compliments (which would stop, obviously, if he were to get the man's full body between his teeth to gnaw on him like a dog with a bone). Instead, he gave a small nod or two to the other's shared history, agreeing with the offered sentiment.
"Of course. I can't say I've ever been so far as an opera house, however. And busking was never really my style-" He'd always preferred to be rather stable and openly appreciated by a regular listenership, not random passersby on a street corner. "Although I did participate in a local big band procession once or twice for Mardi Gras..." Singing, of course, as he did. But that had been a special occasion, and not something he was doing for money.
Alastor did not budge from where he was as Rene leaned to press those overtly affectionate kisses to his face. They were a bit strange to receive from anyone who was not Vox, truthfully, but he accepted them in stride, rather content to permit the resuming of the petting, though he was certain that the other might feel compelled - at some point - to get cleaned up a bit.
Maybe. He'd sort of consumed everything that had been spent, but his own propensity for cleanliness could sometimes color how he imagined everyone else felt about such encounters and the potential for mess that followed after.
For now, he relaxed as much as he was capable of, ears still perked upright to listen to the other's appraisal before a small chuckle swept itself from him.
"An aria? How extravagant. Do tell me when you manage to do that. We'll record it and broadcast it across Hell so that everyone can play audience to my greatness." Hamming it up as much as Rene was doing the same, Alastor found the thought amusing, though perhaps ridiculously camp. As much as he would have liked to restore much of his harrowing reputation prior to his disappearance, he did not think that method to be particularly effective in dissuading the more annoying of his audience from trying to beat down his door with their affections.
"Alright, enough of the pomp and circumstance. You do not need to maintain the act just for my sake," he continued with another little stretch of his arms as he pushed himself to sit upright. There was a brief moment where he considered his next words somewhat carefully before continuing on with his question, casual as he could make it.
"Not put out by me not knocking down the door to get the same physical treatment that I gave you, are you?" He dared to ask. "Most would see that as offensive, I think, that I'm not asking for exact reciprocation."
"It'll come in handy next time, but I got a few other tricks up my sleeve."
The only thing Worth could smell was blood. And a lot of it. But that was too familiar to bother him, and he was too busy holding the sides of the stab wound open with a handheld retractor (which looked a lot like a pair of scissors with little hands at the ends instead of blades) and stuffing it with medical sponges to really care about the smell.
"First of all, pain killers."
While those sponges quickly absorbed the blood trying to flood the wound and block his field of vision, he took those few moments to stick a needle in the sinner's side. Hopefully deep enough that it numbed all the way down, but he knew that infected tissue always had problems getting and staying numb. He still wanted to try.
"An' I know what yer gonna say, he's already in Hell, who cares if it hurts? But guess what people do when they're in immense pain? They squirm. An' don't need him squirmin' around like a wiggly worm." There was a lot more compassion behind his reasoning but... he was supposed to be masquerading as a big bad sinner who was assisting an overlord.
"Now of course, I know that when I get my grubby lil' hands in YOU that--" He stopped himself. About to say that Alastor would probably insist he wouldn't need any help with that either, but then remembering that part was a secret. Fuck. Well.
"Uhhhh, anyway!" He took those sponges out after a few moments, soaked in red and a little gold, and then quickly went in with a forcep here, a forcep there, pinching off blood vessels as they tried to seep crimson back into the deep cavity.
"Th' way I see it, I gotta treat this stuff like snake venom. Poison. Only trouble with that is the only way to really get rid of venom is through th' appropriate anti-venom. But there IS no anti-venom for this stuff. At least not that I've been able to figure out."
Not in the hour or so since Alastor had introduced the concept of angelic infection to him entirely.
"So we're back to th' good old fashioned fuckin' suckin' method, a complete blood transfusion--which I CAN still do here, actually--or, in a pinch, absorb what ya can, an' then cauterize to keep anymore from enterin' th' bloodstream."
At this point there were enough forceps sticking out of the bloody cavity that it looked like some grotesque metal flower bouquet, one that sprouted from an angry red hole in the ground and clinked together with every tiny movement the sinner made. They were necessary though; placeholders that were hopefully keeping that golden gunk from entering the bloodstream anymore directly, and reminding Worth what tiny blood vessels he would need to burn off.
He fished around in the shoebox until he found the cautery pen. Held it up to the red tinted lamplight like he was showing off a particularly pretty gemstone in a collection of rocks.
"Now I DO have this baby. Th' tip of it heats up to over 2000 degrees Fahrenheit. Comes in handy to close off lil' bleedy buggers when yer doin' surgeries, an' also burn off diseased or infected tissue. An' skin tags. An' warts. But either way. That's my general plan here. Basically make sure th' pathways for th' infection are burnt over, an' any bits already infected are either gonna get cut out... or burnt out."
It was also small enough (the size of an actual pen) to stick all the way down into that stab wound. He wanted to get the deepest places done first.
"Ya wanna make yerself useful an' hold this guy's shoulders for me? 'Cuz I have a feelin' that even with th' numbin' stuff... this might hurt a whole fuckin' lot..."
The next thing they would both smell is the cloying sweetness of burning flesh.
More attentive than he might have been had this entire nonsense been for him specifically, Alastor watched as Worth began to prop open the wound to further inspect it, an ear flicking as he mentioned pain killers. He'd been about to open his mouth and say just what Worth had presumed he would, and so he kept such questions to himself, finding the explanation to be satisfactory, even if it was mildly annoying to have his curiosity cut to the quick like that. Alastor could not foresee himself being especially happy to be mollified by injected substances, but he would observe before outright refusing.
He had a high pain tolerance, but even he had a ceiling.
The slip-up earned Worth a rather distinct glare, with the knowledge that now Alastor might have to end up killing this sinner anyway for being privy to information he should not have. But he would not share that openly, knowing that Worth might object. He seemed the bleeding heart sort, at the end of the day, and such plans would likely not fly - or lead Worth to withhold treatment altogether somehow in exchange for a promise of the sinner's safety.
Alastor did not want to go down that rabbit hole.
"If Hell knew how to make an appropriate antitoxin for Holy influence, I'm sure it would be all over the markets by now. Surviving the extermination would become even more of a matter of who has the resources to do so than it already is." The rich and powerful were mostly safe, holed up in their strongholds and territories. But the little guy? The regular day-to-day sinners? Easy prey.
Cauterization made sense, but Alastor had even less experience with such a method, leaning over the prone form of the sinner on the table as he eyed the inner mass of meat, flesh, and muscle exposed by the forceps, ears upright as he listened.
"Burning sounds like it might be more effective, but... There are certain sinners who may be fire-aspects and immune. Hellborn, I'm sure, are entirely immune. But they are safe from angels anyway, from what I recall."
Leaning, he gave his contracted sinner a small sniff.
"This one, however, is not."
And therefore, burning was not the worst plan to go with, in his estimation. Regardless, that did not mean he was especially eager to put his hands on the little horned goat, rolling his eyes and instead relying on his inky tendrils which swept from his back to tightly bind their 'patient' to the table by his arms.
"If he screams, I will shove something into his mouth."
The last thing they needed was to draw the attention of the entire hotel around them, even if they were alone on this specific floor.
"This is a crossbow, it does not load as quickly as- AGH," Pendleton quipped, his reloading interrupted by the other man's weight over his shoulder. But he complied to the demand, not wanting to end up at the end of the barrel like their fungal-infested enemy.
The following bang and the splatter of bodily matter that paved the ground threatened to make Pen sick, but he averted his eyes from the stumbling corpse, picked his dropped arrow from the ground and tugged the stranger on the arm.
"Come along then, come, this way,"
The sound of the gunshot still rang in his ears as he guided the injured man towards his safe haven through the woods. He could not see any group of undead, but that did not mean they were on the way.
"We should be fine, there's more traps that will slow them down," he said, stopping in few quick intervals to check their surroundings for any other monsters before resuming his speed tour through the terrain.
"It's not a long way now," he assured when they reached a row of trees that had clearly been damaged on their top branches, some even roughly cut in half as snapped in two. It was the most obvious sign of his nearby settlement.
Finally, the two of them made it to Pen's camp. The small airplane, or private jet, rather, suspended over thick trees, it's side door ripped apart and revealing the ladder that almost reached the ground.
"I'll climb first and help pull you up," Pen decided, knowing there was no time to explain right now. It'd be less painful for the stranger to be helped through his arms than his legs, he reasoned.
Also, he was a bit afraid of the other pulling away the ladder if he climbed in first.
Pen jumped up upon the rope ladder, making haste to climb until he sat securely on the floor of the airplane, and he peeked down to reach for the other man.
"Alright, I'll hel-- Don't say a word," he suddenly warned, raising back the crossbow as he noticed another creature wandering nearby, not yet dangerously close, but nearing such proximity. He hoped it was not the running type.
"Keep your head down."
Pen aimed his reloaded weapon and released another arrow into the air.
The first shot only scraped the creature, urging Pen to curse under his breath. His nerves were getting him today. But he reloaded, forcing himself to stay calm. He reminded himself that he had seconds to spare, and he did not have to rush. Reload, aim. Release.
The second arrow hit the creature square in the eye, puncturing through it and successfully bringing the monstrous being to the ground. Yes!
Pen set the weapon aside and reached down towards the man once more.
"Here," he said, hand extended. "I'm Cyrus. Cyrus Pendleton. But everyone calls me Pen."
Such a weak constitution, Alastor thought, as he noted the other's distaste for the violence. Necessary, even so. He'd not lasted as long as he had by shying away from dispatching the dead as soon as it had become a means of protecting oneself, and he did not flinch whatsoever at seeing the body in a heap on the ground, likely already beginning to attract all manner of insect and creepy-crawly scavenger.
Tugged forth, he almost toppled over once again as the stranger began to move, huffing irritably before following along with careful steps. At least if there were any more traps to step into, this man would have done so already, and so Alastor was precise in ensuring that his own footfalls did not waver off the path that was being laid out for him.
That focus was broken, however, by the arrival to the camp itself, his eyes pulled upwards to the plane nestled in the branches of the trees.
Why was he not surprised?
"What is it with you and trees?" Alastor asked scornfully, but he was not about to permit himself to seem afraid of climbing, even if it would be an ordeal with his injured foot, watching as the stranger began to make his way up the ladder. He'd been about to follow when the alert reached him, and he turned his head to glance in the direction of where the other had been looking.
Just one. Again.
With a small snuff, Alastor watched as the other missed once more, rolling his eyes. This time, he did not bother to assist with the use of his own gun, the thing far enough away that he was not feeling particularly compelled to rush.
When the arrow finally struck the infected in the head, Alastor spared a bit of a look upwards at the other man.
Pen.
"Do you know how to shoot a crossbow, normally? Because your track record is not great, at the moment."
And yet, he reached up to take the hand offered as he made his way up and towards the plane proper, not permitting his interest to show once he was finally perched inside and - ideally - at a safe height. He'd seen some odd camps in his time, mostly at a distance, but never one like this. When planes fell out of the sky as the first waves of infection had struck, not many of them landed so serendipitously.
"Hartfelt," he stated plainly, not particularly enthused about offering his first name just yet. This 'Pen' did not need to know that just yet. Surely, he would not be here long. Long enough to get his foot mended and then he'd be gone.
Alastor never did stay in one place for very long.
In the end the pair were left in silence, there were no other words shown. Gangle and Alastor remained in that silence for a time waiting to see if what the deer said had any effect. Gangle however, simply raised her ribbony limbs in the air as if she knew what would happen already.
She was always so quick to assume things were out of her control. And as if answering this sentiment the strings came down grabbing the pair and putting them back into their original spots once more. Words then appeared above the stage again. And like before they got an ending.
Ending Achieved: Same as it ever was!
(This is not the outcome this play needs.)
Try again!
Note: If no action is taken in-character for a minute the play will start over. Please try your best to find the true ending.
And like the last time events played out through their minds only the "Husband" said nothing to the "Wife" and simply walked by to go rest. Everyday kept going on like this over and over again with no change. It remained stagnant, just the "Husband" coming home and the "Wife" saying nothing to him. It almost felt worse, this stagnancy in a loveless marriage that the pair were clearly unhappy in. At least when the husband died the previous time something changed but this time...
"Is it though? Is it truly so bad? Isn't this what you wanted deep down? For things to stay the same forever? You don't lose anyone then."
Gangle simply sighed as she was placed back towards opening the door to the room again. The ribbon girl looked downwards.
"Seems like that didn't work...it took that as us not doing anything."
Choices and actions only mattered if the two were in character. Simply saying what you wanted to happen or what should happen did nothing. They were simply going to be made to start over again. There was no escaping this they would have to keep playing this scene out until it got the ending that Caine wanted to happen. Gangle felt so annoyed.
"And now we have a time limit. Seems like more rules are added with each ending we get..."
Gangle wished she could do more than state the obvious. But, what else could she do? Sing a song to change things? What would that do exactly? Isn't this her fault for having the idea to take the orb in the first place? However, she only did that because the moment presented itself. If Alastor hadn't blown up the door or got them sent to the office in the first place this wouldn’t be happening. This was both of their faults besides Gangle knew Alastor was stronger than her.
"I'm sure...we can figure this out..."
She said more to herself as she tried to think but then realised she needed to say a line in character so went with the typical.
"Honey I'm home..."
Said with all the tiredness she could muster cause she did feel tired.
There was little to feel about their current predicament except for frustrated. Being pulled once again up into their starting position, Alastor practically hissed at the offending strings, using his little limbs to kick and swipe at them to no avail. Back into the original spot, he crackled with disdain, shutting his eyes as though he could will away the stupid, monotonous visuals they were given of a life lived and unchanged.
Humans were so stupid!
What, exactly did Caine want from them, he thought furiously. The little deer was not familiar enough with human behavior to anticipate exactly what another outcome looked like. He'd tried murder. He'd tried divorce, and yet he'd not been fully committed to the bit enough for it to count. If this was payback for sneaking in to bogart the orb in the first place, Alastor was beginning to wish he'd not done the thing at all.
Anger not abated whatsoever, Alastor turned to stare at Gangle as she seemed to simply fall into place and acquiesce to whatever it was that Caine seemed to be trying to get them to accomplish. That alone did not entirely surprise him - she was the largest of pushovers when it came to trying to meet the unrealistic expectations of others.
If he'd been paired with Jax, perhaps, this would not be happening.
Thinking quickly before the stupid timer ended and Caine demanded that they reset once more, Alastor reached up to pluck from his head the little bandana that was keeping his 'hair' neat, instead tying it around his neck in the form of an impromptu bow-tie, then quickly tugging off the dress he'd been forcefully placed into, discarding it to the side and wiping away the excessive eye make-up that had been smattered over his usual lashes.
He folded his arms across his chest, leaning casually against the sofa and offering Gangle a smirk that told her he was doing his best to remain in character despite the obvious displeasure he held towards the entire ordeal.
"That you are," he replied, his voice just a touch lower in pitch and tone. "I'd not expected you until later, actually, but since you're here... We need to have a talk, you and I."
"I died... In the middle, I think," Pen mused, though it didn't matter much. He had always seen himself as nothing more than plain as a human man and thus he had never had any "hay day" to look back on.
Though, in contrast to his monstrous current form, he had to admit to having been quite cute, even past his younger years.
His phone buzzed in his pocket as a cue that Mr Buckzo was nearby and waiting for them by a new portal. Pen tugged Alastor alongside him, dragging all the numerous souvenirs behind him.
"I'm glad you told me about your life," he said just before they reached the imp and his powerful gateway back home. "I mean... they are not happy things to hear. But I'm glad you told me."
He squeezed Alastor's hand and hoped that sharing the knowledge would one day mean that the weight Alastor carried would be lessened, or even shared.
"And yet you managed to still look as appealing as you do," Alastor offered in mutual compliment, doing much of the same and taking a few lingering moments to memorize Pentious as he was. Either way, the radio demon felt drawn to him, man or serpent, and it hardly mattered which form he took, in the end.
But he would not permit the other to believe that he did not appreciate how he looked. It was a small thing to give.
Being tugged along, Alastor found some marginal relief in the knowledge that they were only a short jump from the hotel. Perhaps not somewhere he'd consider home, so much as familiar, but it was close to it as possible.
He was shaken out of that thought by Pen's words, glancing at the other with a pause.
"Well... Thank you for... bringing me back," Alastor said, in turn. No, it had not exactly been happy. But perhaps necessary. And if anyone were to accompany him to the discovery he'd made... it could have been none other than Pentious.
"Let's go."
No longer wanting to linger, Alastor guided them the rest of the way back through that portal, taking one last, lingering glance back at the street upon which they'd stood.
Resolve steeled his expression, but it went unseen as soon as he turned back to Pentious.
At least, he thought, he was used to biding his time.
disappeared because I got my new nighstands delivered so I was putting them together. I'm trying to upgrade my house bit by bit so it actually seems like some kind of ADULT lives here LMAO
"Oh, okay. So it's like. Fancy lasagna or something?" He moves towards one of the counters that's set enough of a distance away that Alastor probably won't feel like he's being crowded with his hard-earned prize of gummy sharks, shaking a few into his hand and popping them into his mouth with a satisfied little hum under his breath. "Since you said ground beef and pasta. I mean. If I'm wrong, let me know. It just kind of sounds like something along those lines from context clues--" Hold on. Pause. Slowly turning his head. "What the f--since when do you know how to make cupcakes. That's more domestic than I'd expect from the great and powerful Radio Demon." It's not a barbed or mocking remark this time, though. More quietly amused, if anything, because....well, frankly, imagining Alastor making baked goods in his spare time is the funniest thing that's popped into his head all week.
"You, uh. Keen on sharing some of those cupcakes, or."
"Mm, not quite. I would argue it's less complex than lasagna," Alastor answers easily as he continues to work at the ingredients in the skillet. "But probably no less tasty with the right mix of seasonings. On the same vein though, I suppose. Meat and pasta. Simple."
Outwardly, he does not seem to mind Vox's proximity, even if he spares a raise of his eyebrow at the candy that the other has seemed to find somewhere in the recesses of the kitchen.
His ear twitches at the presumption that he could not possibly know how to bake, and he snuffs slightly.
"Baking is not my forte, but I'm not incapable of it. The apple spice lends itself to a nice middle ground of desserts. I simply do not have much of a reason to bake, normally."
Glancing sidelong at Vox, he gives a small 'hmm'.
"That depends. Are you keen on not being a pain in the neck this evening?"
