@hells-hazbins || for the AU i promised you a starter for like ages ago ( I'M SO SORRY. )
The atmosphere of the bar was pleasant. It wasn’t the first time Alastor had ended up there with Vincent in tow, or had walked in to find him there, or had been there when Vincent showed up. It had went from being known as the radio demon's spot to being their spot. Well lit, but not brightly lit. Not too smoky, but still a little hazy, still heavy with the scent of tobacco and whiskey. A gentle tune from the jukebox humming in the background, something that reminded him of another time and place. Nostalgia, he supposed, though he would deny the claim of sentimentality; he just had a certain… atmosphere that he liked. No more. No less. Today, Vincent was talking, building up to something—that much was obvious; it wasn’t uncommon for Vincent to say something like he'd just said when he got on one of his tangents, but the tone here had shifted, and though Alastor’s face never actually changed beyond that gentle smile, he had taken note of it.
“We would be unstoppable. Radio and video.”
There’s the slightest twitch of his ears, the only indication of his listening besides the way he glanced sidewards towards him, if not directly at him. He felt the other's hands on his shoulders, the electric crackle of static from their proximity, like leaning too close to an old television set. Before Alastor could make a move to say more, before he could consider shrugging his hands off, Vincent was continuing on, pulling his hands away. Alastor's spine straightened slightly, his grin tightening at the edges. Vincent had put his hands in that spot before, and though Alastor always allowed it, it was only because he refused to show the chink in his armor, the flash of memory that hit him every time he felt the hands of someone behind him come down on his shoulders.
“Me and you. We could rule hell. Together. As partners.”
Alastor took his time acknowledging this, even as Vincent had a hand out in gesture, taking a sip from his glass. He wanted to lash out, felt something vicious and cruel, even for him, even buzzed, crawl up behind his teeth. He swallowed it down; not here. Not now. No need to react so hastily, he told himself. He exhaled and relaxed his shoulders before he turned to face the younger demon, but he didn't move to take his hand—he didn't shake hands unless he was sealing a deal. There’s the slightest narrow of the eyes—interest, tinged with the predatory intent that always lurking in the crimson glare. Silence stretched between them a moment, long enough that the other might get nervous, before he gave a small shrug of the shoulders.
“I suppose I could see the benefit,” he said as his eyes opened again, still fixed on Vincent. There was something sharp in his words, and though he forced himself to relax, his smile was still a little tight. "And it sounds like you've put thought into this."
His glass clicked as he sat it down, resting one hand atop the other. They didn't stay that way, fingers shifting, sliding over his knuckles, tamping down the restless energy he was grappling with suddenly. Anyone who spent more than a novel amount of time with him knew he was always moving in some small way, like he was incapable of complete stillness.
"So let's start there. How do you imagine this venture to work?"
