New Love, New Skin (Chapter 10)
Chapter 1 📺 Chapter 2 💛 Chapter 3 📺 Chapter 4 💛 Chapter 5 📺 Chapter 6 💛Chapter 7 📺 Chapter 8
hey, we got there in the end!
What is Vox, besides what he has always been?
1975- Part 2
Vox lies awake for hours after his fight with Alastor, recounting every word of the argument, every misstep that he had taken. He can’t believe he hypnotized him- even accidentally. Alastor had seemed fine afterwards, but Vox couldn’t shake the feeling that it was wrong- that Alastor had detected some change in him that would make him turn his back on their partnership. Their friendship. Them. He couldn’t stand it- he wouldn’t survive it. Not another person leaving him like that.
He needed to prove himself, he realized, sitting up in the bed and letting his screen flicker to life. That was what he needed to do; show Alastor that he was powerful and strong all on his own, that he didn’t need the security that the Radio Demon provided him to stand on his own feet. He would rework the plan- change the contract, get the souls on his own, and present a portion of them to Alastor as an apology. For losing his temper, for the accidental hypnosis, for not being enough yet after all these years. Vox could do it, and then Alastor would trust him again and everything would be alright.
He goes a day early, night creeping in when he leaves his apartment. Nerves make him feel like he’s vibrating under his skin, a deep well of emotions- anxiety, determination, adrenaline- fueling his motion as he makes his way across town to the club. He knows they know who he is- he’s got a reputation these days, not just as Alastor’s partner but his own reputation. Cunning and viscious, ruthless in his actions, Vox grins triumphantly when he sees the shades draw down as he approaches, hands in his pocket and whistling casually as he strolls up to the front door. He knocks for the illusion of politeness, and then kicks the door down, wood splintering under his heel as Sinners dart in different directions. The club owner, Harlan, sits at the bar, a cigarette between his fingers that smokes so heavily a cloud hovers above them. His hat is tipped low, the glint of his yellow eyes flashing when he looks up from under the brim. The bartender’s eyes flicker between Vox and Harlan, wide and fearful.
“Evening,” Vox starts cheerfully, crossing the room in a few strides to sit next to him. “Lovely place you’ve got here. I’ve only been a few times but it seems-”
“Cut the shit,” the reptile snaps, his forked tongue drawing the S’s in the sentence long. It’s an interesting combination with his Southern drawl. “I know ya type, Vox, and th’company ya keep. Man like you don’t come around here for nothin,’ and I’m not feelin’ particularly generous tonight.”
He keeps his smile light, drawing his claw around the rim of a glass that was set in front of him- rye, like Alastor drank, even though Vox himself wasn’t big on it. “Easy, Harlan! Can’t a man swing by with a business proposition?”
“I’m not interested in doin’ any business with ya, screenhead. If that’s what ya want, might as well head out now.”
Frustration crackles across his screen, fleeting before he schools it. This was why Alastor had originally been in charge of this part- he was so calm and suave in the face of disrespect, as seldom as he received it. But Vox could do it- could channel Alastor in this way to get the job done so they could both benefit. “Understood, I suppose. I guess I won’t stop by Alastor’s on the way home then- figured I could talk him out of bulldozing a business I frequent, but hey! I know when I’m not wanted.” He downs the glass in his hand, alcohol burning on its way down his throat as he stands. “Maybe I’ll see you around- or, you know. Hear you around.” He tilts his head pointedly at the radio that sits silent in the corner, and when Harlan’s hand twitches around his own drink Vox can almost hear the bells in his head that declare his victory.
“Well- hold on there, Vox. Maybe we can discuss over drinks. I’d hate to miss out on an opportunity.” It’s bullshit; they both know it’s bullshit, that Vox was leveraging his partnership with the Radio Demon to force a discussion of a deal, but he would take what he could get. “Dimmock, our friend here drinks on the house, ya hear?” The bartender nods, refilling Vox’s glass with shaky hands. “Now, what brings you near, Mister Vox?”
“I’m happy to pay for my drinks, Harlan,” he laughs, pleased that he has the club owner where he wants him as he tips back another glass. “I just wanted to have a quick discussion, you understand- Alastor has been talking, you see, trying to find places here and there where he can amass a high number of souls quickly. And while you’re no Overlord,” he adds, tipping his head in recognition, “you do still have a number of souls under your belt- and those souls have their own souls, and so on.”
“I certainly know that,” he says. “I take careful consideration to not become an Overlord- no disrespect,” he adds like an afterthought. “I’m just not much for politics, ya understand.”
“Of course, of course,” Vox nods. “But still- if you follow your ownership all the way down, that’s quite the legion you have under your indirect power.”
“And I intend to keep it that way.” His eyes harden, his empty glass pushed away. “I have no intention of selling any souls to you- or anyone. Today or any day.”
“Hey now, who said anything about selling souls?” He pulls the contract from his suit jacket, revised in the early hours after his fight with Alastor, and places it on the bar. “I get that protectiveness- admire it, even! I’m on the same page here- keeping those souls safe.” He taps a sharp clawed finger on the paper. “It’s simple Soul law. I don’t take anything now- but if the day comes that anything should happen to you, the souls under your care then belong to me.”
“So you inherit them, basically.” His expression is guarded, even as he signals to his bartender to pour Vox another drink. “What do I get out of this?”
“Besides assurance that your souls will be cared for? You drive a hard bargain.” He grins, but Harlan isn’t laughing. “Easy- you get reassurance that the Radio Demon won’t touch you or your club. I have some sway with him, you see, and if I give him the word that this place and its Sinners are off limits? You’re golden. He’ll never touch you.”
Vox, of course, was a different story.
Harlan hums thoughtfully. “Mind if I take a look?” He asks, and pulls the paper closer to skim his eyes over it. The bartender slides Vox another drink, his current one still half full, but he shrugs and tips it back anyway. His neck is warm, fingers tingling with excitement at the thought of pulling this off, of being able to report back to Alastor and tell him everything was good now, that they were equals at last. He’s distracted by Harlan flipping a pen between his fingers, tip deliciously close to the paper- and Vox hadn’t even really had to persuade him!
Time passes too slowly for his liking after that- but he’s plied with alcohol, and Harlan is looking at the paper intently, following lines with the pen even though Vox is positive that his verbiage is perfect regarding protection from the Radio Demon. He feels high on the knowledge that this job was as good as done, and when he finally sees Harlan scrawl his name across the bottom of the paper, he feels like he’s done a line of coke.
His screen gets noticeably brighter when Harlan slides the paper back over to him, his signature golden and glittering. He hands the pen to Vox who flourishes his own signature across it, and the entire paper glows when he sets it aside- legally, cosmically binding. “An absolute pleasure doing business with you, Harlan,” he says, his smile wide and manic, and when the other man reaches out a hand to shake Vox sends enough electricity through his fingertips to take down a fucking rhino. Harlan jolts in his seat, limbs going stiff as he’s electrocuted, smoke pouring off his body in waves while the bartender screams behind them. He slides off the barstool into a twitching pile on the floor, Vox still clinging to his hand so tightly that he’s drawing blood, unable to let go while he’s actively putting out voltage.
He finally stops the current and releases the Sinner’s hand, burns left in the shape of Vox’s claws on the back of it. Miraculously, Harlan is still breathing. “Ya sonuva bitch,” he says, his voice as stiff as his limbs, but Vox is too thrilled with the fact that this plan is going off without a hitch to notice the amusement in his tone. “I fuckin’ knew ya were no good.”
“Yeah, well, should’ve trusted that instinct!” He snatches the paper off the bar, eyes drawn to the signature at the bottom, the curl of Harlan’s name. “You signed it anyway, and once you’re out of the picture all of those souls will belong to me and Alastor.”
Harlan laughs. “You’re one dumb motherfucker, ain’t ya?”
The thrill of the moment dies with abruptness. “I would watch your fucking tone if I were you,” Vox says, leaning down to get into Harlan’s face- but smile lines are creased into his scales even as dark blood drips from his nose. He pulls the angelic blade he had reserved for the end and holds it to the fucker’s throat. “There’s still time to make this hurt, you know. Or take it out on those souls you seem to care so much about.” He laughs harder, and the sound enrages him. He crouches on the ground, fists a hand into the reptile’s shirt and pulls him up to press the blade to his throat. “Stop it. Stop fucking laughing-”
“Or what? Ya gonna kill me? Seems ya were already plannin’ on that.” His neck trembles as he holds his head up, strength quickly fading from his body even though he still had the energy to fucking laugh. “Think I can’t smell desperation when it struts into my club like it owns the place? Talkin’ all that shit about the Radio Demon wanting to gain souls quick when everyone n’ their mama knows that you’re the one ridin’ his coattails.”
“Shut up.” His voice is stronger than he feels, the crash of adrenaline making his hands tremble where he holds Harlan. “You shut your fucking mouth.”
“Ya might have looked into enough about me to know about my souls, my trickle-down power, but ya didn’t think to look into me.” Harlan’s smile is wide, manic the way Vox’s had been and showing no signs of dying. “Everyone wants to rag on Harlan, thinkin’ just because my voice has some twang and I’m not rubbin’ elbows with you powerful fucks that I’m stupid. But a lawyer from the South is still a lawyer- and lawyers know to read what they’re signin.’ Do you, Mister Vox?”
“No.” Panic claws at his throat, and he drops Harlan with a thud to the ground, his laughter seeming to echo in the empty bar. He snatches the paper off the counter and his eyes scan it with growing anxiety.
“... that in the event of an action of violence from Alastor, the Radio Demon, or Vox, of VoxTek, all souls in the possession of Isaac Harlan are to be immediately transferred to Vox, of VoxTek released, with all soul contracts rendered null and void…”
The fucker hadn’t been using the pen to follow the words as he read. He had been crossing shit out, rewording the contract and taking out everything that was important- everything that had made this job worth doing, everything that he had spent fucking weeks researching and reworking to make sure it was ironclad. He’d scribbled in new words while loosening Vox up with alcohol, the bartender keeping him distracted while his boss worked to ruin everything that Vox had been banking on.
He’s still laughing on the ground, not having moved even though Vox no longer had a hold on him, no angelic steel pressed to his neck. “Not so fuckin’ smart now, are ya? Thought you’d pull one over on ol’ Harlan here, but I don’t let people fuck with what’s mine. And they ain’t even mine now- they’re free. Go on and kill me if that’s what you’re gonna do, but just know that ya ain’t gettin’ shit out of it. They’re all free.”
Blind, incandescent rage makes his screen glitch out of his control, electricity arcing from his fingertips to any available electronic device in the vicinity before he turns and stabs the angelic steel blade into Harlan’s stomach. He laughs and Vox stabs him again, in the same place, because what else could he do now that he was well and truly fucked? Over and over, blood coats his nice suit jacket with every swing until the laughter finally stops, and Harlan is fading to divine ash underneath him. The laughter still echoes in his head long after the fucker is gone-
And with him, all of Vox’s plans. Foiled by some fucking hillbilly that had tricked him, and now he was never going to be back in Alastor’s good graces after that fight. They would never be equals, not with the work that Vox was going to have to do to make this up when it was supposed to be easy. The easiest job they had ever done, and Vox had completely ruined it by letting his ego take over and letting himself get too fucking cocky for his own good.
He hears a noise then over his heavy breathing, and when he looks up the bartender is still there; cowering behind the bar, he holds a bottle of rye in his hand like a weapon. Vox is sure he looks fucking insane, covered in blood as he is when he smiles. “How about one more for the road?” He asks, and the young Sinner responds by chucking the heavy bottle directly into his face. He hears a crack, feels a splintering pain race across his screen, and then the room goes dark.
He wakes hours later. At least, he assumes it has to be hours later, because there’s no other reason for Alastor to be there before Vox had a chance to clean the place up. He wants to joke about it, keep the mood light, until he sees that Alastor was already holding the contract that had fucked him. His eyes keep flicking over it, settling on Vox’s name at the bottom, and it’s so unnaturally quiet that when Vox shifts from his position on the floor and the wood creaks, it sounds like a gunshot.
“Al-”
“What,” he asks stiffly, his smile strained, “were you thinking?”
“I don’t-”
“You’re not stupid, Vox.” He slaps the paper down on the counter to turn and look at him. “We had a plan. A good plan, if a little underprepared. If you were eager for some bloodshed, there are countless turf wars happening at any given moment that you could have thrown your hat into.”
“That’s not what I was doing-”
“Then what?” The eerie green stitches have appeared at the corners of his mouth, eyes flickering to dials as his voice contorts with static. “What could have possessed you to act so rashly and let yourself be misled in this way? To not re-read the terms of a contract before signing it- that’s the work of amateurs, Vox, which is not something that I thought you were.”
“What would you have done then, Alastor? If you’re so fucking wise- how would you have handled it?” His anger cracks like a whip at the almost condescending tone his friend takes on.
Alastor’s smile flares with obvious frustration. “I would have stuck to the plan. I wouldn’t have tried to do a job like this by myself when I so obviously was not ready for it-”
“Oh, fuck you.” He stands from the floor, his head still aching from the force of the bottle slamming into it. His vision is cracked and fractured, Alastor clear in one eye, the wall of alcohol behind the bar appearing in fractals where his screen has cracked. “I was fucking ready. I wouldn’t have even felt like I needed to try to do it on my own if you hadn’t-”
Darkness swirls around him, shadows condensing to fill the space around him with the void as Alastor takes a menacing step forward. “If I hadn’t what, precisely?” His cane comes out to tap on Vox’s casing. “I can’t recall anything I might have done to prompt this little outburst of yours, my good man. Don’t blame me for things about yourself and your past that you cannot control or cope with.”
Everything is going wrong- the plan, the talk with Alastor, these constant reminders that no matter how hard he tries, nothing he does is ever enough for the people he cares about. “I did this for you,” he manages to get out around his incredulous laugh, missing the way that Alastor steps back. “I wanted to- to apologize, for what happened the other night. For losing my temper, for accidentally…” He waves his hand vaguely towards Alastor’s eyes, indicating the hypnosis but not wanting to admit what he had done out loud. “I was trying to get it done so you could see me, see what I’m capable of!”
“I know what you are capable of, Vox,” Alastor says. “We’ve been partners for well over fifteen years now, haven’t we? I know you can be quick-witted and savage and clever- but you also have a tendency to overreact- blow a fuse, if you’ll forgive the pun.”
She flashes through his mind, and he pushes her away by sputtering out his thoughts. “Just… Why don’t you see it? That I’m trying to be better, to rise like you did. I want to be on your level, Alastor, not just- hovering just below you and hoping that you’ll think I’m good enough.”
“Good enough for what?”
“To be with you!” Lightning sparks between his antenna and off the ends of his fingers. “To join you, for you to join me! Everything I fucking do is to prove myself, and I know I fucked this up but come on, Alastor, can’t you see that I was trying? Why isn’t it enough?”
When Alastor doesn’t respond, his desperation rises. And with it, his filter disappears, words spilling forth that he can’t quite control. “Fuck, why is it never enough?” He’s basically asking himself, grabbing the side of his screen like he could tear it off his body, stop the incessant beating of thoughts inside his head. “Christ, no matter what I do or who I do it for. I try and try and try and it’s never fucking ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧn̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥo͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡g̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟h̨͚͚͖ͯ̒̄͗͞!" His arms sweep across the bar counter, his empty glasses shattering on the floor alongside Harlan’s until shards litter the floor as his voice is distorted and garbled with his scream. He stands there against the bar with his shoulders heaving, breath leaving him in unrestrained pants until he looks at Alastor and sees an expression he doesn’t recognize on his face.
He struggles to get his breathing under control, plastering that familiar fake smile on his face before turning back to Alastor. “Fuck. Fuck. Okay. I’m cool now. And I’m sorry you had to see that, and that I fucked up this plan, but…” He laughs at himself, at the situation, how quickly it was all unraveling. “Whew! Let’s just forget it, okay? There are bigger fish available to fry than this backwoods fucker anyway, so we can refocus our energy and-”
“Tell me about Kora.”
He feels the glitch take over his screen, and he fights to keep his tone calm. “I told you about K-” He pauses, takes a much needed breath. “I told you about her. We dated- she left. That’s the end of the story.”
“What did you do that wasn’t ‘enough’ for her?”
He blanches- at least, as close to blanching as a screen could get. “What are you-”
“I’m sensing a pattern, Vox, of you thinking that you know what other people want, acting on those thoughts, and then lashing out when they don’t properly appreciate what you’ve done. Am I correct?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, coming closer into Vox’s space and making his breath catch at the proximity as he jabs a finger into Vox’s chest. “Because that is what you’re doing now. So caught up with this idea in your head of being an equal to me that you haven’t stopped to think about the fact that I do not want you as my equal.” He pushes Vox, who stumbles over his own feet and lands hard on the ground, looking up at Alastor and feeling, for the first time since they met, properly afraid.
“Come on, Alastor, you don’t mean-”
“Don’t tell me what I mean. Don’t assume what I think or what I want or what I know. I am not a substitute for this Kora woman, as much as you seem to have seen me as one.”
“I didn’t.” Desperation clogs his throat, and he’s amazed that he can feel the sting of angry tears somehow, despite not having eyes. “I didn’t, Al, I know you’re not- she’s gone, she’s fucking nothing anymore-”
“And yet you cannot tell me about her. You can’t hear her name without short circuiting, you cannot bear to contemplate the idea of her thinking poorly of you, and poor Ms. Jagoff is still fighting the lingering effects of your shock after speaking ill of her.” His smile feels like a sneer, angry and vengeful as he directs it at Vox. “I told you the other evening that I cannot work with you if I cannot trust you.”
“But you can!”
“I can’t. You have proven that I can’t.”
“Alastor, please.” He schools the attempted swirl of his eye, going as far as covering it with his hands before he looks at him. “I’ll fix it. I’ll be better, I can-”
“I don’t think you can be better,” Alastor says, and then he’s sinking, descending into his shadow faster than Vox can reach for him. “Such is the nature of technology, I’m afraid- prone to malfunction that can’t always be fixed.” And then he’s gone, and with him goes all of the noise in the room and all of the breath in Vox’s lungs before everything inside of him ignites and he screams.
1981
He works. Of course he works, because what else is there to do?
Vox very pointedly doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t think about Alastor, despite knowing that reporting on him would boost some of his network’s ratings. He doesn’t think about their friendship, how he had fucked everything up like he always did, doesn’t think about the gaping hole in his chest where he used to be. Where Kora used to be.
He works. After shit went down with Alastor he had ended up reaching out to the man that Joy worked for, that Valentino. He was easy enough to get along with- friendly and charming, persuasive. Innovative, which was what had Vox agreeing to invest and boost the advertising for his Vixxxen magazine, the Hell equivalent of Playboy filled with scandalous photos of naked, half-naked, and occupied Sinners throughout its pages. He had plans, he explained to Vox over drinks, of eventually pivoting to video- but for now he was content to share his printers with the Media Overlord in a little quid pro quo to get some more reach. He bought a tower on the outer edges of Pentagram City and paid to get it fixed up, with plenty of room for his various broadcasts and a few floors to Valentino to spread out for his cameras. He lived on the top floor, a specially designed penthouse that looked flashy and expensive, with entire walls of windows that he could watch the people below through, lights shimmering and blinking on the long nights that he actually went back there.
He had finally reached the status he was aiming for. And the victory felt empty, like he knew it would. No one to share it with. No one to impress with it. He was feared and respected and successful, and his afterlife felt empty. Valentino was a coworker, as often as he tried to find excuses to slide into Vox’s bed, but he didn’t have any real desire to find someone else. How could he try to make another connection like that, knowing where it would lead? The same way it had with Alastor and Kora- with him alone and scrambling to put his life back together.
Years passed, and he shoved both of them to the back of his mind- or Kora, at least, since he couldn’t go more than a few days without hearing something about Alastor in the news cycle. He buries her with the memories of their life together, memories of who he had been in life and when he was with her.
He takes women to bed, of course. This was Hell but Vox was still only human, and fucking didn’t require the same commitment as being with someone. It didn’t grant them the same familiarities, the same insight into his being- he could ‘dick and dash,’ as Valentino referred to it, and not have to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings or letting them get too close. It was stress relief; an outlet for his frustrations and aggressions as he continued to get more and more powerful and take on more responsibility. When he starts picturing them all to look like her, he very obviously chooses Sinners that don’t share her features. No blue eyes, no dog-like forms. No fluffy ears or soft tails or crooked smiles that made whatever was left inside his chest clench. He lays them down and focuses on the tight, wet pressure around his cock; that was what they were there for. He reciprocated- he wasn’t a fucking monster- but his heart wasn’t it in. Easy, lazy orgasms between silk sheets, and the women all blurred together until he escorted one out of his room one night and realized that he couldn’t remember what she looked like as soon as he closed the door. All he remembered was that she hadn’t looked like Kora, and it was depressing that the bar was that fucking low.
He mostly forgot her. Lost himself in his empire and his partnership, worked with Valentino as his business grew, VoxTek as a brand taking off and becoming more popular. He stayed far away from Joy, managed to convince Val to put her in a department that kept her the fuck away from him so he didn’t have to be reminded of her presence as the years went on.
He was holed up in his office more often than he wasn’t. He didn’t necessarily need to be there- but why bother going back to an empty penthouse when he could sleep on the chaise in his office and get right back to work when he woke up? It was ruthlessly efficient, only interrupted one day when Valentino strolled in without knocking with a woman on his arm that made Vox’s whole body crackle with barely concealed static, his face going carefully blank.
“Voxxy! I wanted to introduce you to a friend-” He holds the woman’s hand and twirls her as they come closer, nearly as tall as the moth himself, feathers falling loose and floating to the floor around them. “Isn’t she just preciosa? Meet Eris.”
The bird watches him beneath lowered lashes, her gaze calculating. She leans further into Val while offering a hand across the desk. “What a pleasure to meet ya, Mr. Vox.” She places emphasis on his name, says the V of it just a little too hard to be believable. “I’ve heard nothin’ but good things from Val!”
He shakes her hand, his grip loose before he pulls away too soon. “Right. Nice to… meet you too.” He knows she remembers him; he can see it in the glint of mischief as she watches him, Val settling into a chair across the desk before Eris perches herself on his knee and hangs herself off him, her body lanky and lean like it had always been. “What can I do for you two?”
“Amorcito, it’s what we can do for you!” Val taps Eris on the hip and she reaches into her coat, pulling out one of the latest copies of Vixxxen. “Eris here is one of my scouts- finds the prettiest Sinners on the streets, coaxes them in front of the camera for me.”
“I hardly do anythin,’ Val.” She smiles coyly at Vox, tossing the copy of the magazine onto his desk, little colored markers sticking out on some of the pages. “It’s real easy to convince people down on their luck, ya know? Couple pics for some cash, sure- a whole spread for a little more? Easy money, baby! And then Val does all the real work,” she simpers, putting her hand back on his chest and toying with the gold chain that hung between his nipple piercings, making Vox’s partner grin wide and devious. “Negotiatin’ contracts, butterin’ the gals up, keepin’ everyone happy on set.”
“Fantastic,” Vox deadpans. “I fail to see what that has to do with me.”
He doesn’t trust Eris. Never has, since the first time he met her, and she could pretend all she wanted but he remembered more than he cared to.
Val nods to the magazine. “We’re planning to expand soon. Some of the girls have agreed to make the switch from the mag to video, but a couple of them are still pretty… inexperienced. I thought you might like to be the one to give them a test run. Scope out the skill, see who has potential, comprende?”
Eris flutters her fingers towards the pages. “Take a look. We’ve bookmarked ‘em- the blushin’ virgin types, the ones that won’t show their faces, won’t pose with another person. I’m sure there’s at least one in there you’ll really like, ya know.” She smirks, laughing to herself while Val watches Vox flip through the pages disinterestedly, not really looking.
It’s all a lot of the same. Women in lingerie spread out across silk sheets, hands between their thighs or across their chests to cover anything too scandalous- Vixxxen catered to a lot of tastes, from the downright pornographic to the vanilla shit, and the marked pages were definitely ones that would leave someone wanting more. That was the appeal, he supposed; innocence in a place of sin. Something left to the imagination.
“Why would I try to fuck someone on your payroll, Val?” He says, still idly flipping through the magazine. “I can pull perfectly fine on my own.” He had a drawer full of scribbled numbers right there in his office to prove it- he was hot, like only a man with status and power could be. He knew it; all of Pentagram City knew it.
“Consider it a mutually beneficial arrangement,” the moth leers. “You’d have an endless supply of lovely putas to warm your bed, and I’d have the assurance of the Media Overlord that they’re ready for the big screen.” He takes his hands off Eris, frames his fingers like a camera that he peeks at Vox through. “I need more than pretty faces. I need talent- and if there’s one thing you know, amor, it’s talent. Showmanship.” He leans forward far enough that the bird is dislodged from his lap, crowding into Vox’s personal space. “Who better to ensure I can get it from my gals than you, hm?”
“It was my idea, ya know,” Eris adds, from her now standing position across the desk. “Ya come out on scouting trips sometimes just for the star-factor, but ya seem so stressed all the time- why not fix that and help ya business partner out at the same time?” Her eyes flick down to the magazine again.
He leans away from Val, doesn’t look at Eris. “Whatever- I guess I’ll think about it,” he says, shooing them away. If he was gonna do it, he didn’t want them watching him pick one of the many Sinners that Val featured in the magazine. “I’ll let you know.”
Val pouts, but Eris soothes him with a hand to his wings. “I picked the green tabs special for ya,” she says with a wink, and then she’s leading a complaining Val away from him, back to whatever part of the tower he was working in these days when he wasn’t bothering Vox.
He tries to keep working, but his eyes keep flicking back over to the closed magazine, sitting as innocently as it could on the corner of his desk. It’s not a bad idea, he thinks, to basically run some trials on some of Val’s prospects. An objective opinion and all that. He hadn’t been lying before, he was perfectly capable of picking women up on his own- but maybe it would be nice to not have to go to a bar and chat them up, waving away people looking for autographs or trying to get him to share some bullshit news that he already knew about. He loved the attention but when Vox was on a mission, it was more of a hindrance than a stroke to his ego.
He looks at the pages a little more carefully this time, flicking through the colorful tabs and letting his eyes linger. They were all beautiful women- Valentino wouldn’t work with anyone that wasn’t a ‘ten,’ as he described it- and the framing of the pictures was surprisingly tasteful when there wasn’t an explicit sex act being photographed. Coy glances over shoulders, legs crossed strategically, short skirts riding up plush thighs while bent over a desk with an armload of paperwork. He remembers the comment from Eris about the green tabs, flicks the magazine open to one of them at random-
The woman on the page wore nothing but a baggy t-shirt, messy blonde hair spilling across the pillow beneath her head. She faced away from the camera, face down and her back arched, her thighs and ass pressed snugly against the legs of a man in unbuttoned tailored slacks. The only other part of the man visible was his hands, one placed possessively on the hip facing the camera, the other wrapped tightly around the base of a fluffy golden tail-
Vox doesn’t even bother checking the other tabs, his throat tight with anger. He throws the magazine in the trash and pages his assistant into the room. “Tell Valentino I’m not interested in being his test pimp,” he says with more calm than he actually feels. “And tell him to keep that bird bitch away from me- use those exact words, if you want.” The Sinner nods frantically and bolts from the room, off to find his partner and relay the message, and Vox sits quietly in his office looking at the opening of the trash can until he’s paged to set for the morning news.
1998
He’s balls deep in paperwork that couldn’t be delegated when he gets a call from Val’s studio a few floors down. “What is it this time?” Vox asks, fingers at the side of his casing like he had a headache- a muscle memory of frustration that he had never been able to shake.
“I need you to come to the studio.” The lack of any Spanish or mirth is unusual for Val, who usually tried to ply Vox with pet names and exaggerated words of adoration and affection. “It’s important.”
Vox sighs, looking at his papers until the words blur in front of him. “I can’t. You saw that shit with Alastor this morning, didn’t you? Fucker took out a whole goddamn city block in one of the border zones across town, and you know how hard it is to keep his Eldritch ass on screen for more than a few fucking seconds-”
“No me importa- I don’t care,” he clarifies, when Vox is quiet after he speaks. “No one cares about the Radio Demon but you, baby, so why don’t you take a break and come see what I have for you?”
“I said no, Val.” Knowing his partner, it was probably another shoot that he wanted Vox to join in on, or another instance of the moth draped in skimpy lingerie across whatever surface he thought would be most appealing. He was constantly trying to get Vox to get ‘in’ on things, since that incident with Eris a few years ago. Vox had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted nothing to do with the stork, and he had only seen a tail feather here and there since- Val had the good sense to keep her away from him.
He also wanted nothing to do with the porn industry. He’d never begrudge Val his choice of venture, and he couldn’t deny that the videos that he steadily put out had them raking in more money than they really knew what to do with- but it wasn’t his scene. He preferred his fucking to be in the moment, focused on himself and his partner, not worried about what a camera might pick up. And his years as Valentino’s partner had rubbed some of the knowledge of how things worked on him, so watching any of the videos had him thinking about technicalities rather than how arousing the acts being performed were.
He was aware of distant speech in his ear and tuned back in to what Val was saying. “What?”
“I said get your square ass down here or I won’t put out any videos for a fucking month!” He continues to rant in Spanish, words that Vox had never been bothered to learn but that he was sure weren’t treating him favorably, and cursed his partner.
As much as he didn’t want to go down there, he couldn’t afford to lose the profit. Valentino’s videos were a steady, consistent draw of cash, not even taking into account the monthly issues of Vixxxen that still went out. The people in Hell were perverted and depraved, and Val capitalized off that more than anyone- more than Vox himself, even.
“Are you fucking listening to me, Vox?”
“Satan’s fucking tits, Val, yes,” he snaps, static sparking between his antennae and his voice contorting as his anger gets the best of him. He forces himself to calm down, relaxes his shoulders and adopts his easygoing tone again. “I’ll be right there. And this had better fucking be worth the trip, or I swear to God-”
He can almost hear the dismissive waving of his hands as Val cuts him off. “Yeah yeah yeah, you’ll do something horrible, I’m sure. Trust me, this will be a treat. See you soon, amorcitooo,” he sings, and then the line goes dead.
Vox rolls his eyes and slams the button to end the call. He eyes his paperwork, having stared at it for so long that the words all blurred together, and heaves a sigh before sliding it all into a pile to focus on when he came back from whatever Val had planned for him. He didn’t have high hopes, but at the very least it would be a short break from the shitshow that he had to deal with on his way to the top.
If there was anything he needed after the last few years, he thinks as he makes his way to the elevator and starts his descent, it was a fucking break.
finally, my chance to brag about how I was right about Vincent!!!! and Dante's!!!! god it feels good to have guessed something correctly lmao
the end of an era, folks! (this era, at least) if you've read along until now, thank you thank you thank you for sticking it out with my first ever OC, my sweet baby Kora 💛 and special thanks as always to my bestie @fraugwinska who still holds hope in her heart for this story and for Kora and Vox to get their happily ever after
