#interactions: vox.

[killerhosts]

open to mutuals

"Well, yeah, you could— heh heh hehhhh— CERTAINLY interpret it that way... If you, uhh."

"—Wanted something to be UPSET about. Suuuuuure. Heheh."

[killerhosts]

@countlessrealities / vaggi

"Yeah, well— FRANKLY, I don't want to be here either."

This whole fiasco is embarrassing. He supposes that's the point. Valentino and Velvette were having their fun with him, weren't they? Vox Vincent he carries his regret, hugging it tightly, coveting it. Every time he finds himself fearful, he proffers it to them - HERE! Don't leave me. It was a mistake. I'm a mistake. This proves it. This is my shame and it's a terrible burden. Can't you see this? I'm sharing it with you because I care. Doesn't this mean something? But Vox never apologizes outright. He isn't built for that.

They use it against him. He knew they would. Guilt is a powerful tool to weaponize, and they are so angry. This is Hell and they are all devils. It's their nature. He can't blame them. He would do the same.

Punishment after punishment. In the grand scheme of things, they are minor compared to what he did. He deserves this, doesn't he? He should be grateful, shouldn't he?

He doesn't feel that way, standing in the hotel lobby, avoiding Vaggi's gaze.

Velvette wanted to serve him a taste of his own medicine. For her, it was like taking a pathetic, wet cat to the vet. Grabbing him by the scruff, dragging him out. The limo was a metaphorical cage that he fought against, splaying his limbs across the door, resisting as she stuffed him inside. And he yowled and hissed the entire way there. Dug his claws into the leather seats, ripping them, stuffing spilling out. Compared to the vet, the cage was better. She yanked him out. Threw him on the sidewalk in front of the hotel.

What did you say to me, again?

OH, yeah— apologize for your childish actions.

Fuck.

He considered running. Disappearing into the phone lines in an explosion of sparks. Anything else. This? This was something he couldn't do. Apologizing. Especially to them. To him.

But in he walked while Velvette watched him with her hawkish gaze. He really is broken, isn't he? He is resigned, depressed, apathetic. Vincent dissociates through his days. That feeling of unreality, unbeing a person - it hits him full force. Half-lidded eyes, blank faced, feet dragging on the ground. This is how he greeted Vaggi. Charlie's not available.

Of course.

"Guess I'll— HEH— just... Come back another time."

Pause. Consideration. Then he has to do this humiliating trip again. No, no, not happening.

"Or, uhh. I mean. You can just represent her, riiiiight?"

[killerhosts]

❛ have you come to laugh at me? ❜ for vox

meme lost to the void / @mercywept

A low, soft growl vibrates in the back of his throat. Vox is all tense, shoulders bunched, clenched fists at his side with awkwardly tightened arms that look uncomfortable. Because he is. Uncomfortable, that is.

"I fucking wish," he grumbles, barely audible.

At that, he brings a fist to his mouth, clearing his throat. He adjusts. Stands straighter. Forces his shoulders down into a more natural posture. He folds his arms behind his back in a more typical stance for him.

It's not particularly convincing. Not with his expression, almost looking physically pained. Which, thinking about it, is the case. Those big emotions that make his body feel suddenly too small just can't seem to contain it all, and it creates these sensations. Sore muscles, grinding teeth, his skin crawling. Vincent feels static blasting in his chest, electricity pulsing, like some wrong wires got crossed.

So it does actually hurt. He is actively hurting right now.

Big breath. Hands clap together in front of his chest, then clasping to one another, held there before him. Finally, his gaze that has been avoidant meets hers. "No, no... It's, uhh, HEH— it's quite the... Opposite," and his teeth clench here, a forced smile, strained voice, speaking through his fangs:

"—princess."

A brief beat passes. Enough to feel weird, especially with him standing there all stony and stock-still.

His hands wring together. Vox tightens up again. Fuck. Fuck. Make this end. "I just came to... Express..."

With each word, those erratic, extreme emotions ramp up. That static in his chest blares louder. Can she hear it? The humiliation is so powerful that it makes that physical pain stronger yet. It will get worse. He wants to scratch at his skin and tear off layers, pick at wires and veins, to replace one agony with another. Velvette doesn't understand what she is doing to him, sending him here. Apologize like you made me apologize to Carmilla. Grovel like the asshole you are. It's not the same! It's not comparable. And he doesn't apologize. It's not in his nature to - taking accountability, being wrong, and accepting it means he is flawed and broken and worthless. It makes everyone right about him. Everyone is thinking it. Everyone has always thought it. He deserves all the suffering he has ever received. Right? That's what it means. But it can't be true. He can't let that be true.

A nervous, breathless laugh puffs out of him like a wheeze.

"I meeeeean— about everything that happened, I just..." Is spontaneous combustion possible in Hell? Vox is composed of wires and hardware and electricity. Maybe an electrical fire will swallow him whole. Any moment now. "Y'know— y'know it was... I wasn't... Ha." Fire. Any moment. "I think maybe. Maybe something was. Really wrong. With me?" Ew. Why did he pivot in this direction? Is this really better than a direct apology? And holy shit, he is sweaty and clammy. His breathing feels shallow. This is bad. This is very bad. "Like screws loose. Figuratively. Or— HAHA!— maybe even liiiterally..."

A pile of ashes. He wants to disintegrate into a pile of ashes, of billowing smoke. Goodbye, cruel world! Fuck you!

[killerhosts]

' what did you have in mind? ' (vox)

meme lost to the void / @blckfckinmsk

"An experiment. A possible opportunity."

Technically, this is Velvette's area. Vox is, however, the face of the Vees. Branching out, sending feelers, making proposals - that is what he does best. Velvette not so much. She is far too abrasive. Vox has a talent for the performance these delicate situations call for.

"See, my associate Velvette is quite good with mixing up concoctions. As I'm sure you're aware, she is the proprietor of the love potions on the market." Vox waves a hand in a circular motion, elaborating: "It's a collaboration between her and our third partner, Valentino." That same hand then gives a dismissive flourish. "Point is: I got to thinking about the potential of combining it with your Snake Bite."

"I think that could be quite interesting." His arms fold behind his back, and he leans in a bit. A big, shit-eating grin pops up on that screen of his.

"And, more importantly, lucrative."

[killerhosts]

continued from / @depascor

There has always been an ache inside his chest. Sometimes it would dull, fall into the background, but it always reemerged. It claws its way to the forefront, scraping and scratching, refusing to be ignored for too long. Acknowledge me, it hisses. I'm your one and only who will never leave you. And it's true. The only reliable, consistent presence in his life (dependable! persistent!) is that hollow, empty feeling. One that is a phantom pain with no real origin. Vincent creates it all his own! How powerful is he to make emotions manifest in the physical?

Oh, how lonely it is to be a God. How awful to rule over a domain you don't want. Woe is he to be such a fucking wretch.

He has never been someone he wanted to be.

Vincent Vox whoever this is watches Alastor patter around the room with a blank look on his face. Eyes vacant. As vacant as he feels. He really does just look like pixels on a screen, doesn't he? Maybe that's all he is. Pupils composed of dots of light drift along with each slow, saunter of a step that Alastor takes. The words he utters stick to Vincent, weighing him down. There's a numbness to him, dissociation making it hard to process and hold his emotions properly, so he continues to make them real. They take the form of heaviness, affecting his body, pulling him down lower in his seat. He might crumple under the weight.

The devastating thing about what Alastor says is that it is all true. Accurate. Undeniable. It terrifies him how Alastor looks right through him. Of all people, he is the one person Vincent hates to feel naked in front of. Yet, it continues to happen. Over and over and over. In his mania of before, he converted the despair into anger. In his depression of now, he has the distinct sensation of sinking into a hopeless pit, where he will be prisoner.

Too close. Alastor towers over him, too close. He shrinks. Claws dig into the arms of his office chair, piercing it. He would give anything to be furious, indignant, spiteful. To react with returning the invasion of space, puffing his chest, bravado. It's all gone. Vox is gone. As he said, he is nothing.

He doesn't know that he is even here.

"You just can't let me have what I want, can you?"

When they made that deal, Vox thought it would fix everything. Finally. Finally, he would win, Alastor would validate he was worthy, everyone would see he was worthy. He would see he was worthy. He would take everything he felt entitled to. Then it would stop. The ache, that is. Things like how Alastor rejected him, how he never felt like a person, how no one could spare him love from the day he was born - the haunting would stop.

IT WOULD ALL STOP.

"—Including leaving me the fuck alone." There should be bite to these words. Instead, the defeat in his voice is palpable. It's funny, isn't it? He wanted Alastor's attention so badly before. Now? He wants to hide. Alastor sees too much. Vincent feels the need to cover up, keep him from observing anything else. Once upon a time, he wanted to be known by Alastor. Those days are gone. He would like everyone to unknow him. "You win. You were right about me. I am nothing. Just disappointment, right? I'm sure it feels good for you."

There's a buzzing in his chest. Or is it from the electricity flowing throughout the room? All the circuitry connects, wires transferring, creating a system. It connects to him too. He is no different than these objects. He is part of this room. He is not really here, he concludes his earlier thought. Alastor is talking to himself in a wide, open space that has been abandoned by the rest of the tower's inhabitants. Neglected. He speaks to air that cannot listen because no one is actually there. Maybe he is the fool, attempting to point and laugh at nothing.

"There's no point to me. You can go, now."

[killerhosts]

continued from / @alteredassistant

Vox is slumped forward, facing away from Ethan. He wears a grimace, inspecting his coffee like it's a disgusting specimen. His free hand is limp, hanging lamely at his side. He turns to look at Ethan over his shoulder.

"I hire you. I pay you. I treat you pretty fucking good. And this is what you do?"

His eyes narrow, brow raises, and his head swivels further around to look at Ethan.

"—You FUCK me?"

Finally, he spins on his heel, and he holds out his drink to present it. Exhibit A! Evidence of Ethan's crimes! "This shit is so nasty. Is it an Americano or is it water that someone gave coffee beans a rinse in? Ethan. Why."

[killerhosts]

"Vox, can you make a deep fake AI video of Charlie calling me a slur?"

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HELL? / @veelentino

He's really not in the mood. Whatever Val is about to ask is surely going to annoy him. And then they're going to bicker for no goddamn reason. Eugh.

Slow turn.

Wait. Wait, did he just???

"—THE FUCKING PRINCESS?"

[killerhosts]

"what's got your panty cords in a twist this time?" angel dust (radiomade)

UNPROMPTED HARASSMENT / @radiomade

MMMMMMMM.

GRRRRRRRRRR.

—Huh?

Vox looks up from his smart watch. Angel's question cuts through the fog of fury clouding his mind. Most slaves employees see any of the Vees angry and skedaddle. Especially Vox. He's the most volatile of the bunch. Frankly, the audacity has him speechless for a solid couple seconds.

He blinks up at the slender form of the most detestable of twinks.

Vox really despises Angel Dust. It has absolutely NOTHING to do with Valentino's attention being laser-focused on him. Not Fucking At All.

HE'S NOT JEALOUS, FUCK YOU.

"It's a whole lot of none of your fucking business, you— uhh." Full stop. Glare. Vox almost called him a slur. That is his sign to calm the fuck down. Embarrassing. "Just mind your own shit, yeah?"

A beat.

Through grit teeth: "—Your little red hotelier fucked up some of my security cameras." Look at him completely contradicting himself immediately by sharing. The man likes to hear himself talk. And he wants to complain. Needs to get it out of his system. Valentino and Velvette would be exasperated hearing him whine about it. Or anything about Alastor. It's Angel or Ethan. Ethan can have a break. "Thinks he's real goddamn funny. Ha-fucking-ha."