Adventures Of A Not So Average Voxtech Employee Chapter 5 : Christmas Episode ~VoxTech Employee Edition
You're a Voxtech employee working a sinsmas party! Wowie!
I wanted to go ahead and post this on here as well, since it could lowkey be a silly christmas one shot!
Word Count: 2.4k~
Here's the ao3 link tho if you prefer !
This year, you are Santa’s assistant.
Not literally, of course, but for the annual Sinsmas party in your department.
It has its perks, you suppose. You get to choose the food, the theme (which is Sinsmas…obviously, but there were votes for Hawaiian for some reason), and what you get to work on for the party.
However, the real Sinsmas gift of this year’s party is that your manager is out on a holiday vacation! Either with the husband she hates, or one of the younger men she cheats with; either way, the entire office is practically buzzing with holiday cheer.
“Okay, people, tomorrow morning, 10 am, Santa’s coming to town–”
“SANTAAAA OH MY GODDDDD!” Dave screams, jumping up and down.
“Yes…” You trail off, looking at one of your other coworkers, whispering ‘I thought he was still respawning from— no, never mind.’ You clear your throat, “Anyway, we actually really need a volunteer for Santa this year. You know, dress up for shits and giggles. And for pictures! If any of you have kids, you can bring 'em…I think, I’m not actually sure—“
One of your coworkers raises their hand. You had told them to wait til the end, but she was going to continue staring at you with that annoying stare of ‘LOOK AT ME BITCH’ until you acknowledged her.
“Yes, Christy?”
“Who’s bringing the fruit cake?”
“I don’t know, the Grinch? Satan? Nobody likes that.“ The words leave your mouth like a flood, so you try to force a smile and change your tone. “You can, my highly respected fellow worker at the place where I work. You can provide it.” You blink and quickly turn your gaze away from the surprised gazes of those around you, feeling the impact of your unexpected attitude. “Or anybody. All food will be posted on what we need, and everyone can sign up for what they want to bring…and you’re gonna bring it!”
Damn it, they’re going to start ostracizing me again…ugh, what bitches….
Another hand raises.
“Yes, Christy?”
“Is the party tomorrow or on Christmas?”
“I don’t know why it would be tomorrow OR Christmas, Christy, so I’m going to say neither. I got the email that it would be soon, and there was no decided date.” You state simply.
“No, it's tomorrow.” Another coworker chimes in. They’re one of the more tolerable demons, and that’s probably why they were deemed as an elf for the party. It is possible that your boss was actually making fun of their short stature, large pointy ears, and that they are not actually going to be helping you put this all together.
“...What?” You ask slowly.
“It was decided a minute ago.”
“No way—“ they shove a phone in your face, pointing to a VoxTech email.
Dear VoxTech employees of the script writing, composition, and editing department, Section A2! It has come to my attention that there needs to be a Sinsmas party! This conflicts with your 80-hour (or more, depending on workloads) work schedule! So hurry up and get it over with! By the end of tomorrow! VoxTech appreciates your commitment to our company!
—Vox
You stare at the screen so long that your coworker’s arm begins to tremble. Your lips press together, and you give one of your horns an irritated scratch.
“There’s no way he took time out of his day to write this bullshit.” You groan. With a quick breath, you begin writing on your Voxtech-issued assistance tablet. “Okay, I’m sending out the digital forum for everything. If some people could help me set up after hours,s that would be great.” You clap. “Okay, gang, dismissed, hashtag merry sinsmas or Kwanzaa or Hanukkah!”
You’re not surprised you’re the only one setting up after hours. Or that you are the only person who is on the “party crew”. OR that your manager emailed you that if the place isn’t decorated top to bottom, she was going to maim you. You cannot come up with even the most minuscule of clues as to why she gives a single fuck about how this party looks.
“Why the fuck does she even care? She’s not fucking here, she’s only watching through the damn cameras.” You kick over a bucket full of fake snow. You’ve taken off your work shoes and use your hooves to spread the suspicious substance around. It’s rather tough fake snow, and somehow also cotton-like, so you fully trample it to make it even across the office and walkable. “Vox-Tech approved the box says, but watch this stuff contain asbestos or some shit….” You’re so deep in your own Sinsmas-themed misery that you don’t notice the glowing screen that’s entered the room.
“Sheep hooves, too?” Vox says, leaning against. “Pfft, tacky.”
“AH!” On instinct, your legs push you into the air and away from your boss. You sputter a greeting as soon as you realize it’s just big boss Vox. “Oh, hello, sir.” You say with a small tip of your head, before turning back to kicking around the fake snow and attempting to ignore the embarrassing screech you just let out. You know he’s giving that big, vicious, demeaning smirk…but you choose not to look up at him, and focus on your task.
“You know, I figured you would’ve just gone home.” He murmurs. Your eyes drift to the mug he’s holding: a blank Voxtech cup. The scent of rich hot chocolate wafts with the steam, and your nose twitches, your sensitivity immediately catching the awful kick of fire brandy that he must have loaded in.
“You couldn’t just add a bit of cayenne? That’s a more common thing, you know…”
“Spice? Disgusting. I don’t….eck, consume herb cum…” He shivers, takes a large swig of his drink, then shoves the cup into your hands. You drink, albeit looking at him with wide eyes and parted lips that want to ask what the fuck he’s talking about.
Can I complain to HR about this? Oh, wait, no, Valentino is his business partner…and probably boyfriend. You tilt your head back, finishing his drink in a compulsive act to spite him. At least doing this shit tipsy might be easier.
“HEY! You little shit!” He snatches the mug from you, one eye enlarging to look at the barren bottom of his cup. “Could fuckin’ take that from your pay.” His digital mouth is pressed into a large line that spreads across his face and downturns in the corners, causing a prick of nervousness to push at the back of your mind.
“Sorry.” You say quickly. “Please don’t fire me.” You don’t sound nearly as pathetic as you were trying to, though you doubt it would actually garner any sympathy. Despite your tone, he gives a huff and puts a hand on his hip.
“S’a joke.” He grumbles, tossing the mug into a trashcan. You almost pause on the odd action, but feeling the awkward tension grow greater than your confusion on whether he was actually joking or not, you quickly change the topic.
“Did you need something, sir? Everyone else went home, and I still have work to finish up after this.” You say, gesturing at your computer, which glows a soft light in the dim office. “I can try and get whatever you need right now, though. I assume it's urgent.”
“...Yeah, actually.” He claims, as though realizing it for the first time. Slowly, his charismatic, toothy grin spreads across his screen. “I do need something.” He tilts his head and points a finger at you. “I need you to go back to your Voxtech-assigned apartment and go to bed.” He says it so softly, it nearly gives you chills.
Not in a sweet way, just…there’s more behind it. And with all the shit you’re dealing with, you’d rather there NOT be more behind it.
“…huh?”
“This…display of Sinsmas cheer is…well, okay, it looks fucking awful. I have no problem in saying that.” He presses a button on his own screen. “Velvette is taking care of it.”
“I thought—“ The words barely leave your mouth when both his hands clasp onto your shoulders from behind, materializing impossibly fast from his electrical transportation. “WOAH, okay houdini .”
“We’ve got media shit to do. So be a good little elf and go back to your room and fucking sleep.” He removes his hands, grin getting wider. “Papa’s going full Santa this year.” He starts laughing way too intensely for this situation.
“Oh, um…,” You pause. “Okay.” You give another nod, grab your unpacked bag, and jet out of there.
“I’m Santa’s helper…dick.” You mumble as soon as you get in the elevator. “Not that it matters. WOOOO SLEEP! Wait…wait, but I was supposed to work on all that by myself!” The elevator doors shut and begin taking you down to the apartment floors.
You choose to accept your possibly fatal fate like a bad ass child accepts coal as their only gift.
“I told ya Vee, look at how epic my lil’ worker bees got it!” Velvette exclaims, gesturing to the
“Thank you so much, ma’am!” You exclaim, looking around. “This is actually amazing! Are you guys going to be taking pictures soon?”
“You bet your ass! Like I said, MEDIA SHIT!” Vox snickers, rubbing his hands together. “Ohoho, the people of hell are gonna eat this shit up!”
You look at Velvette.
“Ma’am, is he good or…?”
“Ugh, yes, babe. Of course he is.” The influencer overlord doesn’t spare you so much as a glance from her phone as she snaps pictures of the party. “He’s always got his mind on being the best. That includes sad, low-level corporate Sinsmas parties.” She says pointedly. “Actually, can you get a pic of me by the tree? I’ve gotta get a twin shot.” The question is truly just a statement, because she doesn’t wait for your answer, and has you dragged to the oversized, blitzed out tree within seconds.
You have to admit, red is really her color.
“Love the Ms. Clause costume by the way.” You try to mention casually as you take her photos. She’s too busy posing to respond, but when she’s done, her picture-perfect smile drops, and she gives you the harshest eyeroll known to man.
“Costume, bitch, this is a designer Sinsmas outfit!” She nearly walks past you, but stops dead in her tracks next to you, and is suddenly looking you over. “Wait a minute, you’re actually very…” She raises your arms. “I know a few skimpy outfits you could rock for the cold weather~” She snickers. “Think Vox’ll let me borrow ya?” She laughs, waving Vox over. You try to creep away to the snack table, but Vox places his hands on your shoulders once he’s within range, leaning on you slightly.
“Yes, Vel? All done?” He asks, boredom only frosting when you try to slip from his hands. He doesn’t let you, of course.
“Can I borrow this one for a few outfits later this week? The Cool but Cozy Winter line needs another body, and this one is perfect!” Her hands go to your waist, shooting to turn you in different angles like her personal doll. Vox scoffs and tugs you away after only a moment of contact.
“Fuck no, get your own! I need this one working on my scripts.”
“Oh? You sure you’re not just mad I’d have one of your “best employees” running around with their holes out for Val to try and market?”
“Pfft, like I’d care,” Vox says with a laugh, though he quickly gets serious, muttering, “Shoo! Go to your weird ass broke party or whatever!”
You choose not to question it. After all, Valentino would probably try to snatch your ass if you modeled for Velvette.
The two disappear from the party for a good while, and yet as soon as you’re going back for another round of snacks, Vox is back in the department, and making a beeline towards you with something in his hands. He looks around at your drunk coworkers, paying them little attention when he stops in front of you.
“Here.” He says, handing you a wrapped box. It’s not super tiny– but you had to use two hands to hold it. You’re surprised that the wrapping isn’t Voxtech themed, and instead find yourself pleased by the crisp, light blue and white colors with glittery snowflake detailing. “Your work is above average. Far beyond it. Very…good.” In the short time you’ve seen Vox, your boss, so enigmatic and full of corporate confidence, you didn’t think he could present as…awkward. And yet here he was looking like he would glitch if he gave you much more honest praise.
Honest praise from him? Is such a thing possible? It must be when his expression is…
“Good work.” He says, finally, turning on his heel and walking off briskly.
You don’t open the box until after the party, just in case your coworkers saw and got even pissier with you than they already are…or in case it's a bomb.
Sitting in front of your TV on the floor, you begin to unwrap the gift. It’s wrapped so well that you have to use your claws to split the paper, and you’re finally able to remove the cardboard lid and reveal what’s inside.
Encased in two sets of styrofoam, which you easily take apart, is a large drink container. It has a light blue, squishy outer layer for grip and insulation, and the top was cool to the touch.
“Something you won’t break. Use it for your coffee.” You read, “Literally it's made of–” You have to squint and mutter to yourself, “Whoa, I thought they only had that material in the pride ring!” You can’t help but giggle. “I could just sell this shit…” You contemplate it for a hot minute. But then you actually use it for some hot, sleepy time tea and…
“Yeah, this shit is buss.” You murmur, curled up around the bottle at midnight. “I shall sheep….purrr…purrrr…..purrrrr.”
You’re out like a light, unaware of the electrical pulses that pulse through your new drink container. They throb like a heartbeat, sending you fast into the dark of your dreams, and allowing a certain Television demon to get a small peep into your personal life.
Could he use the room’s cameras? Yes, but he has his own reasons for doing this. It’s not like you’re special; he checks on all his employees! Hell, this is the first time he’s checking up on you, and he’s already regretting it.
“Eck, weirdo…” Vox murmurs, cutting off his monitor. “Knew I should’ve gone with the Sinsmas glitter bomb…that would’ve been fucking hilarious, and I could’ve posted it.”
OH GOD HE'S HERE AGAIN-
PLEASE NO CHRISTMAS VOX DON'T SHOW UP ALL OILED UP IN MY HOME NOOOOO NOOO NAURRRRRRR Edit : ME WHEN I FINALLY LEARN HOW TO INSERT DIVIDERS LETS GOOOO