@voxtekcrown ⧐ avoids eye contact or looking at the floor. ( >:] ) NON-VERBAL ASKS.
Like a child scorned.
Alastor's gaze settled on the blue-tinted screen with clear vitriol. For all the posturing and haughtiness he'd exhibited during their exchange, Alastor had certainly not escaped the endeavor unscathed. It was only by nature of Rosie's intervention that he was not now missing an entire hunk of his arm; harkening back to the vicious teeth of Vox's pet that had nearly bitten him in half.
That he was even back at the tower was likely telling. But he could not leave things where they lay.
They'd had an agreement. They'd had a plan. Alastor had never truly intended things to go as far as they had - not until Vox had begun to gradually tip the scales too far into his favor and find purchase for his ego had Alastor expected things to devolve so rapidly. And he would not be put on the backfoot if he could help it, his only goal to accomplish what he'd initially asked Vox to accomplish for him.
But that too had seemingly been brushed aside.
Now he was here, nursing his own spite and turning red eyes to Vox when he finally could locate the television again. One of his deals severed, he may have earned himself back at least some modicum of freedom - but not all.
It was the simple fact that perhaps they could have severed both together that fueled his fury now. All shattered for the sake of Vox's desire for power.
"Aww, don't look so put out now," the radio demon hissed with a vicious crackle in his tone. He'd not come back for another fight - there would be no point. But that did not mean there were not still things left unresolved that needed addressing. "I thought you enjoyed being the living embodiment of Icarus!"
His staff, newly repaired, was planted into the floor with a harsh sound of metal on metal, his glare fixed on the other.
"What did you expect?"
The question was more muted - no less furious, but not meant for more peacocking. It was just them now.
He wanted to know.
