#voxuli

[staticintone]

He’s not being passive aggressive.

Not at all.

This is normal.

[furby-organist]

In Alastor's defense, he hadn't expected Vox to be powered off.

It had been, what, a few months? since Vox's epic crashout; less since Alastor had any sort of communication with Vox's associates -- and today, he'd convincingly reasured those associates that he wasn't here to ragebait Vox. (How much fun would that even be? Punching down wasn't quite as fun! Too easy! Got boring quickly!)

Regardless, it felt long enough, removed enough, that being face-to-face with Vox wouldn't feel so... badweird. Unsettling. Raw.

It was odd to be back in Vee tower as a free man. It was even more unnerving to see Vox without a body. (Uncanny valley. Abjection.) Alastor had actually hashed out all the ways he could possibly make a dramatic entrance without being too off-putting, not too nice, but not too mean -- and make his offer as convincing as possible, --

-- all of that went out the window when he'd realized that Vox was in an electronic coma. And thus, the great Radio Demon, who'd just sauntered in to the penthouse with flair & panache only rivaled by his ego, resigned himself to annoyedly tapping on Vox's screen (tap. taptap.) and pushing buttons like the next geriatric curmudgeon fighting for their life against an ipad. "How do you turn this thing on--" @voxuli

[a-hazbin-spider]

Dead. He is dead and fried and-

Sprinklers go off, alongside the noise, he goes from startled, to a happy little fur puddle.

He’s still sexy though- this definitely isn’t a drowned rat look! Nobody would think that. And though his hair may have blocked all his eyes, he still very much turns his head toward the culprit with a thumbs up.

@voxuli

[hellmxses]

@voxuli continued from x.

"You're not going to die," Vox replies, possibly the most generic answer he can give. His voice is short, clipped; even as his circuits race and pour through all the information he has at his digital fingerprints, it doesn't provide a good answer of what to do here. A wound that would otherwise be unremarkable if it were anything but heavenly in nature. Hell would rather you crawled off into a corner and try to die somewhere mostly out of the way (but not so far out that the scavengers wouldn't find you). Stupid thing won't fucking clot. It's supposed to clot, right? Most sinners still had blood, right? Of course they did—stupid, he's seen it splattered on the walls more times than he can count. Of course Velvette has blood. Real blood, not oil or coolant—it's not some lookalike for film production that's covering his claws right now. Just because he doesn't anymore doesn't mean he should forget so easily. Is he panicking too much or not enough? Probably the latter. Velvette's important, but VoxTek has an eighty-seven percent chance of surviving even if her lordship collapses. Even if she dies. Still, there's a slight nagging presence, a ghost in his circuits providing him unsolicited imagery of what his life will look like without Velvette in it. Another loss, far from the first one he's experienced, but bitter over a bright mind eliminated far too quickly. She's barely had the chance to show Hell the brilliance she's capable of, compared to the grand scale of afterlife immortality. Though there would be others. Vox can already think of five up-and-coming influencers that could rise to take her place as an overlord. Maybe even a place in the Vees. She's not dead yet. Vox's screen glitches and flickers in between his forced, thin-lipped smile, occasionally glancing from the wound to her face to keep an eye on her expression. He takes a moment to flip the ragged remains of his jacket over and redoubles putting pressure on it. "Though I think you'd set a record for being the first person to achieve after-afterlife."

The reassurance doesn't feel like reassurance when it comes from Vox, for some reason. Maybe he's doing the typical movie shit and telling her it's fine, it's just a scratch, you'll be fine, because he thinks it'd help her more or he's just an idiot. Encourage her to take deep breaths rather than giving way for the pain to consume her and make it even more difficult of a situation when she inevitably begins panicking. She's far from it at the moment, she thinks, but it's not like it's a complete impossibility. Death was terrifying, even for the strongest.

"I probably am going to die. Don't lie to me."

Right now, Vel isn't so sure how she feels. Disappointed sounds within the appropriate court, but there's something in the back of her mind that decides it's about time to remind her that this is bad. His comfort only goes so far, if she can even call it that, and realistically he's probably only thinking of it as a business problem. That was just how Vox was. Any problem, and he immediately questioned how well his company could run in the future after the problem was fixed or broken beyond repair.

Why is she seeking comfort from the entirely wrong person?

Velvette grimaces when he eases up momentarily on pressing down only to resume it mere moments later, but with more pressure this time. A grunt does force its way out, and her eyes squeeze shut while her hands claw further into the ground below her. The wound itself burns, and she thinks if she were anyone else, she likely would've screamed. Her breaths are unsteady this time, compared to prior where they were measured.

"Your fucking claws are probably not helping," she grits out, jumping straight to anger because it hurts and she doesn't quite know how else to process it. It gives way for a snide comment at least. "I need to make that record. Just to piss you off." She swallows hard, forcing her eyes back open so she can return her gaze to him. Her vision swims briefly and she barely represses the flicker of discomfort across her expression. She can't look down fast enough to catch what it looks like. She's bleeding a lot, is the only thing she can assume on top of the pain.

"Would you care or is this a business thing?" Velvette asks, not shying away from her presumptions, but whether they were true, she can't focus on his expression enough to identify a brief flicker. "I can't even figure out what you're thinking..." She laughs, pain abruptly putting an end to it with a barely withheld groan and she squeezes her eyes shut again.

Once she can speak, she addresses him, sounding equally irate and distressed at the same time. "... Vox, I don't know if bothering to do any of that is helping. Just stop." Angelic wounds were angelic wounds. The most he would be doing is keeping her alive a little longer. A moment passes where she considers if Carmilla would have any ideas. She quickly pushes that out of her mind. "It's fine."

[poisonedspider]

Continued for @voxuli

"Hmm." He had to think on that one for a second. Fingers delicately tracing along the rim of the glass he was drinking from. Angel had never been silent about his New York heritage. Thinking about it, most of the sinners he knew weren't exactly hiding where they were from. Often talking about their time alive, or discussing things that they had missed. He had never thought he would run into someone who acted like it was super-top secret private information.

"Well. Eitha' yeh' from New York, or yeh' a betta' actor than ah' gave yeh' credit f'. Maybe yeh' should be th' one starrin' in Val's flicks." Lips curling into a teasing smile. "It's yeh' accent." Pointed out, head tilting. Vox didn't always fall into it, it wasn't as obvious as Angel's clearly was, but he heard certain words. Growing up in Brooklyn, he would know that lilt anywhere.

"So if that accent ain't true, and yeh' fakin' it f' whateva' reason...." He's pausing, drumming fingers on the counter top. "Ain't too sure why yeh'd want t' though. Makes a guy wonder what yeh' really hidin'."

[voxxisms]

@voxuli whispered a line !! pick up my muse ( accepting! ) Eighteen hours is enough work today. Time to have a break. Bridal style if he cooperates. Fireman's carry over the shoulder if he doesn't.

HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN GETTING USED TO THIS. vox ( other vox? they should figure that out sometime ) was proving to be very disruptive to his work almost every time that they got together.

yet, too shocked to fight when he was lifted, blinking in surprise before settling with a pout on his face.

❛ you just keep dragging me away, huh? i still had an hour left on my timer. i've been cutting back, you know! ❜

fifteen minutes at a time, sure, but he worked half an hour less this week than last week!

[sabers-and-other-ocs]

@voxuli desperate starter from

Ran has been told about the exterminations but didn't expect the exorcists to break in, they must have cleared the streets of the area to start breaking into homes and once again her brother risked his life to protect her but this time she could do something about it as well, glad that her vocal powers worked on some level against the angels, to calm their bloodlust and motivate them to leave.

Of course now Yen was seriously injured having taken a spear, even with his durability angel steel was still no joke and Ran had not learned the city well enough yet to know who could help or how to help besides bandaging him up to try and stop the bleeding, she did manage to soothe him into a form of sleep but otherwise didn't know what to do now.

A thought crossed her mind and she peeked out to see the angels finally returning to their portal, letting out a sigh though followed it up with a groan before grabbing her brother's phone to turn it on and check for a contact, kind of surprised to see it saved though likely added it more recently with his career making a turn.

She glanced back at Yen before pressing the call button with Vox's number, not sure if he'd even answer but if she wanted to find someone for help quickly who better to ask than an overlord that spied on everyone?

Desperate times called for desperate measures and she wasn't losing her only family again.

"C'mon answer you cross-wired dick," she hissed even though the phone had only gone through about three rings.

[radioiaci]

▹ @voxuli liked for a Vee!Alastor starter.

"I am busy."

It's was a short 'greeting' given as Alastor leaned over his extended console, a pair of headphones pressed over his ears as he listened to a few adjustments he was making to a composition he'd been working on for at least two or three weeks now. Being interrupted by the other barging into his workspace was not going to make him especially pleased, pointedly ignoring Vox otherwise as he tried to get through the remainder of the song.

Brows creased, it was clear he was focused.