[Tick, tock. Tick tock. The sound of a clock passing time by is the only other noise in the cafe besides the sizzling of an empty grill; oil and grease it’s only companion. The building is unusually empty, as are the streets; even in spite of the time, there’s usually another person or two lurking around such a big city.
Eden isn’t really one to call him, it’s usually the other way around. Bi-monthly, maybe weekly, checks to make sure she hasn’t bit it, among a handful of other concerns he has. She has all those freaky stories, after all.
Vox rests an elbow on the table, cradling his cheek in his palm. He stifles a snort at the notion he’s anything but reliable, as if he hadn’t dropped everything just to show up here. Instead, he raises a brow and waits a beat to see if she intends to offer up any more context before he gets on with it.
Silence.
“Lotta effort for you to go through, considering you haven’t bothered to answer your phone recently.” He sighs out, closing his eyes while he runs back through the unanswered texts–seven or eight at least he’s pretty sure. There’s a reprimanding air to his tone, truthfully it’s to cover up the worry that’d come through if he didn’t at least bluff a little.
Something about this bothers him. Something is making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, but it isn’t Eden, obviously. It’s the empty streets, the way the street lights are bouncing off the puddles in the parking lot. Things moving that shouldn’t be. He’s been writing it off to his hallucinations all night, but this isn’t the first time he’s felt this in the past few weeks. It’s getting harder to ignore.
He glances out the window. The streetlamp that seemed so intent on messing with him has up and walked off, but there’s something else... Something is watching them.
“Dumb fuck.” He complains under his breath, staring intently in the direction the ugly feeling is coming from. “Interrupting shit, pissing me off.”
Whatever.
He turns back to Eden, wiping the frustration off his face.
“So, what? Did you come here with another ghost story? You better come up with something in a hurry, elsewise I’m gonna start telling you about the shit I’ve been digging in lately. Buncha boring detective shit, I wouldn’t call that 4 AM worthy, kiddo.”
Vox is leaned against the brick wall of one of the three places he’s willing to leave his bunker for, a diner about 45 minutes from home. He’d been coming here for such a long time, in his opinion, the back booth ought to be reserved for him by name. He takes a final drag off his cigarette before flicking the butt into a nearby terracotta pot, complete with costco brand cat litter and god knows how many other discarded cigarettes.
There’s something he can only describe as creepy in the air right now. It’s not out of the ordinary for him to feel, all things considered. After all, the sole streetlamp in the parking lot has been staring at him since he got here. He squints up at it, and it squints back, the grotesque looking, bloodshot eye it’s become in his sight.
“Better go inside before you grow a fucking mouth, too.” He mutters, rolling his shoulders and turning away from it’s unpleasant gaze to yank the door open, shutting it behind him with a grunt. As he makes his way to the back booth, he glances back out the windows, aggravated to see that it had grown not only a mouth, but arms and legs. He rolls his eyes and sighs.
Good fucking thing I came in when I did. He thinks. Not really into my hallucination of the hour deciding it wants to throw hands. Not right now, at least.
That’s right, now isn’t the time to be getting into it with them. He’s got someone waiting for him in that aforementioned back booth.
He’s not sure when Eden got here, and he’s not entirely sure how she found Booker’s. He doesn’t remember mentioning it to her, but it’s not impossible he did and forgot. All he knows is he got a text to the tune of an hour ago that she’d be there waiting for him.
Kid’s always gotta show up out of the blue, no warning. Always doing whatever she wants.
He nods his head back when he sees her. He’s not sure how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other in person, but she looks as tired as ever. He wonders which of them has the deeper set dark circles. He drops down into the bench across from her, propping his elbow up on the table and giving her a drawn out stare before opening his mouth.
“Been a minute, kid.” He sighs out. “This a social call, or d’you need me for something?”
If that wasn’t proof enough that you’re a little ratty brat. He rolls his eyes at his monitor. He tugs his dog tags out of his shirt collar and begins rolling them over in his hands, caught somewhere between absolutely aggravated with her resistance and some burgeoning understanding as to why.
It’s all too familiar, a child being wide awake at an unholy hour, let alone being so pissed off at the mention of concern. He gets the notion she thinks he’s trying to trick her, and that’s fair, he’s been as much of a dick as she’s been.
Alright. Annoying as you are-
Keep reading
[Ugh…he just doesn’t know when to stop, does he? Not that she can say she’s behaving any better– a smarter person would have just blocked and moved on by now. And honestly, that’s just what she’s about to do; there’s no point in giving this guy any more attention, it’s clearly all he’s after–
But all of that is thrown out the window the moment he mentions her search history. How did he..?!]
“Wow, no outright block.” Vox mutters, snorting a little. He was expecting her to put the kibosh on it right then and there, but maybe there’s something about being freaked out that spurns people forward in taking what probably still seems like bait.
He starts and stops typing a few times before shaking his head hard and groaning loudly. Of course, he’d get himself into something like this. Always in over his head before he even starts.
He’s already come this far, he might as well keep going. The issue now is toeing the line between scaring the fuck out of her and getting somewhere on it.
Who knows if he’ll succeed in that in one night, if she’s as difficult about whatever she’s going through as he used to be.
voxanguis: i’ve got zero interest in diagnosing you with anything or sending a pizza to your house.
voxanguis: i’m not a fucking psychologist, i’m a seventeen year old schizophrenic living in a cellar. all i’ve got for you is personal experience.
voxanguis: plus i dont think your foster family would appreciate it, neither would the half stoned brooklynite kid that’s gonna be forced to carry his ass out in the middle of the goddamn night to bring it to you.
He reaches up and scratches his neck, dragging his hand around from his neck to rub his eyes. He wonders how long she’s been awake, ‘cos he knows he’s got to at least be going on day four at this point himself.
voxanguis: i’m also not interesting in saving you. that’d be impossible, and i’m not that fucking stupid.
voxanguis: i just wish i’d had someone to talk to about it when i was your age.
voxanguis: i had less than honorable reasons for digging into your computer, considering i was just chin deep in NYPD’s shitty fucking crime backlog for the past seven hours. so sue me for dropping my hardass act.
He considers himself done, sitting back with a huff in his chair, before frowning and sitting back forward to tack something onto the end. He doesn’t even know why he’s bothering at this point, let alone why he’s admitting shit outright he’d rather nobody know in the first place.
voxanguis: block me if you want, i’d have already done if it someone admitted they’d doxxed me. i’m not so much of a shithead that i’d hold onto personal information about a thirteen year old girl just because i disagree with her opinions on fucking edm. i’ve been awake for too long now to care what you do past this point, i just also wasn’t comfortable sitting on what i did find out without saying anything. so like i said. sue me.
The notification sound had gone off a few seconds ago. He hadn’t realized how loud his headphones were turned up until the little ding! rang at top volume in his ear. Vox scowls and turns back to his keyboard.
Of course, she’s still being a brat. Extend an olive branch, see where it gets you! Yeah, right.
Keep reading
[He’s still going? Seems like the poor moron doesn’t know when to quit. Had her barrage of insults not been enough to get the message across? No go. End statement. The conversation was over before it had even started. Tired eyes glance back up at the clock again– time was ticking. In a few hours, people would start to wake up and notice she wasn’t in bed…
But she has a little bit of time before she has to go. It isn’t as if she has anything better to do, anyways.]
If that wasn’t proof enough that you’re a little ratty brat. He rolls his eyes at his monitor. He tugs his dog tags out of his shirt collar and begins rolling them over in his hands, caught somewhere between absolutely aggravated with her resistance and some burgeoning understanding as to why.
It’s all too familiar, a child being wide awake at an unholy hour, let alone being so pissed off at the mention of concern. He gets the notion she thinks he’s trying to trick her, and that’s fair, he’s been as much of a dick as she’s been.
Alright. Annoying as you are-
He decides against pushing back on her insults, as much as he wants to lay into her for it. Little fucking shit.
voxanguis: listen, brat.
voxanguis: i don’t think you understand how easy that shit is for me to find, considering i already know what neighborhood you live in after pinging your IP.
voxanguis: i’m not a person with a boundless amount of patience, so let me just cut the shit.
Another sigh, another tug at the dog tags. This is either going to freak her out and shut the whole operation down, or it’ll get him somewhere. No point in pussying out now, though. So whatever.
Time to be fucking vulnerable with a goddamn stranger, I guess.
voxanguis: you’re worried you’re hallucinating, right? seeing ghosts or whatever.
voxanguis: fuck if i know whether you are or not. but considering i spend more than the better half of my days doing exactly that, and i’ve been at this game way longer than you, yeah. i’m concerned. your search history is fucking freaky and unfortunately familiar.
voxanguis: so are you ready to think about answering my fucking question, or not?
He sits back in his chair and groans, tugging so hard at the tags that the chain starts digging into his neck. All he can do now is wait.
It was late, probably to the tune of 3AM. Vox wouldn’t know, considering he hasn’t even bothered to look down at his computer clock since what he thinks was 11:22PM.
[It’s another late night for the girl– a glance at the clock beside her tells her that she’s managed to add another day to her tally of avoiding sleep. And of course it’s a school night too…she definitely ought to be in bed by now, yet here she was, wasting her time shitposting on the internet. Nobody had come in to check on her– why would they, after all? Everyone else in the house had been comfortably asleep for hours now. So she figures she might as well make use of her private time while she can.]
The notification sound had gone off a few seconds ago. He hadn’t realized how loud his headphones were turned up until the little ding! rang at top volume in his ear. Vox scowls and turns back to his keyboard.
Of course, she’s still being a brat. Extend an olive branch, see where it gets you! Yeah, right.
He crosses his arms and scowls harder at her response. He can’t have really imagined she’d warm up right then and there, when they’d spent the past however many months arguing nonstop, could he?
Well there’s some part that did, but fuck me I guess. He huffs, tapping his fingers against his desktop and trying to think of a diplomatic way to respond to her insults.
eidolae: Fucking boomer
The nerve of this kid! Vox falls back in his chair with a loud, wheezy exhale, full of frustration. Whatever, he started this, he’s going to finish it.
voxanguis: first of all the assumption that i’m a member of the ruling class at large is laughable and I should string you up by your toes for that.
voxanguis: second of all you little reprobate it was a genuine question. i’m not trying to fucking troll you, if i wanted to do that i’d just shittalk your mixtapes and tell you they sound like a 4 year old’s take on daft punk’s homework.
He tucks his legs up into his chair and grunts, resting his chin on his knee and trying to think, yet again, of something a little less combative.
It’s just that she’s so annoying. He rolls his eyes.
voxanguis: if you’re done being a moody 13 y/o, you could consider answering my question. what the hell is going on with you? for real.
"You last slept when, exactly?" Vox frowns as he asks, hands to his hips. He doesn't get to see Eden often, and he can already tell she looks more sleep deprived than usual. He shakes his head and crosses his arms with a finality to it. "Nah, nah. I don't abide that. It's already late, you finish that and I'm throwing your ass in bed." He points towards it for emphasis. "For real."
meme
“You’re one to talk, you know…”
[Ah, great. The one person in the entire world who knew exactly how to push her buttons, and here he is lecturing her like he’s any better with his sleep schedule…she must have forgotten that he was coming over today. She practically has to hold back the urge to say ‘you’re not my mom’, but…maybe that was just the exhaustion talking. He’s probably just worried about her, as always…
Ugh. Remind her why she had given him her address again..?]
“Yeah, I’m one to fuckin’ talk.” Vox snorts. “That’s why I got the authority to say shit like go the fuck to bed.”
He gets the feeling she’s holding back on giving him the business. A hallmark of how tired she is, if you ask him.
“Anyways.” He grabs the wrappers and shoves them into the Taco Bell bag, coming around her little table and hooking his hands under her arms, moving to hoist her up. “This is a shakedown.”
It was late, probably to the tune of 3AM. Vox wouldn’t know, considering he hasn’t even bothered to look down at his computer clock since what he thinks was 11:22PM.
He kicks his feet up onto his desk, the only thing illuminating him the light of his monitor. He’s been deep diving into some police investigations–NYPD’s security is laughable–reading far too much into each one and regretting the details he gets by the second. It’s all for the greater good, sure–but he needs a break.
What better way to do that, than to see if the bratty weirdo he’s been arguing with on his favorite EDM forum has any new arguments for him?
“What’s it going to be this time,” He mutters to himself, lazily scrolling through his last replied to thread. “More childish insults? Anything of substance?”
He leans forward, squinting at his screen. This is a months long feud by now, with him and this other user. Eidolae. Apparently they’ve replied to his last statement–the thread at large is about using samples, whether it’s acceptable or not. He’d suggested The Beatles as being ripe for sampling use, and sure enough, there was a response from his nemesis.
“The beatles fucking suck lol. Are you serious? Eleanor Rigby? Boring, you could use parts of it for sampling, but you’d have to edit it heavily for it to be worth it.”
Vox frowns. It wasn’t the shitty, baseless insult he was expecting. Instead, it was downright disrespectful. The nerve of this joker, crawling his case, insulting his taste! This was the straw that broke the camel’s back, not like he hadn’t been on the verge of it for a while, but he’s flat out sick of this jerkish user and how they always seem to reply to him, specifically, just to piss him off.
“Well, it worked.” He grunts, sitting up straight and getting to work doing what he does best: finding out whatever the fuck he wants to know about whoever it is that’s making him angriest at the moment. Fuck the NYPD, this is where his resources are going to for the next two hours.
It doesn’t even take that long, to get from Eidolae’s profile and to their IP address. From there, a hop, skip and a jump into their computer.
The Internet service is registered to a family, but the computer itself has more information on it. There’s a recent website sign up, one that informs him that this is a young girl, probably no older than fourteen.
He’s been arguing with a kid? Fuck. Kid or not, she’s still a brat. Maybe her search history can tell him why. No one ever wants you to see what’s hiding in there.
That’s… Weird. He thinks, seeing the first result.
‘am i hallucinating’
He frowns again, a more uncomfortably sympathetic one this time. The searches get worse the more he looks.
‘i see ghosts’
‘is it bad to see ghosts’
‘how do i tell my foster family they’re going to die’
‘is it ok to like girls’
Vox brings his hands back from the keyboard and rests his face in his palms, rubbing his eyes. This isn’t what he expected. Not at all. In fact, it concerns him. This is a kid, dealing with something way too heavy. He doesn’t need to fight this kid. He needs to make sure she’s not about to fall into the abyss.
He backs out of the hack, getting rid of the traces of him on her computer and navigating back to the forum website until he gets to her user profile and opens up a new PM to her.
“Hey, I know we’ve been at each other’s throats for our entire interactions, but like. Are you okay? I’m genuinely kind of worried about you.”
eidolae replied to your post: eidolae replied to your post: ...
gotta keep you away somehow.
you absolute buffoon. you rube. there are easier and more effective ways of getting rid of me that don’t involve the long suffering inhalation of root beer flavored anything. you do this to yourself.
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