Work Text:
Seven years of blissful radio silence was both a gift and a curse for Vox. A gift because it meant his influence on Pentagram City was thriving more than ever but a curse for his restless mind. It made it impossible to forget him entirely.
He wiped a hand down his smooth tv screened face and sat up in bed. Valentino purred softly next to him, a cloud of red smoke forming satiated hearts with each exhale above his head.
With great effort, Vox dragged himself out of bed and put on his pants he found discarded on the floor, then walked over to the balcony. He stared quietly at his reflection in the glass doors, remembering when hell was once blessed with the screams of Alastor’s victims shared over those haunting radio broadcasts.
The Radio Demon’s disappearance was a shock to all. No one knew why he had gone, but Vox did. It had to be about him.
Alright, maybe he wasn’t the sole reason-but he knew Alastor better than anyone else.
He remembered the first day they met. Vox was a washed up sinner new to Pentagram City, a pitiful demon completely unaware of his future in becoming a great overlord of hell. And Alastor? Charmingly sharp. Blessed with never-ending wit and a keen eye for great potential.
Perhaps that is what he saw in him that shitty rainy day all those years ago. Down on his luck, lost…then Alastor found him taking shelter in a dark alley next to a dumpster. He was trying to keep himself dry-he could never afford to replace his tv head back then-but had nowhere to go.
Unlike modern day, TV wasn’t so highly coveted in its early days. Old fashioned hooligans resisted change-even if it was the superior move. Undoubtedly that had to be what drove Alastor to investigate.
Vox closed his eyes, recalling his confusion when he first arrived in hell. Shocked by his death when things were going so well, mortified to have a TV for a head before accepting his situation and trying to turn it into something profitable, and then finally giving up. For it was one thing to be already successful in life and another to be a failure in death.
The slope of the roof hanging above from the building he used to sit crouched against was enough to shield everything except his legs and feet from the rain.
Other sinners and demons walked by him without a second glance or tossed taunts his way. Sometimes garbage. Pitiful times with his clunky his old tv head.
He wondered what made Alastor stop in his tracks and consider him then. The Radio Demon who hated any form of technology post the 30s. What made him want Vox…
Vox grimaced and clenched his fists at his sides. Of course Alastor never wanted him. He wanted power, always power, and he would do whatever he saw fit to obtain more of it. Even if it meant taking a boost up by using sinners he felt were beneath him. The bastard.
He couldn’t even hate him for that because it was something he would’ve done himself. But had it been the other way around…
“Voxy,” Valentino’s call stole him away from his thoughts. “Come to bed, cariño. You’re doing it again.”
Vox found Val in the glass reflection. He had shifted from being fast asleep on his stomach to laying on his side with an elbow propped on his heart shaped pillow and his other hand draped languidly over his hip.
Vox’s stern demeanor remained. “Doing what?”
Val sighed, because they both knew the obvious. “Thinking about the Radio Demon.”
Vox didn’t even try to deny it. “He’s up to something.”
“Of course, he is. When are we overlords ever not scheming? But remember what you told me when I wanted to go to that shitty hotel and shoot all those fucking bitches in front of Angel’s face?”
Vox rolled his eyes at the mention of the porn star but waited for Val’s point to land.
“We have to be smart about this. Brooding constantly over that washed-up hazbin is no way to stay on top of the game.”
To Vox’s surprise, Val made total sense. His joke even made him smirk. He turned back and nodded in defeat.
“You’re right.” ‘Because of me, of course.’
“I know I am. Now come. Let Valentino help you relax.”
The rain stopped drenching Vox’s shoes. It took him a moment to realize the sudden change but when he did, he opened his eyes and found a pair of perfectly shined black and red-tipped dress shoes planted in front of his tattered scuffed ones.
His gaze trailed upwards until he found a pair of glowing red pupils beaming down upon him against the dark cloudy evening. Sharp razor teeth, the hue of aged gold, stretched unnaturally still along the stranger’s face.
Vox tensed up immediately, scowling up at the man with his drained bottle of liquor at the ready. Whoever this demon was, Vox didn’t care. He could take the insults and even deal with having garbage thrown his way, what he wouldn’t put up with was losing himself in a scrap against some fancy-looking twig demon.
“Scram, punk.”
The demon only chuckled heartily in return and tapped Vox’s head with the top of his cane. “So, this oversized picture box has a voice after all.”
Vox arched up a brow. He spent most of his time finding ways to get hammered but he would’ve definitely remembered someone so striking as this stranger.
He spoke with a crisp mid-transatlantic accent and was well-dressed in a striped red trench coat that had some tatters at the ends and…was that old blood? Hard to tell but the least of his worries. It was that uncanny smile that made his discomfort skyrocket. And he was sure this man didn’t know how to blink because he just kept staring into his soul with a curiosity that made him shiver against the cold.
It was at that moment that Vox noticed why he was no longer getting drenched. The man carried an umbrella with his free hand and the other a unique looking cane.
“Do you do anything else that doesn’t involve slowly rotting away in this sad pathetic display? It does bring a smile to my face but I wouldn’t mind a channel change if there’s anything else you have to offer.”
‘What?’
Vox’s teeth clenched down. He slammed down the liquor bottle on the floor and shot up at the man, aiming the jagged end of what remained at him.
“Fuck you, asshat! What I do ain’t for nobody’s entertainment but my own, you sick fuck!”
Something at the top of the demon’s head twitched. He had…fluffy red deer ears and antlers. Vox scoffed through a sneer.
“I don’t know who or what the fuck you are, but I’m not in the mood for unwarranted opinions.”
The deer demon chortled, his voice crackling in and out with sounds of static, the way a radio sounded when quickly switching the tune up dial in between channels. A small bout of audience laughter made Vox frown and look around only to be vexed by the stark realization that the sounds were coming from the demon himself. More specifically, his cane.
It had an older model of a microphone on top but before he could get a better look, the demon sidestepped out of view, causing Vox’s temporary shield from the rain to disappear.
Vox hissed and quickly shot back, comedically planting his back flat against the building. He couldn’t risk getting wet with this head model!
In his panic he must’ve dropped his bottle weapon because the demon picked it up gingerly with his red-tipped talons and examined it carefully, as if he’d found something exceedingly interesting within. Then those blood red eyes flicked back to him and Vox was sure he’d charge him.
“Now, now. No need for aggression, good sir. I have no intention of causing harm…yet.”
If that last sentence was meant to dissuade Vox’s agitation the intention fell flat. Especially now that he was defenseless.
The demon knew this yet took a moment’s pause to further examine Vox. This made him perspire for some inexplicable reason. Here was this dapper strange man dressed to the nines scouring Vox with those soul-piercing eyes, meanwhile Vox looked like your average sinner street rat. He at least hoped his cap wasn’t too out of place with his large antennas poking out.
Finally the demon handed the broken liquor bottle to Vox by the handle. He took it instantly but watched in confused silence as the man simply nodded and finally introduced himself.
“The name’s Alastor, pal, pleasure to be meeting you.”
Vox glanced away. “Er…Vox.”
“Vox! How fitting. Tell me, how long have you been sulking miserably in your garbage corner of hell?”
Vox’s eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”
“Why does anyone want to know anything? Painstakingly, irrefutable curiosity!”
Even though he had no idea who this guy was Vox could tell he was genuine with his words, despite that fake ass smile plastered across his face. It was that same unnatural smile that caused him to remember his situation.
“You really think I’m stupid enough to believe that?”
Alastor watched Vox quietly for a moment. “Maybe.”
A small laugh unexpectedly escaped Vox’s digital lips.
Quickly, he recovered with a fake cough. “Not that it’s anything to someone like you, but I just got here not too long ago.”
Alastor leaned in. “And what do you do with your noisy picture box talents?”
Vox shot him an unamused look. “If you wanna try to exploit me, give it up. Most of the sinners here hate television.”
“So that is what’s stopping you? You’ve given up and now resign to falling into obscurity? Quite a disappointing ending if I do say so myself.” Alastor sighed.
”I haven’t given up!” Vox hissed a little too loudly.
He didn’t need to prove himself to this wack job, but he wouldn’t stand for himself to be misread. Alastor awaited his answer curiously, grinning with a mixture of what Vox assumed to be amusement and…anticipation?
Whatever this demon wanted pertained to Vox. Perhaps this was his way to bounce back. He didn’t need to understand an opportunity in order to recognize it. But he wouldn’t be a desperate fool either.
“I’ve just taken a brief intermission,” Vox earned a light chortle from Alastor and this boosted his confidence; “for now the rest of hell don’t care for what I can do. But just you wait, television will be the future of hell and then I’ll be the one in control.”
“Well consider me intrigued.”
Vox crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back more comfortably. He played it off as nothing but he very much liked this new form of attention he was receiving.
“What do you wanna know exactly, daddy-o?”
Alastor tapped his staff a few times, sizing up Vox once more. The more his eyes trailed over him, the more Vox didn’t want him to look away.
But that face…
“Do you ever stop that?”
Alastor tilted his head right with one sharp ‘crack!’
Vox blinked, then realized that he was waiting for an explanation. “Smiling. It’s giving me the creeps.”
“Why ever for?”
“You’ve been smilin’ this whole time. I know your face has to hurt.”
Vox noticed Alastor’s unhealthy grin tightening even further up his face. “Not at all! If there’s one thing I know for sure; it's that a smile is a gift to oneself, even in their lowest moments. Besides, you’re never fully dressed without one. You ought to give it a try yourself. I’m certain your little picture face would glow even more than it usually does.”
Vox’s eyes widened and his cheeks glitched a chromatic hue. “What the fuck do you want from me?”
Alastor made a hum sound, as if he too were wondering the same thing.
“Nothing at the moment.” He finally concluded. “This interaction was amusing at its best. However, I’ll show you how it’s truly done with the proper form of media.”
“What?”
Alastor’s grin sharpened, gleaming with duper’s delight as radio static began to hiss and spark louder and louder.
“Stay tuned.”
He turned away and padded out of Vox’s alley. Alastor’s microphone cane thumped along the damp pavement as he did in perfect rhythm until he and the static noise eventually receded into washed-up silence.
All Vox had as proof that Alastor was ever there at all was the broken liquor bottle he had unknowingly been holding in a death grip.