mooncloudsea
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A quiet Christmas memory, a chipped red cup and an insistently traditional television demon.
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Casual. A simple word, really — one that was worlds away from how Maya truly felt.
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Alastor laughed softly, and Vincent swore that voice was crafted by an angel. “You’re interesting,” said the radio host. “The eyes, your voice, that smile… I like you. You should come around and buy me drinks more often.” He stuck out a thin hand. “Alastor.”
Vincent blinked, looking down at the hand. Of course he already knew who Alastor was, but this wasn’t Alastor introducing himself. It was Alastor wanting to greet him and know his name. He wanted to know who he was and talk to him more. Fuck, alright then.
The hand was grasped in a strong, professional grip that Vincent had perfected over the years. “Vincent.”
“Vincent. I like that name.” Alastor flashed a grin that honestly should have landed him a spot as the face of a news station, and with a voice like that, he’d be a hit.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” replied Vincent.
“Oh, you wouldn’t want to be my acquaintance,” Alastor said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “People tend not to stick around when they’re with me. For their own sakes, of course. Walking alongside me can oftentimes be… hazardous.”