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The sweet smell of rotting meat permeated Alastor’s apartment. It was starting to feel like home to Vox. His own apartment certainly wasn’t home; he couldn’t afford a place outside of the active warzones of the city, so he spent as little time there as possible. Alastor’s apartment was much nicer, and it was safe just by virtue of housing the infamous Radio Demon.
Vox also might not have come over so often if only Alastor lived there. He adored his first real friend, but the man was a slob. Thank Lucifer for Niffty. Vox couldn’t even bring himself to be envious of Alastor’s live-in maid given how difficult and time-consuming her job was. She had an incredible eye for detail. He wouldn’t believe the kinds of messes Alastor made ever existed if he hadn’t seen them himself. She rid the place of evidence like she was covering up a crime scene.
Alastor claimed that Niffty was perfectly fine with any messes she made, but Vox hadn’t stumbled upon any of those messes yet. The dead roach puppets were gross, but he wouldn’t call her gruesome arts and crafts messy.
On this day, Vox rested the back of his ridiculous television head on the back of the living room couch to relieve the pressure on his eternally suffering spine. Alastor would never admit it, but Vox was pretty sure Al got the couch just for him. The Radio Demon liked collecting tokens from his various slaughters and conquests, but aside from those small trinkets, he never brought new décor into his home. That is, until a month ago when he “happened across” a couch that was perfectly sized for Vox to rest his head on and heavy enough that the weight of his head didn’t tip it over.
Vox had been tempted to interrogate Alastor on why he randomly decided to bring home street furniture when he’d never done that before despite Hell’s streets being riddled with random half-broken objects, but he still wasn’t 100% confident that being annoying wouldn’t result in him becoming the cannibal’s next meal.
Vox was working on a script for a show. He wasn’t producing anything yet, but he would get around to it. He was too stubborn not to. Besides, he was hoping he would feel a little less self-conscious about his stupid-looking head if he made it a part of his whole gimmick. What kind of moron would get reborn with a TV for a head and not go into the television business?
He heard the rapid pitter-patter of tiny feet approaching. “Vox! Vox! Vox!” a familiar feminine voice called out. Niffty burst into the room holding a stack of worn old paper.
“Yes, dear?” Vox responded without turning his head toward the sound. “Alastor isn’t home. He has that Overlord meeting, remember?” He had left a while ago, but Vox was more than happy to wait right where he was until he got back.
“I know that! I wasn’t looking for him, I was looking for you!” Niffty pouted for a moment before she decided to forgive Vox for being presumptuous. There were more important matters at hand. She shoved the papers she was carrying into Vox’s hands.
Vox raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”
“My masterpiece!” Niffty gloated, her head lifted proudly. “I finally finished writing a story!”
A genuine smile crossed Vox’s screen as he lifted his head and turned to face her. “Congratulations, Niff! I say this calls for a celebration!”
“No, no! Not yet!” Niffty said sternly. “I need to get it published first!”
Vox nodded and regretted it immediately when he pulled a muscle raising his head back up. Rubbing his sore neck with a wince, Vox asked, “Okay, how do we do that?”
Niffty frowned. “I was hoping you would know.”
Not wanting to disappoint, Vox’s mind scrambled for a solution. “Well… You know what they say. If you want something done right, do it yourself! You can be self-published!”
Niffty lit up at Vox’s enthusiasm. “Yeah!” She tilted her head curiously. “How do we do that?”
Vox squinted, brought his hand up to where his chin should be, and mumbled to himself, “It can’t be all that different from how the newspapers do it, right?” Coming to a decision, Vox smiled at Niffty. “There’s a news building nearby. They might have what we need. Shall we give it a gander, darling?” He bent down to offer her his arm like a proper gentleman. The awful position didn’t help with his chronic muscle pain, but it always delighted Niffty to be treated like a lady. He was willing to suffer a bit to see her smile. She deserved it.
Niffty squealed and jumped up and down before taking his arm, and the two demons walked out into an unsuspecting Hell.
Vox waltzed into the journalists’ offices as if he belonged there and hopped up to sit on the desk of a Sinner who vaguely resembled a bloodhound, shoving the papers the Sinner was working on out of the way. He helped Niffty up onto his lap and looked down at the hound Sinner with an impish grin. “Hey there.”
Annoyed, the Sinner glared at Vox through tired eyes. “How do you keep getting in here?”
Waving dismissively, he said, “I have my ways.” His smile grew gleeful as he wiggled his fingers to draw attention to the sparks of electricity dancing between his claws. “And one of those ways involves flash-frying flesh! Wanna see?”
“I do!” Niffty chirped.
“Don’t do that,” the aggrieved journalist sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “What do you want now, Vox?”
“Nothing much this time. All I need to know is where the paper gets printed,” Vox replied casually.
The hound Sinner stared silently at Vox, fingers steepled. After some consideration, he decided he didn’t want to know what was going on. Preventing Vox-related damages was above his pay grade. He scribbled the location of the presses on a blank notepad, ripped the paper away, and handed it to Vox. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
“Smart man.” Vox slid off the desk, helping Niffty down. “See ya later!” he called over his shoulder on his way out before assuring Niffty that he would find an opportunity to show her how he can fry flesh someday, ignoring the angry shout of “Stop coming here!” that followed them out the door.
“What do you mean, that’s not how it works?” Vox demanded, glaring at the poor employee he had decided to corner when they got to the presses and he realized he had no idea how to operate the machines. The Sinner in question had ink-black skin and large, round eyes straight out of a daily comic, so Vox concluded that they must be knowledgeable about newspapers for the same reasons he was determined to work in television.
“You… You can’t just… make more of a handwritten note out of nothing…” the Sinner said nervously. “F-For the newspapers to be mass produced, the pages are typed into metal plates and—”
“Metal plates?!” Niffty cried. “How am I supposed to write on metal plates?!”
“Uh… Sorry?” the Sinner tried.
Vox shook his head at the Sinner as if Niffty’s distress were their fault. He placed a hand gently on Niffty’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I thought being self-published would be the fastest method, but it seems like we’ll have to do this the slow way and speak to an actual publisher after all.”
Niffty sighed, disappointed. Vox hated to see her so down.
“You know,” he said, rocking on his heels, “I still think we should celebrate today anyway. How about you and me stop by a bakery for some cake on our way back to your pad?”
A small smile returned to Niffty’s face. “Yeah. Cake is good.” He took her hand in his as they headed for home.
By the time they returned to Alastor and Niffty’s apartment, Alastor was back. The three sat at the dining table as Vox and Niffty had their cake, Alastor politely declining the treat but keeping his most devoted fan and his favorite thrall company anyway. Niffty told Alastor about their day, with Vox adding his commentary multiple times, being scolded by both Alastor and Niffty for speaking with his mouth full every time.
Vox thought he noticed a stiffness in Alastor’s posture as Niffty told the story. Alastor tended to stiffen up when stressed out or angry, but Vox couldn’t think of a reason for him to be upset by this conversation. He figured out what Alastor was worried about when Niffty finished her story and Alastor commented, “And no one read your story today,” his posture relaxed slightly when Niffty confirmed the statement.
Vox quirked an eyebrow up at Alastor in silent question. It was answered with a tired, knowing look.
Alastor cleared his throat and Vox could have sworn he hesitated before he asked, “Niffty, dear, what exactly is your book about?”
Niffty’s huge eye sparkled and her hands cupped her face. “It’s a raunchy tale about the dark, sexy secret relationship between the Radio Demon and the Television Demon!”
Vox caught the very beginning of a lecture before his screen cut out.