Chapter Text
The room is loud. The journalists where let in after an official meeting, one Alastor attended.
Food was provided to the gathering, though Rosie brought her own delicacies to match her and Alastors tastes, such as a finger platter and thighs fried in a plum and honey sauce, a truly savoury mouth watering, eye stinging, pungent meal.
Luckily for vox televisions don't have nostrils, tounge having or otherwise. The tech overlord looks around and slinks off, hypnotising reporters to leave him be, the hustle and bustle redirected to Carmilla, answering questions as though she had a script she refused to alter for convenience.Stupid Vox always thought, it wont kill you to improv for a moment, "what kind of Overlord can't deal without a set amount of questions?" He scoffs at his own thoughts as he walks over the the end side of the conference.
As the flat screen moseys over to the spread of dishes he looks at the finger platter, half eaten. Passively Vox looks at it and a hand picking off one, then two, then three then four. The overlord watches as he picks up some crisps, the radio demon somehow not look like he's stuffing his face as he eats half the remaining platter.
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Alastor never really enjoyed the meetings persay, but there was great opportunity for them for evolve to be incredibly entertaining despite the insistent monotony of many. When he heard this meeting would be utilised as an opertunity to ease tensions through a mock party, WITH reporters and the like. It was an opportunity for sheer and utter chaos, an opportunity for amusement.
Oh how Alastor was just giddy when Rosie brought a suitable meal, none of that modern salads and seed treats people have for lunch breakfast and dinner. He moved around frequently, the reporters knew better than to stop him for their own good, not with new cameras and modern microphones that could become ruptured and destroyed if he was captured on it.
What caught the redheads eye was the picture box slipping away to the food spread, hunched back and un-confident movements, so he follows, intrigued. The inviting smell of rotting flesh, sweeter than an animals, the finger platter Rosie left was there, the flesh soft, but chewy due to the many muscles in the fingers, it wasn't a hearty meal, simple for taste in an elegant decadent manner. He ate half of the platter, briefly satisfied with the look of intrigue and disgust coating Vox's face as he sets down the food he planned to eat. Alastor turns away with a sharp spin from his heal to find more mannered company in Rosie.
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A Golden ticket. Vox has a golden opportunity.
Left stood as the Radio demon turns away He stands motionless, not from disgust not from horror, No this is hell he's seen far worse than casual cannibalism, No he was struck by lightning of an idea, he has to suppress a grin and he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out. Vals "love potion" .
He swiftly drops the mixture over the platter, in hopes it's not visually clear. Vox would wait by the food table all night, he couldn't risk Alastor eating and seeing another first. No it should be him.
Alas, he waits all night. Alastor does evently emerge back and the Television can only try contain his sadistic joy only to have it stamped on when he finds the man pulling out tuptupperware.
"What are you doing?!" In a barely contained panick from a certain stalker. "that's hardly your business Vox" , just like that he melted to the shadows in an illusion of a viscous go just being a trick of light, along with his treats.
The sinking in Voxs stomach can only be described in rage and pettiness and should not be mistaken for concern rather than an act from a jealous child realising he didn't get what he was so close to.