Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the morning of the 18th of May, 1932, the front page of the New York Times read: ‘Vincent “Vox” Bennett set to star in new Morningstar movie musical opposite rising starlet Charlie Morningstar.’

Vincent Bennett, better known only as Vox, gently put down the newspaper, took a deep breath, and promptly screamed into one of his couch cushions. Then he- very calmly- picked up the phone and dialled his agent.

“Zestial speaking.”

“What did I just read?” Vox asked, careful to keep his voice even. Zestial’s breathy laughter echoed over the line.

“Good morning to you too, Vincent. I assume you are referring to today’s headline. You’re welcome, by the way.” he drawled, and Vox had to refrain from grabbing the cushion again. Instead, he took a deep breath and slipped into his public persona.

“I know it’s an incredible opportunity, but I’ve never done a film of that scale before-”

“Precisely. It’s time for you to really move into the spotlight. The contract has been signed, anyway, and there will be no backing out. You’re set to meet the director in a week, after your radio interview.” Then he hung up. Vox put the phone back on the cradle, feeling numb. Fuck.

Morningstar. The literal rising star of film direction. He was known for his ambitious work, moving from Broadway to film with the success of his first talkie, winning several awards and making quite a name for himself.

Usually, when presented with the opportunity to work with a director of this calibre, Vox would be jumping to start. It really was an amazing opportunity, and Morningstar must think fairly highly of him to cast him alongside his daughter. There was only one problem. Lucifer Morningstar’s movie musicals were spectacles, a celebration of music, bursting with song and dance.

Vox couldn’t dance to save his life.

Vox bounced his leg impatiently as he waited for the radio host to introduce him. He didn’t know the guy’s name, had never heard of the show, but Zestial had organised an interview, so there he was, dressed nicely with his hair styled, even though nobody was going to see him. At least that meant Valentino had been there, and he was able to vent while his hair was being done. Valentino wasn’t quite a friend, but he was friendly and easy to talk to, so that was better than nothing.

The host finally called his name, so he put on a smile he knew people would hear in his voice and prepared to answer the same questions about his personal life he was asked every time he did one of these silly interviews, even though they were supposed to be talking about his work.

“So Vox, are you looking forward to working with Lucifer Morningstar? It’s a big step up from your previous films, as wonderful as those were.”

“Oh definitely, it’s a great opportunity to work with such a talented director. I haven’t got a script yet, but I’m excited to start working.” The words came easy, though they couldn’t be further from the truth. Excited wasn’t the word Vox would use if he was being honest.

“I’m sure, you’ve made quite the name for yourself as a hard working actor, with the talent to match! Of course, we can’t forget about the voice, especially as it’s considered one of the best in the industry currently.”

Vox laughed, playing up the charm for the audience he knew was listening intently. That had been an adjustment at first, people knowing who he was, people knowing his voice at the first note he sung.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that, but thank you. I admit it has been useful, to have a trait that directors find distinct, and it doesn’t hurt that the audiences seem to love it too.” He knew people liked his voice, hell he was a singer before he was an actor, his voice had given him everything.

The host’s laughter grated at his ears, but Vox kept a smile fixed on his face. When the host regained his composure, it was with a conspiratorial look. Shit. Vox braced himself for the inevitable.

“So, the other news is that you’re set to star alongside Charlie Morningstar, the daughter of the director. Now, she’s a star in her own right, and not bad looking either.” he said, and Vox tried not to bristle at the implication. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking forward to about working with her?”

Vox pretended to seriously consider the question and willed himself not to stutter when he answered. “Well, we’ve never met,” he began, putting every hint he could into his tone even though he already knew it would be ignored, “but I know she’s a talented performer, and I believe she’s been in a few Broadway productions, so I’m looking forward to working with someone with different experiences to my own.” he answered diplomatically. “And I’ve heard that Charlie and her father work very well together, so that speaks well of the production to come.”

The host deflated slightly, not having received the answer he was hoping for, but recovered quickly. The rest of the interview passed mercifully quickly, and when he asked Vox to sing to end the show, he was all too happy to oblige. Singing was his comfort zone, the one thing he considered himself truly good at. Something that was his, that no one could take away or replicate.

His voice was what he was known for, that was all people needed to see. Vox, the larger than life performer, easygoing and charismatic onstage and on camera, even if he thought his acting was only decent. People didn’t need to see Victor, the awkward, uncoordinated young man who stumbled over his words and his feet.

“I’m going to embarrass myself.” Vox muttered, mostly to himself, as Valentino fixed his hair after the radio show. Val tutted quietly as he masterfully arranged the silky black strands into something artfully messy, but slicked back enough to appear professional.

“No, you won’t. You’ll be charming as always cariño.” he said absently, the flirty tone creeping in almost unintentionally. If Vox mentioned it Val would deny any intent, but Vox knew better.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not about to meet the director who’s known for his crazy big productions.” Vox sighed, sinking in his chair until Val gave him a reproachful tap on the shoulder with his comb and he sat up straight again. “I just feel like I’m going to make a fool of myself.”

“Well, at least you’ll look hot while you do.” Val teased, running pomade through Vox’s hair to make sure it stayed in place. At least he had decent hair, Vox mused, because sometimes he wondered how he’d made it in the film industry. The good thing about singing was that nobody had to see you, they just listened to you on the radio and that was that.

His first film credit hadn’t been a visual role. He’d been hired to overdub an actor who couldn’t sing, and that had been fine. It was only once he’d met the casting director and they lit up at the sight of him that he realised what a mistake it had been.

From there he’d starred in two more talkies, one that was more on the tame side for a movie musical and the other as a pure acting role, which he’d somehow won an award for that he wasn’t sure he deserved. He’d stuttered in his acceptance speech and it still haunted him. He was surprised to be cast in anything after that disaster.

Somehow he still caught Morningstar’s eye.

What he saw, Vox wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like he was unattractive, but he didn’t have the movie star look that most directors went for, the broad shoulders and muscular physique. He was lanky, with long limbs and a narrower frame than was considered attractive. He didn’t have the much desired strong face and jaw, his facial features sharper, almost delicate. At least he looked decent on screen, his dark hair providing good contrast against his fair skin.

Though it didn’t show on camera, the shades of grey that film was shown in falling short, his eyes were perhaps the most unusual thing about him. One was a warm light brown, the other a bright blue, and when shown without colour they looked the same, so thankfully it hadn’t put any directors off. A good voice was one thing, but weird eyes was a little too unique for most people.

But none of that mattered, because Morningstar was interested and Zestial had already signed the contract. So in short, he was fucked.

Vox startled as a loud bang echoed through the room, and a jovial sounding voice called out. “Is he here? Am I in the right room?”

“Showtime.” Valentino whispered, nudging Vox out of his chair when he made no move on his own. It was good timing, too, as no sooner than Vox was standing did Lucifer Morningstar himself round the corner, flanked by two women.

Morningstar himself was less intimidating than Vox had anticipated, as he was short, blonde, and smiling brightly as he approached. The taller of the two women resembled him greatly, only much taller, with long blonde hair and large brown eyes, so Vox assumed that must be his daughter, the actress he was going to be paired with. The other woman was shorter, only slightly taller than Morningstar, with tan skin and long brown hair tied back in a ponytail with a large red bow. Unusual, but who was he to judge.

“There’s the man I’m after! Wow! You’re smaller than I thought you’d be. Well, not small, you’re pretty tall, but thin! I mean, that huge voice, where does that come from? I thought you’d be more… barrel chested?” Morningstar rambled, and Vox tried to smile but it came out kind of crooked. A glance behind him showed that Valentino had shown himself out, so Vox was left to ford this social interaction alone. Wonderful.

“Mr Morningstar, it’s an honour to make your acquaintance-“ he began, only to be interrupted by Morningstar shaking his hand so enthusiastically that his whole arm ached a little afterward.

“You’re perfect! I told you, Charlie,” he turned to the blonde woman, who nodded supportively. “I told you he was exactly what I wanted, you two will complement each other so well!”

It seemed like every word out of Morningstar’s mouth was followed by an exclamation point, he was like a ball of pure energy condensed into a very small container, bursting at the seams in his enthusiasm. Vox felt a little out of breath in the face of it. He gathered himself mentally and physically, buttoning his blazer to give his hands something to do while he frantically reorganised his thoughts.

“Actually, Mr Morningstar, I-“

“Oh you don’t need to be so formal, Lucifer is fine!”

“Mr Morningstar,” Vox inhaled deeply, “I am so very grateful to you for choosing me for your talkie, I only worry because I’ve never been in a large scale production such as this, so I just wanted to make sure you were, well, sure.” he finished lamely.

Morningstar laughed. Actually laughed, not a little chuckle but a full laugh. “I like you.” he said, pointing at Vox and nodding like they were in on some joke that Vox was definitely not in on.

“You’re damn right you’ve never been in anything this big, that’s because no one else has the guts to do it like me! It’s good to know someone truly understands the value of my work!” He grabbed Vox’s hand again, shaking it enthusiastically as he spoke. “I’m looking forward to working with you.” He said, his voice as firm as his grip, and Vox could only smile shakily.

Then Morningstar was gone, flanked by the two women, though his daughter turned around briefly to give Vox an encouraging thumbs up. Once the echoes of the slamming door had faded from the room, Vox sank back into the makeup chair, running his hands through his hair and undoing all the styling.

He was so fucked.

He had to get out. Replacing his blazer with a more weather-appropriate coat, he left the relative safety of the small studio and entered the bustling streets of New York City, where luckily people were more interested in live shows than theatre, so he ran only a small chance of being recognised. The sun was beginning to set, and the hazy light glancing off the glassy high rises painted the city gold. It would have been beautiful if he’d thought to look up. Walking down the sidewalk with his hands shoved in his pockets and his head down, he quickly found the main street much too loud for an escape, and picked a random side street to sulk on instead. Much better, now he could actually hear his racing thoughts without all the extra noise.

How would he ever pull this off? The second Morningstar discovered he couldn’t dance for shit he’d be dropped from the project, which would be not only embarrassing as it had already been publicly announced, but also a massive blow to his income, which was already inconsistent at best. Hell, if he made enough of a fool of himself Zestial might even drop him as a client, and then where would he be? Back to busking downtown, where he would occasionally be recognised as someone who was kinda famous once. He stopped walking, burying his face in his hands. What was supposed to be an amazing opportunity would instead spell the end of his short lived career.

Vox was about to come up with another string of self-pitying thoughts when he was interrupted by the faint sound of music. Glancing around, he found he’d wandered fairly far from the main street, and the ambient sounds of the city- usually deafening- had faded to a whisper. Instead, the faint sound of jazz music filled the air, led by what was clearly a very talented piano player.

Vox began walking again, only to turn around when the music began to get quieter. He started looking more carefully at the buildings lining the street, and while they seemed to be mostly shops that had closed for the night or residential apartments, there were a couple that had left their lights on, through whether it was on purpose, he wasn’t sure.

He walked slowly down the street, following the faint sound of the music, only for it to suddenly fill the air as a door opened and light spilled out onto the street. A figure stumbled out onto the sidewalk, and Vox froze, unable to keep from staring as the man turned and walked the other direction, stopping to knock on another door, which opened to let him in, only for him to be pushed back out again immediately after, followed by a call of “Come back when you’re sober!” from whoever was inside. Vox blinked in surprise. Sober? It dawned on him suddenly, and he turned towards the first door, which was still slightly ajar and wafting music into the street the way bakeries radiated the scent of fresh bread.

To be not sober required alcohol. Alcohol meant a speakeasy, and the music was singing a similar tune. The door swayed slightly, seeming drunk itself, hitting lightly against the wall. Almost beckoning. And, well, after the day he’d had, Vox found himself wanting an escape.

He descended the few concrete steps that led to the door and peered inside,  only to be met with more stairs leading down and around a corner, various posters and newspaper clippings lining the walls. The bottom of the staircase was warmly lit, clearly the source of the light still bouncing over the cobblestones of the road. Vox quietly slipped through the door, closing it behind him with a gentle yet definitive click.

It was warm inside, even on the staircase, which had transitioned from harsh concrete to dark stained wood, clearly well cared for under the scuffing of daily use. A painted sign hung from a crossbeam, lit by a warm spotlight.

Altruist’s

The word was painted in a scrawling cursive, red paint bright and sharp against the deep wooden background. Whoever painted that had a very steady hand, Vox thought to himself. Then he walked under the sign and into a surprisingly large room, filled with music and alcohol in almost equal amounts. A bar stood against the back wall, a stage in the opposite corner. An upright piano sat on the side, though there was no player to be seen. Instead, a short woman was standing at the front of the stage singing an enthusiastic rendition of what might have been an Irving Berlin song, accompanied by a gramophone on a small table. There were a few people milling about, some sitting at tables and more at the bar, and one couple attempting to dance to the music, through the singer’s many flourishes.

Vox wove through the scattered arrangement of tables to take a seat at the bar, perching on the end stool so he still had a good view of the stage. The woman was still singing, throwing in the occasional dance move that made the tassels on her slightly outdated flapper dress swing wildly. Vox turned back to the bar, glancing over the other patrons as if he could pick out the pianist by sight.

He startled slightly at a sharp tap on the bar in front of him, and blinked at the sudden appearance of the bartender, a dark skinned man with close cropped hair and an unimpressed expression. He wore a red bow tie and a name tag that read ‘Husk’, in the same handwriting as the painted sign.

“You gonna order anything, kid? Or are you just gonna keep staring?” The bartender grumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. Vox froze, glancing between the wall of drinks behind Husk, and the menu scrawled in chalk on a board pinned beside it.

“Uh, I, I’ll have, um.. I, uh, I don’t drink.” he stuttered, suddenly becoming very interested in the wooden bar surface as Husk raised an eyebrow.

“Why are you at a bar if you don’t drink?” he asked, seeming slightly interested, but more so incredulous. Vox felt heat creep up his neck, and hoped it wasn’t visible in the low lighting.

“I, I heard the music from outside.” he admitted, as thought it was embarrassing. “The pianist was very good, whoever it was.”

Husk rolled his eyes, scoffing quietly. “Don’t let him hear you say that, he’d never shut up about it.” he grumbled, and Vox was about to point out that he didn’t even know who had been playing when the singer finished her song to polite applause and a few scattered cheers. Vox turned in time to see her bowing before she was joined by a tall, well dressed man with warm brown skin, wavy hair and a very bright smile. Vox heard Husk scoff again and glanced back to see the bartender walking towards the other end of the bar.

The sharply dressed man had grabbed the microphone, and when he spoke it sent a slight shiver down Vox’s spine.

“Wasn’t that a delightful performance from our dear Mimzy!” he said brightly, the words more a statement than a question. “Perhaps one more to end the show this evening?” He offered the microphone to the crowd, and this time the cheers were significantly louder. The man, who was very handsome, Vox noticed, laughed and sat down at the piano, setting the microphone aside.

Then he began to play. It wasn’t a piece Vox recognised, it might not have been a piece at all but rather an improvisation, but one so complex, so good, that it seemed rehearsed. Even from the bar Vox could see the way the man’s fingers danced over the keys, far more elegantly than Mimzy was dancing across the stage. Not that she was bad, nor was he in any place to judge dance ability, especially considering that having none of his own was his current main problem. It was just that nothing could possibly be as effortless as this man playing the piano.

At least, not until he started dancing. Mimzy had turned the gramophone on again and then beckoned for the man to join her. They made a slightly odd pair, as he was so much taller than she was, and much better dressed, but as they started to dance they may as well have been cut from the same cloth, the way they moved together as easy as breathing.

Vox was almost breathless just watching it, and found himself wondering how this establishment was not more popular.

“Show off.” Came the grumbling comment from behind the bar, and Vox felt almost offended on the dancers’ behalf.

“If, if I could dance, dance like that, I’d show off too.” he replied, but Husk only huffed.

“That’s the problem. Alastor knows he’s good, and he’s a smug bastard.” he muttered, wiping out a glass with an expression that could only be described as fed up. Vox glanced back at the dancing pair.

His name was Alastor.

Chapter Text

Alastor didn’t pay much notice to the dark haired young man at the bar, too busy trying to keep his toes out from under Mimzy’s heels as they danced. As much as he liked her, and her performances always brought in at least somewhat of a crowd, she could be described as overzealous, and that came through in her dancing.

At the end of their dance he wove through the tables, collecting tips on his way to the bar while Mimzy packed away her records. He took a seat at the bar, breathless and grinning, and motioned for Husk to prepare his usual. A glass of rye might distract him from the fact that Mimzy was about to leave to perform somewhere else. Not only did that show disloyalty, no matter how many times she claimed Altruist’s was her main gig, but he worried about her. More and more clubs were being raided every week, and not everyone was as careful as he was, with many clubs doing foolish things like encouraging high profile guests, even going so far as advertising! It’s like they were asking to be caught.

He surveyed the remaining people, a few having left with Mimzy, no doubt to follow the performance to a livelier club. Their mistake. Lively was a death sentence, and he’d just had Husk turn on the radio. Not to mention he knew his alcohol was of finer quality than most other clubs -it may be moonshine but he refused to let it taste like it. A few people remained at the bar, though one in particular caught his eye. A dark haired young man wearing- of all things- a sweater vest, and a dark wool coat that looked both expensive and well worn. There was a glass in front of him but it was untouched, and he was running his finger around the edge of the glass.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Alastor called, and the man startled slightly, looking towards him. How curious. Alastor quirked his head slightly, taking a closer look at the young man’s wide eyes. His differently coloured eyes. For one eye was a warm brown and the other a deep blue. Framed by fair skin and sharp features, his eyes were striking, and Alastor’s smile widened. The man blinked, and seemed to snap out of his state of surprise.

“Yes, it, it was wonderful.” he said, “You, you dance very well.”

Alastor preened at the praise, and moved to take a seat next to the man, who shifted slightly in response.

“Well I’m glad. It’s always nice to have one’s art appreciated.” he said, extending his hand. “Alastor, a pleaser to meet you, quite a pleasure! And you are?”

“Vincent, but everyone, everyone calls me Vox.” he said, shaking Alastor’s hand. Alastor hummed inquisitively, and opened his mouth to question the frankly strange nickname, when Vincent cut him off.

“I, I wonder, if it’s not too much trouble, if you could teach me to, to dance like that.” he stuttered, mismatched eyes wide and hopeful, and Alastor’s smile sharpened.

“And why would I do that?” he inquired sarcastically, tilting his head, this time in mocking instead of curiosity. “Why, if everyone could dance, who would watch? This is my establishment, and you expect me to hand over my years of training just like that?”

“I, I would pay you!” Vincent sputtered, but Alastor sniffed.

“I doubt you could cover what I’d make for the time it would take to teach you.” he said, looking over Vincent’s well worn clothing.

“Wait, you really, really don’t know who I am?” Vincent sounded genuinely surprised, and Alastor scoffed. Some people thought they were so important, expected everyone to recognise them for  the slightest accolade.

“Not the faintest idea. Now, we’ll be closing soon, so I suggest you pack up now. And don’t go telling all your little friends about this place, I prefer to keep my clientele exclusive.” he drawled, the subliminal message of ‘get out’ not very subliminal. Vincent only nodded, scrambling to his feet, almost tripping over the bar stool in his haste. As he fled for the stairs, Alastor picked up his abandoned drink. Can’t let good alcohol go to waste.

That fucking snob. He’d ordered water. Who goes to a speakeasy and orders water? Was their moonshine not good enough? The idea was preposterous, considering it was the best in the city, but what other reason did someone have to order water at a bar?! Alastor set the glass down heavily, drawing Husk’s attention from the other end of the bar.

“That was rude of you.” he said bluntly, not taking his eyes off the glass he was polishing. Alastor scoffed.

“I disagree, but either way it is my right to be rude in my club. That I own.” he retorted. Husk rolled his eyes and Alastor bristled. Husk set his own glass down.

“I’m just saying you coulda been nicer. He did compliment you, even after I told him not to. Isn’t it flattering that he thought you were good enough to learn from?”

Alastor sighed. “I suppose I was perhaps a little presumptuous. But you know as well as I how self important some people are.” His tone spoke for itself. He’d been looked down upon all his life for the colour of his skin, and he refused to be taken advantage of in his own establishment. He knew Husk understood that much. However the bartender only shrugged.

“Sure, but I don’t think this was like that.”

“Whatever. Come on, we need to start on the next batch.” Alastor muttered, then grinned. “And if I was as rude as you say, then he probably won’t be back any time soon.”

The next morning Vox found himself pacing lines in his already threadbare carpet. He realised he’d made a mistake. What he wasn’t sure of was how to fix it. And he needed to fix it. This Alastor guy was his only chance, otherwise he was beyond fucked. He had to go back soon. That night even.

Right after he got away from the studio. Lucifer had liked him so much that he’d organised a preliminary table read of the script draft, and was animatedly explaining the staging as Vox and Charlie read their lines. It all sounded very ambitious. Most of the scenes would be shot on location in the streets of New York, with several being set in and around Central Park. The remaining scenes would be filmed in the meagre soundstage they had available, or in theatres around the city. Vox wondered privately if Lucifer had an unlimited budget for this film, as the rented spaces alone would cost more than his first few films made in their whole runs, and he once again found himself feeling very out of his depth. However, Charlie seemed unsurprised at her father’s ramblings, so he supposed that this might just be normal for the Morningstar family.

“So then you see her dancing in the moonlight-“ Lucifer was saying when Vox realised he should probably be paying attention. “And you run to her and join her dance, there’ll be a lift, then you sing together, that’s song six in the script-“ he rambled. Vox had quickly realised that most of Lucifer’s directing was very loose, despite the fact that he clearly knew what he wanted it to look like. Charlie was nodding along, so she must have known as well, but Vox hadn’t the faintest idea what it was supposed to look like. That, and the idea of having to lift Charlie terrified him. It wasn’t that he didn’t think he could, she was slender and wouldn’t be too heavy, but the possibility of dropping the director’s daughter was not something he wanted to contend with on top of everything else. That would definitely get him dropped from the film, and probably also blacklisted from any and all future projects. His career would be over before it even properly began.

The sound of the piano jolted him out of his downward spiral, and Charlie glanced his way, but he kept his gaze fixed firmly ahead, where Lucifer was playing somewhat clumsy chords on the upright in the corner. After a few attempts he stood and gestured at Vox.

“Can you play piano? I’m more of a strings man myself.” he said, grinning. Vox blinked, then stood. He could play, but after witnessing Alastor the previous night he felt a sudden doubt in his own ability. Could he really play? Or was it only a pale imitation of true music. Shaking himself, he fixed a smile in place and strode towards Lucifer, ignoring the voice in his head that said he was about to embarrass himself.

“Yes sir, I can play.” he said with confidence he didn’t fully feel. Not that it mattered to Lucifer, who beamed and pointed at the sheet music.

“Amazing! You play that, and sing along if you can, and -Charlie! Come join in!” Lucifer called, and Charlie practically skipped over. How she always seemed so energetic, Vox didn’t know. He began to play, hoping his sight reading didn’t affect the quality too badly, but Lucifer and Charlie didn’t seem to notice, or if they did they gave no indication as they began to sing through the song, Lucifer taking Vox’s part in the harmony. Vox sang along softly, but singing had always come easy, so he didn’t find it too challenging to sing even while most of his attention was devoted to the piano. After one run through Lucifer stepped back and fell quiet, listening to Vox and Charlie sing, their voices blending rather nicely, her bright soprano voice floating above his clear baritone. When they finished Lucifer clapped loudly, and Charlie beamed at Vox, an expression he found he was actually able to match for once.

“Beautiful!” Lucifer crowed. “You sound perfect, I can see the reviews already, people are gonna love this! Okay, that’s enough for today, we’ll start proper rehearsals tomorrow, you’ll meet the choreographer and the crew, it’ll be great!” he said brightly, bouncing slightly in his excitement, excitement Vox couldn’t bring himself to feel. He needed to make up with Alastor tonight, or his life may as well end tomorrow.

After almost getting lost twice, Vox managed to find his way back to Altruist’s, though this time he noticed more lights on further down the street, though he wasn’t sure whether it was more businesses or just people living there. Descending the narrow staircase, he worried that Alastor would throw him out again before he had the chance to say anything, but as he peered around the corner he saw no sign of Alastor. Husk was visible behind the bar and Mimzy was once again setting up on the stage, and a petite woman wearing an apron was flurrying around with a broom, sweeping what seemed like already spotless floors. There were a few people already seated at tables or at the bar, so Vox figured he wouldn’t be too obvious if he sat near the back and kept to himself until Alastor appeared.

He found an empty table and sat down, making sure he wasn’t near any lights or walkways. The stage didn’t seem to have any overhead rigging, only a couple of standing lights, so there wasn’t much chance of a spotlight shining over the audience. He spent a while just observing the various people in the club, from the patrons to the staff, and it seemed overall fairly tame for a speakeasy. Not that he’d been in very many, but from what he had seen they were not this… subtle, usually filled with people only looking to get absolutely shitfaced off of overpriced moonshine and dance to the kind of fast jazz music that made Vox trip over just thinking about. This place, on the other hand, was actually pretty nice, despite the gruff bartender and the overly flirty performer.

Speaking of, Mimzy had finished setting up the stage with the occasional assistance of the petite woman, and was now stepping up to the microphone. It seemed Vox had only caught the end of her set the previous night, whereas this time he’d arrived much earlier, before most of the crowd had trickled in.

“Alright folks, it’s Mimzy here, everyone’s favourite adorable jazz singer, and this is Altruist’s!” Her introduction was simple, but still garnered a round of applause from the small crowd gathered, which Vox joined in an effort to be polite. If Alastor was lurking around somewhere it wouldn’t do to be rude to his performer. Mimzy pressed play on her gramophone and started to sing, the music quickly fading into the background as people began talking and dancing between drinks.

“So, you did decide to come back.” The gruff voice caught Vox by surprise, and he looked up to see Husk standing beside him, smirking slightly. “I wasn’t sure if you would, thanks to my asshole boss.” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “So, what brought you back? It wasn’t the alcohol, and I know it wasn’t that.” He pointed at Mimzy, and Vox stifled a laugh.

“You, you don’t like her?”

Husk scoffed. “She’s a decent singer when she’s not overdoing it. Not that you’d know it.” he chuckled, then fixed Vox with a look. “You didn’t answer my question.” Vox glanced back towards the stage, but there was still no sign of Alastor. He sighed.

“I need to -to learn to dance.”

“So get lessons? Why would you bother with Alastor?” Husk asked incredulously, as if dealing with Alastor was something that no one should ever have to do. Vox sunk in his seat slightly.

“It has to be a secret.”

“Well shit.”

“Yeah.” Vox grimaced. “Any tips for convincing him to help me?”

Husk laughed. “Yeah. Alastor doesn’t do favours and he won’t take money. But he’ll do deals and he’ll do bets.” Husk tapped the table thoughtfully. “Though, I wouldn’t bet against him, he cheats.”

“What- what kind of deal?”

Husk shrugged, standing from his chair with a quiet scraping sound. “That’s for you to figure out. Good luck.” he said, turning back to the bar, leaving Vox along at his table. It was then that Vox realised that both times he’d spoken to Husk, the bartender hadn’t questioned his stutter or his eyes, which frankly was a nice change of pace. Maybe that was one of the reasons people came here. It was kinda nice to have someone not care who you were.

Vox settled in to watch the rest of Mimzy’s set as he waited for Alastor to make an appearance, and in the meantime he started brainstorming what kind of deal he could possibly strike to convince Alastor to teach him to dance. Since money was off the table- and he was almost relieved about that, since he wasn’t exactly rolling in the stuff, despite what everyone seemed to think- he’d have to come up with something else to offer Alastor in return for lessons. What could he possibly have that Alastor would want? He leant back in his chair, running his hands over his face, only to freeze at the sound of heels on the wooden staircase and loud laughter echoing through the doorway.

Alastor walked into the room, followed closely by a tall, elegant woman wearing a large feathered hat and a floor length gown that technically went out of style about 30 years ago. That made an interesting picture as is, but what made Vox’s eyes widen further was that he recognised this woman.

Rosie Ephram, one of the most well known opera singers of his childhood, and someone he had many fond memories of listening to, hers being one of the few records his mother had owned when he was growing up. She may not be considered much of a celebrity anymore, but she would always be famous to Vox. How was she here? Why was she here? He knew she’d retired a few years back, but that didn’t explain her presence in a random club in the middle of downtown New York.

And it seemed like she and Alastor were friends. Vox sank down in his seat slightly as they passed, drawing his coat collar up around his face, as if that would do anything if they actually looked at him. They didn’t even glance his way, taking seats at a table near the front, and Mimzy waved enthusiastically at them, a gesture they both returned.

Mimzy returned to the microphone to finish her song, but then didn’t turn over the record when the gramophone stopped playing. Instead she stepped closer to the microphone and smiled brightly.

“We got a pretty good crowd in here tonight!” she squealed, and the audience cheered. Mimzy did a little curtesy before grabbing the microphone stand again. “I’m feeling a little lonely up here on the stage all by myself.” she pouted, putting on a show before snapping back to a bright smile. “So I’d love if someone from the audience would join me for my next song! Do I have any volunteers?”

A couple cheers sounded from the people gathered, and Mimzy turned around briefly, and then Vox was blinking against sudden light as she shone a flashlight into the crowd, the light piercing in the otherwise dimly lit room. The beam danced around the room for a few seconds, and Vox barely had time to adjust before he was blinded again, only this time the light was still.

“Hello there, handsome! Care to join little old me up here?” Came Mimzy’s call, but all Vox could think about was Alastor’s eyes on him, and beside him, Rosie. He wasn’t ready, he wasn’t prepared.

But this might be his only shot.

Alastor couldn’t kick him out if he was performing. He’d have to hear him out. He’d have to hear him sing. As terrifying as the idea of singing in front of Rosie was, it was also an opportunity. If he somehow managed to impress her…

Vox stood, legs trembling only slightly, still half blinded by Mimzy’s bright flashlight, and began to make his way towards the stage. He could feel eyes on him, a feeling he wasn’t used to, most of his performing being either over the radio or on screen. That was his safe space. Real life was scary. It couldn’t be edited or re-shot. It couldn’t be manipulated to make him less awkward or take out anything less than perfect.

He’d just have to be perfect on his own.

He wove his way through the tables, holding a hand up to the light so he could see where he was stepping. This was not the time to stumble. He pointedly didn’t look towards Alastor and Rosie’s table as he passed, keeping his eyes fixed on the stage despite the blinding light. The stage seemed so much further away than should have been possible in the small room.

“Come on handsome, get up here!” Mimzy encouraged, beckoning towards him. He stepped up on the stage and was released from the beam of the flashlight, only to be immediately greeted by the much more familiar stage lights, the warmth glow a welcome change from the harsh spotlight. The stage was where he belonged. He could do this. If there was anything he was good at, it was putting on a show.

“So, gorgeous, what’s ya name?” Mimzy drawled, handing over the microphone, which Vox took by the stand.

“Vincent.” he said quietly, purposefully avoiding the feedback that punctuated Mimzy’s words. She giggled almost seductively, batting her eyelashes.

“What a gentleman! Now, do you have any musical talent, Vincent?” she asked coyly, and Vox bit back a grimace. Instead, he smiled and nodded.

“I’m a singer.” he said simply, to which Mimzy gasped dramatically.

“How lucky am I? I pluck a guy from the crowd and he has a pretty face and a voice to match! Why don’t we sing a song together?” she prompted, and the crowd cheered. Vox chanced a glimpse and Alastor and Rosie, and saw the former sitting with his arms crossed while the latter clapped politely. He turned back towards the microphone and grinned in the lopsided way that made paparazzi go crazy. He gestured at the piano.

“May I?”

Mimzy feigned a swoon, fanning her face with her hand.

“And he plays the piano as well! Aren’t I lucky!” she exclaimed, motioning for him to sit down. He took his place at the piano while Mimzy adjusted the microphone, smiling at him all the while. Once it was in position she stepped back slightly, and Vox took his chance.

He began to play, quietly at first in case Mimzy did know the song, then increasing in volume when it became clear she didn’t and had decided to dance instead. That was fine by him, people didn’t need to be watching him to hear his voice. Mimzy had picked up the beat of the song and was dancing near the front of the stage. All the eyes were on her.

Then Vox started to sing.

All of a sudden, nobody was watching Mimzy anymore. If Vox had looked the audience’s way, he would have seen the stunned expressions on their faces, or Rosie’s delighted smile, or the way Alastor softened ever so slightly. But he didn’t, because in that moment they may as well have been nonexistent. In that moment, it was just him, the piano, and the song.

To say Alastor was surprised would be an understatement. This strange, awkward stranger who had inexplicably returned to his club was now singing on his stage, with a voice unlike any he’d ever heard. Much like Vincent’s unique eyes, his voice was captivating, and Alastor found himself unable to look away as Vincent sang, both his voice and his movements smooth and unfaltering.

Once he recovered from his initial shock, he managed to tear his gaze away from Vincent to look to Rosie instead, only to find her similarly enraptured in the performance, smiling almost excitedly. She turned to face him, clapping softly.

“Oh Alastor, isn’t he wonderful! You should ask him to perform here more often!”

Alastor tensed, smile sharpening. Shit. Rosie liked this weirdo, and her word carried weight even if it was, at a glance, something small. Turning back to Vincent’s performance, he had to admit he carried a kind of confidence on stage he’d been lacking when they’d spoken. For someone so ineloquent he certainly had stage presence.

He’d recalled the odd nickname Vincent had mentioned; Vox.

Maybe he did live up to it. After all, it was latin for voice.

Vox finished his song, letting the last notes hang in the air, slightly breathless from the combination of singing and panic. For a moment, there was only silence.

Then the whole room erupted into applause, the crowd cheering and whooping. He even spotted Rosie clapping, and Mimzy whistled appreciatively. Vox let out a surprised laugh, standing from the piano and giving a quick bow, which only made the cheers grow in volume. A few people even stood. He grinned, before almost being toppled by Mimzy suddenly attaching herself to his side, pretending to swoon.

“Oh my, what a treat that was!” she exclaimed, fanning her face with her hand. Vox chuckled, playing up the performance.

“Well thank you, I try.” he said, trying for casual but ending up sounding almost bashful. So he was still working on live performance, sue him.

Mimzy didn’t seem to notice, turning to the crowd and prompting more applause. Vox chanced a glance towards Alastor and was pleasantly surprised to see him looking not angry. If anything, he actually seemed almost impressed.

As the applause began to fade out, Vox bowed once more before stepping down from the stage and retreating back to the far side of the room. Mimzy started up her gramophone to sing another song, but the crowd seemed to go back to talking amongst themselves rather quickly, and thankfully nobody followed him.

Well, nearly nobody.

“That was quite the performance, I’ll give you that.” Alastor admitted, taking a seat at the table. “And I’ve been informed you’re rather famous. My patrons certainly seemed to like you.”

Vox grinned, this time genuinely bashful. Alastor’s compliment seemed sincere, and recognition always meant more coming from a fellow performer. Especially one as talented as Alastor.

“I’m not that famous.” Vox mumbled, but his smile remained. Alastor cocked his head slightly in consideration.

“That’s not what my dear friend Rosie tells me, and it’s best not to disagree with her, I find.” he said, and Vox’s eyes widened slightly at the confirmation of their friendship. The additional detail of Rosie Ephram knowing who he was was both exciting and somewhat terrifying. The idea that someone he grew up listening to had seen his films, and now had certainly heard him sing was a lot to get his head around. So he just nodded in response to Alastor’s words, and kept his mouth shut to avoid saying something else stupid that would get him yelled at.

“You know, she proposed the most fascinating idea,” Alastor continued, looking Vox up and down in a way that made him feel like he was being appraised, “That you sing here a few nights a week. She thinks it would bring in a crowd, and after tonight, I’m afraid I have to agree.” he said, seeming amused, which was such a far cry from his previous attitude towards Vox that he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Where are you going with this?” Vox asked, eyebrows furrowed. Alastor raised his own eyebrows in response.

“Why, isn’t it obvious? We each have something the other wants, so I propose we make a deal. You perform here, and I’ll teach you to dance. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” he said, reaching out a hand. Vox blinked. Was it really that easy? All he had to do was sing a few nights a week and his biggest problem would be solved? It seemed too good to be true. So before he could talk himself out of it, he put his own hand out and grasped Alastor’s in a firm handshake.

“We have a deal.”

Chapter Text

“I have to be perfect.”

“Cariño, you’ve already been cast, you can relax.” Valentino sighed from behind Vox, his hands still running through his hair as he coated each strand with pomade. Vox shook his head, which only resulted in his hair being tugged.

“It’s, it’s not that simple. If Morningstar drops me Zestial will kill me himself, and that’s if I don’t starve to death first, considering I wouldn’t have a job.” he retorted, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Valentino’s hands stilled in his hair.

“Aren’t actors supposed to be rich?”

“Sure,” Vox shrugged, “the established ones, who actually get big jobs on the regular. I’m, I’m not one of those. At least not yet.”

Valentino hummed, resuming his styling. Vox tried to relax, to focus on the feeling of hands in his hair, but Morningstar’s words kept playing on repeat in his head.

“You’ll meet the crew, great group of people, they’ll love you. And the choreographer, he’s great, real fast paced. Young guy, about your age. Rehearsal’s gonna be a blast!”

Just what Vox needed, someone his own age to show him up. His schedule was roughly set out so he’d meet the cast and they’d go over the rehearsal plan, but then it was more or less just him and Charlie left to go over songs and learn lines. Wasn’t that an intimidating thought. He may be a performer, but she grew up surrounded by song and dance. She was practically raised on stage, and had transitioned to film with ease, making a name for herself in silent films first before graduating to talkies, and it certainly didn’t hurt that she sang like an angel. Vox clenched his jaw before forcing himself to relax.

“But I will be.”

Vox stood stiffly in the foyer of the studio building, staring at the scuffed floorboards, Valentino positioned slightly behind him, as they waited for Lucifer to arrive. He was early, he knew that, but he couldn’t risk being late to this meeting, even if Morningstar had implied it was going to be pretty informal.

The sound of a car pulling up outside drew his attention away from the floor, but it wasn’t Morningstar who burst through the doors.

“What’s new, tossers!” Velvette shouted, grinning brightly. Valentino lit up and moved to embrace her.

“Velvie! I didn’t know you were joining us, muñeca!” he kissed her hand dramatically as she laughed. They had worked with Velvette before on one of his previous films, and she and Valentino had clicked right from the start. Which was helpful as they had to work very closely at times.

“Mr Morningstar liked my work, says I make that one look good,” she gestured at Vox, who rolled his eyes even as he smiled. “So I’ll be dressing him again, and everyone else!” she said excitedly, her curly hair bouncing in time with her words. “I can’t wait to get one of my designs on the darling of Hollywood herself, little miss Morningstar is going to be the most perfect model!” she continued, Valentino nodding along.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Vox interrupted, causing Velvette to raise an eyebrow.

“You’re plenty pretty, V, but there’s only so much I can do with a suit. Unless you’re volunteering to wear a frock next time?” she hummed suggestively, and Vox blushed.

“No.” he conceded. Velvette cackled, her  laugher echoing off the walls. Vox realised quickly that responding to her taunts would only end with him looking foolish, so instead he fell quiet, and Valentino and Velvette continued their catching up without him. Soon enough the screech of gravel alerted them to the arrival of another car, and multiple voices could be heard outside.

This time it was Morningstar who opened the door, holding it open for his daughter with a flourish. The other young woman with the long brunette ponytail, who seemed to always be with Charlie, entered close behind them. She let the door begin to close, only for more people to enter.

In front was a tall man with long black hair and large round glasses, followed by a much shorter man, also wearing glasses, with spiky hair and a deep scowl. Following them was a young woman with fluffy strawberry blonde hair tied in a ponytail, who was walking arm in arm with a very tall blonde young man who, despite being even lankier than Vox, moved very gracefully, as though each movement was purposeful. Once they were all gathered around the foyer Lucifer cleared his throat dramatically.

“Welcome all, so good to see everyone here today! This soundstage will be our main base of operations for the next few months, and this is our main crew! You all know Charlie and Vincent, or Vox” he gestured to them in turn as he spoke, “by reputation if not personally. Charlie, I believe you’ve met everyone. Vox, this is Pendleton, he’ll be building the sets and props,” Lucifer pointed to the tall dark haired man, “Baxter,” A gesture to the short man who still seemed somewhat grumpy, “who is our lead cameraman and lighting technician. Then there’s Cherri, who will be handling our special effects department,” The strawberry blonde gave a friendly wave. “and finally Anthony, who is our head choreographer and dance coordinator!” Lucifer finished, and the tall young man grinned.

Vox smiled politely at each of them, but felt more overwhelmed with each person who was introduced. His last film hadn’t even needed a special effects department, so that spoke volumes about how out of his depth he felt. Thankfully each department had already begun to split off into their own areas, and the scowl on Baxter’s face was quickly explained as he and Pendleton began bickering, something about how lighting rigs were so much more complicated than fake buildings and objects that don’t work. Clearly they’d worked together before. Anthony said something to Cherri about ‘scoping out the space’ before they also broke off from the group, followed closely by Lucifer who claimed he also wanted to get a better look at the inside of the soundstage.

Admittedly, Vox was also curious, but he figured he’d have plenty of opportunity to check it out when there weren’t five people inside who might want to talk to him. Maybe he could explore the backstage area instead, there were usually some nice soundproof rehearsal spaces in a building like this. Lucifer had spared no expense on their venue. However, before he had the chance to sneak off, Charlie was in front of him.

“Hey, so, I figured we could get to know each other a bit, since we’re going to be working so closely.” she said, smiling brightly. Vox faltered, and she must have noticed his hesitation, because she rushed to elaborate.

“Because, you know, our characters are in love in the film, and even though it’s all pretend, it might be less awkward if we’re at least friendly, you know? Dad said it would help with the chemistry on screen if we’re comfortable with each other.” she explained, and she certainly seemed genuine. It might not be so bad to talk to her for a little while. That, and she had the power to have him kicked from the project if he pissed her off, which he might do if he refused. So he nodded, and she bounced excitedly, taking one of his hands in hers.

“Come with me, I found a great space when I was here the other day!” she said, and he suddenly found himself being pulled along as Charlie led him into one of the very rooms he’d hoped he’d find here, a small rehearsal space that seemed to be soundproofed. Her one woman entourage followed leisurely behind them, seeming almost amused.

Charlie dragged Vox down to sit on the floor, and while he didn’t consider himself old at 25, he wasn’t exactly prepared to end up on the ground, so his landing was anything but graceful. Charlie didn’t mention it, thankfully, instead settling herself on the floor so she was facing him, still smiling excitedly. At least she’d let go of his hands.

Charlie shuffled closer and took one of his hands, and he resisted the urge to pull away. He needed her to like him. Charlie gestured for the other woman to join them with her free hand, and once they were all settled on the ground she turned her attention towards Vox.

“So, Vincent, or do you prefer Vox? It means ‘voice,’ right? Is that because you’re a singer? I wish I had a nickname like that-“

“Maybe slow down a little,” the other young woman cut off Charlie’s rambling, and the blonde blushed. Vox took his chance.

“I don’t really mind what you call me. Vox is fine.” he said, giving what he hoped was an encouraging smile. He didn’t want her to think she was making him uncomfortable, or she might not want to work with him. That seemed to be the right move, because she nodded enthusiastically.

“Wonderful! Well, I’m Charlie, but you knew that, and I don’t know if you’ve met, but this is Valeria, she’s my security.” Charlie said, glancing at the other woman, who gave a small nod. She seemed much calmer than Charlie, if a little less friendly. Thank goodness one of them would be reasonable.

Speaking of which, Charlie was still holding his hand and seemed determined to have a bonding experience, so Vox grit his teeth and reminded himself that it was for the sake of his work. Even if he’d never had trouble acting romance in the past, on or off screen.

“So, I’ve been wondering, and you don’t have to tell me if it’s uncomfortable or anything,” Charlie spoke quickly, the words almost tripping over themselves, “but your eyes, I’ve never seen anyone with eyes like you, have they always been like that? It’s such a shame you can’t see them on screen!” she said, and Vox wondered lamely if there was supposed to be a question in there somewhere.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, and it occurred to him that he wasn’t coming across as very eloquent, but he didn’t have much to work with. “I guess it is. And yes, they’ve always been like this.”

It was strange to talk about himself in a way that was so mundane, not about his achievements or his career, but about something as small as his eyes, which he’d always considered strange and wished he could hide, and she thought it was a shame they weren’t seen more. That wasn’t a sentiment he’d experienced before, most people tended to think his eyes were unsettling, or at least odd. Having one bright blue eye and one brown did tend to draw attention, most of it decidedly not positive.

“Charlie, I can call you Charlie, right?” he asked, mirroring her slightly nosy but considerate conversation style. When she nodded happily, he grinned. “What’s it like growing up with a famous director as a father? You were born in California, weren’t you?” he asked, leaning forward slightly in a mix of genuine curiosity and exaggerated interest. Charlie lit up.

“Yeah, I was! It was so lovely, and the way Mom and Dad met was so romantic! He was directing his first film, and she was the star, and they fell in love during filming, it was meant to be!” she sighed dreamily. Vox maintained his grin, and hoped desperately that Charlie would not be hoping to recreate her parents’ experience.

“Mom was in all of Dad’s early films, he’d cast her just so they had the excuse to see each other.” she said, still daydreaming contentedly. Valeria watched her quietly, smiling softly.

“Isn’t that biased?” Vox blurted out suddenly, and both women turned to look at him, Charlie’s eyebrows furrowing. Instantly he wished he hadn’t spoken. Not only had he interrupted, but he’d basically called Charlie’s father- the director of his current job- unfair and unprofessional. He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help himself. He braced himself for anger, but Charlie didn’t even let go of his hand.

“Maybe a little.” she admitted, shrugging sheepishly. “But it’s still romantic. And it’s not like Mom wasn’t talented, she was cast in lots of things that weren’t his.” she explained, and Vox supposed she had a point. He decided not to mention her father also choosing to cast her in his current projects. That might not be as well received.

Charlie quickly went back to reminiscing about her sunny childhood on the west coast, and Vox managed to relax slightly now that the attention had shifted away from him. As long as Charlie was talking about herself, he was happy to play attentive and nod and hum at the right times, asking the occasional question to keep her going. She didn’t come across as self-absorbed, more like sheltered, and she seemed happy that someone wanted to listen to her talk. Well if that’s what she wanted, that’s what he would do. That was until Valeria nudged Charlie gently, before gesturing to the clock on the wall.

“Oh wow, is that the time!” Charlie exclaimed, releasing Vox’s hand and standing abruptly. “We should be getting back, Dad’ll be wondering where I am.” she chuckled, and Vox got the feeling that she was more sheltered than he’d previously thought. He stood, brushing off his trousers, as Charlie turned to help Valeria off the ground, an action that seemed more a gesture of kindness than out of necessity, considering being a security guard likely meant Valeria was stronger than either of them.

If the smile Valeria gave Charlie was any indication, the gesture was appreciated. It was the softest expression he’d seen from her all day, a stark contrast from the default calm expression she usually had, or the slightly guarded looks she’d given the crew, and even Vox himself, when they’d first been introduced.

“Thank you, mi amor.” she said softly, and Vox blinked. So he didn’t have to worry about Charlie confusing their romantic act with real romance. That was a relief.

It seemed that Charlie and Valeria did not share his relief. They’d both gone completely still, and as Vox was currently also still processing what he’d heard, what resulted was three people standing stock still in a dead silent room staring at each other wide eyed while they all tried to work out what to say.

Valeria got there first, turning on Vox.

“If you ever, and I mean ever, even think of telling anyone what you just heard, you can kiss your career goodbye, and I will personally hunt you down.” Her voice was quiet but the words rang like cathedral bells in the still air. Vox took a couple of steps back, raising his hands in surrender, mismatched eyes wide.

“I, I won’t! Your secret is- is safe with me.” he reassured them, stuttering in his sincerity. “I won’t tell a soul. Does anyone..?” he trailed off, but Charlie seemed to understand.

“My dad knows, but nobody else.” she said softly. Valeria wrapped an arm around her protectively. Vox nodded.

“Okay. Well I, I mean it. I won’t say a word.” he repeated, firmer this time, and they both relaxed slightly, Charlie breaking into a relieved smile.

“Thank you, Vincent.”

As much as Alastor usually enjoyed his time with Rosie, the woman could be insufferable at times, especially when she was right.

Unfortunately, this was one of those times.

“Wasn’t he just wonderful! So polite, and then when he sang, oh it was spellbinding! Don’t you agree, Alastor?” Rosie gushed, gesturing elegantly with the hand not holding her teacup. Alastor hummed noncommittally in response, his own tea slowly going cold in front of him. They’d chosen to meet at her apartment for their social, mostly to avoid the chaotic cleaning that occurred at Altruist’s during the day, but Alastor was beginning to regret that decision, as now he lacked any distractions to break up the conversation.

Rosie had been singing Vox’s praises all morning, and it was becoming irritating, not because he disagreed, but because he didn’t. Vox was good. That was what grated at him, because he’d been wrong in his initial assumptions that the good looking white young man at the bar would be an entitled jackass with nothing to offer in return for what he wanted. He decided to ignore the fact that Vox had offered to pay him for dance lessons, he was not about to be assumed to be struggling by someone sitting in his establishment. At the time his hostility had been warranted.

At least, he thought it had. Husk had said he was being rude, but Husk took any opportunity to snark at him, so he took that opinion with about half a grain of salt. Rosie’s word, however, was worth a little more, not only because he respected her, but because she was a well known and experienced performer herself, and knew the value of the arts. If she thought Vox was good, there wasn’t much to argue.

“So what did the two of you ask about, after the show?” she asked, raising her eyebrows suggestively. Alastor gave her a reproachful look in return.

“Nothing of that sort, I assure you. We simply came to a sort of arrangement. He will sing for me and in return I’m going to teach him to dance. That’s all.” He shrugged dismissively, but Rosie’s interest was clearly piqued.

“Oh, is that so? We’ll be seeing more of him then! How delightful! That will certainly draw more attention to your club, his pictures are just lovely.” she said, the teasing tone planted firmly in her voice. Alastor huffed.

“I only hope he doesn’t bring around the wrong kind of attention. There have been more raids happening every month, and if he’s as well known as you say, it may be too risky.” Alastor said pointedly, crossing his arms. Rosie tutted.

“I don’t know why you haven’t bought yourself some safety, my dear. From the police or that family.” she said, and Alastor scowled.

“I refuse to give a cent to those pigs in uniform.” he drawled, before fixing a more pleasant expression in place. He didn’t feel like explaining the depth of his distrust of the police to Rosie today. “And I see no reason to entrust my establishment to the likes of those who seek to control others. I can take care of my own establishment.”

“I’m sure you can, dear,” Rosie placated, and Alastor decided to ignore the slight condescension in her words. He was, after all, the new kid on the metaphorical block, and Rosie had been in the underground business game a lot longer than he had, running a successful brothel even while she was still involved with the opera. So, for the time, he would defer to her greater experience.

“Your confidence in me is appreciated, but I wonder if I am making a mistake inviting Vox back to our street.” he sighed, his sarcasm fading into a genuine question. Rosie tilted her head delicately, surveying him as if she could see right through him.

“He may be talented, but he’s still new to fame. I don’t think he’ll be a problem.” she said, her expression knowing. Too knowing. He’d never admit it, but the woman scared him sometimes with her ability to read people. Like she was doing to him right then.

“Why Alastor,” Rosie said, grinning, “he really has caught your attention! And don’t deny it, I can tell when you’re holding out on me!”

Alastor huffed. “Fine. I admit he is intriguing. You expressed interest in him as well, when you encouraged me to speak to him. But I merely find him fascinating, that is the extent of it.” he said, keeping his tone light and dismissive. “Just the idea of a performer who can’t dance! It’s ridiculous!”

Rosie didn’t seem convinced, but she dropped the subject with a shrug.

“Alright then. When’s your first lesson?”

“Most likely tomorrow, if he continues his pattern of showing up every night.” Alastor said, taking a sip of his tea, only to grimace at the temperature. Rosie went back to smiling knowingly.