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“You got this Vincent. This bozo doesn’t know who he’s dealing with,” Vincent leaned in close to the bathroom mirror, “You are a shark. And you know what happens to chum when it’s thrown into the water.”
Vincent gave himself a mean grin that melted into a warm one the second he left the bathroom.
“Harvey! How have you been you old so-and-so?”
The aging head of the television station jerked his head towards the sound of Vincent’s voice, interrupting whatever pointless conversation he was having with the sports anchor.
“Ah, Vincent. Been a while since we’ve spoken.”
A frostier welcome than Vincent expected, but nothing he couldn’t turn around. It was true he and Harvey hadn’t had a mano a mano in a while (not after Vincent spanked the man when he tried extending the television station to include other religions; Harvey’s head had been on the shareholder’s chopping block for a while after that for “trying to foist inclusivity onto the American people”).
However Vincent had been too busy lately expanding his contingent of followers, more of a movement really (not a cult- cults were bad optics). He’d lost his firm grasp on the upper management of the television station and tonight was the night he regained it. All he had to do was get past Harvey’s extreme dislike of him.
“How time flies when you’re working hard to make the company money, hmm?” Vincent jokingly nudged Harvey with an elbow and waggled his eyebrows.
Harvey sighed, but didn’t move away from Vincent’s overly familiar posturing. The reminder that Vincent could financially make or break the broadcasting company was a strong one.
“We are all pleased as punch about your contributions,” Harvey said through gritted teeth.
“I have such a dedicated following don’t I?” Vincent mused, “I’m of course, humbly grateful for their support! I heard from one of my colleagues that the company had to hire an intern just to sort through all the mail I receive from my fans! So crazy, never thought I’d get to this point!”
“Yes, I didn’t think you would either. Especially considering the initial time slot of your… sermons.”
Vincent couldn’t help the smug expression that popped up on his face. Harvey had hated Vincent since the day they met, most likely sensing the threat the televangelist posed to his control over the broadcasting station. Even after putting Vincent’s show during time slots designed to kill shows, times when no one watched, Vincent’s message still spread.
Eventually Harvey’s hand was forced to move Vincent to a better time slot, Vincent’s following was too influential.
“When one speaks the truth, people flock to listen,” Vincent bowed his head to hide the shit-eating grin that overtook his face.
“I wouldn’t know about that, we’re supposed to be a secular broadcast station,” Harvey grumbled.
Vincent looked up to see the man’s face turn slightly red in anger.
This, this expression on his “superior’s” face was why Vincent never changed companies. He’d had offers, countless offers, each one coming with a pay raise and the potential to work for people who would suck up to him. He didn’t want that though.
He wanted to own the television station he grew up listening to when it was still a radio station, before televisions existed. He wanted his name to be on every screen of America, broadcast by the biggest broadcasting station in the country. He wanted to destroy the man who had attempted to kick Vincent from the company’s payroll for years.
“America is a Christian country, Harv,” Vincent drolled, “Any kid can look at the dollar bill and tell you that!”
“There’s supposed to be a separation of Church and State!”
“Yeah. I don’t hear anything about a separation of Church and Money in that phrase!”
Whatever pointless retort Harvey had was cut off by a loud call across the ballroom.
“Vinny! Oh Vinny!”
Both men turned to see a young woman decked out in the latest fashion of gown (too new and updated for most of the wives attending the event to keep up with) and practically dripping jewelry.
“Is that-”
Slow Harvey couldn’t finish his sentence before the woman reached the two, ignoring Harvey completely to latch onto Vincent’s arm.
“Vinny, you weren’t there to help me outta my car!”
Vincent gave her a big grin, “Sorry sweet-cheeks, I got too absorbed talking to Harvey, I missed the time.”
She turned her glare onto Harvey, instantly blaming him for Vincent’s blunder, “And what could be ever so dire?”
“Sarah, this is Harvey Wilson, the CEO for NBC. Harvey, this is Sarah Sterling.”
“Not the-”
“Yes, the daughter of NBC’s largest shareholder. I’m shocked you haven’t been introduced to such an influential woman yet!”
Sarah giggled and slapped Vincent’s chest, “Vinny you flatterer! I’m not that important.”
“Trust me darling, you are!” Vincent stopped talking and sent Harvey an expectant look. He wasn’t going to grease the wheels of this conversation anymore. If Harvey wanted to be one of the big dogs, he should be able to hold a conversation with one of their daughters without choking.
“Um, pleasure, yes certainly a pleasure Miss Sterling. I’m sure your father will be including you in our meetings in the future.”
“Probably not,” Sarah dismissed, “I don’t have a head for these things like Vinny does.”
“Oh, hmm,” Harvey floundered, “Vincent had never mentioned working so closely with you or your father.”
“Why would he? Does he need to pass everything he does by you?” Sarah snarked.
The expression on Harvey’s face was better than sex. That man, unlike Vincent, had no way to prepare for Sarah. She was an heiress who had no worries about needing to find a rich husband to support her lifestyle, thus she never felt the need to fawn over powerful men. Flattery bored the woman, Harvey didn’t have anything that could capture her attention.
Vincent had followed her a few months before their official meeting, studying her gestures and figuring out how to capture her interest completely. She ended up being fairly easy to manipulate once he knew the right buttons to push.
“Baby, how about we take a turn on the dance floor?”
“Sounds perfect Vinny! Longer we’re out there, the less I need to talk to these old fogies!” She made no attempt to lower her voice while insulting the men gathered around the ballroom. She didn’t need to, she was Sarah Fucking Sterling.
Vincent loved how cocky she was. But more than that, he loved how enraptured she was with him. No matter how much she dismissed other men, a word from Vincent sent her running. He was the center of her world, as he should be.
Unlike the lowbrow sock hops that were the latest rage, they were at a dignified event located in an event hall that cost more to rent for a night than Vincent’s apartment for a year. They performed a waltz, where they clasped together a pair of their hands, Sarah’s other hand was placed on Vox’s back, and Vox’s hand was placed on her waist.
While they danced, Vincent made a point to scan the ballroom occasionally. He didn’t let his eyes linger too long on anyone in particular- especially not a woman- but he made sure Sarah knew he was taking his eyes off her.
“What are you looking at?” Sarah asked, looking over her shoulder to search for whatever was interesting enough to capture Vincent’s attention.
“We’re at a networking event my dear,” Vincent said while pointedly not looking at her, “I need to make sure I don’t miss any important figures.”
“I thought I was important,” Sarah huffed.
“Oh!” Vincent pretended like he just realized how bad his manners were, “So sorry honey, you are of course correct that you’re the belle of this ball!”
Despite the music not calling for it, Vincent twirled her out in a showy turn before bringing her in close, “But this is for my job sweetie. As much as I’d like to, can’t keep the focus on you all night!”
Sarah puffed her cheeks out, “I don’t understand. My Daddy owns the station, that’s the only contact you need in this sea of nobodies.”
Vincent laughed, he loved her complete disinterest in everyone else working for the company, “I can’t take advantage of you like that! I don’t want your father thinking I’m only with you to catch his eye.”
“Oh Vinny,” Sarah sighed and tucked her head into his neck, “Sometimes I think you really do love me.”
“Er, uh,” Vincent imagined the rev of the new mustang car, letting the love he felt for his car shine through on his face, “Gosh. Now wasn’t the time I wanted to admit to something like that.”
Sarah peered up at him from her position and smiled bashfully, pleased he “sincerely” loved her.
Vincent went the rest of the night with a broad smile on his face.
Fuck yeah, he won. He loved winning!
A girl like Sarah, needed to be teased to stay interested. She was too used to being chased, too used to people wanting something from her. Vincent had expertly maneuvered himself to be someone she had to fight to get attention from, someone she felt she could form a genuine connection to.
Vincent was incredibly proud of the restraint he showed pursuing Sarah, he never even tried fucking her! The most they got was hand-stuff, he kept insisting he was waiting for marriage to take it further. Of course, that was a lie. A man didn’t get good at fingering a woman to orgasm without some practice first; thankfully for Vincent’s libido, he had dozens of women throwing themselves at him from his cult religious order.
A few days later he proposed and Sarah eagerly accepted. She gushed about finally having Vincent to herself instead of having to share him with his movement.
It did not take Sarah long to lose her rose-colored glasses and become the first of Vincent’s multiple ex-wives. Though by that point, after two years of marriage and the death of her father, Vincent had squirreled away enough of her inherited shares for NBC that he didn’t need her anymore.
He owned his childhood dream company. With him in charge, Harvey Wilson was no longer required to run the station.
“You got this Vincent. These overlords don’t know who they’re dealing with,” Vox glanced down at the strange body Hell cursed him with, “You are a shark. Literally. Fuck, I can’t believe this bullshit is real.”
Vox placed a hand on his oversized TV head, the weight of which still sometimes almost sent him tumbling ass over teakettle. Some things apparently took years to get used to in Hell.
He had been very disappointed to die and find out Hell was real. Despite preaching about it for decades on television, he didn’t expect it to actually exist! And if it did, he should have ended up in Heaven for all the work he did converting people to Christianity.
Lucifer Morningstar should be glad he didn’t have a complaint line or it’d be tied up all day by Vincent.
Fuck, not Vincent, Vox. Vox Vox Vox.
As a precaution to protect himself from any former followers who might be a touch disgruntled about ending up in the opposite of their promised afterlife, Vox had shed his old identity entirely.
Out with the old. Keep moving forward, never look back. Like a shark!
He was Vox, the Media Overlord. In control of all televisions and the electricity grid (or most of the grid, he was working on tying up a few loose strings still).
Tonight was his first official gathering with his fellow overlords and he was going to wow them. One in particular was tonight’s ultimate prize.
He left the bathroom with a congenial smile fixed upon his face.
The night was a dumpster fire compared to his many successful schmoozing events on Earth. People in power always looked down on those considered ‘beneath them,’ but the overlords in Hell threw away the civility that most humans still practiced.
Besides Zestial, not a single overlord spared Vox a single shred of politeness. Some were curious about his role (though admittedly they were more curious about his box head), though everyone dismissed him once they learned he was a media demon.
“I’m not gonna waste my time!” An overlord had the audacity to laugh in Vox’s face, “Once you get powerful enough to be competitive, The Radio Demon will cut that square head of yours off!”
Vincent would have tried laughing along with the man and win him over. Vox didn’t have the bandwidth to focus on random overlord #5. Barring his rudeness, the man was right. The only overlord that mattered, the only one Vox needed to win over was The Radio Demon.
“Why don’t you point me in the direction of my inevitable demise? Where is this Radio Demon?”
The still laughing overlord- come on, wasn’t that funny shut up already- lifted a hand to point at where the band was playing.
Vox tilted his head in confusion. Then almost capsized due to his head’s lopsided weight and had to wheel his arms to stand straight again.
He opened his mouth to ask which member of the band he was before quickly snapping his jaws shut. The answer was obvious.
Plucking at a bass and blaring various trumpets and woodwind instruments were small imp-like creatures. Their movements appeared robotic and stiff compared to the piano player’s movements. The demon sitting at the piano practically danced his fingers along the keys. He was tapping his feet along with the music, occasionally taking a drink of some liquor a shadow tendril held up for him.
That man was the only one in the entire room who looked to be enjoying himself.
A lessor man would question why someone of The Radio Demon’s standing was providing entertainment to those who were his peers. But Vox knew why: because he could. The Radio Demon wasn’t in a room of peers, he was playing to entertain himself first.
On sight, Vox knew. That man was above them all. He didn’t need to cavort around the room wooing the other overlords, there was no need.
Vox settled in at a discrete table to observe The Radio Demon from afar. He needed to figure out the best way to approach the man. If only he knew how to play an instrument, he’d be able to offer a duet; his singing voice wasn’t too bad, but he didn’t know any of the fast paced jazz songs the demon was playing.
He watched The Radio Demon for a few songs, occasionally shifting his attention to the room as a whole to avoid being caught staring. Observing the other overlords and seeing what other messes they were, Vox wasn’t sure if anyone in this batch would be living longer than the previous batch The Radio Demon wiped out.
After laughing hard at seeing that same random overlord #5 trip over his stupid feet (though the shadows under his feet appeared off) and fall into the chocolate fountain, Vox looked back towards The Radio Demon. Except the man was gone- in his place another of those imps had taken control of the piano.
“Who are you looking for?” A loud, static-filled voice surprised Vox.
He jolted, spilling his drink onto the table. Seated right next to him with his elbows perched on the table was The Radio Demon.
“Umm, trying to figure out who was playing that zany jazz. Didn’t expect music that fun in a square event like this!”
“Mhm, sure,” The Radio Demon gave him a sly look, “Then you’re in luck chum, that outrageous player was me!” He stuck his hand in Vox’s face, “Alastor! Pleasure to meet you, quite a pleasure!”
Vox eagerly grabbed Alastor’s hand, excited to show off the firm grip he was known for. However before he could get a tight hold, Alastor was swinging their arms up and down so quickly Vox's arm felt like it was made out of noodles. By the time he tried tightening his hold, Alastor had already let go, forcing Vox to do the same.
“And what is this strange contraption you’re wearing?” Alastor bonked Vox’s head with his staff.
“Haha,” Vox forced a smile on his face, “It’s my head actually. Hell bodies, gotta love them don’t ya?”
Alastor chuckled, “Hell does tend to be kinder to some,” He gestured to Zestial, “Than others,” He gestured to a tiny overlord that appeared a mix of a pig and a rat.
“But tell me,” Alastor perched his head on his palms and leaned slightly towards Vox, “What is that box supposed to represent? Did you die in a warehouse?”
“It’s a television- do you not know what a television is?”
“Hm, can’t say I have. I’ve been rather busy lately and newer technology tends to go haywire once it enters my territory.”
Vox blinked. He came here expecting The Radio Demon to at least be aware of the threat television posed to radio, if not Vox himself.
“It’s a wondrous invention! All the rage on Earth! It runs on radio-waves like you use, so it’s very compatible to your whole setup.”
“I can tell you’re running on radio-waves, blasted thing has been giving me a headache since you showed up,” Alastor poked a finger into the center of Vox’s forehead.
Vox felt his brain switch channels for a second, the niggling pain in the back of his head he grew to associate with stress suddenly vanished.
“There that’s much nicer,” Alastor took a delicate sip of his drink.
“Uh- thank you.”
“You still haven’t told me what this head of yours does,” Alastor reminded him.
“Why tell you, when I can show you?” Vox grinned, changing his face to play video.
For fun, he decided to play one of the earliest movies shown in theaters: a speeding train heading straight for the camera. At the time, the speeding train caused a few members of the audience to panic, fearing they were about to get hit.
Alastor remained unflappable, the sharp grin on his face not budging an inch. His eyes however, widened in what Vox hoped was interest.
“Vox, the Media Overlord,” He finally introduced himself.
“Media Overlord!” Alastor boisterously laughed, “Bold claim to make in front of me! Oh-ho and the various newspaper and magazine overlords scattered amongst this room.” He exaggeratedly waggled his fingers in front of Vox’s screen.
“I aim high,” Vox nodded, eyeballing the nearest exit in case his ambition made him too obnoxious for Alastor and the man attacked, “What’s the point of an afterlife without goals?”
“Would you care for some free advice?” Alastor lowered his voice, the static increasing around his words making it harder to understand.
“From you? Certainly!”
“The most important thing to do to succeed in Hell…” Alastor’s voice suddenly grew boomingly loud, “Is never forget to smile! Ahaha!”
Vox’s expression tightened but he maintained his strained smile on his face.
“I see you’re following that already, good job!” Alastor playfully tapped Vox’s shoulder with his staff, “Now, you must be parched! What’s your drink of choice?”
“I’d kill for a bourbon,” Vox’s left eye twitched. Was that a test? Would The Radio Demon have killed him if his smile dropped?
“Good man!” Alastor cheered. The sound of an applauding audience played from his microphone. He stood and twirled his staff under his arm, “I’ll get our drinks, then you can tell me more about those television doohickeys!”
Alastor strutted away, humming a cheerful song under his breath.
Grateful for a few minutes break, Vox scrambled to come up with a game plan. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he expected to have a better read on The Radio Demon by now. Should he try to flatter him? Impress him?
Upon his return, Vox gratefully chugged the bourbon Alastor handed him.
Alastor appeared invested when Vox described the technology behind a television, but Vox quickly ran out of material. He was usually in front of the camera, not behind it.
Vox tried asking Alastor questions about himself; Alastor was not only a great storyteller, but fantastic at saying nothing with a thousand words. Vox didn’t learn anything useful and was surprised to find Alastor grew tired of talking about himself quickly, turning those questions onto Vox instead of answering them.
Vox tried talking about his life, making up grandiose stories to not reveal anything real that could be used against himself. Somehow Alastor seemed to pick up that these were lies as he quickly lost interest, glancing around the room instead of at Vox.
Desperate, Vox asked, “Would you like to take a turn on the dance floor?”
That brightened Alastor up instantly, going from sloped shoulders and drifting attention to perfect posture and alert eyes.
“I would adore a dance! If you think you can keep up.”
“I’m sure I could dance laps around you, old man,” Vox teased, taking the chance the insult would amuse Alastor more than piss him off.
Alastor leaned his head back to cackle, “We’ll see about that!”
In the end, Vox definitely wasn’t able to keep up with Alastor on the dance floor.
He was swung all around the place, feeling overwhelmed and clumsy in comparison to Alastor.
“Having trouble?”
“It’s this damn head,” Vox grumbled, feeling more off-balanced than he ever had in his afterlife.
“Excuses, excuses. If I can get used to tap dancing with deer hooves, you can learn to hold your head upright,” Alastor grabbed Vox’s hands, “You need to loosen up, focus less on your head.”
That only made Vox’s overthinking worse. After one too many times of Vox staring down at their feet and trying to count the steps in his head, a glass was knocked against the side of his head. He looked to see a shadow holding a glass of bourbon towards him.
“You need it,” Alastor drawled when Vox hesitated.
Vox dutifully downed it and found the liquid courage helped him lose himself into the music.
The rest of the night, Vox absentmindedly swallowed whatever drink ended up placed into his hand. It didn’t take long for him to get smashed, randomly singing along to whatever music poured out of Alastor, gleefully describing actual events from his life, letting Alastor teach him outdated, energetic dances that exhausted him.
Somehow, Vox ended up home and passed out in his shit-hole apartment’s doorway.
The next day, he was furious at himself. He had a chance to study The Radio Demon, his biggest threat or potential biggest pawn, but he threw it away to drink his nerves down. An entire evening of networking with fellow overlords wasted on dancing and drinking.
He took his sour mood and pushed it onto his employees, driving them to create faster. He needed the television shows to be flashier to grab a modern audience’s attention. They needed to spread throughout the entirety of the Pride ring, so Alastor can never again say he’d wasn't aware of them.
After about a week of working himself and his employees like dogs, Vox was surprised to find Alastor waiting for him in his studio one day.
“Put on your dancing shoes!” Alastor exclaimed, “We’re about to hit the town!”
“You, you want to spend time with me? Do you want to talk about a deal?”
“Why ever do you think that? Did you not hear me?” Alastor’s static cleared slightly, “To clarify: we’re painting the town red!”
Vox agreed, he’d be a fool not to. He can’t believe he charmed Alastor when he was drunk and unable to analyze the man’s actions.
He found the less he tried to impress Alastor, the more the demon enjoyed his company. For the first time in his life, Vox stopped scheming to please someone else and instead had fun with a friend.
“You got this Vox. Alastor puts up dealing with you,” Vox smiled widely in the mirror, “You are a shark. You always get what you want, and you’ve never wanted anything more than this.”
Today was the day. He’d ask Alastor to be his partner. After he says yes, they’d dance all night long. Vox made sure to wear his best dancing shoes for the occasion.
Of course, Vox didn’t expect the rejection. He didn’t expect to be laughed at by the only close friend he had ever made- as a human or a demon.
How dare he. How dare he reject Vox- Vox, The Media Overlord!
Vox was going to fuck Alastor, the same way Vincent always fucked over anyone who crossed him.
“You got this Vox. Alastor now knows who he’s dealing with,” Vox glared at himself in the mirror, “You are a shark. And you’re going to devour that deer!”
A loud thump on the bathroom door interrupted Vox’s self amp-up talk.
“Are you still in there? What do you even need to talk yourself up for- we captured Alastor yesterday! We won already!” Valentino’s annoyed voice yelled on the other side of the door.
“Just a minute, Val!”
“No, not just a minute. I’ve needed to pee for like 15 minutes!”
“This is not the only bathroom in the tower!”
“Yeah, but this one has those magazines I like in it!”
“You could always scroll on your phone!” Vox snapped.
“But I have a specific article writer I wanna read and her website is a bitch to navigate!” Valentino slammed on the door again, “Get the fuck out here! Why’re you putting this off?”
“I’m not putting anything off!” Vox opened the door, “There’s nothing to put off, I won and that’s great and cool and fantastic!”
Valentino slunk past Vox to go into the bathroom, pushing the TV overlord out of the room and slamming the door shut, “Uh-huh. That’s why you’re spending all day staring into the mirror rather than fucking that twink.”
Now on the other side of the door, Vox replied, “I’m not- UGH. Please just stay off my floor tonight, alright? This is going to be between me and Alastor. Just us, no one else.”
“Fine!” Valentino groaned, “I expect to film it the next time you ream his ass though! And I want pictures from this time! You will be taking pictures right?”
“My room is made out of 80% cameras, of course there are gonna be pictures,” Vox grumbled, stomping off to the elevator.
As he stood in the elevator, the reflective walls gave him one last chance to look himself in the eye.
“You got this Vox. You fucking got this.”
With a dramatic *bing*, the elevator announced he reached his floor. Penthouse level, obviously.
Sitting in the middle of the room, still tied to the same rolling chair, was The Radio Demon.
“Honey, I’m home!” Vox exclaimed, throwing his arms out as he walked out the elevator, “Tonight is the night you’re finally gonna get fucked!”
Alastor looked at him but said nothing, his eyes only glared harder.
“Now don’t take that attitude up with me, you knew this was coming! We all knew this was gonna happen!” Vox walked past Alastor and began messing with his room, “I just need to set the mood, you know? Gotta make the occasion special!”
Vox pulled out a handful of candles and scattered them around the room, using his electricity to light them as he went, “Hoo boy, really gonna ploy into you. Yep, this is happening!”
He pulled out a bucket and starting filling it with ice from his on-suite kitchen, “Just need to get this ready for the champagne. Have you ever tried Dom Perignon? Does that little hotel pay enough for you to even afford a bottle?”
Popping the cork on a champagne bottle, he filled two glasses. He held one out to the tied up Alastor, “Go ahead! Live a little. You only lose your virginity once, right?”
Alastor offered Vox nothing but a tired glance. He didn’t even try to humor reaching for the glass while his arms were still tied up. Vox sighed and dropped the glass in front of Alastor, letting it crash to the ground.
“What else, what else… Oh, music! You probably have a huge list of preferred songs to fuck to, too bad!” Vox rummaged in his closet before pulling out an old gramophone. He stared at the old relic, tracing the engraving on the sides.
“You still have that?” Alastor asked.
“Uh, yeah, sometimes the quality on the newer technology isn’t as, um, reliable as the old stuff,” Vox trailed off.
“I thought you would have destroyed it,” Alastor admitted, “You were so quick to discard everything else I gave you.”
“Dis- what? I didn’t throw away anything you gave me,” Vox jerked his head to look at Alastor.
“You turned all the old record stores into VoxTek stores.”
“That’s innovation.”
“You bought the bar we used to haunt and now it’s a nightclub.”
“That’s capitalism.”
“You killed those souls I helped you contract.”
“They were terrible employees- why, why are you keeping track of all that?”
Alastor hummed, “It’s good to keep tabs on one’s failures.”
“You consider me one of your failures?”
“Yes, a spectacular one in fact,” Alastor sighed.
“Which, which part was the failure. Meeting me? Letting me into your life?” Vox put the gramophone down and moved closer to Alastor, “Rejecting me?”
“Hmm, hard to pin down the greatest source of disappointment!”
“You know, you chased after me. You kept coming back like an alley cat I fed once!” Vox snapped, “If you didn’t want to be my friend, why did you keep seeking me out?”
Alastor tilted his head, “You were entertaining. I didn’t need anymore of a reason.”
“I think you’re lying to yourself.”
“What does it matter if I am? Weren’t you about to rape me?”
“I-” Vox coughed, “It wouldn’t be rape… I just… Ugh why do you need to make everything so difficult all the time?”
He ran his hands through his nonexistent hair.
“So sorry I’m not making sexually assaulting me easy,” Alastor cooed, “Quite evil of me, isn’t it?”
Vox sighed. He turned back to the gramophone, setting it up on a table and choosing to play an old waltz he and Alastor used to dance to.
His cables released Alastor, allowing the demon to move freely for the first time in over 24 hours.
Vox extended a hand towards Alastor, “May I have this dance?”
“What happened to your extreme plans?”
“We could do that instead, or,” Vox gestured to the gramophone, “We could dance together. I do miss doing that with you.”
Alastor stood, his legs slightly wobbly after so long without use. He held Vox’s hand and put himself in the following position, placing his hand on Vox’s back. Vox settled a hand around Alastor’s waist and marveled how easy the tiny thing was to envelope in his hand.
Neither said anything for a while, simply moved with the familiar music.
For once, Vox was the better dancer between the two of them. His grip was strong, his steps certain, his balance issues due to his head resolved decades ago. In comparison, Alastor was exhausted and leaned most of his body weight onto Vox.
Eventually they danced so long the record ended and the gramophone halted, indicating the record needed to be flipped to the other side.
Vox didn’t want to let go of Alastor, so he didn’t, choosing to continue dancing with the deer in his arms.
Alastor looked up at Vox with tired eyes before tucking his head into Vox’s neck, “Sometimes I think you don’t truly hate me.”
“Yeah,” Vox mumbled as they continued to sway, “Me too.”