Chapter Text
“Good afternoon, my dear audience! And welcome to this month’s very special joint broadcast!”
The opening words to the broadcast still felt clumsy on Alastor’s lips. In life and death he’d greeted his audience with the exact same phrase, run his show in the exact same way. Sitting poised at his desk and staring into a camera was a foreign experience, and change always made Alastor uneasy.
But then Vox would speak.
“I think you mean our dear audience.”
And as soon as that first response crackled out of his speakers, all of that discomfort would rush out of Alastor and delight would flood in.
“You know very well what I meant, picture show. Whether you’re listening to the radio or watching on television, we’re both ever so happy to have you!”
“It’s always a treat to share an audience with you, Alastor. Good to be back in your studio.”
“It’s always a pleasure to have you here.”
And after that, the broadcast would continue more naturally than the ones that Alastor had been running since he was young.
“I think I can speak on behalf of all of us in saying that I’m glad to still be here in Pentagram City,” Vox continued, still wearing that perfect television smile of his. “Back when we first met, Alastor was the one who told me all about how things work down here in Hell, and let me tell you—he wasn’t kidding about the exterminations being brutal!”
“It’s always such a spectacle,” Alastor said with a fondness that would’ve seemed out of place to anyone who didn’t know him. “Truly my favorite time of year.”
“Al really is the right guy to spend it with. He’ll set you up with a delicious meal and some good music, then watch the carnage with you all twenty-four hours!”
“I seem to recall you falling asleep for at least nine of those, this time.”
“There was smooth jazz and a crackling fireplace, I don’t know what the hell you expected of me!”
“Those intestines hitting the window sure woke you up though!”
“Oh geez, that was… a surprise.”
Alastor cackled, almost as loudly as he had when it happened.
“I’d give anything for my first extermination to be as eventful as this one. Speaking of which, the death toll has just been confirmed!”
Alastor swiveled in his seat to face the table behind him, which held all of the news headlines they’d cover today. He hunched over the page and read it out.
“This year’s extermination has been the deadliest in decades, with a whopping twenty eight thousand casualties!”
As Alastor ran his finger under the headline, his hand buzzed with the static electricity that clung to every surface Vox touched. It grew stronger as he heard his friend laugh, then stronger still as he grabbed the back of Alastor’s chair and swiveled it around.
“You gotta face the camera, buddy!”
Faced with the strange device that found a home in his studio every month, Alastor sat up straighter and tightened his smile.
“Ah yes, the camera.”
Vox laughed again, and the simple sound of it made Alastor’s tension dissolve.
“You’ve been on TV so many times, I can’t believe you’re still not used to it!”
“I know, I know, my apologies for forgetting I can’t move around freely as usual.”
“With cable management this chaotic, I’m not sure how you ever move about freely.”
“Oh, hush!”
Their banter held no real weight. Of course, they both held their own strong opinions about which medium was better, but it was more of a fun excuse to tease each other than an actual strain on their relationship. Alastor enjoyed being on television with Vox, as foreign and overexposed as it felt. Sharing a broadcast and an audience with his friend made him feel supported in a way that he’d never felt before, and that he would never verbally admit. He didn’t have to. He was sure Vox felt it as well.
Alastor playfully flicked Vox’s antenna, then watched his bewildered reaction from the corner of his eye as he spoke to the camera.
“Now then, let’s get back to the news, shall we?”
“Of course!” As Vox’s antenna bounced, his voice glitched ever so slightly. Alastor just barely contained his laughter. “I hear the aftermath of this extermination has been especially grisly.”
“Oh, how delightful! Let’s dig into the details, my dear listeners!”
“And viewers!”
Alastor flicked Vox’s antenna again, and had his ear flicked in return. He continued speaking as Vox giggled next to him like a schoolboy.
“I’m sure you’ve all been wondering about the plume of smoke that’s been drifting over the Pentagram. Well consider your questions answered! A warehouse in the industrial district has been blown to pieces from the inside out! It seems a nearby turf war was the cause of this fire. Witnesses say one of the participants was wielding a flamethrower close by.”
“A flamethrower?! A bit overdramatic, but I can respect that.”
Alastor nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing.
“And it just so happened that the warehouse held materials for Carmine rifles. It was filled to the brim with gunpowder.”
Vox keeled over the desk with a massive laugh, his fist sparking as he pounded his fist on it.
“I bet Carmilla wishes she listened to me when I told her to insulate her warehouses with asbestos. Those ancient buildings are the opposite of fireproof.”
“Well, my dear, I’m sure that if Miss Carmine doesn’t, there are in fact many people who wish she had followed your advice.” Alastor chuckled, reminiscing on the carnage with a smile that on another man’s face might have been labeled lovesick.
The look on his face made Vox laugh, and the television shook his head fondly. “It takes a special kind of idiot,” he snickered, “to wield a flamethrower near a warehouse that carries gunpowder.”
“Ah, but the fireworks were a sight to behold!”
“You’ve got that right! If it was any other building it would’ve been just another boring fire. How lucky is that?”
“Lucky for us, anyway. They’re probably going to be finding pieces of that fool on the opposite side of the pentagram!”
Alastor played a slide whistle sound effect followed by an explosion. It made Vox laugh, the sort of laugh that had him hunched over the desk shooting sparks from his antennas. The sort of laugh only Alastor could elicit.
“Oh Al, you’re such a riot!”
Two glasses clinked together, the golden liquid in them sloshing almost high enough to spill.
“Some of the highest ratings we’ve had!” Vox cheered, which Alastor responded to with an applause track playing from his microphone. The sound had Vox laugh out loud. “You and your damn sound effects, Al!”
Smirking, Alastor lifted his glass to his lips. “Easiest way to make you laugh.”
It was hardly an understatement, and being called out for it made Vox roar with it. “Seriously, all that time I thought it was a sound bank, and it turns out you’re just doing it by magic!”
While he snickered, Alastor played a laugh track for good measure, earning a shove from his friend. Vox had asked him once if he could borrow Alastor’s collection of sound effects for his shows, only to be disappointed when Alastor told him they were not recordings that could just be lent out like that. It was seeing his friend’s pout (which Vox denied to this day had been anything quite so juvenile) that had convinced Alastor to make a one-time offer of joining Vox’s broadcast.
This had been their thirteenth show together in the year since then. The first seven had been guest appearances, first with Alastor joining Vox in front of the camera, then Vox coming into the studio with Alastor for a radio interview or a fun gossip segment. Their last few broadcasts together had been like this one, simultaneously airing both on television and on the radio. Vox had brought cameras into the station for it, and after a bit of trouble figuring out how to make it work, it swiftly became a success. It was a perfect setup: those who did not own one of Vox’s televisions could listen on the radio like they were used to, and those who had the wealth to afford a home screen could choose to watch instead. Far from either medium overtaking the other, they both enjoyed a spike in their ratings every time they collaborated.
The only thing they disagreed on was the reason behind this success. Vox was adamant that the two of them had a special quality that simply pulled the audience in, which Alastor conceded was true—he’d known as much about himself when he was alive and became the most successful radio host in Louisianan history, and he could tell that Vox possessed that same spark and a similar charm. Still, time and time again he insisted that it was the novelty of these specials, that it was a rare treat for their audiences and they would have to take care not to overindulge them. Let the specials remain special, was his motto.
Vox had never tried to pressure him. They did one special a month and it worked out perfectly for them both.
“Oh, man,” Vox said, caught up in the satisfaction of their success as he gazed ahead with almost literal stars in his eyes. “We should brainstorm our next special, see if we can top this one. Hey, how about we sing together again? That went over well last time, the audience was eating it up!”
With a fond smile, Alastor sipped his own drink. “A duet would be delightful, Vox. But we just finished a broadcast, my dear; perhaps we can discuss the next one another day?”
Vox hummed like he was going to argue, but then grinned and chuckled. “Yeah, alright. Let’s celebrate before we get back to work, huh?”
To thank him for his agreement, Alastor smirked playfully and let the sound of children cheering drift from his microphone—rewarded with whooping laughter from Vox.
They talked for another fifteen minutes, discussing everything and nothing while they each sipped their drinks and enjoyed one another’s company. Nights like these truly were special, and Alastor was grateful that his friend had agreed with his desire to let them remain special. Perhaps Alastor should return the favour, cede a few inches to Vox as Vox had done for him. These joint broadcasts once a month worked out well for them. Who was to say a biweekly program would hurt their ratings? Maybe they could do this a little more often. Maybe that was something for them to talk about.
But they would have to talk about it another time.
“I should be heading home,” Alastor announced as he made to get up from his stool, but halted when Vox gave a staticky whine.
“So soon? We’ve barely gotten started!” His tone was so pleading that Alastor couldn’t help but chuckle.
Reaching out to pat his friend on the head between his antennae, Alastor hummed. “It’s past midnight, dear, and I still have business to see to in the morning. The work never ends, as they say!” Watching as Vox blinked slowly, his smile warmed the same way his chest did. “And you should head home before you cannot drive anymore.”
“I can always drive.”
“I know, dearest. Figure of speech!” It most certainly was not, but he knew that Vox would never take his justified concerns regarding drunk driving seriously. Instead of lingering on the topic, Alastor swept right past it to pacify his friend. “But I have tomorrow night off and nothing urgent the morning after. What say you we continue our afterparty then, hm?”
Mission accomplished: Vox immediately regarded him with a wide grin. “I say we do it. Pick you up at ten?”
“It’s a deal.” Alastor smirked and winked as he always did when he used such terminology around his friend. The only deals between them were these, plans made between friends because they wanted to, free of any obligation.
Quite unlike Alastor’s appointment in the morning. As he said his goodbyes to his friend, with a promise to see each other again the next night, a hollow opened up inside him, heavy even as it made him feel empty.
He would never get used to this.
Even after years of playing this game, Alastor could never feel at ease when She called on him. He had learnt to read Her mood based on Her summons, whether She was displeased about something or merely wanted to check in with Her favourite toy. Today, it seemed, was one of the latter.
Alastor held his head high when he entered Her chamber, displaying confidence while carefully keeping any arrogance out of his posture. If he acted too comfortable during these housecalls, She would not take it kindly. Another thing he’d learnt through experience.
She was pleasant enough when She greeted him, by Her standards. Even with the warmth in Her voice, the sense of danger was always present. Alastor knew better than to challenge Her by not playing along. So he smiled and he greeted Her back, not reverent about it but with the appropriate respect, not cheerful but not too dour, either. It was a delicate dance between them.
“You’re right on time, Alastor,” She said, amiable as ever—when She chose to be. “Be a dear and make us some tea, will you? I’d like to have a chat with you.”
The smallest pull of their contract compelled Alastor and he gave a small bow. “Of course, Ma’am.”
She didn’t need to enforce their contract just to have him make tea, and She knew that as well as he did. Just like he knew well enough that She would still do it, and that She would do it every time, just a little bit, so that he would never forget his place or Her power. It was as simple as that, and he couldn’t begrudge Her that without admitting his own hypocrisy.
And yet for all that this delicate dance was familiar to him, and for all Her pleasantness so far, the cups and saucers and the teapot all rattled in his hands as he set them out on a tray to carry back with him. He paused in the doorway with the tray in hand and sucked in a long breath. In. Out. In.
Out.
“I hope Ceylon is to your liking today, Mistress.” He smiled as he walked back to Her, placing the tea set upon the coffee table. “Sugar, Ma’am?”
“Not today, little fawn.” She watched as he poured for Her and beckoned him to sit after he poured a cup for himself. “I hear you’ve lost a few souls in the recent Extermination, dear.”
The pleasantries were over: time for business. Alastor nodded. “A mere three, Ma’am. Weaklings, each of them. Not the most useful bunch and not much of a loss, I assure you.”
She delayed Her response by taking a sip of Her tea. “Well, that’s quite alright, but I can’t have you seem weak before the rest of Hell. Be sure to replenish your contracts soon, and it would do you well to make a few new deals. No bottom-feeders, you understand?”
Alastor replied with a grin, as smug as he could afford in Her presence. “I would not cheapen my brand just to replace a few lost contracts, Ma’am. I will work swiftly, of course, but please allow me the necessary time to select good candidates before I make my move.”
She gave him a careful smile in response, leaving it unclear whether to interpret it as approval or mockery. “Very well. Confer with me when you have narrowed down a selection.”
“Of course.” Alastor sipped his tea with notably more reluctance than She did. He hardly enjoyed this drink, but She had ordered him to make them both tea. Not tea for Her and coffee for him. No, not even a glass of water. Tea, just because She knew he disliked it.
“Now, then.” She placed Her teacup back on its saucer and folded Her hands atop Her knees as She looked at him. “Tell me how you’ve been doing, my fawn. Are you content in your freedom?”
His freedom. It was not unlike the freedom that a dog experienced when its owner allowed it to go about and sniff the bushes before being yanked back in line by its leash. “Yes, Ma’am. Perfectly so.” It was a struggle, forcing himself to sound genuine even when he damn near shuddered at the bitter taste of his own lies. “You are gracious to give me such a free roam of the Pentagram.”
She kept Her eyes on him, judging in silence, then hummed, keeping Her voice pleasant as ever in spite of it. “Do not try so hard, darling.”
Biting back the sneer that he would have thrown at anyone else who would address him so, Alastor bowed his head and apologised.
“That friend of yours,” She went on to say, Her tone light and non-threatening—and yet Alastor felt the heavy weight of the very real threat immediately pressing down on him. “He’s been doing quite well for himself lately. You must be proud.”
A chill settled inside Alastor at the mention of Vox. He didn’t know why She would bring him up now—She rarely spoke to Alastor about the friends she allowed him to have—but it could not be anything good.
It was only by virtue of his acting skills, honed through a lifetime of deception, that Alastor managed to appear calm as he replied. “Quite, yes. Vox has been making waves in Hell now that his business has taken off. Of course, radio is far more established and far superior, but it’s good to see him thriving.”
He was downplaying Vox’s success to almost comical levels, truth be told, and he knew that there really was no point. She was far too aware of the goings on in Hell to be fooled. Vox was en route to becoming one of the most influential demons in the entire Pride Ring and Alastor knew well that there were ways in which he would soon be overtaken by his friend. Vox had an inimitable business acumen that Alastor did not possess quite like he did; for Alastor, it was more than enough that his show was successful, that his power as an overlord was steadily increasing and that people feared to cross him. For Vox, there was all of that as well as a monetary aspect that Alastor simply did not consider most of the time, something he honestly did not care about. Alastor was all about expanding his power and influence. Vox expanded his wealth on top of it, and he was good at it. Anyone comparing the two of them might well be fooled into thinking that Vox was already the more powerful and successful of the two, but they both knew better.
They were equal.
For all that She was aware that Alastor was not being fully honest, She smiled at him. A smile that carefully masked the malice that sparked in the depths of Her gaze. “Of course, he would never have reached this level of success without you, hm? I’m sure he is very grateful to you for being such a great friend and benefactor all these years.”
Unease squirmed inside Alastor’s gut as he searched Her eyes, but there was nothing inside them but the dark intent that was always there. Even so, he was starting to grasp Her intentions, and the gradual realisation brought a chill all the way into his blood. “He… He is, yes.”
“If you ask me, you ought to be compensated for all you’ve done for him,” She went on, flippantly ignoring how Alastor’s discomfort slipped through his mask for a second. “Is that not how these things work? You invested much of your time in helping him start his business, and now you’re due your share, no? With interest, of course.”
Alastor eyed his coffee so as to not have to look Her in the eye anymore. “Vox repays me every day,” he responded evenly, feeling his insides twist as it became ever more clear where this was headed. “There is nothing that he owes me.”
“How unusually magnanimous of you, precious.” Her voice took on a sweeter, yet heavier tone. Smooth as honey and twice as thick, slowly choking him. “Now that may be true for you, of course, but don’t forget that I have an interest in this as well. As your benefactor, my little fawn, your success is my success. Your power is my power. Your influence is my influence. And your investments are my investments.” The sweet tones were slowly overlain with a growl, the softest rumble, the quietest threat. “And I believe I’m due my compensation.”
Alastor sat, his blood frozen inside his veins, his limbs refusing to budge if he tried, and found it nigh impossible even to draw breath. He wanted to run, run from what he already knew to be inevitable. He wanted to tell Her no, this was unreasonable and he would not stand for it. But when he parted his lips it was like his tongue was not his own, moving to form a placid question outside his control. “What did you have in mind, Mistress?”
And She chuckled as She reached out to pet his hair. “I think you know, my precious fawn.”