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"Am I a toy to you, my love?
Just a think to play, and
Then throw away?"
Vox screams as his back hits the wall. His screen glitches out, he can hardly see. Red. He sees red. Not in the sense of being angry, no, he wishes. Instead, all he can see is Alastor. Just a few minutes ago they were friends. It isn't his fault. It's all Alastor's fault. Fuck, he's crying. All of the lights in a five mile radius are blown. He's never fought like this before, his powers are weak and sloppy.
As Alastor is so eager to point out.
"Fuck you!" Vox screams. His throat is ragged from his rapid breathing. The world isn't spinning, it's glitching. He can hardly place himself, he feels his arm where his leg should be. He knows that isn't real. None of his senses are working quite right. He's smelling colors and seeing sounds.
He swears he can see the bar they were just at, though it's thoroughly destroyed. But he can see it as pristine as it once was. The counters so clean they reflect Alastor in all of his perfection. He can see Alastor's smile, and he swears it's the real one. He reaches out his hand. Nothing. It's not real.
He's writhing now. He feels his wires spazzing. Open air is hitting them, and it hurts. A hand. Something prodding where nothing should ever be. A harsh yank. "A-zzz-hh F-ZZZ-CK YYYYY-ZZXKK!" His brain isn't working. Nothing's working. His body hasn't been his own since he died, but it's never felt as foreign as it does now. What is he?
He and Alastor are both demons, but they're so unlike each other. At least Alastor is organic. No tangles of wires within him. Not normal, but biological. Not... whatever Vox is. The red stops filling his screen. "Al-zzz-st-zzz-r pl-zzz-se!" He chokes. He doesn't even know what he's asking for. He doesn't want Alastor to keep hurting him. He should want Alastor to leave. But then he'll be alone. Once Alastor leaves this fight, he's gone for good. He can't handle that.
"I never asked for this.
I always did my best.
Without your love, I am
A broken mess."
He's faceplanted into the bar. It's hard to hold his head up when he's this wasted. He just recovered, he shouldn't be drinking so soon, yet here he is. Its Alastor's fault. It's entirely Alastor's fault. Fuck him. He tries to pour himself another drink, but he doesn't have the proper dexterity for it now. This home mini bar was a good investment, he can tell you that much. This is humiliating, but that's the norm now, isn't it?
Alastor publically humiliated him, and for what? For knowing good business? That was his whole life! Alastor was just some flashy radio host, but Vox? Vox worked his way up front being some lowly weatherman to owning a company to having hundreds of people eating out of the palm of his hand. He shouldn't have to care about what Alastor does or says. Yet here he is.
"Now I'm never enough.
And it's almost too much.
For me to work, I need
A human's touch."
Whatever. Forget Alastor. This is better. Whores are surprisingly cheap in Hell. That's what happens when you've got such a saturated market. If he were running that company, he'd do things differently. He'd make it at least ten times more profitable. He should be in charge of everything. Fucking some random whore does make him feel like himself again. On Earth, he didn't have to pay for it. But on Earth, he didn't have some ugly, boxy head.
He'll fix it eventually. He's just got to figure out how to swap heads without killing himself in the process. Apparently, it'd just be mind-numbingly painful until he regenerated. And he still isn't completely aware of all the ins-and-outs of his body. If he fucks up his tech in a non-fatal way, he's in for a very miserable time.
He does miss being handsome. It's no fair. His new face does have a certain charm to it, so he's been told. Alastor attested to that once when they were both a bit too drunk. Vox is pretty sure Alastor assumed he'd forget. But Hell will freeze over, and pigs will fly, and he'll turn into a good person before he ever forgets that.
"I'm just a toy to you, my love.
Just a thing to play, and
Then throw away."
Vox scowls as he watches Alastor waltz into Cannibal Town like nothing's wrong. A years-long friendship, ruined over one stupid question, and Alastor just... doesn't care? It's only been two months. Vox is still miserable. If Vox wasn't so scared of Cannibal Town, he'd probably follow him now. He can see Alastor chatting it up with Rosie, big grins on their faces like the world is theirs. Maybe it is.
Vox has always hated Rosie. Alaator always refers to her like she's perfect, her word is law, yadda yadda yadda. If Rosie wants to meet with Alastor, well he guesses Vox should just go fuck himself because Rosie makes the decisions and Rosie is the greatest and Rosie-
"Fucking asshole." Vox mutters to himself. If Alastor wants Rosie, he can have her. Maybe Vox'll kill them both someday, two for the price of one, like a good businessman.
God knows they both deserve it.
"We were still going strong.
I never did you wrong.
Until the new me came along."
Believe it or not, removing your own head is a difficult ordeal. But he's sucessful. So he has some brilliant bioengineer (one he's made a fruitful deal with) do the heavy lifting. It's scary. Changing. But it's what he needs. Bigger, better, brighter. Part of him can't help but think it's almost like a bad haircut after a breakup. But he shuts that part of him down, because it wasn't a break up, this isn't a haircut, and this is a good thing that he's doing.
When he regains his conciousness, he's practically overjoyed. "You are getting a five hundred percent raise if I have anything to say about it!" He grins, eagerly shaking the hand of the bioengineer. "Thank you!"
Everything is clearer. Luckily, he's seen color , this whole time, but wow it's so vibrant. He wonders what red will look like.
"It was just you and me.
We were such a good team.
Now I'm alone on the boulevard
Of broken screens."
Fuck, why did he have to ask? Of course Alastor would reject him. Why would he ask a man so terrified of change such a drastic proposition? He should've eased him into it. Started with a simple feature, then leveled up slowly. But he's better now. He isn't mourning Alastor, he's better than Alastor ever could be. It's been so many years since they've been friends. But at least when they're enemies, he has his attention.
A year.
Alastor has been gone for a whole year. Why? Where is he? The last place he went was Rosie's. Then Vox got distracted by work, went to bed, and poof. He was gone. For good, apparently. People don't just disappear for a whole year. Where is he? Where the fuck is he?!
Breathe. Vox needs to breathe. He shouldn't care. All he's ever wanted is for Alastor to be gone. He should be celebrating. Fuck, he will celebrate.
"Val! Baby! How would you feel about going out tonight?" He's made the call before he even actively chose to do so. He could use a nice night of drugs, sex, and copious amounts of alcohol. That stupid virgin deer could never give him such a good time.
Valentino chuckles, that stupid lilt he always has in his voice still ever-present. "You know I'll always make time for you. How much fun are we talking?"
"I wanna quit thinking." Its a knee-jerk response. It's also the truth.
"Voxxy! I just fucked someone, don't talk so sexy when I can't get it up," he faux-pouts.
Vox scoffs, but he can't hide the affection. "I'm sorry." He grins. "Come get me at 10. Don't bother me until, yeah?"
"Sure thing, sweetheart." Valentino purrs. If Vox wants to work himself to his bones, it isn't his business.
Vox's wellbeing isn't anyone's concern, right?
"Just a thing to play, and
Then throw away"
Alastor's back. He's worse than ever. At least he talked to him, though. It's exactly what Vox wanted. Still not enough. Vox wanted to win. At least when Alastor was gone, he wasn't losing. Whatever. He'll kill the fucker someday. Does Vox mean nothing to him? He hardly even flinched at any insult, he was as collected as always! Where was he?? Why did he leave??
And why in the fuck did it take him so long to talk to Vox. He had a whole week to establish himself as some fucking hotelier, but not to let Hell know he's back? (Read: Let Vox know he's back.)
"I need a human's touch, but
You don't need me.
I need a human's touch, but
I'm obsolete."
"Fuck Hell! Fuck Heaven! And fuck all of you! As long as I wipe that smile off Alastor's fucking face, I don't care what happens!"
He was right there. He was so close to finally killing him. So close.
Well, that didn't work out, did it?
Now he needs help doing simple things like eating. He doesn't need food. But the Vees don't know that. And the moments where Valentino holds his head in his arms and reluctantly feeds him good food? Those are the best moments of his day. He's bored all the time. All because of Alastor.
Its Alastor's fault. A misinformed rejection seven decades ago turned him into this. If Alastor had just said yes... No! He doesn't miss Alastor, he doesn't regret shit, he'll fix it! He'll get his body back, he'll march over to the hotel and he'll kill the fucker with his bare hands.
Hands. He misses his hands. Misses his dick. And Valentino's dick. Soon enough, he'll probably have to choke on it. Have to, get to, it's all the same at the end of the day. He isn't connected to anything. Can't snoop around or people-watch all day. He's just under Valentino or Velvette's watch all day it's miserable. He can move, but it's a hassle, and absolutely exhausting.
"I need a human's touch."
Everything fucking hurts.
"I need a human's touch."
It's Alastor's fault.
"I need a human's touch."
Fuck Alastor.
"I need a human's touch."
Alastor, come back. Please.