Work Text:
Unlike most of Vox’s devices, this little contraption wasn’t all that fancy.
A computer of sorts, rather like the ones invented shortly after Alastor’s time. A grubby cream plastic encased the pixelated green screen. But no keyboard. In its place was a cream rectangular slab, with two flat hand print shapes hollowed into it.
Carved into the top of the frame was a sentiment that gave the device away as a relic from the early days of VoxTech; “Trust us- with your heart”.
“Rather old fashioned for you dear, don’t you think?”
“I don’t trust any of that shit Val makes. So we’re using something from my era.”
Trust him to be stubborn as always.
The screen flickered to life, a low resolution neon green text scanning across it slowly.
Welcome to the VoxTech Soul Compatibility Tester!
Place your hands on the pad to begin.
Vox looked at the words with a sigh.
Then, under his breath, perhaps only to himself, he mutters:
“Guess we’ll finally know.”
Guess I’ll finally know.
He stood behind his prisoner, untying the cables that held him to the chair.
Alastor crushed a fistful of air in his fingers, getting a feel for his appendages again. A soft crack could be heard from his knuckles.
“Hand. Now.”
A roll of his eyes, then, maintaining sarcastic eye contact with Vox, he placed his hand on the left side of the pad. Vox sat back into his own chair, reciprocating the malicious eye contact before letting his glance fall to the device, face softer now.
He placed his own hand on the right side of the pad, taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes tightly.
The machine whirred, buffering. Then, it stopped, outputting more neon green text.
Error: unable to detect soul
Looking down, Vox realised he had placed the wrong hand on the console.
An awkward laugh and quick but ungraceful gesture followed, swapping to the correct hand , and once again the machine whirred to life.
Soul 1:
Vincent Whitman
Age: 52
Bisexual
Biromantic
Vox scanned the text, looking for anything out of place. But found nothing.
Good. Now he knew; whatever this machine says next is also the truth.
Oh fuck. Whatever this machine says next is the truth.
Soul 2:
Alastor Morceau
Age: 39
Asexual
Aromantic
What?! No.
No.
Conclusion:
Incompatible.
No!
NO. It can’t be! It can’t-
“What does asexual mean?”
Alastor was leaning into the screen, holding his monocle to his eye as he squinted.
Curse that old timey prick. Completely gave up on attempting to know shit from the 40’s onwards.
Course he doesn’t know what it means.
“It means-“
He spoke through his teeth, refusing to look in Alastor’s direction.
“-that you aren’t interested in sex.”
The loathing could be felt across the pentagram.
“And that-“
He said, pointing to the word “Aromantic”,
“Means you aren’t interested in romance either.”
Alastor sat with his back completely upright, on the edge of his chair. His hands seemed to have forgotten they were free, as they lay motionless in his lap.
“Oh.”
A silence fills the air.
“Ohh.”
Alastor’s face falls, his smile mostly flat, only slightly upturned at the corners.
“Ohhhhh.”
Then, his eyes drop into a dead stare, looking in the direction of the wall behind Vox, but likely out of focus.
“Oh. Oh shit. Fuck.”
Vox stared at the ground, his face expressionless and flickering slightly.
His brooding is interrupted by abrupt laughter from the other side of the room.
He looked up, to see Alastor, standing now, pulling at his hair with a crazed look on his face. He paced back and forth, laughter growing louder until his breath grew short. He leant against the desk, palms pressed into the edge, his fingers wrapping underneath. His laugh weakened, his head dropped into his chest, and stayed there for a while, muffling the sound of his laughter.
Only it didn’t sound like laughter any more.
Was Alastor… crying?
Vox approached him from the side, a concerned but curious look on his face.
Alastor drew his head up sharply, revealing the streams of tears running down either side of his face. His smile was wider than ever, but it twitched as though he had to force it more than ever.
A slight chuckle under his breath, before he finally spoke.
“I knew it!”
Well- yelled…
“I fucking knew it!”
He slammed his fist into the desk, causing Vox to jump a little.
“I knew I was broken!”
His still clenched fist shook. Then, the rest of his body followed. Finally, he lost the strength to stand altogether, and slumped to the floor, his knees in front of his chest.
Fetal position.
Just like the child he was. Because falling in love was for adults. Only a child would feel differently.
Only a child, like him.
He knew something had been off. His whole life. But he hadn’t realised it was- that he was-
“You’re sure taking this well.”
“Oh fuck you!”
“I don’t think you can!”
Somehow, Vox’s mocking tone wasn’t as annoying as it usually was. Perhaps it was even funny.
Wiping away his tears, Alastor smiled softly.
“Oh-ha ha! Hilarious!”
“I am hilarious, thank you!”
Vox offered Al a hand up, which he took, surprisingly.
“You alright?”
Alastor brushed off his hand on his jacket, disgusted both by having to touch Vox’s hand, and by the fact that he had even considered that Alastor wouldn’t be alright.
“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know, you kinda totally freaked out for a second there. Thought maybe your old-man -brain fried because it couldn’t handle the modern terminology.”
He giggled a little at the end, at his own joke.
“You’re older than me, idiot.”
Alastor laughed a little too.
“But I’m much more forward-thinking!”
He smiled, a teasing, sing-song tone in the last two words.
“Forward thinking enough to come up with an actual plan to infiltrate Heaven, I suppose?”
“Oh fuck you!”
“I don’t think I can!”