Chapter Text
Vox startled out of sleep mode as his screen vibrated. His arms shot up, tangling in his sheets before his eyes blazed open and he greeted the air with a very dramatic, very static-filled “HUAA—!” The deep blue of night filtered in through his blinds and he blinked rapidly, shuttering his HUD in hopes of clearing away whatever error had— oh, he was getting a call.
With a wordless, sleepy mumble, the illustrious CEO flicked his wrist and transferred the call to his phone on the nightstand, hitting the “Accept” icon with a movement one flick short of a stab.
“It’s 4:07 in the morning, do you know where your television is?”
The static laced sing-song rattled through his frazzled screen like a pickleball and Vox gave an elegant response. “You stupid dumb fuck, what is your issue?”
"You're aware 'stupid' and 'dumb' mean the same thing, yes?"
"You're really gonna lecture me right now?"
“Now Vox, I only called to say I solved the thing!”
Vox’s optics gave a slow blink, sleep-muzzed mind percolating. “Uh-huh.”
“Vox,” Alastor’s frown was visible even over the airwaves. “I said I solved it, pal.”
“Yuh-huh,” Vox repeated through a yawn. “And what does—” his lazy optics blew to nearly take up his whole screen. “Shit, you mean the thing, the thing?”
“Poetic as always, chum,” snickered the deer. “Yes, that thing. Now that whatever passes for your brain has caught up, meet me at the scrapyard in fifteen minutes! Come in those colorful PJs if you have to. And call dear Charlie too, won’t you?”
“Wait,” Vox croaked, “why don’t you—” a resounding click signaled the call had ended. Dragging a claw down his screen, he allowed a digitized sigh to bluster through his display before he set about calling.
~~
While it could be said that Princess Charlotte Magne had an upbeat Ready-For-Anything™ attitude, such a descriptor had no business intruding on her beauty sleep. Because as soon as her phone buzzed on her nightstand, Charlie pantomimed a sloth on tranquilizers, opening one eye in a slow, confused blink at the sudden interference. With an un-Princessy snort and snuffle, Charlie’s awareness came back much too slowly and by the time the fourth ring had passed, she rolled over and blindly palmed for the noisy thing, missing the “Accept” icon the first few times entirely before successful contact was made.
“Princess?”
Charlie blinked awake far faster at the sound of the Media Overlord’s crackling voice, shooting up in bed. “Huh?”
“Are you awake?” His voice softened.
“Am I?”
A long sigh. “Princess, I just got a call from Al,”
“Al? Why?” She stifled a yawn best she could, pawing distractedly at her fringe.
“He said he solved it,” she could almost hear the jazz hands accompanying such an exasperated remark.
This time, Charlie really was Ready-For-Anything™ as she threw her covers back and jumped out, beginning to pace. “He did? Already? W-that’s great! Right?”
“Yeah yeah, great and all. Couldn’t’ve solved it during the daytime but whatever,”
“Ah, yeah. Well, you know Al.” Charlie’s meek grimace practically speared her words. “So, what did he say?”
“Surprisingly nothing. Just to meet him at the scrapyard in fifteen.”
“The scrapyard?” Charlie abruptly halted. “That’s… okay, is the answer there?”
“Can’t say, Princess. But we’re probably in for a shitty Radio Demon rundown,”
“Oh Vox. Be nice,” the Princess chided without much emphasis.
And Vox heard it. “Never. See you in fifteen.” The call dropped and Charlie grinned in Determination™ as she flicked the lamp on and ran to her closet, already dialing Vaggie with the other hand. Hopefully, this strange week was coming to a close and not a moment too soon! Charlie found her breathing somewhat lightened. She never doubted the two media demons for a second, having proved just how invaluable a team they were when they really put their heads together!
Fifteen minutes passed by like a crawl and a breeze, Charlie was vibrating with nervous energy and Vaggie glared straight ahead like the road had been the one to wake her up rather than her excitable friend. The Cupid’s hair was mussed from sleep and her eye was sunken but she still looked no less fierce. Her hands were fixed at ten and two on the wheel as they drove to the required meet-up, hopefully where their answers lay.
Charlie had made great strides in her community service, but the road was rough at the best of times and downright treacherous at others. Sure, no one would dare pick an open fight with her, but nitpicking rumours and cutthroat slander could do the job just as well, and worse? There was no clear way to track and/or stop it. This latest debacle had just been another junction to worry about and lose more sleep over.
She broke from her morose thoughts as they arrived at the scrapyard on the edge of the kingdom, a large plot illuminated with sparse lighting, set very nearly on the border. It was quiet out here in the boonies. She and Vaggie left the car at the entrance upon noticing the familiar figure just inside. Vox had beaten them, obviously, but it wasn’t clear whether he had been there this whole time or just that moment.
The Media Overlord was pacing, glaring down at his phone in one hand and tapping at his screen with the other. There was no sign of Alastor yet. Could be he was waiting for a dramatic and grand reveal. Charlie gave the weathered place a grimacing once-over. Corpses of old cars and machines stood all along the sides of the property, some vast piles, others lonely gutted sentinels waiting to be repurposed.
Vox’s head jerked upright when the two girls approached, eye displays twitching, his mouth a thin line.
“Where’s Alastor?” Vaggie grumped, folding her arms. Driving out to the middle of nowhere all for a regaling tale was not how she wanted to spend her night.
Charlie tilted her head, taking in how distressed the Overlord looked. Stray flickers of electricity danced up his antenna and his screen was dimmed.
“No clue, been waiting for the past few minutes myself.” He waved the phone like it had the answers. “Been trying to get ahold of his stupid frequency, but he’s not picking up.” Despite his measured tone, there was an underlying quaver in the droid’s voice, like a faulty conversion.
Charlie frowned in thought. “Maybe he was waiting for us?”
Vox conceded with a shrug. “Wouldn’t put it past the geezer, but I can’t reach his signal. If he were here, I’d be able to feel it.” He scuffed his shoes and for the first time, Charlie noticed his attire: under the dark jacket the feared Media Overlord was wearing…
“Are those shark PJ’s?”
Vox flashed her a look but didn’t comment.
Vaggie scanned the silent yard, suspicion settling over her features. “So are we supposed to wait? I mean, he told us to come here,”
It wasn’t like the deer to keep people waiting; Alastor after all prided himself on punctuality. Looking around, there were plenty of dark puddles of shadow the radio host could easily reside in for a bit of good humor, but no tell-tale rippling gave his presence away.
“Could he be further in?” Charlie inclined her head past Vox, deeper into the scrapyard. “Did he give you an exact location, Vox?”
The droid scoffed. “Princess, all due respect, but if he was here I’d be able to feel it. And none of my calls are going through, so either he’s dropped through the fuckin’ ground or he’s blinked out of existence, entirely.”
Charlie winced, but she was at a loss. Vaggie was about to chime in when her face did a funny sort of scrunch and she stepped aside, walking no more than ten paces away under a far light. There were fresh indents on the dirt ground. Venturing closer, the cupid suddenly froze, her eye riveted on the spot. “Hey, guys? I got something.”
Charlie and Vox both turned to see the girl level a gray finger at the ground. “Tire tracks, and I got blood.”
“Blood?” Charlie echoed, mouselike. She and Vox joined Vaggie and sure enough saw a small crimson puddle in the dirt.
“It’s fresh, not even an hour I’d say.” Vaggie’s tone was clipped. “Late night grifters, maybe?” Even she didn’t sound convinced.
“Maybe Al had an early breakfast,” Vox commented, hollowly. His attention was suddenly drawn to something just outside their lit circle.
“He wouldn’t just leave us in the lurch,” Charlie reasoned. “He’s got to be nearby.”
“Yeah, think again,” Vox stepped over and then stooped. When he turned back, both girls froze. In the cyan claws was Alastor’s microphone.