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Everything is as it should be; Seamless, systematic, effortless. Like clockwork.
Vox looms over dozens of screens at his office desk, it’s been a full day of board meetings and discussing contracts with the other Vees and fellow overlords, slowly making deals to expand their reach across Pentagram City. Vox may own all of the media within his empire, but there’s always more to conquer. His power grows each day, gaining control of more and more sinners yet his ambitions refuse to settle. Vox refuses to invite the thought that there is anything out of his reach.
However there is one thing he could never truly grasp, his one true arch-nemesis, the mighty Radio Demon.
Has Vox finally won? He hasn’t shown his face in over 7 years, is the fight over?
No, a stupid thought.
While faint, Vox can still sense the lingering static in the air, unmistakably Alastors. It’s always put him on edge, he wants to believe that idiot is gone for good but in the quietest moments he can feel the static. Waves brushing past his sensors as he lays awake at night, it’s oddly comforting. No matter how hard he tries to ignore it, to shake the feeling, there's a sense of longing in the back of his mind.
What reason did Alastor have to leave? Did he grow bored of their conflicts? Or is this a type of psychological torment made specifically for Vox?
For sure Alastor is out there somewhere but he’s skilled at covering his tracks, the only way he’s seen is if he wants to be found, it’s only a matter of time until he shows his face again.
For now though, Vox is not to let those thoughts surface in his head.
Afterall, he’s the all powerful Media Overlord, he shouldn’t care about someone who’s currently as good as dead.
His attention turns back towards the screens, live surveillance footage displaying every corner of the city. Sipping at his (probably 8th) coffee of the day.
Then he feels it, that lingering static he can only sense in the still moments, more present than it had ever been in over 7 years.
His screen glitches for a micro second trying to fathom what his sensors are picking up.
There’s absolutely no way.
Until he sees it, a glitching red figure standing outside of the princess’s new hotel, freshly tailored suit, that everlasting smile and cane in hand, looking no different to when he last appeared, like it’s yet another normal day.
Vox grips his mug with such force it shatters. Sparks of electric current radiate violently throughout his body, dispersing outward, engulfing the space around him in an electric storm. Teeth grate against one another like a threat. Vox has to stop himself from blowing up his own internal systems.
The absolute sheer audacity this man has to show up out of nowhere, at that shitty hotel no less, without even a grand entrance or a spectacle Vox was fully expecting to be showcased, or broadcast or just SOMETHING.
But no, this radiohead jackass is simply existing, as if all those years meant nothing, as if not a single day had passed, as if Vox hadn’t stabilised his empire without Alastor around to provoke him, to push him further, to be the sole reason why he wants to claim so much power.
With that Vox pushes himself up from his desk and is about to let off some steam when there’s an urgent buzz at the door.
Goddammit why now of all times. It takes every fibre of his being not to electrocute his assistant right there and then when they enter the room. It would be a waste of time trying to find a new one.
‘What the fuck could possibly be so urgent right now?’ Vox snaps at them.
His assistant awkwardly shuffles toward him ‘Uh..sir, it concerns the Radio Demon’.
Before Vox can react, the assistant holds out what seems to be a letter addressed to him. He glances over the handwriting of his name, looking like it was written in one of those old-timey ink pens, grasping the letter he flips it over to find a wax seal imprinted with an outline of an antique radio.
Oh no he didn’t. Sputtering, Vox lets out a small huff, a claw tracing down his screen as it displays a surprised grin.
‘Oh my-holy shit, wait no-don’t tell me…he wrote me a letter?’
The assistant, seeming a little less tense now– knowing that Vox probably won’t end his pitiful life– responds.
‘Yes, he did indeed. Handed it to our staff personally with instructions to deliver it immediately.’
Much to his dismay, Vox is intrigued by equal amounts as he is surprised, but wait, if Alastor were in the tower, then why the hell couldn’t his static be felt? That could be pondered later, as of now, he certainly has bigger fish to fry.
A little breathless, Vox turns to his employee, ‘Wow okay, uh great. Now get out so I can read this.’ Waving a hand dismissively at his assistant who makes haste in getting out of the room.
With a swift claw swipe, the envelope is cracked open. Unfolding the paper, the letter reads;
Dearest Vox,
However sudden this may be, I thought it best to allow you to voice your thoughts and opinions of my recent absence, and catch up after such a long while.
What better to do that over a few drinks? For old time’s sake of course.
Take this as an opportunity to visit the newly opened Hazbin hotel! I’d be delighted to see your impression.
A pleasant evening it shall be, don’t keep me waiting!
Tomorrow night, 9pm sharp.
Sincerely,
Alastor.
There’s only one prominent thought in Vox’s head; Oh, this is gonna be interesting.
-
The hotel’s usual lively energy is vacant this evening. Pleasantly so.
The past week has felt much too chaotic with the many people loitering about the hotel, doing petty tasks and meaningless trust exercises. It did however, prove to be advantageous in coercing Charlie into forcing the group to spend a civil night out, claiming that it could be a new way to improve group morale by spending quality time together.
Charlie, of course, was ecstatic about Alastor's clever idea, sending the group to go out drinking, with the focus of ‘encouraging positive interactions in a casual environment’. Under the watchful eye of Vaggie of course.
Charlie did insist on giving them space though, hence why she's currently lazing across the couch in the foyer, most likely thinking up the next group activity. Not that it matters, she wouldn’t mind Vox stopping by.
Static buzzes with a sense of collective calmness. Alastor welcomes the newfound quiet, he should do this more often.
The serenity is unfortunately cut short with an abrupt knock at the door.
Charlie perks up, peering over the couch ‘Oh my gosh! Is there someone here to visit?’
In a moment's notice she’s rushing to open the door, but is stopped in her tracks by Alastor, appearing out of seemingly nowhere.
‘Yes dear, although I believe it is on my accord.’
‘U-uh -Oh! Alastor!’ Charlie is a bit taken back by the way he melts out of the shadows but steps back nonetheless.
Just as expected when the door swings open, there stands Vox.
Tall stature, pressed suit, arms crossed in a way that screams superiority, with a sharp grin that could charm anyone.
Well, almost.
Alastor locks eyes with him, and they both seem to take a second, not to analyse, but to simply feel the presence of one another after such a long time.
Alastor breaks the silence first. ‘Vox.’
‘Alastor.’ Vox mirrors.
There’s a slight friction between their static, steady but rigid. Like a string pulled taught.
After another brief second Vox inquires ‘Well, are you going to let me in?’
‘Why of course! It would be rude of me not to, seeing as I invited you here afterall.’ Alastor keeps his tone playful and light as if to distract from the heavy tension in the room. He steps out of the doorway and lets Vox take in the spectacle that the hotel is.
Tattered, damaged walls. Misaligned photographs. An overbearingly red aesthetic much like the rest of hell. Contrasting harshly to the jarring green that is the bar on the side of the room. Unique would be a kind word to describe it.
Although Vox doesn't have much time to scan the room as Charlie approaches him with a smile way too eager to be in his presence.
‘Wow! An overlord at the hotel! How may we assist you? Here for a shot at redemption? Oh wait, sorry, where are my manners? I'm Charlie, princess Morningstar.’ She extends a dutiful hand towards the Media Overlord.
Well it can’t hurt to make an acquaintance, ‘I am well aware princess. Vox, founder and CEO of Voxtek Enterprises, a pleasure to be meeting you.’
He flashes his award-winning showmanship smile at her, accompanying a firm handshake.
Before further pleasantries can be exchanged, Alastor cuts in. ‘Don’t get your hopes up Charile, he is merely visiting tonight.’
Charlie looks a little bummed but understanding ‘Ah, I see. Well I hope you enjoy your visit then!’
With that, Alastor leads them up the staircase and down the hall. Vox following weary behind.
‘Do try not to fret my dear, I promise I won’t bite.’ Alastor mentions with a hint of sarcasm.
‘Uh-huh yea sure’ Vox isn’t convinced, but changes the topic anyways ‘I’m not sure why you wanted me to see this place, it’s nothing special really.’
Alastor simply shrugs the comment off, humming a dainty tune as they walk further into the hotel, becoming blatantly run-down. At least there’s some effort put into making the lobby appear inviting, but the rest of the place is just – what would Velvette call it? Right, tacky. Kept alive purely from Charlie's spirit. The place has potential, sure, but Vox can’t possibly fathom why Alastor would stay in such a shitty place. The sadistic little thing probably feeds off of false hope in the idea of redemption.
They round the corner, Alastor opens a nearby door, presumably his room and leads Vox inside, shutting the door behind them. Alastor settles in, signalling to Vox to sit on the nearby couch, while he grabs them some whisky, a safe choice.
However Vox simply stands there and he stares into the room, baffled ‘Is that a fucking swamp?’ He points at it as if it personally offended him, ‘Al I knew you had weird tastes but this is next level.’
Alastor can’t help but huff a laugh ‘It reminds me of home.’ he simply states, drink in hand as he’s seated on his armchair. ‘Is that the first thing you ought to ask me?’
Vox shoots him a look and sits on the opposing couch, swiping his drink from the table. ‘I do certainly have a lot of questions. First off, why the hell did you even invite me here? Better yet, why even disappear in the first place?’
‘I’ve already stated my intentions, I merely wish to catch up.’ Vox eyes him suspiciously, but waits for him to continue.
Alastor's tone shifts to an almost casual one ‘You know, everybody needs a well earned break at some point.’
‘Bullshit. A break that lasts for seven years? You’ve been left behind, and we both know it's been detrimental to your status.’
That hit harder than it should have. Not necessarily because sinners don’t listen to him anymore, he can most certainly get them to fear him again, but because of the truth of the statement. He can’t afford to let Vox know exactly why he’s been missing, or how much of a toll it’s really taken on him.
Alastor tries to prevent it, but his smile grows tight at the edges at the thought. The static between them feels as if it’s being pulled thin. Vox continues to press further.
‘Well what, you invite me here to ask questions then refuse to answer them?’
Alastor sets his drink down. ‘Vox, that is a question I cannot answer.’ He puts some finality in his tone.
Vox knows that pushing will probably get him nowhere, but how the hell can he take that for an answer? He shows up, invites him to ask questions, and sits there looking pretty as he deflects? Muscles tensed, Vox makes a sudden move to stand.
Alastor takes this as an opportunity to fire back.
‘What ever have you been up to? Still parading around with those pathetic teammates of yours?’
Vox clenches his teeth ‘Oh shut up, you don’t know anything about those two.’
‘I know enough to see that you're useless without them.’ The response came fast and sharp, Alastor can’t help the way his smile widens at the pitiful display of pent up anger in front of him.
‘Oh you are-’
‘A menace? Quite truly, but I fail to see how anger will help you here.’
Vox appears disgruntled as he strides forward, jabbing a finger in Alastor's direction. ‘You- you think this is a game?’
Alastor can’t help the laugh that escapes him, sharp and cruel. ‘And you're still as entertaining as ever.’
‘I fucking hate your guts’ Vox grits out, looking down upon Alastor where he sits with guise of a predator.
Alastor tilts his head ‘So much so that you’d come here willingly?’
‘Y-You little shit-’ Vox clenches his fists as small sparks fly across his palms and travel up his arm. ‘I don't need you- or anyone.’
He huffs a dry laugh, slightly easing the tension in his body. ‘I have thousands under my brand and the fame and glory that sinners can only dream of, and I didn’t rely on you for any of it!’
He stares blankly at Alastor, though before he can rant again Alastor rises. They stand chest to chest, Alastor leans to the side of Vox’s screen, lowering his voice.
‘Yet, you still seek my attention.’ He coaxed, smiling wider, voice dripped with malice ‘Still haven’t changed, have you? …Vincent.’
The static ruptures, a string snaps. A violent jolt of electricity shocks through Alastor's body where Vox’s fist meets his stomach. The force strong enough to send him into the wall.
Alastor is caught off guard but the shadows work quickly at softening the landing before shooting out towards Vox, grabbing and slamming the body onto the wall next to him.
Vox groans from the impact but smiles wickedly at the reception he gets from Alastor. He unleashes another surge of electricity directed toward Alastor, but misses as he melts into the shadows and reappears from the wall, tackling from behind.
They roll around on the floor trading blows, claws tearing through flesh, shadows yanking limbs and shockwaves buzzing around them as they thrash around.
They collide into a nearby table. A bottle of whisky falls and shatters on Vox’s head as Alastor is clawing at his throat.
The two are drenched in sticky, amber liquid. They both freeze, staring at one another.
Alastor's pupils turned from radio dials to normal ones, antlers shrinking slightly and becoming more stag-like. Vox stares at him wide eyed, electric flickering dying down. Both heavily breathing, deep gashes across their bodies, suits completely soaked in blood and alcohol.
Vox bursts out laughing, so hard that there’s tears spreading across his eyeline, laying overtop Alastor as he tries to compose himself. ‘Oh my god- you- hair is absolutely drenched- you look so stupid- pfft -BAH-HA!’
Alastor spits out a chunk of Vox’s flesh and can’t help but chuckle, ‘I’ve forgotten how much fun it is to tear you open.’
‘Holy-my god Al, what the fuck have we been doing? Wow I’ve missed this.’
Vox gets off him so Alastor can sit up. He gazes at Vox, a rare, bright, genuine smile across his screen, looking fully carefree. He hadn't seen him like this in decades, his chest unexpectedly warms at the thought.
Too many times their rivalry hid behind voices and screens, it lacked physical fights, a way to let off steam. Instead it’s been all pent up and cast aside for many years, not forgotten, but unknowingly waiting to be released. A quick scuffle, not lacking emotion, but letting it be felt through the gashes they leave behind. Until the outer layer of hatred is shedded, revealing something more tender, a feeling mutually shared that neither quite acknowledges.
Alastor can’t deny it anymore ‘I…agree. It’s been too long, old pal.’
Vox looks at him in disbelief ‘Wait, are you saying you missed me?’
Maybe it's the adrenaline, perhaps because he hasn’t seen Vox for seven years, but something compels Alastor to be honest with his feelings.
‘Vox, I will say this once. You infuriate me in ways that no one else can, you remind me of how stupid people can get, you make me want to tear you limb from limb.’
Alastor is cautious with his words, careful to never reveal too much. Yet something went unsaid when he expressed ‘You are vastly similar to a stubborn pest that can never quite leave my consciousness.’
Vox doesn't need Alastor to say it, the subtle shift in the air and tone is more than enough. A strange rush of relief flows through him, letting out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, the emotions that he refused to voice at last, being requited.
Vox subconsciously reaches out to him, faltering over Alastor's hand.
‘That..means a lot’
Alastor relaxes his posture, allowing Vox to lay a hand on his. Voice barely above a whisper, ‘I know.’
A calm silence falls between them. Vox lets the weight of Alastor’s words sink into him, together with their shared point of physical connection. He can feel heat creeping up his neck as he stares at their hands for a moment too long. His eyes flick up to focus on any other part of Alastor, as he sits on the ground before him, bruised and bloody, far less than he himself is, but Vox wouldn’t have it any other way.
He withdraws his hand carefully, knowing better than to try to prolong the touch.
Alastor lets out a pleased sigh before reaching to finish his drink left on the damaged table. He slides his blood-stained coat off, settling on the couch in a relaxed manner.
Vox shuffles, shedding his coat too, though there’s not much of it left, taking a place next to him, close but not too close. Warm enough that the static feels prominent again, much like it did when Alastor reappeared. Maybe the proximity made it louder.
After another stretch of thought Vox couldn’t help but ask.
‘Al, I can sense your frequency clearly now, but if you were at the tower to deliver the letter, why didn’t I feel it then?’
‘Oh silly picture box’ Alastor began, ‘You are nothing if not dense.’ His eyes follow his hand as he pours another drink, topping up Vox’s handing it over to him.
Vox downs the whole glass to stop himself from saying something stupid. Alastor raises an eyebrow at him.
With a surprised amount of measured calmness Vox responds ‘What do you mean by that?’
Alastor turns to face him, ‘Simply listen for once.’
Vox thought Alastor was just playing up another joke, but he let himself stay silent, focusing on the amplitude of the waves between them.
They felt different, still steady but calmer now as if it were given more space to breathe despite being physically closer to one another. Not long after that moment, it cut off. The line did not go dead, it couldn’t, Vox could barely sense it. But his eyes widened in realisation as he looked at Alastor, smile sharper and more punctuated, then the frequency came back, the same as before.
At that moment it clicked.
The tower, it was all intentional. He didn’t want to be found, not until Vox received the letter, so he altered his frequency. Vox hadn't realised until now that he could even do that. Alastor never needed a spectacle to announce himself, just the static. The slight tuning of the frequency was enough to grab Vox’s attention, to increase its amplitude. But then all of those nights, the static keeping him awake, the reminder that he’s always somewhere, lingering in the shadows.
It begs the question. Vox already knows the answer.
He looks deep into those unassuming red eyes, voice slightly faltering. ‘So you knew I could feel your static when you were missing. Why did you remind me? Every quiet night, haunting me, it drove me insane, you know that?’ He huffs a broken laugh. ‘You never made me forget you were still out there.’
Alastor notices the way his pupils dilate, hands gesturing at the empty air, Vox looking genuinely hurt.
He evades Alastor eye contact, it would be pitiful if it weren't so real.
Vox’s eyes flick back up, voice breaking slightly. ‘Why linger? Just to fuck with me?’
Alastor should have laughed it off, made a cruel joke, made Vox regret feeling sentimental. But he hadn't realised how broken Vox was, how much he truly did miss him. He’s under the presumption that Alastor has been toying with him through the airwaves, while true to an extent, that was not his intention.
Alastor releases a breath, words being more of a challenge to say then they should be.
‘No Vox, I…wasn’t trying to mess with you.’ Alastor can almost hear the confusion from Vox’s blank staring. Alastor turns away, hesitating slightly in his next words.
‘I was trying to let you know I was still out there, that, while the rest of hell thinks I'm gone for good, you’ll at least know I'm still somewhere.’
Vox blinks at him, once, twice. Studies his posture, appearing calm yet a bit tense, ears slightly drooped back, jaw clenched as if it takes effort to keep his smile intact.
It was a confession, an honest confession, from Alastor.
‘You- you let me know you were still there.’ Vox leans forward, gravitating toward Alastor. ‘You did it because you cared about me?’
Alastor shifts around with uncertainty, but meets Vox’s gaze. ‘More than I’ld like to admit.’
There’s a present weight, knees brushed against one another. Alastor stiffens slightly at the touch, but Vox – a lot closer now – lays a gentle hand over his knee.
Vox swallows, voice slow ‘Do you- still care?’
Alastor tentatively grabs the side of his screen and breathes, ‘Always’ before closing the distance.
Vox lets out a soft noise, taken by surprise, but shuts his eyes and repositions his hands, one sliding up to settle at Alastor’s waist and the other cupping the back of his neck as they sink further into the kiss. He can feel a hand sliding up his chest as Alastor leans closer towards him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Vox lets himself be grounded in the moment, a firm but gentle touch, leaning into one another, the way Alastor’s lips feel against his. After so long, being able to hold Alastor in this way, it feels like a dream.
The static intertwines, meshing into each other's frequency. Not harmonised but shared, low and intimate.
Alastor breaks the kiss, Vox chases after the touch when he pulls away.
Alastor draws back his hands prompting Vox to let go of him, but looks him in the eyes, voice tender ‘That…is how much I care, Vox.’