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The bar swirls around. Vox is flumped against the counter, screen pressed flat to the wood. His senses narrow down to the smell of rancid alcohol.
“Vox?” asks a voice. Vox mumbles something.
“Voxxie?” It asks louder. The nickname sparks a slight recognition, but right now it only annoys him. Could it shut up? Please?
“The fuck– what’s wrong with you?”
Oops. He said that out loud? Maybe his processors are funky. Messed up. He feels messed up. Did somebody drug him? Vox takes another deep breath, another deep inhale of grime and sour dogshit and pushes himself upright with all of his dwindling strength. The bar comes back to life—yellow upbeat light, eager and tail wagging. Despite the effort, his head is far too heavy for his neck and he really wants to go back to his position faced against the counter. So he does. Metal thunks down. The impact radiates its way through his… skull? Does he have a skull? Skull. Skull. Not-skull.
He giggles at that, oh fuck isn’t this hilarious? He’s so hilarious! Uh oh. He curls himself into the counter, arms limp. His breath hiccups from how much he’s laughing, or maybe it’s because of the alcohol. He didn’t drink much, though. Right?
“Vox.” A hand comes from nowhere and touches his shoulder. It’s warm. Vox mumbles again, instinctively chasing the warmth. Go away. Wait. Don’t go.
“You’re drunk.” The voice insightfully adds. Slightly spiteful.
Vox bursts out in laughter entirely. He clutches his stomach, monitor still firmly pressed against the stinky counter. He can’t see much. At all. It’s all black, obviously— but it’s so fucking funny he has to laugh. He can’t be drunk! He’s a TV, for fuck’s sake. TV’s can't drink, so how would they get drunk? He’s just. Just.
The imaginary person who’s still touching his shoulder digs their fingers in and yanks him up. Once again the bar greets him and he returns to life— wow. Vox squints as he adjusts to the brightness. He still can’t see this imaginary person, he’s facing the wall of drinks.
“Pinche cabrón… pinche caja de mierda.—” It mutters. That’s weird. The words are vaguely familiar, but he really can’t tell much. Oh! Oh! It’s that island language. He doesn’t understand island language, he wasn’t born on an island. Obviously.
He must be drunk on giggles because every little thing is possibly the most hilarious thing he’s ever heard. He falls back from his chair, letting gravity take him— and doesn’t touch the floor but instead something warm. Something nice and warm. The stool he’s sitting on shakes with fury.
“Fuck. You need to go home.”
Home. Where is home? The hands pull him up, but Vox shakes his head and mumbles again, not wanting to move. He’s fine here.
It doesn’t seem to take no for an answer, though, and two hands shake him furiously. Vox lolls around, groaning in protest.
“Vox. You alive?” The thing leans closer. How does it know his name?
Vox doesn’t register the words, but he snuggles (can he snuggle with his head?) back into the warmth. It’s really nice. It’s like a soft pillow. Very warm. Comfy.
“Agh—ow, ow, ugh, your clunky rectangle head is fucking painful—wait. Wait, okay. Mierda— can you teleport back?”
Vox is now being jerked upright. Standing. Oh no, he doesn’t think this is a good idea. His feet find their way to the floor but the room spins. It’s spinning very fast. He tries to stabilize himself but only catapults his weight wrong, and falls into the warmth again. Hands keep him upright— oh. Three hands? Who the hell has three hands? Alastor certainly doesn’t.
“Who are youuuu.” Vox asks seriously.
It doesn’t answer, but instead lets out a confused noise. It must be like a guardian angel or something because wow they’re tall. And they have wings too, which glow translucent red in the light.
“How much did you fucking drink?” It spits finally, although the voice is somewhat concerned. And annoyed. Maybe.
“Who areeee you?” Vox asks again. He jabs a finger against it, because he’s adamant on an answer and he doesn’t want to accidentally get kidnapped or something. Which is silly because he’s a powerful overlord but also because he wants to know who this angel is because they’re very attractive.
“Are– did you get fucked up in the head?”
“Oh, trust me, I am very good at fucking and giving head—” Vox gestures at his mouth. “No gag reflex. Y’know, ‘cuz I’m a machine and all. Weird hell physics.”
Because Vox is extremely funny and handsome, the other person laughs. In fact, they’re doubling over in laughter, which is actually not great because it means nobody is holding him upright. Something’s squeaking, too. Are there mice in hell? Hell mice?
“Woah– woah there.” Vox slurs, trying to regain his balance. “Don’t drop me”
“Goddamnit, Vox. It's Val.” The other person jabs, but still holds onto Vox firmly. He melts into the embrace. It’s so warm… the wings are now covering him in a hug.
Vox looks up at the person. Those red eyes widen and Vox can see himself reflected in them. “Hi Val.” He goes onto his tippy toes and brings his hands up to cradle the other’s face. “Nice to meet you. My name is Vox. I’m the medddiiaaaa overloorddd.” He whispers it like it’s a secret.
Val’s face splits into further concern. But, like, smiley concern. Vox isn’t sure if that's a good thing or not. “Fuck. You– huh?”
“Oh.” Vox giggles. “You wannaaa fuck?” He leans in trying to kiss the other, but is stopped by the physical height difference.
“What the fuck, Vox? Can– ugh. Velvette’s been looking for you for so long! We’re fucking worr—” He stops himself and takes a deep breath. “Why the fuck are you in this decrepit shithole? What’s— I thought you couldn’t get drunk—-are you good?”
“Wanna fuck?” Vox asks again. Repeatedly. He’s not quite sure who Velvette is and doesn’t really care. His claws scrabble at the other, trying to get him closer. To kiss him. Or something. Is Val a man or a woman? Or something else? They dress feminine but their voice is masculine. He’s not gay, right—
Val ducks his head and yanks Vox into the air. Spins him around and sets him down until Vox’s head is slumped against… fur??? And his legs are wrapped around the other’s waist.
Piggyback ride? Hmm. Normally Vox would protest for being in this position, but right now it just means he gets to be closer to the warmth. And wow, it has fur! He breathes in the soft scent and thinks he’ll die happy as long as he can stay like this.
“Where we going.” Vox mumbles when they start walking out of the bar. “Let’s go back to myy place.” He swings his legs halfheartedly, too out of it to protest further.
“Yup.” Val huffs and makes long strides outwards. “That’s where I live, too.”
“Really?” Vox looks up skeptically. He doesn’t remember having a roommate. Does Alastor count? Well, he’s only been to his dingy apartment once, but that counts. Right? For some reason thinking about Alastor for too long makes his head hurt and is spiking his blood pressure.
Wait. Vox tilts his head curiously, surveying his surroundings, and then bursts into laughter again. Why’s everyone in the bar sleeping? He wants to sleep too, but this ‘Val’ is stealing him away. Vox squints; there’s red everywhere— well yeah, because it’s hell— but it also smells like copper and that fish sinner over there has a hole through his head. That’s funny. When did that happen?
“Why’s everyone asleep?” Vox questions tiredly, playing with the other’s antennae. His claws slide down the fuzzier one and then the more burnt one.
“I shot ‘em all.” Val grins and flashes a gun.
“Hmm.. You did that for me?” Vox mumbles. “I’m not thaattt important.”
“Fucking hell, Vox, I’m surprised you’re still alive.” Val bites, tone suddenly souring. He steps carefully across a bloodied sleeping sinner. “Why the fuck are you out in a random bar? After what happened?”
Vox glances downwards and reaches a hand to boop Val’s nonexistent nose. “I dunno. What happened?”
“You fucking— ” Val pauses and takes a deep breath. This bar must have a rodent infestation because there’s so much god damn squeaking. “You fucking tried to blow everyone up. All of hell hates you, Vox.”
He doesn’t remember doing any of that. And how could all of hell hate him? Sure, he's screwed over plenty of sinners, but ALL of hell seems like quite an exaggeration.
“Really?” Vox asks slowly.
That shuts Val up, and he mutters something to himself in the island language.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.” Vox adds helpfully.
“Fucking shut up before I rip off your head again.” Val growls, walking out of the bar doors and into the hellish night air.
This is all very confusing. Rip his head off? Is that an idiom? Vox laughs hysterically, squirming against Val’s back. But he does shut up. For at least five seconds.
“Where are we going?” Vox slurs finally, glancing at the fancy car waiting for them.
“We’re going home.” Val says quietly. He dumps Vox into the back seat of the car, and then joins him. The interior is navy black and cyan. Pretty.
Vox tilts his head fully back until it hits the seat. “I like this car.”
“It’s yours.” Val says. “Well. Voxte— Veetek’s.”
“Noooo.. I have a Volkswagen.” Vox frowns, and stares at Val curiously. “Who are you?” He slurs, scooching closer to what appears to be the moth sinner.
“I really hope the engineers know how to fix this shit.” Val grumbles instead of answering his question, typing furiously on his phone. “You owe me so fucking much, you bitch.”
Vox tilts his head. Why is Val being so cryptic? He doesn't remember owing this sinner anything. Whatever. He scooches closer nonetheless. “Vaaallll.” He glances down at the other’s phone, but looks up again, more interested in Val’s lips. “Val. Val. Val.”
“What do you want?!” The other jerks up. Vox is practically on Val’s lap, screen flickering. Thighs on either side of Val’s frame, hands clawing for territory.
“Can I kiss you?” He's slightly taken aback from his own words, but he does mean it.
Val scrunches his face (are there mice in the car too?), eyes widening. They look like little red windows. Vox can see his reflection in them, and is immediately confused by his screen. It’s so fucking rectangular. And flat? The fuck?
“Vox. We’re off.” Val says finally, interrupting Vox’s train of thought. Voice tense and carefully measured. His hands hover hesitantly, ready to shove him off. “Fuck– just. What’s fucking wrong with you?”
“I’m sure whatever’s wrong with me will be better if I kiss you.” Vox giggles and tilts his screen down until they’re forehead to forehead, if that’s even possible. If he still has a forehead. That makes him laugh more, entire body shaking.
“Vox.” Val grinds out.
“Val.” Vox whispers.
“Vox– ” The other's entire frame is engulfed by blue light. His light. Vox’s light.
“Val…” He slurs, sliding a claw across Val's lips. “You’re so beautiful.”
And then his monitor flickers and goes black, and he slumps fully into the soft warmth.
Vox doesn’t remember that night, but Val does. He doesn’t bring it up.