A Match Made in Hell
Vox hears of Alastor’s post-extermination survival, and goes to the hotel to prove it for himself. He also aims to discuss the increased disturbance of radio waves that have been coming from the radio tower. He is not worried over what the meaning of the signals are… He only plans on discussing them professionally. Overlord business, that’s what it is.
(feat. Charlie being an aggressive matchmaker to see her Voxal ship come to life.)
(This is radiostatic/radiosilence crack treated seriously. I’m not sure what I was aiming for with this. Enjoy.)
Vox is standing in front of the entrance of the hotel, contemplating turning back. From the last time he had seen it, it was run down, dilapidated, and hardly able to be called a functional facility. There have been many refurbishments, with it being nearly twice as tall and grand.
He is only here for business.
The Princess of Hell opens the door.
“Hello—” She extends the “o” before cutting herself off. “An overlord!”
He gives her a fake smile. “I need to speak with someone.”
There is a beat of silence.
“Oh? Would this someone happen to be the Radio Star?” Charlie asks curiously, and Vox is made to believe that she had witnessed the whole… escapade from a few months ago.
There was a quick flurry of anger at the thought of Alastor causing the docile Princess of Hell to not even bear an ounce of fear in front of him. But, it vanished when he caught onto the implication of Alastor being alive and well.
“A Star is an awfully generous title, for him…” Vox mutters.
“Well, it is part of his title. Although, it seems as if you have a more… personal relationship with this Alastor. Maybe, your- well… friend?”
Vox scoffs at the accusation.
“Absolutely not, the radio and the television overlord are not friends.”
Vox is bemused, impatient, and unwilling to confront any sentiments the Princess decides to spew.
And, now she is holding a clipboard - when did that get there?
“You sound.. like you two have some kind of history together…”
Charlie is looking through some sort of file on her clipboard, making slight notes.
“Not necessarily. I'm simply here to remind him to get off my turf and to have a quick chat,” Vox answers dismissively, automatically plastering an artificial smile on his face.
“Hm,” the princess hums and notes something more. A spark of irritation makes way through the TV demon’s circuits. “So you’re here to ‘talk,’ nothing else?”
There seems to be an investigative soundtrack droning from the vintage television from inside.
“This is nothing for you to be concerned about, your highness,” Vox replies smoothly, now beginning to associate her with some of the more invasive reporters that he occasionally runs into. “Will you lead me to him so we can get this over with? Business calls.”
Charlie looks up from her damned clipboard (—Vox is able to make out childish drawings of Vox and Alastor). There seems to be an amusement in her eyes.
“Well first, let me ask a few questions. If I deem you as not a threat, I’ll take you straight to him!” Charlie says, now acquiring a more regal accent, then crossing her arms in a failed attempt to appear serious.
Vox does not understand her insistence. Her laughable character results in only a mixture of pity, mild amusement, and impatience. He knows Alastor is only hosting the hotel for his own entertainment—everything he does is for entertainment, even if it’s at the cost of someone else—
“Even if it happens to escalate into a fight, he would be able to handle himself, anyway. Your little hotel will be just fine.” Before it inevitably falls, Vox wishes bitterly.
“Oh, I’m aware he can handle himself. I’m just wondering if you can handle him, sir.” Charlie gestures towards him, and he sees the now reddish light of his screen reflect on her face.
Through grit teeth, he responds: “I can handle myself just fine, thank you, your highness. It's not like we haven't fought before. He just needs to learn to stay in his place, and I'll stay in mine.”
She steps forward, continuing to block his way into the hotel.
“How often have you fought before?”
“Again, that does not require your concern.” The edges of his smile begin to feel tired from strain.
There is another moment of silence, and Charlie’s eyes narrow.
“I believe it is! You two fight each other regularly without confronting your feelings. As Princess of Hell, it’s my job to make sure that hell is running correctly, so I need you to be honest!”
She says it confidently, as if the overlord in front of her were simply some fool. Clipboard hugged against her chest, Charlie leans closer to Vox, making the comment unnecessarily personal.
“Feelings? What in the world are you implying?” He sputters. “Have you never seen overlords deal with each other before?”
Charlie is still leaning close to him when she asks:
“Do you, by chance, fancy the Radio Overlord?”
“Absolutely not.” He answers immediately. “I hate—loathe him. And those feelings are mutual. So, I advise that you tell me where he is or I'll find him myself.”
His television screen becomes a rosy hue, embarrassed and angered by the condescension of her smile. His sensors take notice of a vague fragrance perfume from the limited distance.
Then, she steps back, still watching his face to make an impression of his emotions. Although it was good for his brand, he found himself increasingly (and uncomfortably) aware of how there were more than two million pixels highlighting his every change in emotion. Alastor calls him easy to read.
“You hate him?” Charlie asks, stupidly.
“Is that not what I said?” Then, taking advantage of her disbelief, Vox brusquely enters and pushes past the princess—courtesy be damned. He only planned on meeting Alastor, not satisfying the Princess of Hell.
“Hm… but— what if I told you he has feelings for you?” She giggles boyishly, as if she had not walked Hell’s ground for practically two centuries.
Regardless, Vox continues to walk past her, trying to find a way to the hotel’s radio tower. Alastor does not have any sort of affinity for Vox. He had made that clear nearly a decade ago.
“Then I wouldn’t believe you.”
Charlie steps in front of Vox.
“What if I could prove it?”
Vox buffers for a quick moment before reminding himself of the absurdity of the situation.
“Then— I wouldn’t care!” He stops in place. “I’m not here for anything personal.”
(But if what she said held even the slightest bit of truth, then the TV would want nothing more than to rub it in his face and reject him brutally. But, that’s not what he was here for.)
Charlie, almost in response to his afterthought, continues.
“I think you do care.” She leans close again, like she had at the door. “Your screen looks conflicted anytime I bring him up!”
The bluntness of the statement seemed almost unfitting of her character. Vox always saw her to be a little less aggressive in her pushiness when it came to other people—perhaps his cameras had not picked up on her more ruthless edge, or maybe she simply wanted to humiliate an enemy of Alastor. He has no time to deal with this.
“Fine. I’ll just leave and come back another time, since you keep spewing out fatuities.”
Vox turns to leave. He could just find Alastor another time when he was alone.
“Wait—” Charlie grabs his arm with a surprisingly strong grip. “You can’t go” –she spins him around– “I want this to be sorted out!”
“Just because you want something, doesn’t mean it will happen,” Vox says with a personal bitterness. “How sheltered are you?”
Perhaps if there were an audience, he would compose himself a bit more for his image. But, it seemed that the hotel was just as empty as it was before, despite all the refurbishments.
She ignores the insult, continuing: “What happened? Did Alastor reject your advances? Or was he just oblivious to them?”
Vox’s screen flickers before he replies.
“I don’t need your interrogation. Are you going to let me leave or are you going to lead me to him?”
She ignores his question.
“I bet he was oblivious to your feelings… And here you are. Stubborn and alone.” She looks into his screen for a moment and grabs his arm harder, holding firm with a tight grip. Vox can manage to see a softer sympathy in her eyes. “If you don’t have Alastor, who else do you have?
Vox is made uncomfortable with her sympathetic hand on his arm.
“I have a business to run. There were never "feelings" in the first place. I'm just here to remind him that he should have stayed away.”
Charlie seems to perk up at the response.
“Oh? Is that it? You’re just here to prove something to him? Prove to him that you have power—prove your worth to him? You don’t think that you meet Alastor’s requirements?”
Vox's screen expression sours as he forces his screen back to the typical blue.
“Alastor has no effect on me. He's only inconvenient when he gets in the way of me collecting souls. Stop persisting with these moronic ideas. Are you going to show me where he is or not?”
He attempts to pull away once more, but Charlie seems dissatisfied.
“I’m gonna make you see. I’m not letting this potential relationship go to waste!”
Charlie starts pulling the overlord more firmly by the arm towards the radio tower. Vox sputters disagreements as she guides him, only falling silent when he notices they are standing outside the entrance to the tower.
The princess of hell begins to call out: “Alastor, I’ve brought you a visitor!”
Vox can hear Alastor mumble out a frustrated response. At that, she continues.
“Alastor, Vox is here! Vox! Your special business man is here–”
She is cut off when Alastor steps out of the room, with a slightly annoyed look on his face. He looks at Vox, then back at Charlie. Then at Vox again when he begins to retort:
“We are not friends, I am here for a professional conversation and just want to finish what was started earlier.”
When Charlie releases him, Vox crosses his arms, looking at Alastor expectantly. Alastor’s eyebrows raise with indifference.
“Hm, well, that’s a shame. I was hoping for some entertainment, considering how… boisterous you are.”
Alastor looks over at Charlie, who is practically bouncing up and down. Then, she approaches the Radio demon, giving him a few hushed whispers.
Vox does not know what she says, but Alastor seems to accede to her words.
“Oh, fine…” He focuses his attention back to Vox. “What is it?”
The overlord freezes in place, not actually expecting Alastor to be open to his presence. He hasn’t been able to see him in person for years. He didn’t really think he’d get this far, to be honest. Before he could be caught staring, he stumbles over his words.
“Uh–well—your radio waves are getting in the way of mine. It’s distracting. Keep them somewhere else!”
An flustered spark of electricity comes from one of his antennas. He is still irritated by the conversation earlier, and now he simply spoon-feeding Alastor more ways to humiliate him. Alastor easily catches onto Vox’s obviously unprepared excuse, giving him a mocking expression.
“You do know how a radio tower... works... right? It’s supposed to be for everyone, it was built for the public radio broadcast!”
The condescension of the tone makes Vox more irritated.
“Televisions use radio waves also, of course I would know. Why do you think I'm annoyed in the first place? You're the one causing the interference.” There was no interference, but Alastor didn’t need to know that.
Alastor scoffs.
“I own half of the radio wave spectrum!” He puts his hands on his hips and leans forward. “And your television frequencies are on another set of radio waves! We’re not conflicting to one another, and they’re being broadcast for the public for heaven’s sake!”
Vox internally retracts at how miserably his excuse landed.
Alastor sighs. “I can't believe my time is being wasted on this.”
Trying to get the last word, Vox gives a huff.
“Fine, this "discussion" is over then, since you're so mature.”
There is a beat of silence. Then another. Vox hasn't left yet.
“Of course, someone has to be if you can’t—”
Alastor stops mid sentence as he notices Vox just staring at him intently, as if the television were expecting something else.
In the silence, Vox turns his eyes away. “What?”
Alastor suddenly looks confused, and a little annoyed. “Did you... come here just to see me?”
Vox bristles.
Well, with Alastor's face hidden in the radio, Vox had not been able to see him for years. And, after hearing of his survival, he would end up being a little curious as to what Alastor looked like in person. Despite this, he denies it and turns around immediately.
"No." His screen beams a bright pink as he leaves, and he makes sure to accidentally step on the clipboard that Charlie dropped earlier as he makes his exit.
Alastor just watches him walk away, a bit confused. But, the edges of Alastor’s smile do curl up somewhat at the first meeting with his old friend. His failures were always the most charming.
Charlie still stands next to him, seeming to examine the side of his face as his thoughts play out. Alastor faces her.
“I’m not sure what you were trying to achieve, Charlie,” Alastor says, his smile somehow feeling like a scowl.
He crosses his arms, and Charlie mumbles a small apology.
“I just felt… I needed to help him. To help you.”
Alastor does not respond.
—
Vox leaves the hotel, somewhat annoyed but mostly satisfied. He has no answers, but Alastor isn’t gone. Charlie's drawing crumbles in his hand as it turns into a fist. Alastor isn't gone, just yet.
23 notes
·
View notes