[Alastor can't be entirely sure what came over him in that moment—one moment, they were fighting... the next, there'd been a wave of pure anger washing over him. The only evidence (aside from Vincent's state) that had remained, in the eerily calm aftermath, had been just a few blood splatters and some upcoming screams for his next broadcast.
Now there's the matter of Vincent's body. It should recover on its own, eventually, but the injuries had been far more severe than usual. Alastor doesn't let himself linger on that particular detail. Instead, he's letting out an exaggerated sigh, almost lazily pressing a towel to the other demon's shoulder. The static of the television demon's voice doesn't concern him, per se, but it does have his body feeling a tad bit tense. Annoyance—he's annoyed that such weaklings managed to cause so much trouble for him. Such inconvenience, really!]
It would seem you've started to draw much more confident attention, these days, Vincent~ It's really too bad for them that I was already in such a foul mood. I could have let them think they stood a chance, if only for a few seconds!
[The lingering anger sneaks into his voice, despite the interesting position the pair have wound up in.
Which is to say, while he was getting Vincent settled, he wound up with the older demon's head in his lap. Moving it would have been far more trouble than it had been worth, at the time. Alastor had intended to move it before he awakened? But simply never got around to it. So... here they are! He's not drawing attention to it, and he's possibly pressing the towel into that shoulder with enough force to be distracting.
One of his claws lightly brushes over the cracked corner of what serves as Vincent's head. In a faux-bored tone:]
You have quite the fascinating anatomy, if I do say so myself.
[Oh, there he is— not too far away at all, which is a relief in and of itself. Not that Vox thinks Alastor would lose a fight against that kind of rabble, hah, ridiculous! —But he gets twitchy when Alastor is supposed to be within his line of sight and isn't, and the mess of smeared colors and blurry spots that make up his vision is a pain in the ass. There's a mostly-Alastor-shaped smudge that's the wrong color, huh, but keeps moving in and out of his immediate sight, so...
So, good. He'd relax a little, but he's still too out of it to really get there. He hasn't even fully comprehended where he's laying, as it were.
Still: there's Alastor, and Vox says something else that comes out as more glitched static. Even odds it's about his name, for much as it buoys him to hear Alastor call him Vincent, he's been trying to do this Vox thing for his image... Well, it's long enough after closing that the bar has been empty for hours, so maybe he can indulge in hearing his old name a bit longer.
He says,] ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓— [And then, completely clearly,] Fuck— [and reaches up to gingerly feel around his own neck before he pinches what feels like a bent cable back into place and coughs, which just sounds like more static.]
—Ow, wow, okay. It's- it's just plastic.
[His anatomy, and he's very out of it, or hearing Alastor say anything about his anatomy would ordinarily make him overheat and gape stupidly. Instead he just blinks up at him, gaze sliding around like he's not exactly sure which spliced image of Alastor he's seeing is the real one... Whatever he's soaking that towel with is weirdly thicker than normal blood, and don't think too hard about that, because his head is full of vacuum tubes that don't need fluid at all, and being a TV is finally worthwhile only because Alastor says it's fascinating-!
Vox squints up at him. Well, he squints up and in Alastor's vague direction. It hasn't escaped his noticed that Alastor is touching him, rest assured that is noted and memorized for all time, but-]
Wait. You were in a foul mood? [Nooo... but they were having a good time...]
[Alastor tilts his head just enough that one ear gently flops to the side, and it would usually be pretty obvious how closely Vox is being watched right about now.
The overly calm dismissal of his anatomy just being plastic, and then the way he isn't reacting to where his "head" is resting. Alastor doesn't feel concerned over it, but it is plenty to encourage a desire to pay even more attention than usual. Because, really, there must be considerable damage, after all. Vincent's last response, especially, warrants that thought.
Hm. He could keep up his act, he could say something mean, or he could tell the truth. After a short moment of consideration, he settles on...]
Well, of course! [It would be more fun, really, to continue at least a slightly meaner path of conversation, but that look already ruined the fun there. How frustrating.] Certain ruffians showed up while we were in the middle of conversation, did they not?
[It isn't as though Vox will ever know he softened the original response, so it's fine. He can know that those guys showing up, at all, immediately soured Alastor's mood, he guesses.]
Now... why don't you tell me what it is you need? I don't imagine a classic first aid kit would do the trick.
[Credit Vox this: he's paying attention to the ear. Motion is easier for his fucked up vision to track, see, except even if that's true, it's because it's Alastor's ear doing something... aaaadorable? Interesting? Something like that, something making a simple ear flop worth storing away to remember forever.
He's doing great. Maybe Alastor should let him touch his ears, that would get him back on track so much faster...
He doesn't do that; he doesn't even reach up. Instead he squints again, this time puzzling through the timeline of the evening to determine whether Alastor's claim lines up properly.
...
Unclear. He'll work on it.]
Tape and glue until it fixes itself, [is what he says for the first aid. He reaches up now to feel around his own corners, and when he tilts his head to one side, his vision goes screwy enough that it even turns the red of his eyes in his screen grayed out and greenish. Yuck.
It's also only just now that he realizes the position they're in, and wow, maybe he doesn't need first aid... urgently... He's okay right here! Yeah!]
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no subject
Now there's the matter of Vincent's body. It should recover on its own, eventually, but the injuries had been far more severe than usual. Alastor doesn't let himself linger on that particular detail. Instead, he's letting out an exaggerated sigh, almost lazily pressing a towel to the other demon's shoulder. The static of the television demon's voice doesn't concern him, per se, but it does have his body feeling a tad bit tense. Annoyance—he's annoyed that such weaklings managed to cause so much trouble for him. Such inconvenience, really!]
It would seem you've started to draw much more confident attention, these days, Vincent~ It's really too bad for them that I was already in such a foul mood. I could have let them think they stood a chance, if only for a few seconds!
[The lingering anger sneaks into his voice, despite the interesting position the pair have wound up in.
Which is to say, while he was getting Vincent settled, he wound up with the older demon's head in his lap. Moving it would have been far more trouble than it had been worth, at the time. Alastor had intended to move it before he awakened? But simply never got around to it. So... here they are! He's not drawing attention to it, and he's possibly pressing the towel into that shoulder with enough force to be distracting.
One of his claws lightly brushes over the cracked corner of what serves as Vincent's head. In a faux-bored tone:]
You have quite the fascinating anatomy, if I do say so myself.
no subject
So, good. He'd relax a little, but he's still too out of it to really get there. He hasn't even fully comprehended where he's laying, as it were.
Still: there's Alastor, and Vox says something else that comes out as more glitched static. Even odds it's about his name, for much as it buoys him to hear Alastor call him Vincent, he's been trying to do this Vox thing for his image... Well, it's long enough after closing that the bar has been empty for hours, so maybe he can indulge in hearing his old name a bit longer.
He says,] ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓— [And then, completely clearly,] Fuck— [and reaches up to gingerly feel around his own neck before he pinches what feels like a bent cable back into place and coughs, which just sounds like more static.]
—Ow, wow, okay. It's- it's just plastic.
[His anatomy, and he's very out of it, or hearing Alastor say anything about his anatomy would ordinarily make him overheat and gape stupidly. Instead he just blinks up at him, gaze sliding around like he's not exactly sure which spliced image of Alastor he's seeing is the real one... Whatever he's soaking that towel with is weirdly thicker than normal blood, and don't think too hard about that, because his head is full of vacuum tubes that don't need fluid at all, and being a TV is finally worthwhile only because Alastor says it's fascinating-!
Vox squints up at him. Well, he squints up and in Alastor's vague direction. It hasn't escaped his noticed that Alastor is touching him, rest assured that is noted and memorized for all time, but-]
Wait. You were in a foul mood? [Nooo... but they were having a good time...]
no subject
The overly calm dismissal of his anatomy just being plastic, and then the way he isn't reacting to where his "head" is resting. Alastor doesn't feel concerned over it, but it is plenty to encourage a desire to pay even more attention than usual. Because, really, there must be considerable damage, after all. Vincent's last response, especially, warrants that thought.
Hm. He could keep up his act, he could say something mean, or he could tell the truth. After a short moment of consideration, he settles on...]
Well, of course! [It would be more fun, really, to continue at least a slightly meaner path of conversation, but that look already ruined the fun there. How frustrating.] Certain ruffians showed up while we were in the middle of conversation, did they not?
[It isn't as though Vox will ever know he softened the original response, so it's fine. He can know that those guys showing up, at all, immediately soured Alastor's mood, he guesses.]
Now... why don't you tell me what it is you need? I don't imagine a classic first aid kit would do the trick.
no subject
He's doing great. Maybe Alastor should let him touch his ears, that would get him back on track so much faster...
He doesn't do that; he doesn't even reach up. Instead he squints again, this time puzzling through the timeline of the evening to determine whether Alastor's claim lines up properly.
...
Unclear. He'll work on it.]
Tape and glue until it fixes itself, [is what he says for the first aid. He reaches up now to feel around his own corners, and when he tilts his head to one side, his vision goes screwy enough that it even turns the red of his eyes in his screen grayed out and greenish. Yuck.
It's also only just now that he realizes the position they're in, and wow, maybe he doesn't need first aid... urgently... He's okay right here! Yeah!]
... And a flathead screwdriver. Al, you're green.
[What's up with that?? Cut it out.]