[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.
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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...]
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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.