[really, vox still doesn't see the appeal of the whole clown thing. clowns? really? but taking a chance on fizzarolli turned out to have been incredibly lucrative, and now two game shows with a season each and half a dozen commercials later, vox--well, he sees the draw of fizzarolli, if nothing else.
the little guy is the picture-perfect employee. he's had no complaints. no fires to put out. no complaints about him, either, which is a real lucky break, after some of the deals made around here in the past-- so!
if taking a chance on fizz worked out the last time, vox thinks, he can take another one, and let the guy have a little more say in the business side of his own brand. calling the first toy sale fizztek has generated plenty of buzz, and the design contest for the next one is going a little crazy, actually. much better than vox anticipated!
he's sorted out all the creepy fuckdoll ones and even a handful that looked a little suspicious, and he's sent someone to fetch fizz and join him in the conference room. the one with the sharks. could he have mentioned what this was about first, probably, but whatever - he's only an okay kind of boss, after all.
he looks up from the submission he's considering when fizz comes in and gestures for him to pull up a seat.]
There you are! I've got a surprise for you. Come here.
[come, come, sit. have a drink. there are drinks! vox spins the submission paper around and slides it down the table; it's clearly a child's drawing of what looks like a bunch of tiny fizzes all dangling in a chain. it's a barrel of monkeys, But Fizzarolli.]
[ fizzarolli is becoming a household name, and it's all thanks to vox. well, maybe not all—fizz had put in a ton of work himself, obviously, that's how vox had found him in the first place—but the end result is, to be quite frank, fucking spectacular.
or at least, that's how fizz feels about it. two game shows, a ton of commercials with another in the works already, his face on cereal boxes, a toy line, and his own floor in the tower he can do whatever he wants with. he has guards when he meets with fans, and it's like not a single person has even tried to be weird at him, which is one of the things he appreciates the most. people can get real weird about clowns in hell.
he's even employee of the month every month, how does that even work?
in any case, he's happy with the arrangement.
it's come time for new merch, and vox had set up a contest to pick the best design. he'd told fizz he wanted to sweep over them first to take out anything they'd never use, and the imp had accepted it for what it is, an easy cleanup so fizz doesn't have to pore over tons of designs that just aren't feasible to make.
he's in the middle of practicing a new routine when vox pops up on his personal intercom, asking him to come see him. he readily agrees, hopping off the stack of boxes he'd spring-launched himself up onto, and touches up his makeup before heading out. he doesn't have to wear it all the time, of course, and he doesn't when he sleeps, but he just doesn't feel put together without it, so on it goes.
he heads to the conference room that vox asked him to join him in, leaning into it through the doorway and grinning. ]
Hey! You wanted to see me? Is this about those merch contest entries?
[ he's even bouncing on his feet slightly as he steps inside; that's how fucking excited he is to see what the kids he performs for want to see in his image. or, well, he really hopes that's what this is about: he's had a really good run, but he still always worries that he's done something wrong.
and that is what it's about! what a relief. he settles in the seat he's gestured too and picks up his glass, then sets it back down so he can use both hands to cover his mouth. ]
It's so cute...
[ he may or may not be like this for every design, but it is what it is. ]
I mean, it seems pretty clever, in context of my arms. They'd make good hooks to hang on each other, so...
[he even shows up promptly when he's asked to show up somewhere...! really, every employee could learn from fizz. vox sits back and folds his arms, watching fizz bounce over and go through a little emotional journey about this kid's drawing. that's the enthusiasm this toy contest needs, he thinks, that little gesture of genuine delight. maybe they can make a fresh commercial about the toy contest...
either way, fizz continues to demonstrate that he's the employee of the month. vox nods at the chain toy design.]
What would you rate it out of ten? And be honest—
[he gestures for a (lesser) employee to bring over the rest, which are quite literally stacked high on a cart that's supposed to be for snacks. look at these, fizz. this is the surprise: there are at least a few hundred. people really fucking love clowns in hell!]
Because we've got more. Your schedule's cleared for the rest of the day already.
[oh, that's-- c...ute? vox expects more enthusiasm, frankly he expects fizz to literally spring out of his seat and bounce around the room some more, so this much more subdued, near-tears kind of happy response takes him a bit by surprise.
huh!
well, they've got a lot of toys to look at, so let him get the first stack of many.]
All of these. You want the one with the arms, put it in a "yes" pile. R&D can make you one even if it doesn't hit stores.
[anything for his favorite employee, mhm. now here's the next stack, before vox sits back down with his drink. this is fizz's foray into picking the final design, so he's here for, like, actual marketability input. just in case.]
[ it's fine! he's fine! he turns toward the stack again, carefully putting the barrel of fizzarollis page in a space of honor. aka the 'yes' pile.
he does get more animated again as he continues to leaf through them all: he ends up with three stacks: 'no' (things that he's pretty sure aren't as feasible to make even if he loves them) 'maybe' (things he loves but needs to reconsider once he's seen more) and, of course, the 'yes' pile.
he's bouncing slightly in his seat by the time he hits minute ten, sipping from his drink as he does. there's a moment in his search where he holds up a paper in vox's direction, arm extending to get it closer to him: the whole design is a doll, but the accessories for it are kind of strange, though not in a harmful way. anyway there's a huge spoon where the handle is just. shaped like fizz. thankfully not the spoon part. do not put him in your mouth. ]
A few different colors of the spoons would be a good prize for the cereal boxes.
[ so that goes in a fourth 'rad cereal prize' pile. ]
[god, look at him go. vox watches these piles form and almost feels bad that that "yes" pile is going to have to get smaller and smaller until there's a winner. or first through third place, inevitably, because there are just so many submissions.
that said--]
You want to be a spoon.
[kid... vox holds his hands up.]
I'm not saying no. [a beat.] If we don't paint them, we can make the plastic change colors.
I'm not saying being a spoon is my goal in life, Vox. I think it's charming and it would boost cereal sales because kids love prizes in their food. Picking a couple things for the boxes lets more kids be excited their ideas got chosen without the expenditure of making a toy line that's too big!
[this is joking. he's joking. he's almost simulating being a normal person, congratulations.
but he reaches over to pick up the spoon one and look at it more closely, anyway.]
We'll make a bunch of different colors, for collector's value. Maybe throw in some stickers— do you want to be stickers? We can throw in some glow-in-the-dark or whatever the fuck kids are into.
[ it's been a normal night, an easy night, until it isn't. a normal dinner out like they do sometimes, a nice treat for vox as thanks for his understanding, and alastor potentially buttering him up for something. but alastor is derailed from anything he might request by their waiter making eyes at vox, being overly friendly, flirting in the way that alastor does when he's gunning for something.
and maybe he should have simply stepped aside: he doesn't doubt vox's loyalty to him, and the waiter really is taking his life into his own hands by being... well, the way he's being, in the area they're in. even alastor and vox are simply business associates when they're out of the house.
but he doesn't. he smiles at the man all night, acts sweet as anything, and perhaps vox notices him being a little too cute about it, stealing the waiter's attention away by being younger and amenable, but it'll be worth it in the end and he knows just how to smooth any ruffled feathers later.
or maybe vox reads it for what it is: jealousy.
and alastor is patient, of course. he sends vox to bed later that night with a too-gentle stroke of his knuckles over the older man's cheek, then 'goes to bed' himself, at least until he's sure he can get out without being noticed.
and he's not noticed, as far as he's aware, when he leaves and tracks down the waiter. it's easy: he's out back of the restaurant, and smiles when alastor approaches him. they chat a moment, alastor's charm at full strength, and they share a cigarette before alastor tugs him by the suspenders right into a small side building and shuts the door behind them.
and if, say, someone were to come by, or open the door, even as quickly as a few moments later, it's quite the scene: both men still fully clothed, the waiter on his back with alastor straddling him and hunching over him, hands obscured by his body even though the soft choking sounds coming from below him tell exactly what he's doing.
there's a bloody knife on the ground next to them, and a pool of blood underneath the waiter that's slowly spreading, red soaking into alastor's knees.
alastor is talking, his voice a low croon that almost sounds like it'd be for a lover, and one would have to get very close to hear what he's actually saying. ]
[vox expects a certain amount of attention, whenever he's out in the public eye. maybe not this kind of attention, a waiter who presumes far too much and much too brazenly, but--recognition, at the very least. his face is on billboards, after all. he's been on television. people know who he is, and that his pockets are deep.
not that he could possibly, in a hundred years, respond to this brazen little waiter. the disaster that would cause in a heartbeat, to his reputation and everything else. even leaving that aside, he doesn't care to; even for how... unconventional his arrangement with alastor is, there's not a soul alive who could make his eye wander, no matter how brazenly they bat their eyes at him while suggesting wines.
so that's curious at best, and curiouser still is alastor's equally brazen response, and vox eyes him quietly all through dinner whenever he turns on the charm, but he... tries to think nothing of it. he trusts alastor, after all--trusts in alastor's utter lack of interest in that kind of thing, too, beyond the loyalty he holds for vox and their arrangement.
it's hard to tell who's more jealous throughout this meal, even so. vox doesn't make a scene, or bring it up once they've left; for all intents and purposes he's placated by alastor's touch and goes straight to sleep, murmuring about a busy day tomorrow.
and then alastor leaves, in the middle of the night, and vox doesn't follow him so much as make an educated guess, heading back for the restaurant a few calculated minutes after alastor has left. he misses, then, the conversation alastor has with the waiter, the cigarette, coming up just in time to see a familiar figure duck into the next building over.
he stops at the door. he isn't sure he wants to know. that alastor humors him purely for his money is an insecurity he's put to bed already, but in a moment like this, he has to wonder...
he counts to ten before he eases the door open, quietly, slipping inside and stopping short almost immediately. it's the sharp tang of blood in the air that he notices first, taking in the rest of the scene with wide eyes. the scene answers several questions and raises several more, and vox thinks, well, any man in his right mind would turn and go home right now, and go back to bed, and in the morning work on changing the locks if not skipping town entirely.
then he thinks, someone is going to have to clean this up, and, how is alastor going to walk home all bloodied like that? everything else is just debris. obstacles, in the way of his self-appointed duty to keep alastor comfortable and looked after.
so instead vox steps forward and to the side, to stay out of sight, so as not to... interrupt. call him curious, he wants to know what alastor could possibly be talking about.]
[ alastor is never too busy to notice things. never, ever, ever. but he's so incensed, so angry that this piece of garbage tried to take his vox from him that he doesn't clock the door opening, doesn't clock vox stepping inside behind them.
no, he keeps talking, voice low. and when vox gets close enough to hear, it's not so much a lover's croon as syrupy-sweet vitriol. ]
You shouldn't have done that, you know. Put your eyes on him, tried to cozy up to him. And then, to be pulled astray by a single smile? You're not worth his time even if he was so inclined as to look back at you. He would never have gone for it anyway. You should have realized that right away.
[ his grip tightens, the choking desperation for breath getting louder and louder beneath him. ]
You deserve every second of this for trying to take what's mine. Because he is mine, and I'll never let him go. So as you die, think about how you should've kept your mouth shut and your eyes averted. Because I'm going to go home after this, and he's still going to be mine. He's still going to love me.
[ so, well, the most romantic thing a man has ever said. ]
[there must have been a moment, vox thinks, standing behind this scene-- there must have been a moment sometime in the beginning of their arrangement, where he must have... wondered. felt something off about alastor, something just a smidge unbalanced - but then, was that part of the draw? was that part of everything about alastor that has captivated him for so long, since they very first met?
something to think about. vox knows this, here and now: alastor is going to kill this young man, and he's going to let it happen.
oh, sure, he could dart forward and pull alastor's hands away, could very well make an attempt to save whatever life is left in the man that hasn't been bled or choked out of him already, but--well, who is this nobody, in comparison? trade his alastor's freedom for this waiter's useless life?
ridiculous. no, he's going to let it happen, arms folded, standing back and simply watching. alastor's words burrow deep into his chest and stick there, i'll never let him go and he's still going to love me particularly strongly. vox can practically feel the words pour into his heart and etch themselves against the inside of his ribs, he is mine, he's still going to love me.
well, when you're right, you're right.
vox doesn't think about leaving again, not even facetiously; no, he has to make sure the man he loves gets home safely, after all. he shifts slightly, to peer at the dying waiter; part of him hopes the man can see him flash a smile.
...he'll wait until the job is done before he speaks up.]
[ alastor does speak a bit more, but it's the same things over and over and eventually he falls into silence, just enjoying the rest of the spectacle he's created for himself.
when the struggling finally stops, he's in the process of bracing himself on the man's chest to stand when he hears vox's voice behind him and stops moving entirely for one heartbeat, two, three. he inhales slowly, then exhales out any anxiety he's feeling from being caught.
then he's standing smoothly and turning toward him, shirt and face splattered in blood and pupils blown as he takes a couple of steps closer. ]
You followed me here.
[ a statement, not a question.
he's still smiling. ]
Did you like it? What I did for you?
[ another step. he's very close now, but he hasn't touched vox. not yet. his gaze flicks downward for a split-second, almost like he's checking for something. that much is mere curiosity, though. ]
[again, vox could have slipped out and gone back home. could have kept this knowledge close to his chest just to have it, or to ask alastor about at some more opportune time than right here in the moment, but - where is the appeal in that? those options don't include alastor coming close into his space, bloody and never lovelier.
vox shrugs, at the not-a-question. he did do that, technically, yes. to admit now that he felt insecure about whatever alastor wanted to do to that waiter feels... silly. after all those pretty words about him.
alastor is very close, and vox is aware he should feel at least a little unease, or a teeny bit of danger, but--he feels the opposite, as it happens. the way his heart hammers in his chest is not out of fear.]
I did, [he says quietly, mouth dry. it's the for you that gets him, in the end, more than the act itself. whatever it is alastor feels for him, no one has ever felt it this much before now. he can't resist.
anyway don't boner check him, he put his overcoat back on before coming out, god, he's a gentleman--]
[ he never uses vox's real name, or at least doesn't unless they're completely alone and he's being extra-special affectionate. there's never been a love letter prettier or sweeter than alastor's voice forming the sound of it.
he plants a hand on the older man's chest, to feel his heart, and huffs an almost-laugh. honestly, that's even better than if he could have seen a boner. 100/10 behavior. ]
Oh, darling. I always have been since the night we met.
[ his hand slips upward slowly, gently, to rest with his palm at vox's throat and his fingers curled right around. ]
You'd let me, wouldn't you? Show you how I feel by killing you. Engrave it in your heart, your soul. I could, you know. But then you wouldn't be with me.
[ his voice lowers as he leans in close, closer, until their lips almost but not quite touch. ]
And you're always going to be with me, aren't you?
[ah, now that's just cheating. vox's eyebrows go up, giving alastor the calmest look he can muster while hearing his real name makes his heart flip in an instant. he doesn't stop alastor from touching him - as if he would, as if he'd ever want to - but as always, he knows the score, holding his hands behind his back no matter how badly he wants to touch the younger man's hands in return, his face, his waist.]
You're pushing buttons, [he murmurs, a protest without any seriousness behind it. his name, the glide of alastor's hand, god-- it's almost as if alastor knows precisely how to get anything he wants! and vox will hand it over with a smile.
he shivers minutely as fingers curl around his neck, and he still doesn't press forward to touch, but he tilts his head slightly one way and then the other, like he's testing out how alastor's hand looks around his throat. here's another moment where he should probably feel at least a fraction threatened, he thinks, but leaning almost imperceptibly into alastor's grip, he feels--welcomed home.
and increasingly turned on about it, so thank god he put his coat back on. he swallows, gaze tracing over alastor's face, so very close. vox has never wanted to kiss him as badly as now.]
Of course.
[he lifts a hand finally, only to not actually cup alastor's cheek, merely to hover close in a pantomime of the affection he'd like to deliver.]
You could crack me open and I would let you, and you'd find how I feel about you all over the damn place. Every bone, every sinew.
[he shuts his eyes and shakes his head, like, but that would be Leaving, and he couldn't do that.]
I'll just have to show it some other way, in the meantime. Why would I ever want to leave?
[ sister alice has been at vox's side for about a year, now. a gentle, caring, supportive woman of the cloth, assisting in tending to his flock as it grows and grows to numbers he can't maintain on his own.
it helps, of course, for the ladies of the congregation to have someone like them to speak to, and the sister is quite popular; she's humble and sweet and never, ever stops smiling. she always perks up like a flower leaning to the sun when vox pays her any special attention, and so innocent! every touch, every murmur, and she just smiles, the perfect ingenue.
and it's a known but unspoken secret that vox likes to spend time with the ladies of his flock. recently though, some believers have been walking. always young ladies, always ones vox had glanced at maybe a second or two too long. sometimes they're simply questioning their faith, and in those instances, alice holds fellowship with them, quiet and in solitude.
they leave, inevitably, but never on bad terms. they simply didn't have enough faith, she assures him, every time. look at the beautiful flock you still have left.
recently though, vox had confided in alice that he'd been considering courting one of the ladies, taking a wife. she'd seemed interested, and he thinks it a suitable move... what does she think? ]
I think, [ she starts, carefully even as she looks up from where she sits toward him, ] I think, Father, that it'd be best to reconsider, at least for now. Some of the ladies have felt quite... Delicate, as late. I'm not sure the issue, but perhaps you should let me take care of them first before making any such decisions. Susanna in particular has needed some extra guidance lately. Perhaps, if anyone, someone more... devout?
[ she gives him a meaningful look as though he's going to get it. ]
[sister alice has been a reliable hand, a comforting figure to vox ever since she arrived--indeed, he can't quite recall how he got by without her before. helpful and enthusiastic in her quiet way and with such a way with the other members of the flock! vox gets tired; he can't attend to every member of the congregation all the time, but alice, oh, if he truly believed in godsends, she would be one.
and she's, well, a fine-looking girl. vox knows the women of the flock find him charming; they titter and whisper over each other when he stops to talk to one, they aren't any subtler than he is. but dear sister alice seems to be... incredibly devoted, call it, to her faith. he's tried, but she always gives him the very same quiet smile, so...
well, susanna is also a nice, fine-looking girl. she hasn't left yet, which is a plus, after all the times lately he's so much as thought about one of the women only to have them decide to leave. so there's susanna. she's very polite. very... sweet.
perhaps he asks alice about the idea, the courtship, the marriage, because sister alice is a constant; she wouldn't leave. he trusts her and her judgment. not that he doesn't frown at this current assessment. she's probably right, which is annoying.
ugh!]
They're all devout, Sister, [he says, waving a hand.] That's the whole point of coming here. Besides, our lovely Susanna has "never met anyone as charming as me," she said.
[he's stupid and easily flattered, endure. he sighs, leaning back in his chair, the meaningful look going clean over his head.]
[ alice is steadfast, as always. she endures, as it were, more than her fair share. she doesn't even sigh at the way she's waved off, practically ignored, though her head does tilt. just a little.
she shifts, adjusting her veil slightly as she cards her gaze toward him. hmph. men. ]
Perhaps, then, it would be best to keep to a united front for a time. Soothe frayed nerves and keep people settled. A turn toward the support right in front of us, as it were?
[ she smiles, just like usual, leaning forward and gently placing a hand on his arm, as she often does when guiding him in his decision-making process.
her legs shift, just once, switching which is crossed over the other under her tunic. subtle, but noticeable. ]
Don't you think it's those closest to us that are often the answer, Father?
[ if he says something stupid now, she's going to scream. ]
extra prayers for sister alice in these trying times
[vox hums noncommittally, acknowledging that she's right, of course, even if he doesn't like it. he wants to do the things he wants to do when he wants to do them-- soothing nerves and keeping people settled is for his public-facing life, not his private one.
then her hand is on his arm, and he glances at it, but regrettably he is still hung up on... the susanna issue.
not so hung up that he doesn't notice alice's shifting, or hear the suggestion in her question. now, he would be forgiven if he thought... but that's ridiculous, because alice has never...
he must be imagining it. who is closer to him than poor susanna, hmm--]
Well... Diana has been here for some time.
has she not endured enough in her service of the lord
[ there's something quietly sharp in her tone, something that's never been there before. a little fuzzy maybe, just around the edges. she pauses just after, clearing her throat as though she'd had something stuck in it. ]
My apologies, I must have some allergies. But oh, Diana?
[ if he could be forgiven for such a thought, surely she can be forgiven for the edge of jealousy that's still left in her tone. ]
Father, I'm afraid I do think you're missing the forest for the trees.
[ her hand slides up, just a little. one last chance. ]
[vox glances up, brow furrowed - that sounded very much unlike his beloved sister alice, who is always patient and kind and even. and not entirely... ordinary? perhaps he's imagining that, too.
but diana is also, it seems, the wrong choice of lady, and vox is half-tempted to just start naming every good-looking woman in the congregation just to see what happens. the hand on his arm is compelling, however.]
Sister, you know no one here lives closer to my heart than you do.
[guy asking about marrying other women: you're my fav though fr!!]
[ know that, she means. she breathes a laugh, soft but incredulous, at his reasoning.
finally, frustrated, she draws herself up to her feet, moving around to the chair vox is sitting in to plant her hands on the arms of it, leaning over him with a smile much sharper than usual. ]
I've been with you from the beginning, never straying, never looking to anyone but you. How many of those women do I have to send away before you only look at me?
[ one hand lifts to grip his chin, still gentle even though the tips of her fingers are blackened and have sharp, sharp claws. her voice even lowers a bit, a hum of static rumbling under the words. ]
Father, I don't think you know what you deal with when your eyes wander.
[oh, what's going on now, what's this? vox doesn't move from his seat but his eyebrows go up, just--just waiting to see what she's doing. this certainly doesn't feel like she's about to crawl seductively into his lap, but he won't count it out, and besides, it's...
well, it's compelling, to have her lean over him like this, looking more annoyed with him than she's ever been. vox blinks.]
That was you? You could have, I don't know, said something to me.
[think of the flock! which needs people to stay for it to function! sister!!]
If I didn't... [he trails off, gaze darted down to the state of her hands, brow furrowed. what? actually, what? she even sounds different again, like-- uh.
objectively, vox knows he should be worried about something like this. probably has stood up there in front of his people and given a sermon about resisting this very thing, because what else could it mean when sisters grow claws and speak to him in such a voice? and yet more than anything else, he feels a burning sense of curiosity.
vox lifts a hand, fingers tentatively brushing the back of dear alice's hand, then covering it entirely. he looks back up at her face.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
employee of the month forever au
the little guy is the picture-perfect employee. he's had no complaints. no fires to put out. no complaints about him, either, which is a real lucky break, after some of the deals made around here in the past-- so!
if taking a chance on fizz worked out the last time, vox thinks, he can take another one, and let the guy have a little more say in the business side of his own brand. calling the first toy sale fizztek has generated plenty of buzz, and the design contest for the next one is going a little crazy, actually. much better than vox anticipated!
he's sorted out all the creepy fuckdoll ones and even a handful that looked a little suspicious, and he's sent someone to fetch fizz and join him in the conference room. the one with the sharks. could he have mentioned what this was about first, probably, but whatever - he's only an okay kind of boss, after all.
he looks up from the submission he's considering when fizz comes in and gestures for him to pull up a seat.]
There you are! I've got a surprise for you. Come here.
[come, come, sit. have a drink. there are drinks! vox spins the submission paper around and slides it down the table; it's clearly a child's drawing of what looks like a bunch of tiny fizzes all dangling in a chain. it's a barrel of monkeys, But Fizzarolli.]
What do you think of that? Be honest.
no subject
or at least, that's how fizz feels about it. two game shows, a ton of commercials with another in the works already, his face on cereal boxes, a toy line, and his own floor in the tower he can do whatever he wants with. he has guards when he meets with fans, and it's like not a single person has even tried to be weird at him, which is one of the things he appreciates the most. people can get real weird about clowns in hell.
he's even employee of the month every month, how does that even work?
in any case, he's happy with the arrangement.
it's come time for new merch, and vox had set up a contest to pick the best design. he'd told fizz he wanted to sweep over them first to take out anything they'd never use, and the imp had accepted it for what it is, an easy cleanup so fizz doesn't have to pore over tons of designs that just aren't feasible to make.
he's in the middle of practicing a new routine when vox pops up on his personal intercom, asking him to come see him. he readily agrees, hopping off the stack of boxes he'd spring-launched himself up onto, and touches up his makeup before heading out. he doesn't have to wear it all the time, of course, and he doesn't when he sleeps, but he just doesn't feel put together without it, so on it goes.
he heads to the conference room that vox asked him to join him in, leaning into it through the doorway and grinning. ]
Hey! You wanted to see me? Is this about those merch contest entries?
[ he's even bouncing on his feet slightly as he steps inside; that's how fucking excited he is to see what the kids he performs for want to see in his image. or, well, he really hopes that's what this is about: he's had a really good run, but he still always worries that he's done something wrong.
and that is what it's about! what a relief. he settles in the seat he's gestured too and picks up his glass, then sets it back down so he can use both hands to cover his mouth. ]
It's so cute...
[ he may or may not be like this for every design, but it is what it is. ]
I mean, it seems pretty clever, in context of my arms. They'd make good hooks to hang on each other, so...
no subject
either way, fizz continues to demonstrate that he's the employee of the month. vox nods at the chain toy design.]
What would you rate it out of ten? And be honest—
[he gestures for a (lesser) employee to bring over the rest, which are quite literally stacked high on a cart that's supposed to be for snacks. look at these, fizz. this is the surprise: there are at least a few hundred. people really fucking love clowns in hell!]
Because we've got more. Your schedule's cleared for the rest of the day already.
no subject
[ yeah, he sure does see that huge stack of papers. he flushes a little in pleasure over it, twisting in his seat to look at vox. ]
Really? All these? [ that many people really like him enough to design toys...? hang on, hang on, he's not gonna be a crybaby about this. he's FINE.
case in point: ]
I am more than ready to spend the entire day looking at these. Shit, I was born ready to gaze at some toys.
no subject
huh!
well, they've got a lot of toys to look at, so let him get the first stack of many.]
All of these. You want the one with the arms, put it in a "yes" pile. R&D can make you one even if it doesn't hit stores.
[anything for his favorite employee, mhm. now here's the next stack, before vox sits back down with his drink. this is fizz's foray into picking the final design, so he's here for, like, actual marketability input. just in case.]
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he does get more animated again as he continues to leaf through them all: he ends up with three stacks: 'no' (things that he's pretty sure aren't as feasible to make even if he loves them) 'maybe' (things he loves but needs to reconsider once he's seen more) and, of course, the 'yes' pile.
he's bouncing slightly in his seat by the time he hits minute ten, sipping from his drink as he does. there's a moment in his search where he holds up a paper in vox's direction, arm extending to get it closer to him: the whole design is a doll, but the accessories for it are kind of strange, though not in a harmful way. anyway there's a huge spoon where the handle is just. shaped like fizz. thankfully not the spoon part. do not put him in your mouth. ]
A few different colors of the spoons would be a good prize for the cereal boxes.
[ so that goes in a fourth 'rad cereal prize' pile. ]
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that said--]
You want to be a spoon.
[kid... vox holds his hands up.]
I'm not saying no. [a beat.] If we don't paint them, we can make the plastic change colors.
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[ a beat and he grins real wide. ]
Yeah, I like the color-changing idea.
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[this is joking. he's joking. he's almost simulating being a normal person, congratulations.
but he reaches over to pick up the spoon one and look at it more closely, anyway.]
We'll make a bunch of different colors, for collector's value. Maybe throw in some stickers— do you want to be stickers? We can throw in some glow-in-the-dark or whatever the fuck kids are into.
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and maybe he should have simply stepped aside: he doesn't doubt vox's loyalty to him, and the waiter really is taking his life into his own hands by being... well, the way he's being, in the area they're in. even alastor and vox are simply business associates when they're out of the house.
but he doesn't. he smiles at the man all night, acts sweet as anything, and perhaps vox notices him being a little too cute about it, stealing the waiter's attention away by being younger and amenable, but it'll be worth it in the end and he knows just how to smooth any ruffled feathers later.
or maybe vox reads it for what it is: jealousy.
and alastor is patient, of course. he sends vox to bed later that night with a too-gentle stroke of his knuckles over the older man's cheek, then 'goes to bed' himself, at least until he's sure he can get out without being noticed.
and he's not noticed, as far as he's aware, when he leaves and tracks down the waiter. it's easy: he's out back of the restaurant, and smiles when alastor approaches him. they chat a moment, alastor's charm at full strength, and they share a cigarette before alastor tugs him by the suspenders right into a small side building and shuts the door behind them.
and if, say, someone were to come by, or open the door, even as quickly as a few moments later, it's quite the scene: both men still fully clothed, the waiter on his back with alastor straddling him and hunching over him, hands obscured by his body even though the soft choking sounds coming from below him tell exactly what he's doing.
there's a bloody knife on the ground next to them, and a pool of blood underneath the waiter that's slowly spreading, red soaking into alastor's knees.
alastor is talking, his voice a low croon that almost sounds like it'd be for a lover, and one would have to get very close to hear what he's actually saying. ]
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not that he could possibly, in a hundred years, respond to this brazen little waiter. the disaster that would cause in a heartbeat, to his reputation and everything else. even leaving that aside, he doesn't care to; even for how... unconventional his arrangement with alastor is, there's not a soul alive who could make his eye wander, no matter how brazenly they bat their eyes at him while suggesting wines.
so that's curious at best, and curiouser still is alastor's equally brazen response, and vox eyes him quietly all through dinner whenever he turns on the charm, but he... tries to think nothing of it. he trusts alastor, after all--trusts in alastor's utter lack of interest in that kind of thing, too, beyond the loyalty he holds for vox and their arrangement.
it's hard to tell who's more jealous throughout this meal, even so. vox doesn't make a scene, or bring it up once they've left; for all intents and purposes he's placated by alastor's touch and goes straight to sleep, murmuring about a busy day tomorrow.
and then alastor leaves, in the middle of the night, and vox doesn't follow him so much as make an educated guess, heading back for the restaurant a few calculated minutes after alastor has left. he misses, then, the conversation alastor has with the waiter, the cigarette, coming up just in time to see a familiar figure duck into the next building over.
he stops at the door. he isn't sure he wants to know. that alastor humors him purely for his money is an insecurity he's put to bed already, but in a moment like this, he has to wonder...
he counts to ten before he eases the door open, quietly, slipping inside and stopping short almost immediately. it's the sharp tang of blood in the air that he notices first, taking in the rest of the scene with wide eyes. the scene answers several questions and raises several more, and vox thinks, well, any man in his right mind would turn and go home right now, and go back to bed, and in the morning work on changing the locks if not skipping town entirely.
then he thinks, someone is going to have to clean this up, and, how is alastor going to walk home all bloodied like that? everything else is just debris. obstacles, in the way of his self-appointed duty to keep alastor comfortable and looked after.
so instead vox steps forward and to the side, to stay out of sight, so as not to... interrupt. call him curious, he wants to know what alastor could possibly be talking about.]
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no, he keeps talking, voice low. and when vox gets close enough to hear, it's not so much a lover's croon as syrupy-sweet vitriol. ]
You shouldn't have done that, you know. Put your eyes on him, tried to cozy up to him. And then, to be pulled astray by a single smile? You're not worth his time even if he was so inclined as to look back at you. He would never have gone for it anyway. You should have realized that right away.
[ his grip tightens, the choking desperation for breath getting louder and louder beneath him. ]
You deserve every second of this for trying to take what's mine. Because he is mine, and I'll never let him go. So as you die, think about how you should've kept your mouth shut and your eyes averted. Because I'm going to go home after this, and he's still going to be mine. He's still going to love me.
[ so, well, the most romantic thing a man has ever said. ]
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something to think about. vox knows this, here and now: alastor is going to kill this young man, and he's going to let it happen.
oh, sure, he could dart forward and pull alastor's hands away, could very well make an attempt to save whatever life is left in the man that hasn't been bled or choked out of him already, but--well, who is this nobody, in comparison? trade his alastor's freedom for this waiter's useless life?
ridiculous. no, he's going to let it happen, arms folded, standing back and simply watching. alastor's words burrow deep into his chest and stick there, i'll never let him go and he's still going to love me particularly strongly. vox can practically feel the words pour into his heart and etch themselves against the inside of his ribs, he is mine, he's still going to love me.
well, when you're right, you're right.
vox doesn't think about leaving again, not even facetiously; no, he has to make sure the man he loves gets home safely, after all. he shifts slightly, to peer at the dying waiter; part of him hopes the man can see him flash a smile.
...he'll wait until the job is done before he speaks up.]
And here I was worried about you.
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when the struggling finally stops, he's in the process of bracing himself on the man's chest to stand when he hears vox's voice behind him and stops moving entirely for one heartbeat, two, three. he inhales slowly, then exhales out any anxiety he's feeling from being caught.
then he's standing smoothly and turning toward him, shirt and face splattered in blood and pupils blown as he takes a couple of steps closer. ]
You followed me here.
[ a statement, not a question.
he's still smiling. ]
Did you like it? What I did for you?
[ another step. he's very close now, but he hasn't touched vox. not yet. his gaze flicks downward for a split-second, almost like he's checking for something. that much is mere curiosity, though. ]
Tell me the truth. I won't hate you either way.
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vox shrugs, at the not-a-question. he did do that, technically, yes. to admit now that he felt insecure about whatever alastor wanted to do to that waiter feels... silly. after all those pretty words about him.
alastor is very close, and vox is aware he should feel at least a little unease, or a teeny bit of danger, but--he feels the opposite, as it happens. the way his heart hammers in his chest is not out of fear.]
I did, [he says quietly, mouth dry. it's the for you that gets him, in the end, more than the act itself. whatever it is alastor feels for him, no one has ever felt it this much before now. he can't resist.
anyway don't boner check him, he put his overcoat back on before coming out, god, he's a gentleman--]
I didn't expect to, but you're under my skin.
[he can't possibly say this more fondly.]
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[ he never uses vox's real name, or at least doesn't unless they're completely alone and he's being extra-special affectionate. there's never been a love letter prettier or sweeter than alastor's voice forming the sound of it.
he plants a hand on the older man's chest, to feel his heart, and huffs an almost-laugh. honestly, that's even better than if he could have seen a boner. 100/10 behavior. ]
Oh, darling. I always have been since the night we met.
[ his hand slips upward slowly, gently, to rest with his palm at vox's throat and his fingers curled right around. ]
You'd let me, wouldn't you? Show you how I feel by killing you. Engrave it in your heart, your soul. I could, you know. But then you wouldn't be with me.
[ his voice lowers as he leans in close, closer, until their lips almost but not quite touch. ]
And you're always going to be with me, aren't you?
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You're pushing buttons, [he murmurs, a protest without any seriousness behind it. his name, the glide of alastor's hand, god-- it's almost as if alastor knows precisely how to get anything he wants! and vox will hand it over with a smile.
he shivers minutely as fingers curl around his neck, and he still doesn't press forward to touch, but he tilts his head slightly one way and then the other, like he's testing out how alastor's hand looks around his throat. here's another moment where he should probably feel at least a fraction threatened, he thinks, but leaning almost imperceptibly into alastor's grip, he feels--welcomed home.
and increasingly turned on about it, so thank god he put his coat back on. he swallows, gaze tracing over alastor's face, so very close. vox has never wanted to kiss him as badly as now.]
Of course.
[he lifts a hand finally, only to not actually cup alastor's cheek, merely to hover close in a pantomime of the affection he'd like to deliver.]
You could crack me open and I would let you, and you'd find how I feel about you all over the damn place. Every bone, every sinew.
[he shuts his eyes and shakes his head, like, but that would be Leaving, and he couldn't do that.]
I'll just have to show it some other way, in the meantime. Why would I ever want to leave?
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did someone ask for a slutty nun...
it helps, of course, for the ladies of the congregation to have someone like them to speak to, and the sister is quite popular; she's humble and sweet and never, ever stops smiling. she always perks up like a flower leaning to the sun when vox pays her any special attention, and so innocent! every touch, every murmur, and she just smiles, the perfect ingenue.
and it's a known but unspoken secret that vox likes to spend time with the ladies of his flock. recently though, some believers have been walking. always young ladies, always ones vox had glanced at maybe a second or two too long. sometimes they're simply questioning their faith, and in those instances, alice holds fellowship with them, quiet and in solitude.
they leave, inevitably, but never on bad terms. they simply didn't have enough faith, she assures him, every time. look at the beautiful flock you still have left.
recently though, vox had confided in alice that he'd been considering courting one of the ladies, taking a wife. she'd seemed interested, and he thinks it a suitable move... what does she think? ]
I think, [ she starts, carefully even as she looks up from where she sits toward him, ] I think, Father, that it'd be best to reconsider, at least for now. Some of the ladies have felt quite... Delicate, as late. I'm not sure the issue, but perhaps you should let me take care of them first before making any such decisions. Susanna in particular has needed some extra guidance lately. Perhaps, if anyone, someone more... devout?
[ she gives him a meaningful look as though he's going to get it. ]
looks at the sky in repentance
and she's, well, a fine-looking girl. vox knows the women of the flock find him charming; they titter and whisper over each other when he stops to talk to one, they aren't any subtler than he is. but dear sister alice seems to be... incredibly devoted, call it, to her faith. he's tried, but she always gives him the very same quiet smile, so...
well, susanna is also a nice, fine-looking girl. she hasn't left yet, which is a plus, after all the times lately he's so much as thought about one of the women only to have them decide to leave. so there's susanna. she's very polite. very... sweet.
perhaps he asks alice about the idea, the courtship, the marriage, because sister alice is a constant; she wouldn't leave. he trusts her and her judgment. not that he doesn't frown at this current assessment. she's probably right, which is annoying.
ugh!]
They're all devout, Sister, [he says, waving a hand.] That's the whole point of coming here. Besides, our lovely Susanna has "never met anyone as charming as me," she said.
[he's stupid and easily flattered, endure. he sighs, leaning back in his chair, the meaningful look going clean over his head.]
More devout... Who, then?
time for some hail marys
she shifts, adjusting her veil slightly as she cards her gaze toward him. hmph. men. ]
Perhaps, then, it would be best to keep to a united front for a time. Soothe frayed nerves and keep people settled. A turn toward the support right in front of us, as it were?
[ she smiles, just like usual, leaning forward and gently placing a hand on his arm, as she often does when guiding him in his decision-making process.
her legs shift, just once, switching which is crossed over the other under her tunic. subtle, but noticeable. ]
Don't you think it's those closest to us that are often the answer, Father?
[ if he says something stupid now, she's going to scream. ]
extra prayers for sister alice in these trying times
then her hand is on his arm, and he glances at it, but regrettably he is still hung up on... the susanna issue.
not so hung up that he doesn't notice alice's shifting, or hear the suggestion in her question. now, he would be forgiven if he thought... but that's ridiculous, because alice has never...
he must be imagining it. who is closer to him than poor susanna, hmm--]
Well... Diana has been here for some time.
has she not endured enough in her service of the lord
[ there's something quietly sharp in her tone, something that's never been there before. a little fuzzy maybe, just around the edges. she pauses just after, clearing her throat as though she'd had something stuck in it. ]
My apologies, I must have some allergies. But oh, Diana?
[ if he could be forgiven for such a thought, surely she can be forgiven for the edge of jealousy that's still left in her tone. ]
Father, I'm afraid I do think you're missing the forest for the trees.
[ her hand slides up, just a little. one last chance. ]
not yet clearly
but diana is also, it seems, the wrong choice of lady, and vox is half-tempted to just start naming every good-looking woman in the congregation just to see what happens. the hand on his arm is compelling, however.]
Sister, you know no one here lives closer to my heart than you do.
[guy asking about marrying other women: you're my fav though fr!!]
I didn't think you were interested.
well shes vox's problem now
[ know that, she means. she breathes a laugh, soft but incredulous, at his reasoning.
finally, frustrated, she draws herself up to her feet, moving around to the chair vox is sitting in to plant her hands on the arms of it, leaning over him with a smile much sharper than usual. ]
I've been with you from the beginning, never straying, never looking to anyone but you. How many of those women do I have to send away before you only look at me?
[ one hand lifts to grip his chin, still gentle even though the tips of her fingers are blackened and have sharp, sharp claws. her voice even lowers a bit, a hum of static rumbling under the words. ]
Father, I don't think you know what you deal with when your eyes wander.
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well, it's compelling, to have her lean over him like this, looking more annoyed with him than she's ever been. vox blinks.]
That was you? You could have, I don't know, said something to me.
[think of the flock! which needs people to stay for it to function! sister!!]
If I didn't... [he trails off, gaze darted down to the state of her hands, brow furrowed. what? actually, what? she even sounds different again, like-- uh.
objectively, vox knows he should be worried about something like this. probably has stood up there in front of his people and given a sermon about resisting this very thing, because what else could it mean when sisters grow claws and speak to him in such a voice? and yet more than anything else, he feels a burning sense of curiosity.
vox lifts a hand, fingers tentatively brushing the back of dear alice's hand, then covering it entirely. he looks back up at her face.]
Tell me what I'm dealing with.
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