[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.]
no subject
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.]