Chapter Text
It had been almost a month since he had moved back into the Vee tower. Alastor and Redhart seemed to have gotten pretty used to the layout at this point. The trio still visited the hotel from time to time for their rehearsals for the upcoming performance and to help out Charlie with managing the large influx of guests. Redhart was walking through the corridor with a large stack of paperwork. “Hey Vox?” The TV quickly turned his head towards the source of the voice. “Do you think we could get this place up and running. We need money soon; your royalties stopped coming in after we took over. We could reopen the business, perhaps under a new name.” Vox listened. It wasn't a bad idea since VeeTek had shut down the income had slowly been diminishing. It would be better to do something now instead of waiting until it is too late.
“Sure, what did you have in mind? “ Redhart walked over and placed the paperwork on the coffee table before ploping themselves onto the couch.
“ Well, Voxtek had been split into different sectors, and I was thinking that if we provided sought-after services, we might get good business. Hell's media service has been on a downward spiral since you stopped working, and well, I was thinking I could run an accountancy agency. I mean, Alastor's paperwork isn't too bad, and I bet there is a market for outsourcing work to others.” Vox paused for a moment, considering what Redhart had said.
“It's not a bad idea, but I'm not entirely sure what Alastor would run,” he let out a sigh. Alastor typically just ran his show and leeched money off of the soul contracts he had made.
“You can both work on broadcasting. Alastor already does that on his shows, and you said that you had been a news anchor for a while. Perhaps we can dig up those old roots. On the side, you sell the technology VoxTek used to supply and invent. The news may improve your public approval if you prove that you are a trustworthy source, unlike 666 News, which is the main one right now.” Vox processed that. It wasn't a bad idea, in fact, he thought that it was pretty smart all things considered. Vox nodded before getting up from the couch.
“ I have some souls that might be able to make things work. I'll get Al on board, and you summon any souls that you kept. If we're gonna get this place up and running were going to need all hands on deck.” He started making his way down the corridor of his floor, SHOK.wav, and Vark followed him through the built-in tanks. It seemed that the hotel had some sort of pocket dimension that connected to the tanks. He was convinced that if he entered the ocean in his room and swam down, he would end up in the Vee tower. He sat down, placing his arms on the cool marble of his desk. It had been a while since he had been in his office with a particular goal in mind. He considered calling in favours using his operating system before noticing the 50s-style rotary phone, which had likely been installed by Alastor. At least he didn't have to switch between tabs on his screen to find the numbers and then input them. He opened up his notes app, minimizing his screen. He scrolled before he reached the desired section and started manually inputting the numbers into the rotary phone. Each time the phone rotated for the next input, there was a small thunk. The phone rang for a moment before answering.
“Mr Vox, I was just go-” He interrupted the Angler fish sinner.
“Baxter, how do you feel about returning to the tower to help with the research and development department of my company?” He twirled his finger around the cord. It had been a while since he had used a cable phone, and yet the muscle memory had kicked in instantly.
“Well, I would consider it; however, I am now resident at the hotel, and quite frankly, we would need a far more efficient transport method if I were to travel between the two. “ The angler fish had clearly forgotten what he had originally wanted to call, meaning that it probably wasn’t that important.
“ Well, the pay would be far better as you would be the head of that sector instead of a worker; besides, we could make that your first task.” Baxter seemed to consider it. He could hear the sound of paper being flipped over on what he could only assume to be a page of a notepad.
“I have a few conditions first.” He sighed; it had been stupid to think that he would just get free labour because they owed him a favour.
“Fine, what are your conditions?” He got out his own notepad from a drawer under his desk
“I want a team and not any old team, a committed team that I can choose to fire any individual who fails to fit the standards. I don't want Imbercilles working here, breaking or leaking the technology left, right, and center, “ he was about to ask if that was all when Baxter answered for him. “I also wish to have a say in which projects we work on.” He tapped his pen on the marble, staring at the conditions he had written on the notepad.
“Fine, I'll send you the numbers, and you can choose who you want on your team.” He hung up the phone before calling up an array of sinners with varying willingness and conditions to work for him. He hung up the last call for the day. Just as he began to lean back and stretch in his chair, Alastor walked in. Despite having their conversation a month ago, the radio demon only really paid attention to Vox when he actively needed something. Alastor walked behind him before resting his chin on top of Vox’s screen. He was a little taken aback by the contact. But he was grateful. Their relationship still had a long way to go before they could even consider themselves partners. For now, he was just grateful that they were able to communicate without an argument per week. Something that had been common when they were tutoring Redhart at the hotel. Someone would say something that triggered the other to argue in retaliation. When they interacted, Vox would occasionally pass a flirty remark, and instead of lashing out, Alastor had begun to acknowledge it. Vox was awaiting the day for a second kiss, but he knew better than to rush it. He would kiss his hand, but that was different. “Why are you here, old man? “ Alastor gave a small chuckle before answering.
“Redhart told me that you wanted to get this place up and running. “ He gave a small nod.
“I also heard that you wanted me to be the head of broadcasting.” Alastor walked out from behind him before leaning on the table. God, he was hot. “However, that includes television, and you know my stance on that,” Vox could make out the sound of Alastor's claws tapping the marble.
“Yeah, well, I actually thought that you could be in charge of radio broadcasting, and I would be the head of TV broadcasting. It needs to be a regular schedule, unlike your current shows.” There was a slight screech of feedback, not much but enough to notice. You can still do your irregular shows on top of that, like a late-night gossip show or something. We just need something regular during the day, news, and traffic updates.” Alastor gave a hum before shaking his head.
“ I live for chaos and uncertainty, not predictability.” He gave a disapproving tut. Vox let out a sigh.
“We can get someone to do that for you, different radio hosts for different times. You can be the coordinator and give orders as well as run your own late-night show as always. “Alastor's smile turned to a satisfied smirk. Vox knew it as one that Alastor used when he was satisfied with the results of something going his way. “By the way, how is the wound healing?” It had been a while since he had checked up on it.
“It's healing quite nicely; that skin graft worked wonderfully, so much so that my arm has started to heal." He rolled up his sleeve, and Vox’s heart gave a slight flutter. It was ridiculous. Vox likened the feeling to being a Victorian gentleman looking at a woman's ankle. He focused on the wound itself. The skin had returned; however, it appeared to be only a few layers, as it looked red and raw. Alastor rolled his sleeve back down. Alastor decided to look through all the notes Vox had taken throughout the day.
“Could you at least ask first?” Alastor just gave Vox a smug look before continuing to flip through the pages. He decided to put the pen, which had remained on the table, when he heard a slight hiss coming from Alastor. “What happened?”
“Paper cut, I'm always so impressed at how painful these can be.” Vox pulled Alastor's cut finger before him, expecting to see the usual red blood from before the angelic injury. He had associated the orangey-red blood with the sickness and infection that Alastor had at the time. Now that he was mostly healed, the blood was supposed to have returned to that healthy red colour. Except Vox was looking at the blood, and it was a deep saffron.