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Vaggie needs a drink.
An alcoholic one, preferably.
Yes, she knows she’s been clean ever since her girlfriend, Charlie, announced her whole plan of the Happy Hotel, but with all of the bullshit that Angel Dust’s been pulling and the reaction of the entirety of hell of even the idea of redemption, a drink would honestly be really fucking good right now.
As soon as she steps into the hotel, she flops onto the nearest couch she could get her hands on and lets out a sigh she’s been holding in for the full, awkward car ride back home. She tunes out whatever the fuck Angel is talking about again, probably some gripe against Charlie or a snarky remark against Vaggie or… whatever. She could honestly care less.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Charlie slinking her way through a door, phone in her hand, probably to call her mom. A part of Vaggie wants to reach out to her, to offer her girlfriend comfort, but her muscles scream at her to stay still. She’s exhausted, and Charlie probably needs some time for herself too. Nothing wrong with that.
Vaggie closes her eyes for a few moments. Nothing that a little nap can’t help. For now, she’ll just focus on the present and worry about tomorrow when tomorrow comes. She hears a door close quietly, Charlie probably came back, she figures. Well, that’s good. Vaggie’s sure that all of this will blow over tomorrow and—
“Hey, Vaggie?” Charlie calls suddenly.
Vaggie suppresses a groan. “What?” she answers, hoping that the annoyance wouldn’t show in her voice.
“...The Media Demons are at the door!”
A few seconds of silence.
“What?!”
Oh yeah, she really needs that drink.
“What should I do?” Charlie pulls at her face, panicking. Thoughts run through her head as if competing for a marathon as she searches Vaggie’s face, as if that giant X will give any answers.
Her girlfriend sputters wildly. “Well, don’t let them in!”
Charlie bites at her fingernails. While yeah, Vaggie is probably right, letting two powerful, influential overlords into a dingy hotel with no protection whatsoever is probably a bad idea. …But on the other hand, what if they really did believe in redemption? Having the Media Demons be at her hotel could boost her success by like… well, she’s not too good with numbers, but that’ll definitely be a big help!
Hesitantly, she steps towards the door, and with the utmost cautiousness and probably a little impulsivity, she twists the knob.
Two monsters greet her at the door.
The Media Demons.
Red eyes and blue smiles stare down at her. Charlie gulps. She probably could’ve given this a bit of thought before doing this.
“May we speak now?” The Radio Demon questions, voice crackling with static.
And so Charlie summons as much of the bravery as she can to say, “You may—”
She’s interrupted by the Radio Demon yanking her hand and shaking it aggressively, getting all up in her face. “Alastor,” he introduces himself quickly, smoothly, “pleasure to be meeting you sweetheart, quite the pleasure.” He quickly pushes Charlie aside and practically glides into the hotel. Alastor glances back at her, and his grin somehow widens even more at seeing Charlie’s obvious bewilderment. “Ah, excuse our sudden visit, but we saw your fiasco on a picture show, and—”
“It’s a television, Al,” the TV Demon finally speaks up after watching the whole scenario play out in silence, eyes crinkled with amusement. His voice is charming, almost hypnotic, an evident smirk on his face — er… screen? He too waltzes into the hotel without waiting to be invited in and stands next to Alastor. “Forgive my partner, princess, he gets carried away easily,” the TV Demon lays a hand on Alastor’s shoulder, laughing easily. The Radio Demon’s eyes narrow, but keeps silent. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes…” The TV Demon holds out his other hand towards Charlie. She takes it reluctantly. “Vox, at your service, trust us, with your safety.”
The familiar phrase rings loud and clear through Charlie’s ears. She quickly pulls her hand away and clears her throat, but before she can even get a word out, Alastor picks back up again.
“Ah, you with that whole silly trust nonsense,” Alastor bonks his staff onto Vox’s head. The TV Demon bristles just the slightest bit at the contact, but continues to put on his relaxed, suave persona. Alastor goes on, “As I was saying, we saw your whole interview on the television,” he glares pointedly at Vox, “and just couldn’t resist! What a performance.” He drags the word out theatrically, smile widening — seriously, does this guy ever stop smiling? Alastor slips away from Vox’s grip and walks deeper into the hotel. “Seriously, I haven’t been this entertained since the stock market crash of 1929!” He laughs, but it doesn’t sound… quite right. “So many orphans…”
“Al,” Vox says through gritted teeth, a warning underneath the wholesome nickname and toothy grin. Charlie suddenly feels very out of place.
Alastor waves his hand at the TV Demon dismissively, but seems to comply with… whatever Vox is trying to insinuate. However, before he can take another step, something cuts through the air, and a sharp spear is suddenly at his throat.
Charlie sighs with relief at the sight of Vaggie, although her girlfriend looks absolutely furious. “Stop right there,” Vaggie growls. If looks could kill, Alastor would be… double-dead, in Angel’s words. “I know your game, and I will not let you hurt anyone here, you—”
The lights suddenly go out.
Electricity, blue, pulsing, and alive crackles throughout the hotel. “I’m sorry,” comes Vox’s voice, smooth as silk, sharp as a dagger. His screen blacks out, leaving only his red eye visible, grin tensed and threatening. He stalks towards the two of them, pushing away her spear as if picking off something from the bottom of his shoe. Vox looms threateningly over Vaggie, voice low and dangerous as he says, “Do we have a problem here?”
And as quickly as it starts, it ends.
The lights all flash back on, the static is gone, and Vox looks completely calm again, if not a bit smug.
Vaggie just stares at them.
“My, my, sweetheart,” Alastor chuckles, planting a hand on Vox’s shoulder. “What a show! Now, who seems to be getting carried away?” he snickers at Vox, who slightly flushes and glances away. The Radio Demon smirks, but turns his attention towards Vaggie. “But do know, dear, if I were to hurt anybody…” His neck snaps, lips curling into a terrifying, shit-eating grin, eyes growing into perfect, red plates. Alastor’s whole face practically flickers, leaving Charlie scrambling towards her girlfriend for safety. “I would’ve done so already.”
What. The fuck.
Charlie watches in horror as Alastor just… goes back to normal. Are the thrilling stories of the Radio Demon true? Can she really go to sleep in peace knowing that this powerful overlord will be just a few doors away?
“Now then,” Vox slips into the conversation casually. He glances at Alastor with a strange mixture of fear, admiration, and a weird feeling that Charlie can’t quite name. “Now that we’ve got… that out of the way,” he laughs goodnaturedly, as if he’s seen Alastor’s whole thing a million times. Which, at this point, he probably has. “Let’s get to the important part. Al, if you’d please…”
“Ah, of course!” Alastor practically sings, leaning in closer to Charlie and Vaggie. Vaggie backs away from the overlord slightly, shielding Charlie with her body. “We are here to help!”
Charlie blanks. “Say what now?”
“Help!” Alastor repeats cheerfully, although Charlie’s almost positive that he knew she wasn’t asking him to repeat himself. The Radio Demon laughs, tapping his staff (microphone?) playfully. “Hellooo? Is this thing on? Testing, testing!”
“So,” Charlie attempts to get the conversation back on track. “You want to help us with…?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Vox replies instead, laying his hands on Charlie’s shoulders (since when did he appear behind her?) causing Vaggie to bristle. “With this whole hotel! We’re going to help you run it.”
Charlie isn’t sure whether to jump for joy or cower in fear. “But…” she drags out hesitantly, “why?”
Alastor chuckles. “Why does anyone do anything?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “Sheer boredom! Ah, we’ve been lacking inspiration for decades! Our work became mundane, every the day the same format over and over—”
“—and yet you’ve always flamed me whenever I try to introduce something new,” Vox murmurs under his breath.
If Alastor even heard his partner, he didn’t show it. “We’ve come to crave a new form of entertainment!” he continues, patting Charlie on the head. “And you, my dearest, was the beacon of light we needed!”
“...Does getting into a fistfight with a reporter count as entertainment?” Charlie questions, tacking on an awkward laugh at the end.
“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, princess!” Vox exclaims. “It’s the purest kind. Reality! Passion! Drama! Just seeing you up there got me worked up.” He chuckles lowly, and Charlie doesn’t know whether or not that’s the truth or just a simple, deceiving statement, another note to get Charlie hypnotized into their song. “The world is a stage, and the stage…” Vox lowers his voice, dragging his arm through the air, “is a world of entertainment.”
“Wait, so…” Charlie takes a moment to process and feels a smile break out on her face. “Does that mean you believe in the possibility of rehabilitating demons?”
The two overlords stare at her for a few beats, wide-eyed, before glancing at each other and bursting out into hysteric laughter. Charlie feels herself shrink back. She never should’ve gotten her hopes up. “Oh my!” Vox wheezes out, wiping a tear from his eye (is that possible? Can screens cry?), ignoring the glare that Vaggie sends him. “Al, did you — did you hear—”
“Loud and clear, my dear,” Alastor chuckles, watching Vox try to get his composure back. He turns to Charlie. “Why, of course not! Redemption, what wacky nonsense! Oh no, no, no, personally, we don’t believe that these loathsome sinners—” he gestures towards Vaggie and Angel, “—can do anything to be truly saved! This is the punishment for all the wrongdoings you’ve done in your once chance at life, there is no loophole!”
“Then…” Charlie’s brow furrows as she takes a hesitant step closer to Alastor. Frustration and confusion floods through her brain. Her hotel, her dream, something she’s spent decades planning and creating is just all a fun toy for them. A new shiny thing before they leave it in the dumps for something else. “Why are you helping me if you don’t even believe in my cause?”
Alastor’s grin sharpens.
Vox steps in. “Consider it an investment,” he starts, gesturing with his hands. “An ongoing entertainment for the two of us. It’ll be… gratifying,” the TV Demon practically purrs, “Seeing so many souls try and yearn for a better purpose, a better life, just to trip and fall down into the fiery pits of failure.” He ends with an almost cartoonish villainous laugh, the type you’ll see in a children’s show.
Charlie cautiously slips away from his grip. “Uh… right.”
This is definitely going to be a long day.
Angel Dust watches from the couch, unimpressed at the commotion. Who the hell is Mr. Smiles and Screen-face and what are they doing here? Not that they aren’t entertaining as fuck, but he would prefer just a smidge of context before the whole slushie squad’s out in the hotel fucking everything up.
“Sooooo, uh…” he says to Vaggie, who’s sitting on the couch next to him, who gave up on trying to protect Charlie after the two overlords whisked the princess away for more yakking. She sits with her arms crossed around her chest, fuming. Seriously, this girl needs to loosen up a little. Learn how to live, no? Hello we’re in Hell, there’s no punishment for shit. He uses one of his hands to gesture towards Vox and Alastor serenading Charlie with their quote un-quote vision for the hotel, “What’s the deal with those two?”
“Wait,” Vaggie practically snaps her neck to face him. “You’ve never heard of them before? You’ve been here longer than me.”
Angel just shrugs.
“The Media Demons?” Vaggie continues, as if that’s going to help Angel understand literally anything. “One of the most powerful duos that Hell’s ever seen?”
Angel rolls his eyes and crosses a pair of his arms. “Doesn’t ring a bell,” he comments. “I’m not too big on politics, anyways.”
Vaggie groans. “Ugh, okay, look.” She places a hand on Angel’s shoulder, leaning in, as if this is some serious confidential information that no soul can ever hear about. Calm your tits, lady. “The Radio Demon is some… strange being that seemed to pop into Hell overnight. He began to topple overlords at no rate that any soul has seen, and earned his title because he would broadcast the screams of his opponents on his radio show.” Huh, what an arrogant prick. “And it just got worse. After a few decades, he partnered up with Vox, a fairly underground overlord that rose to fame through Alastor. No one really knows how, or why.” Vaggie squints her eyes. “But one thing’s for sure, we can’t afford letting them into our hotel. They are wicked spirits, driven by demonic forces, and we should absolutely steer clear of them unless we want to be erased—”
“Ya done?” Angel interrupts. He scoffs, rolling his eyes. This lady just can’t stop talking. Angel glances back over to where Vox and Alastor are, talking and bickering like an old married couple. “Ya telling me that strawberry and blueberry pimp over there are vile monsters that’ll tear me up when I sleep?” His voice grows rough. “Although,” Angel purrs, “I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to that…”
“Just—” Vaggie sighs, frustrated, as she crosses her arms once more. “I don’t trust them.” She blows at a stray strand of hair that falls on her forehead. “And I don’t like them getting all up in our business like this.”
“Uh, ta be fair—” Angel waves one of his arms at her, a smile slicing across his face. “Do ya trust any men?”
Vaggie just glares at him. She rubs her temples and stands up to approach Charlie, who’s finally been freed of red and blue’s speech, looking a bit frazzled. Angel bites back a laugh at the sight. The poor girl with her silly dreams and whole sunshine-and-rainbows perception of the world.
A stab of guilt jabs him through the stomach as he remembers that he technically added onto her stress with the whole turf war thing. He swats the feeling away. Whatever, she’ll wake up soon enough. He’s just tryna let her down easily. Make her realize that this whole redemption mumbo jumbo ain’t gonna work.
Just within Angel’s earshot, he hears Vaggie mumble some shit about dealmakers and shady business. He takes a good look at the two overlords. Alastor leans towards Vox in an almost affectionate way, causing the TV Demon to blush and wave him away.
Oh yeah, they’re definitely fucking.
Angel smirks. Wow, has no one really decoded these two’s very obvious homoerotic tension? He almost laughs at the thought. Decades of apparent fame and screen time yet no one’s raised an eyebrow at the two’s relationship. He stores the ball of knowledge in his mind for later. Sure it’ll come in handy.
His train of thought is interrupted by Charlie clearing her throat at an unnecessary volume. She strolls up towards the Media Demons, posture straight, determination flaring through her eyes. Angel props one of his elbows up on the couch rest, leaning his head on his hand, eyes narrowing in interest. This oughta be good.
“Okay, so, uhm, Mr. Alastor and Vox,” Charlie starts weakly, fiddling with her hands. “You guys are sketchy as fuck and clearly think what I’m trying to do here is a big fat joke.”
The Media Demons are silent. Alastor cocks his head while Vox just simply grins at her.
“But I don’t,” the princess continues, standing her ground, eyebrows drawn seriously. “And so…” Charlie glances hesitantly towards Vaggie, who’s watching from the sidelines, frowning in a concerned manner. “We’ll — well, I will be taking on your offer to help.” She holds up a finger. “On the condition that there’s no… voodoo strings or, uh, tricks attached,” Charlie adds quickly.
Vox’s eyes narrow in amusement. Alastor twirls his staff around and extends his hand. “So,” he drags out smoothly, “it’s a deal, then?”
Green energy flashes through the room, wind wheezing through the room, so strong that it almost knocks Angel back. Stray pieces of furniture collapse and buckle under the powerful force. A vase shatters somewhere.
“Nope! No, uh—” Charlie frantically pushes Alastor’s hand away. The green disappears, everything settles back to normal. Jeez, how many random magic superpowers do these guys have up their sleeves? “No deals! No handshaking!” The princess sucks in a deep breath, twiddling her thumbs while rocking back and forth on her heels. Angel bites back a laugh at the pathetic display. “As… As the princess of Hell and heir to the throne,” Charlie blusters, not noticing the humorous look that Vox and Alastor give each other, “I — I hereby command you to help out at this hotel! Uhm, for as long as you… desire?” She tacks on at the end quickly, grinning. “Sounds fair?”
Vaggie’s frown visibly deepens.
The two overlords look at each other, seemingly having a silent discussion with eyes and body language alone. They seem to have reached a conclusion when Vox clasps his hands together and faces Charlie. “Fair enough, princess,” the TV Demon drawls, earning a nod of confirmation from Alastor.
The poor girl lets out an exhale that she’s probably been holding in for Satan knows how long. “A—Awesome,” she breathes out, weakly offering two thumbs-ups.
Alastor simply hums before walking away to stroll around the hotel, casting a glance at the decor. Angel curiously gazes at him waltzing through the hotel like the overlord owns it — which he practically does now. The Radio Demon seems to carry himself with pride — posture straight, chin lifted high up, hands behind his back and a smile sharp and dangerous. What a bitch.
Vox, on the other hand, seems to want to jump straight into action. “Now then, where is your hotel staff?” He glances around. “I would hope such a brilliant dreamer such as yourself isn’t doing all the heavy lifting around here,” he comments smoothly, adding a flattering wink.
Charlie laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck. “Uh, well, you see…” The princess gestures awkwardly towards where Vaggie is, glaring very pointedly at the two overlords.
“Ah,” Vox clicks his tongue goodnaturedly, his smirk slightly faltering. “Well, that just won’t do!” He waves a hand towards Alastor, beckoning the Radio Demon over. “Al, any ideas?”
Alastor taps his chin with a claw and turns towards Angel. The bastard gives him a polite grin. “Well, what can you do, my feminine fellow?”
“I can suck ya dick,” Angel offers casually.
Vox starts choking on air. Alastor simply gives a dry laugh and a narrowed glare. “That won’t be necessary,” the TV Demon states, smiling tensely.
Angel just shrugs and smirks. “Your loss!” he gloats.
“Well then,” Alastor clears his throat, regaining his composure quickly as he takes his place next to Vox. “I suppose I could cash in a few… favors.” (Angel’s pretty sure ‘favors’ means random trapped souls that the red twink has under his belt, but he keeps silent.)
And with a snap, the fireplace seems to explode.
Angel waves his hand through the smoke that floats throughout the hotel, already used to the smell due to all the cigarettes he’s been around… and smoked. A small — uh, what the fuck is that? A creature covered in ash lands at the feet of the fireplace, and is quickly picked up by Alastor, who looks quite pleased with himself. A huge, singular eye blinks open, and the creature quickly shakes the ashes off to reveal a small cyclops dressed in pink. “And this little darling right here is Niffty!’ Alastor introduces.
“Hi, I’m Niffty!” the tiny demon chirps quickly. “It’s nice to meet you, it’s been a while since I made new friends!” She talks at a hyperactive space, pupil moving in all wild sorts of directions as she takes in her surroundings, sort of like a bug. Angel grimaces in slight disgust. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Vox step back reluctantly. Huh, he must be weirded out too.
“Why are you all women? Are there any men around here?” Niffty suddenly questions, pointing around at Angel, Charlie, and Vaggie. Angel raises an amused eyebrow at that. He’ll take it as a compliment. Charlie and Vaggie, on the other hand, eye each other in bewilderment. “Oh, I’m sorry that’s rude — oh my gosh! Look at all this junk!” Niffty suddenly gasps, skittering around all over the place with her tiny feet. “This place really needs a lady’s touch — which is weird because you’re all ladies no offense,” she adds at the end, throwing a glance back their direction as she continues to crawl all over the place. “Nope, no, nuh-uh—” A gasp. “Nope.” The tiny cyclops stabs a stray rat with her needle, a maniacal grin on her face.
Well. She’s… entertaining, to say the least.
Before a single soul can get a word out about this new addition to the staff, a sudden rough voice cuts through the atmosphere.
Angel whips his head practically 180 degrees to the sound. A winged cat demon suddenly appears at a stray table through a flash of green light, gloating to some invisible audience, holding a deck of cards. Ah, a gambler then. About time someone remotely close to Angel’s level is here. “What the fuck—” the cat demon growls, whirling around at his new environment, before stopping at Alastor and Vox. “You fuckers—” he hisses, pointing an accusatory claw at the two overlords.
“Ah, Husker!” Alastor practically sings, wrapping a friendly arm around the gambler.
“Don’t you Husker me,” Husker spits, shoving Alastor to the side. The Radio Demon just laughs as he wipes himself off, wearing the same shit-eating grin the whole time. “I was about to win the whole damn pot!” Husker throws his arm towards the table, where the money supposedly was, wings ruffled in agitation. Poor fella.
“Husker!” Vox interjects, stepping into the conversation. “Good to see you, pal.”
“Vox,” Husker acknowledges simply, expression slightly softening. Seems they have a better relationship than whatever the fuck he’s got with Alastor. The cat demon sighs, rubbing his temples like he has a headache. “The hell you two want with me this time?”
“Why, I thought you’d never ask!” Alastor playfully bonks his staff over Husker’s head, causing the gambler to growl and bristle. “You see, old friend, my partner and I are doing some charity work, and I thought I’d take it upon myself to offer your services!”
“Are — Are you shitting me?” Husker yells. He wildly glances around. “You seriously want me to help with this dump? Out of everything? What, you take me to be some sort of clown?!”
Alastor bites his lip, as if he’s holding his laughter back. “Maybe.”
Husker grumbles. “I ain’t doing no fucking charity job—”
“Oh, come on, Husk,” Vox snakes an arm across Husker’s shoulders. The cat demon glares at him pointedly, but keeps silent. “What Al is trying to say is that you’d be the perfect face to the front desk of this no-show!” The TV Demon points to the reception desk. “With your charming smile and welcoming personality, sinners will be flooding in to get a room,” Vox winks while Husker’s scowl just deepens.
“And, my friend,” Alastor continues, smoothly walking over to the front desk. “I can make this a bit more… enticing.” And with a single swoop of his arm, a bottle of cheap booze manifests on the table. Angel’s mouth almost drools at the sight. Shit, he hasn’t had alcohol in a solid two weeks ever since he agreed to stay at this trashy hotel. Husker seems to be interested in it too, considering the way his ears point up and eyes practically brighten at the sight of the bottle. However, the cat demon shakes his head quickly, as if trying to break away from a spell.
“What, ya think you can buy me off with a wink and some cheap booze?” Husker storms over to the reception desk, glaring between the Radio Demon’s cheeky grin and the bottle of alcohol. He seems to weigh his options in his head before groaning and grabbing the booze almost immediately, popping off the cap and downing it. “...Well ya can.”
Angel’s eyes sparkle at the idea of having a bar in this rundown hotel. Finally, something fucking good in this dump. His fantasies are immediately interrupted by Vaggie’s voice, because of course he can’t have a single good time without this lady breathing down his neck. “Hey!” Vaggie exclaims. “No. No bar, no alcohol. This is supposed to be a place that discourages sin! Not some—”
Angel finally lets his impulsive thoughts win and tackles her with all his might. “Shut up!” he snaps, covering her mouth with one of his hands. “Shut. Up.” He uses his remaining arms to point at the bar. “We are keeping this,” he hisses. Vaggie glares at him like a rabid animal.
He easily gets up and saunters toward the bar, leaning into Husker’s personal space. The cat demon glares at him in disgust. “Hey,” Angel charmingly says, eyeing the bottle of booze in Husker’s hand.
“Go fuck yourself,” Husker quips back at him, inching away from Angel.
“Only if you watch me,” Angel purrs back almost instinctively.
Husker opens his mouth to speak before Charlie is suddenly all up in his face, stars in her eyes. “Oh my gosh!” she squeals. “Welcome to the Happy Hotel — you are going to love it here!”
The gambler’s eyes narrow and he still remains his iron grip on the booze. “I lost the ability to love a long time ago,” is all he says before his mouth is back on the bottle, downing basically half of the bottle. Lucky bastard.
“Well then!” Alastor chirps, sliding up to Charlie, Vox at his heels. “What do you think?”
“This — this is amazing!” Charlie exclaims, eyes bright and full of life. “Gosh, I cannot thank you two enough this is — I mean, just wow, it’s—”
Vaggie interrupts her, clearing her throat. “It’s…” she starts off awkwardly, waving her hand around. “...okay.”
Vox grins. “Glad you think so, princess, because this…” He gazes around the room, chuckling goodnaturedly. “Is going to be very entertaining.”
After a few hours of business arrangements and small talk (and maybe watching Alastor beat up some random snake demon, which was… well, pretty hot, if you ask Vox), the two media overlords are finally free to rest in their assigned room, which Charlie very excitedly showed them to. Vox would laugh at the princess’ energetic persona, but a part of him sees himself in her — the blind hope and big plans. He’s lucky that Alastor took on his partnership and became… well, more than just partners in business.
Speaking of Alastor, the Radio Demon sits at the edge of the bed, humming a stray tune, fidgeting with something on his staff. While unbuttoning his stiff jacket, Vox takes some time to admire his husband, and suddenly he feels like the same lovesick, blushy CRT-head demon he once was, chatting with Alastor over a couple glasses of whiskey.
His eyes catch onto Alastor’s shadow roaming around the room, examining the furniture. He chuckles. It certainly has a more playful personality than its owner.
“Al?” Vox calls softly to the Radio Demon, hanging his suit on the coat rack. He earns a curious hum in response. “Are you sure you really want to, ah…” The TV Demon glances around the room. “Invest in this?”
Alastor stops and turns his head towards Vox’s direction, eyebrow raising in a playful manner. “Questioning my decisions already, Vox?”
Vox scoffs lightheartedly. “Just not sure what you would see in some place like this.”
Alastor blinks calmly, lips widening to reveal his bright yellow teeth. “You’ll see, my dear.” He turns back around. “Besides, it’ll be fun! A new passion project for both of us to collaborate on, hm? It’ll be just like the old days. Have some trust — isn’t that what your whole franchise is about?”
Vox isn’t quite sure if he wants to put any fraction of his passion into this hotel, but he just snorts and shrugs his shoulders. “I guess,” he muses out loud, sitting down next to Alastor on the bed. Their knees just slightly touch, resting against each other intimately. “As long as Niffty doesn’t keep trying to stab me this time,” he jokes.
Alastor barks out an amused chuckle, one that Vox drinks up like a thirsty man in an oasis. “Oh, you know I can’t control her urges. And it’s quite entertaining, might I add.” The Radio Demon turns his head to face Vox, red eyes boring into a luminescent blue screen.
Vox grumbles something incoherent before he’s interrupted by a yawn crawling up his throat. He checks his battery — must be running low, better get some rest soon. The TV Demon quickly finds a wall outlet, extending his wires to plug them into. Alastor drags a claw across the smooth surface of Vox’s screen, observing him quietly, almost predatorially. (Although Vox would probably be lying if he said he isn’t at least a little bit into that.)
“Rest up, my dear,” the Radio Demon says carefully after a few beats of silence. Vox leans into his touch, eyelids slowly drooping.
“We have quite a job to attend to tomorrow.”