#[ alastor: ON ONE HAND... hell calamity and too much attention and shattering the very foundation of sinner kind ]

[radioiaci]

It is with patience that Alastor awaits the other's response - knowing that it is not an easy decision to be made, nor one that Vox will make without his own input. Input which he has yet to even really decide on. He is not meant to be any sort of parent, his hang-ups for being such hinging entirely on his own raise and knowing the sins of his father and the betrayal of his mother. And is he expected to be any better? To not strike a child in the face for back-talk or to look upon his own progeny with disdain for turning out wrong?

Questions he does not have answers to.

"Made in our image..." Alastor repeats, his gaze drifting elsewhere as he considers that descriptor specifically. His mind is in the same place as Vox's in that regard - a combination of their abilities and powers? Something to carry on on the off chance that either of them meet their end in the next extermination? One that he is certain will be worse than all those that have preceded them - if the battle at the hotel is anything to go by.

But that would require the creature to get that far. To be able to come into its own. And how would a Sinner-born beast even age? Would it be as expected? Would it take longer? Would it be in their control? There are many questions that none other have even dared to consider, let alone himself.

Vox's last addition draws his gaze back over. If he weren't the father. Well, of course. If he weren't, he would have insisted that the thing be destroyed and might flay the individual responsible. For implanting something so parasitic into the body and being that he considered his own.

Thankfully, that is not the case. If all of this is to be believed.

"No, the misguided and long-since illusion of a nuclear family is not something that I would permit, even if it were an achievable ideal," Alastor says with a moderate sneer. He will not relegate either himself nor Vox to be a vapid housewife. They have facets of the ring to continue to control. There is no time to abandon those responsibilities in favor of playing mother.

"...Honesty prompts me to warn that any parental role that I would take would be as I am in all other aspects of who I am and what I do." Harsh. Firm. Judgmental. Expecting control and viciously ensuring it for himself and all things in his grasp. "Ideal role models were far and few in between in my day." His father's face reflects in his own terse expression before it is gone. Fleeting.

"And there is no doubt there will be a target painted on not only this spawn but on the two of us as well. There has never been a Sinner-born entity. The moment it is discovered, the Pentagram will talk of nothing else for ages."

The thought makes him bristle.

"However... To have some sort of successor... or, at the very least, another player of our own making within the weave..."

That is interesting indeed.

Ignorance truly was bliss. As the tech head is spared from the worries of the queen's influence. Although there was grand difference in Alastor being taken or ordered vs him choosing to leave. It was that belief that Alastor simply didn't want him that hurt so much and it's that needling worry that's chased back away. 'I will be with you'. It's enough. More than enough when coupled with his actions thus far.

A brow arched at his lack of additional input. Merely curious. Wondering if he'd said something wrong but not having long to dwell on it as his lover continues. Right. The issue at hand. No more dancing around it. Now that Vox was back in control. Though he grimaces.

"A moment my dear." Pulling away from Alastor's arms slowly. Trying to communicate that he isn't ripping himself away, isn't fleeing or upset. He reaches out and pulls out a carton of cigarettes from out of thin air, a trick all overlords know well. As he makes the short distance over to one of the luxurious leather couches he kicks off his shoes. Getting comfortable.

Patting the cushion beside him as he lit the stick with a spark. He's stalling again. The smoke helps ease his nerves though and he genuinely does need time to gather more of his thoughts. Trying to think of it like he would matters of business. Practicality.

"I'm confused for a start. How did this even fucking happen? Why us? I'm conflicted. We could just abort the damn thing and be done with it. Or..." Vox's eyes glance at one of the many paintings on his walls. "Or we could have a kid. Assuming nothing went wrong. A son or daughter made in our image."

A dynasty.

And a legacy that could outlive them.

The embodiment of their combined power. Audio and visual. Light and dark. All in one. Something created and given life from their dead souls.

"And I'm scared. There's so much to consider. So much that could go wrong or that we could regret." What if. What if. What if. It was exhausting for a chronic over thinker. The cigarette brought to his lips. Cobalt smoke escapes the gaps of his shark like teeth.

It's not a feeling but it bears saying. "If you weren't the father, I would have cut it out of my stomach by now." Which is Vox's way of saying that if it was with Alastor... he was open to the idea of trying... "Though I don't see us ever getting the typical picket fence and yard."