#|{ 𝚒’𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚡 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜 ;; vox (electriccapitalist) }|

[staticintone]

@televisionrotsyourbrain @electriccapitalist && pleasant reintroductions

Self-assured, pleased.

This was not what he anticipated his past 30 hours would look like. But it was a surprise that he didn’t regret. Now with someone new at his side, different enough to be noticeable, but not so much so that it was distracting or disappointing.

He had promised to return. And he had every intention to. He just wouldn’t be coming back alone.

The question was… would they recall the event that brought them to this position in the first place? Would Alastor have to order an apology? Would it even matter?

“There you are.”

You, as if there was no other ‘you’ in the world. As if there wasn’t another ‘you’ standing beside him.

“Meet our newest guest. He’ll be staying close to me, obviously, as he gets accustomed to things. He’s… had a change of heart recently.”

[staticintone]

LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO

inspired by the roleplay with @electriccapitalist

[staticintone]

Mine Forever

@electriccapitalist @televisionrotsyourbrain

[staticintone]

@electriccapitalist && cont. from here

Bile spat from his tongue faster than he could think about it. Leftover vitriol tossed out in throwaway comments happened more often than he’d like to admit with Vito, considering it would wash away with the moment.

Virgil was a far cry from Vito. Alastor had to remember that, lest he get caught up in old infected wounds and leave a stain he wouldn’t be able to erase.

“You two are different. Down to the core.”

But he was better, wasn’t he? Functioning and lively and—Vox, he was Vox. It was why he couldn’t let it eat away at him, this anger. Alastor was better than the Vees, who hacked away at both of his Voxs until there was nothing left.

“It is not my job to prove your worth to everyone, Vox.”

He had moved to grab at Alastor, who found his hands just as fast. Gripping them just a bit too tightly, thumbnails digging into the back of them. Alastor knew the crescent moon marks would fade, but still took comfort in seeing them form.

His eyes bouncing between Vox’s hands before flicking up to his gaze. Never moving his head, instead looking up at him with darker features than the moment should have allowed.

“Show me that you mean what you say, and I’ll be yours. Give us the chance we both deserve.”

[staticintone]

You'll feel much better

When you wake up numb

And your brain's been severed

And your heartbeat won't be based on the weather

When you sell yourself to me

Took your peace, your pain, your pleasure

And I left you with one face forever

You won't hurt anymore

Be careful what you wish for

[staticintone]

💬 voxxcd or electriccapitalist for ram?

“You picked two that are so so different.”

“I wonder if you know something that I don’t. That the two of them had some common thread or connection before meeting me.”

“But I don’t believe that’s the case. Virgil was so angry, so frightened in our first encounter. The other one holds firm that he is neither.”

“Shame on you, to give me hope like that.”

“Virgil is perfect. I have said it before, and I will say it again in the future. He is idealized, and entirely flawless. Every encounter I have with him reminds me of the beauty in this world. I worried that I may never love again, and here he is to prove me wrong.”

“The other is a rotting carcass in comparison. Lost in delusions. Disappointing and so horrendously ugly. Frustrating in a way that I cannot describe. So terribly uncomplicated yet not at all straightforward.”

“And yet, I want him beside me. Isn’t that so strange?”

“He could be wondrous too.”

[staticintone]

@electriccapitalist replied to this

"The way I died was quite electrifying... but it wasn't therapy that's for damn sure."

“That’s because you have some self-respect and dignity, I think.”

[staticintone]

@electriccapitalist replied to this

"Hot."

“Don’t tempt me.”

[staticintone]

So. The big question. "He does maintenance right? What am I supposed to do?" It's not like Vox can go back to the tower to continue running his empire. But what use does the hotel have for a failed actor turned vicious businessman? "Am I just supposed to stand around and look pretty?" A tease but honestly that doesn't sound too bad, after working himself ragged and hollow for the past few decades. "I want to help you if I can. Make up for what I've done..." during the whole 'kill all als' thing.

“That depends on you, dear.”

Vito needed something to keep his hands busy. That was the most ‘help’ he provided most of the time. The same way that Niffty hardly did any actual cleaning.

Virgil was cognizant. Capable. Alastor would hardly feel satisfied with giving him simple busy work. And he doubted that Virgil would be either.

“If you see a need you can fill, feel free to. You can consider yourself my personal assistant if you really want to, but that isn’t necessary. I tend to take care of what Charlie needs, you can always help with that.”

There was also just the possibility of Virgil fully becoming a proper guest of the Hotel. Not that he would take it seriously, Alastor hardly did.

And God forbid he ever try for redemption.

He shouldn’t want to.

He shouldn’t want to leave him behind.

“Otherwise, feel free to enjoy the downtime. Indulge Charlie a bit. Get to know everyone. Rediscover your hobbies. Rediscover yourself, my friend. The possibilities are endless.”

[staticintone]

bro how are you going to explain the second brainwashed vox to charlie, she's gonna kick you out

Brainwashed…?

That was certainly an accusation.

“Such a harsh term. Brainwashing is something done with no regard to the victim, in order to set them on a course that they would otherwise never follow.”

“Vox did follow me. Wanted me in his life. Loved me. I didn’t affect anything that wasn’t already there, begging to come back to the surface.”

“The proper word for that is revival. Rejuvenation. Reawakening.”

Onto the actual question now.

“Charlie will understand the concept of the multiverse, yes? Having someone come in from another place and stay a while may be unconventional, but it isn’t worthy of being thrown out.”

If it was such a big issue, Alastor could offer to house one at the western radio tower. That place had been his home for a long time. But he didn’t necessarily think it would come to that.

“Virgil can explain himself, frankly. Charlie may even finally understand what Vox is meant to look like when he isn’t so severely affected by the world as Vito is. And if he chooses not to, I will just tell her the truth.”

“He wants to be here. He wants to be with me.”

[staticintone]

@electriccapitalist replied to this

"It's a surprise!" :D

“It certainly is.”

… “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself at least. I’ll have Niffty get everything clean when you’re done.”

[staticintone]

"HA! Welcome to my world bitch. How's it feel? Weird right. Especially the seam in the neck."

“Heavy.”

He’s not about to confess to just about anything else.

“I already tore into that.”

[staticintone]

This final piece of the puzzle is meant to be slower, dedicated, devotional.

A knowing look and pleased smile is the only attention the doctor takes away from Vox. Silent gratitude. No thanks necessary, he knows the doctor enjoyed being a part of this firsthand. But Alastor is grateful nonetheless.

His focus—his priority—is still in front of him.

“It’s all done. I am so proud of you.”

As frustrating as this had been in the beginning, it had been worth it to have this. He can still feel Vox enmeshed with him inside his very voice in the microphone. Let it be; let them have this moment.

“I will keep you safe, Vox, always. You will never feel that way ever again. No one will hurt you with me by your side.”

Vox does not need to be jostled right now. Not even to repair what is currently broken. The movements Alastor makes with him in his arms are calculated, careful not to interfere with his pain or his healing process. When the dust has fully settled, only then will Alastor rush to fix those small things.

“How does it feel to come back to who you truly are? Is it fresh air, Vox? You have been drowning for so long, haven’t you?”

The time between reassurances is spent with soft hymns and lullabies gently hummed both through his lips and the microphone. Reverberating through where Vox’s own voice lies in tandem with his. Never overtaking the other, but coexisting, harmonizing with the soft cries.

“I have been waiting for you to return to me. To see the light. It may have taken a push, but I am overjoyed to have you here.”

The speech continues.

“See what it is to trust? I never will hurt you gratuitously. Things may get messy, but I am only ever thinking of you.”

And continues.

“You are the only one worth this effort. Because you are the only one I ever want to know me. As I now know you.”

And continues.

“You are so beautiful like this, open and genuine. I am so happy to know the real you.”

Alastor is not still; his hands dance along Vox’s unmarred skin. Keeping him as close as possible. Nestled here, Vox is adored. A notion made obvious in action and word.

“Do you feel loved? Because you are.”

Time passes.

“Striving for perfection robs us of the delicacy and grace of the flawed. You never needed to be perfect to be desired.”

Words of affirmation do not run dry.

“Never forget what I will do for you. Even in spite of yourself, I will always take care of you. Even when you don’t feel deserving.”

He waits until absolutely sure that Vox has healed before dissolving the superficial stitches. The ones that cover skin and muscle and nerve and bone. The scars will fade. There was no permanent shift in his flesh. This will soon be just a memory for both of them.

“It will be you and I now.”

The mind is fallible. And even the most iron clad wills inevitably break. What a thing to have his own mind and self stripped from him. For all the people he's ruined and altered as he saw fit now it was his turn in the seat.

Remembered nights of passion and feelings of affection for Valentino, who'd helped raise him back to his feet after his Alastor had left him on his knees, now soured. A romantic partner twisted more into the monster that most knew him to be. Where once Vox would have recalled welcoming him with open arms and fevered lips it's all screams and shattered screens.

The respect for Velvette and the pride he held in seeing her flourish under his influence meant nothing when left with the disgust for her behaviours. Ungrateful brat. Just another woman. He can't recall why he thought her special. Why she was worth more of his time and patience when all she did was throw his efforts in his face.

They were using him just like everyone else. Conspiring against him. Took for granted everything he gave and despite all his efforts they were never satisfied in continuing to take and take and take.

Instead Alastor has his best interests at heart. He came back. He's fixing him. He cares like no other. And isn't it so nice to finally let go of that hard wrought control? To be the one being taken care of for once. To be worth the effort.

Where his own mental voice began and the two men endlessly assaulting him ended became nonexistent. Doing so much to 'better' himself over the years but he's just mutilated his own body.

Chasing an ideal of perfection that was unobtainable. When Alastor offers a solution, being good enough as he was and had once been. Even if outdated and flawed. The promise of accepting him where no one else ever had or would.

Praying on that bittersweet nostalgia. Even pulling on his own harboured feelings before sealing them with a command. His Alastor or not, it's the face of the man he first truly felt a connection with and came to adore. Someone he believed could finally understand him after a lifetime of hiding his true nature. That voice he'd obsessed over even back when listening on an old broken radio.

The hurt and betrayal of his abandonment softened. Resentment twisted to guilt.

Vox doesn't know up from down by the time he's being put back together like some broken doll.

Everything hurts. He's never known such deep and prolonged agony. Forcing his mind to snap and bounce back under guided clawing fingers. It's a miracle he didn't resurrect or lose it entirely but then the Doctor is a professional and he's been preparing for this for so long. If he had lips he'd be forcing them apart in an elated grin.

Limp in the now softened hands that held his naked form while caked in his gore. Wanting so badly mentally and physically to just rest. For it truly and finally to be over. His power reserves are entirely depleted and his systems barely functioning. Body scorching hot with the failure to filter out heat through his vents and the raw sensation of his body attempting to mend itself.

Sinner immortality was not and had never been a gift. His wounds ache and burn, there's places inside of him that itch and sting. But there's a silent promise in the way he's cradled. 'I'm here'.

You are... you came back...

Even before the torture lied the deeply coveted secret he'd often tried to deny himself. He'd missed Alastor, for so long.

If still capable of noise he merely sobs quietly. Now in relief.

The Doctor silently observes from a distance. Cleaning and returning his tools to his medical bag. Drinking in the self satisfaction and realization of sating his scientific curiosity. Proving that despite all his boasting and arrogance or his power that Vox was still human and not so different after all. It's sweet in a morbidly delusional way.

[staticintone]

“I won’t blame you if you fail. After all, you have to have some faults, don’t you?”

“But this is a good chance to prove yourself.”

“My dear… we might actually win this.”

[staticintone]

If Alastor could hear the doctor’s thoughts, he would be insulted. A butcher? No. He was a builder, a carpenter, an architect tearing up the ground to lay a new foundation.

With the organ in his grasp, he can feel it subtly jerk and jolt. But exposed as it is, under his fingertips, any attempt at retaliation is fruitless. Alastor has been under worse duress under less dire circumstances, and the shock does little more than kick him into action. A subtle burn does not stop the craftsman from continuing his work.

The talkative nature of the doctor—revealing more and more details about his own history—only gains him more favor rather than less. Alastor may even go so far as to call them kindred spirits. It was only a shame that the doctor had worked under Vox. Perhaps if he had his own way, the doctor would have been able to fix him long before he ended up this badly damaging himself.

The smile was no longer so wicked, so manic. It was self-satisfied and delighted, directed up at his accomplice.

“Let’s begin, then.”

As much as Vox was incapable of making proper noise, Alastor still listened intensely. Hoping to hear the quietest confirmations that things would take. Even with the doctor’s solid advice, a comment here, a suggestion there, Alastor still was the one with the final say. And he wasn’t dissuaded from certain methods.

Ultimately, there were two interconnected systems to engage with during this phase.

The first was memory. The stage of metamorphosis where everything falls away from the caterpillar, only to be left with the imaginal discs. He had previously locked away entire decades, hidden never to be freed. That didn’t seem to be quite the approach here.

If he could eradicate long periods of time, he would. But how far back should he be looking? This isn’t his Vox; there’s no proper date in mind. Would it be the eighties, the seventies, even the sixties? Perhaps just shifting focus to ‘simpler times’ would be enough. Make him long for the past, reject the modern.

If memories cannot be erased easily, then they can be warped.

The Vees are toxic and dangerous. Velvette is a child and Valentino is a neanderthal, neither can be taken seriously. They do not care about Vox, they never have. They are a poison to his system that needs to be remedied. Never to be trusted, never to be known again.

If he cannot remove the metamorphosis from Vox whole cloth, then he will adapt Vox’s mind to it. The process was beautiful, romantic even, in the most breathtaking sense. Alastor brought his hands to Vox’s soul and cleansed it. Invigorated him. Brought him back to life.

The second was behavior. Where those imaginal discs build the new butterfly. Much more simple in nature. Much more easily adjusted. The three directives were gracefully executed:

Alastor is always right; hang onto his every word.

Your feelings for Alastor are not to be spoken of nor analyzed unprovoked; he will bring it up when you are worthy.

Everything is as it should be; there is no reason to doubt.

The last is the most important. If there are no doubts, then there is no reason to change. No reason to adjust the status quo. This life is good.

There is no attempt to change Vox at his core; why would he ever want that? This is about bringing him back, giving him happiness he was otherwise lacking.

It is why, when the directives are done and secured, he seals it with a stitch that would never fade. His core wrapped in impenetrable thread forever more.

His hands move quickly, to undo the damage to his chest. Bending steel bone into place, carefully laying down skin and muscle to sew back together. Ultimately letting his touch turn gentle, more than ever before. Leaning into Vox, bloodied hands moving from chest to neck to pull him close.

“It’s over. We did it. Don’t worry. I’m here.”

The chrysalis was broken. It was now time to nurture the butterfly.

It was time for stage three.

As soon as the physical connection is made Vox's returned voice hisses and whimpers. Oh he doesn't like his signal and components being touched like that by Alastor's magic. It's feels even more invasive than the threads marring his ruined flesh. False breaths laboured and strained.

The Doctor is impressed that it worked so effortlessly. So immediate. Perhaps his hypothesis that the two were more similar in nature despite such different appearances had rang true.

Radio and tv or shadows and electricity? No no. Too many were fixated on the surface level. It went much deeper than that. They were audio and visual. Darkness and light. Intertwined. Arguably better when brought together.

There was the wretch's screaming again. A startled howl as his chest was literally torn open. The ghoul's eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the grating cry. Perhaps this time Alastor could manage his levels and better manage the equipment. The radio demon's methods are crude. Were it only a scalpel peeling back the layers and a calculated saw. Not one to to dottle then. He can work with that.

The grim surgeons bathed in the same electric blue cyan that often coloured Vox's magic. Now illuminating from his core in the gaps of pulsing meat. A spark in the void surrounding them.

The biomechanic core thrummed and burned with continuous restless energy. Lighting up with heat and one could swear it quivered upon Alastor's initial touch. Pushing back with a sharp shock. Like it was afraid. Ludicrous. It was merely an organ however complicated and grotesques.

Wandering eyes drinking in the sight. He's stolen all of Vox's records to sate his own curiosity and lingered in darkness during his little upgrade sessions when he could get away with it but never before had he been this close to the dissection he'd craved for decades. A pity he has to serve as only an aid and to a butcher at that but he relinquishes his depraved desires to another. It will be reward enough to see Monet transformed. The master turned to puppet.

Alastor claims he's going off of sound but Vox is just a string of garbled hitches of breath and choked exhausted or pained groans. Insides helpless to his exploration. It seems where the cables and wires as well as his veins and valves all feed into his core is where he's more sensitive.

"I do not know where his memories would manifest in that thing. I doubt anyone would, even himself. However this is what I do. And why he has kept me even after having escaped my blade before. We have programmed and altered so many. His hypnosis and control could only do so much. Together we made it so his slaves were always under his influence whether his powers were activated or not."

Another syringe, he doesn't ask permission. Instead the Doctor injects it into the back of Vox's neck. Not daring to get in the way of Alastor's direct line. And suddenly where he'd been hanging slack Vox's muscles tense. Hands curling into fists. His face flickers and fails to appear on his screen. A lapse back into proper consciousness as he edges and teeters.

"That thing is his mind and the mind is fragile no matter how it may manifest. Easily broken and reshaped with a patient hand. Conditioned with pain and reward."

Vox lets out a broken sob. An admission to the truth of such statements.

Behind him skeletal hands are spread out, the monstrosity towering over it's subject. Missing lower face clicking as he opens and shuts his jaws.

"Tell me what you wish to achieve. How we shall remake him and by my word as your doctor, it shall be done." Trust in the process. In the power and experience of this monster behind Vox's most obedient and perfected servants. By heaven and hell, Alastor would have his glorious victory. Vox's fate was sealed the moment he'd allowed himself to be captured.

[staticintone]

Irritation giving way to consideration.

The frustration sitting on his chest no longer came from the intrusion. No, the doctor was quickly becoming an asset.

Alastor’s grievances came only with Vox.

Especially with the implication that he would have to end the broadcast to be fully confident that Vox couldn’t get away. Leave it to this one to disrupt the whole show.

“Sorry to cut the broadcast short. Next time you hear from us, it will be from outside the cocoon.”

It would be worth it by the end. It had to be.

“If you’re worried about the screen, I’m certain there’s something around here that we can use… Even if we have to dig through his trash to find it.”

Sealing up his microphone, magic made it possible to connect the cord to it. Having Vox so directly connected to him, to his voice, was intimate in a way he didn’t expect, but furthered his resolve.

A reminder of the reason he had started this in the first place. To reconnect, to restore and revitalize Vox, take back what used to be their relationship. Little snags in the technique were common, right? Having to adjust to each individual and their internal structure was the case in any procedure. It happened.

But this was still Vox. And this just proved it.

Alastor listened carefully to the instructions without much difficulty or question. Effectively repositioning himself in front of Vox without ever losing his grip. He wouldn’t dare let go now.

“You have to remember Doctor, we entertainment types do so enjoy our wordplay and dramatics. And Vox always was corny. I don’t intend to take that away from him.”

His attention back to Vox as he positioned his hands just so. Feeling for his ribcage, the false ribs, below the sternum.

“I will not destroy your soul, Vox. I just intend to hold it in my hands a while.”

His claws sunk deep, slow, piercing through skin and muscle together. Until they wrapped around metallic bone.

And pulled back.

A sudden sharp movement that tore through tissue. Splattered. Messy. Ugly. Uneven jagged edges that would ultimately be harder to sew back together when finished.

Bending the ribs was only to allow space for his hands. Nevermind the means, it was about the end. He would correct them, when it was over, of course.

Fingers poking and prodding gently around the “core”. Getting a feel for it in all its glory. Hitting soft pressure points to test for audio cues he had hinted at before.

Stage two was beginning.

A process that would take hours—perhaps not, with the doctor involved.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where his memories are stored, would you? Or exactly how to make the adjustments I need to?”

He was only so willing to heed warnings. Open to an education, sure, but not a discussion. Things would be done whether they were endorsed by the doctor or not. If he had nothing to give—he previously warned that the mechanics of some things were not his forte—then he would be sent away.

Either way, his knowledge had been invaluable.

Proving he's still conscious with what is supposed to be a grunt but lost in the noise. The possessive grip seemingly so fickle compared to the egregious wounds the overlord has accumulated so far.

He registers the voice and struggles amidst the aftershocks of pain to understand what the Doctor's plan is. Blinded and his senses sent haywire all he can place is the radio demon next to him. Damning the fool for not just attacking Alastor outright. If he could frown he would as their conversation carries on. This is a ploy.... right?

The Doctor spoke his truth. Providing only as he said he would. An antifibrinolytic of his own making and dosed to Vox's unique tolerance to slow the bleeding. No pain killers. Or other salvations.

"The hare was more inclined to deal with his... admittedly problematic mechanical afflictions however I may yet have a solution. If you see within his head that large bright cable you can find coming from his neck, plugged into the tv's main circuit board. That performs much of his connective functionality. If we simply plug it into another bit of audio equipment then he'll be able to speak. A speaker from your setup would be ideal so long as the connection and system is isolated. We do not want our subject to escape via the public grid."

Having been accepted, at least for now, the man approaches and bends to look into Vox's cracked and weeping screen. "A word of caution. As a reality warper the more he loses himself the worse his grasp on his powers. Hardly a concern in our current location I believe, but to make you aware."

Ghoulish features turn back towards Alastor as Vox trembles beneath his touch. Internally his mind has grabbed onto a thread of indignant confusion and the remnants of anger. A betrayal felt on two fronts as he's caged in.

He tries to tell Alastor off but it's just a screech of static and errors.

Despite Vox's unspoken weariness and limited ire the Doctor continues, "The head is an extension of the self. Consider it a prosthetic is necessary. Thus the changes, different models. As stated I suggest we swap it with a temporary replacement. While what you're looking to rewrite exists not above the shoulders but beneath the throat."

A mangled hand gesturing to Vox's chest. Where his heart and lungs should be. Instead a whirring always powered and thrumming bit of biomechanical tech lies encased in a metal ribcage. Capable of pumping blood and processing data. "That, is Vox. It may very well house his soul. And is where that bright cord ultimately leads back to. He calls it 'his core'. Trite."