#contracts not like Val’s so he’ll be mollified

[voxiiferous]

Vincent nods along with the answer, not quite… understanding, but getting enough of the gist to run with it. Everything had to get its start somewhere— and different as it all is, and it is, there’s something nice in the knowledge that even now he has not abandoned that first spark love for the television. Expanded it and really made it his own, but never moved on to something new.

“Now that’s a good invention— I wouldn’t be where I am without the cinemas, but even I can admit that some nights you really just want to do something quiet at home without having to read.” Which to him meant, most of the time, the radio if he was honest, or one of the TV shows he didn’t work on, because he wants to be adored, but he has less interest dissecting his own performance. “Vox has been busy then, all the new and old things at the click of a button!”

There’s something satisfying in knowing that he helped build television into the medium it is now, as it gets larger still, so to know that not only does Vox keep going, but adds more and more new mediums feels like comfort. That would help explain it all at least, stubborn, the lot of them. One clinging to the classic, the other embracing everything new. Neither seemed like winning tactics; the internet sounds fascinating, but Vox’s apartment is also missing all the charm of physical things. “Seems a downright shame, not the dislike of course, you can’t actually charm everyone despite by best efforts some days, but there’s a lot of good things from after 1933, at least he encountered sliced bread.” Which was convenient if nothing else.

Vincent bites his bottom lip, a bad habit, but one nonetheless. “I might be throwing stones from a glass house,” because it’s not like he knows what ended with him down here, maybe he did kill a man, “but I don’t think that being your creator or not gives him the right to murder you. You seem more than a little sentient, even if sin…. Is not fake if there’s Hell.” Huh… That implied a God… he’ll consider that later. Much later.

Vincent laughs, smiling. “You’re probably right. Seems a poor choice to keep them so near at hand.” It won’t, he thinks, be enough to stop him in all honesty, he’d just make sure to do it, potentially tomorrow, after Vox leaves for work. Just quick, just enough to reassure him that his future wasn’t trappings souls like a terrible spiders web. “And of it’s all on the internet I doubt I’d even know what to look for. I’d be a terrible spy.” But that’s alright, what no one else knows won’t hurt them.

“A… spider? What do you mean cover?" The way Astor speaks about it makes it seem like a magazine, which it isn't. Mostly it's just the word, like womanizer, if which he isn't either. As for the other half of it, he had seen some spider demons on the streets, but none would... consider magazine worthy. He glosses over the Lorax reference, another one from after his time, he assumes. "It seems I have more hobbies than Vox, which is impressive considering I probably spend more time at the network studios than anyone else."

Vincent grins, both pleased for the opportunity to teach it to Astor, and to dance at all. "You needn't worry about that," There's about a foot between them if Vincent had to guess, and he's danced with girls that much shorter than him. Sure, it would mean trying to teach backwards or with a much taller follower, but that's not exactly anything impossible. And okay, maybe he's excited about the idea of being able to dance with a man without fear, sue him. "There's enough room in the living room that we should be able to do it there, music and all. Might as well get some use from the fact that Vox's house is covered in all those little speakers." Or he'd just buy a gramophone, and consider it a gift to his future's personal space.

"I suppose in a city like this, there's bound to be a hierarchy. I guess I'm just surprised the sinners aren't the bottom. Everyone's always talking about how Hell's gonna punish the sinners, and it seems... short of brimstone."

Vincent has never been entirely sure how his heart reacts to stress, but he'd sure it's beating just a little bit faster, as he's sure it's been doing since he would up here! "Ah well, I think my heart's usually slower than it is now. Terrible scientific method you know, not a true control." He says, continuing to run his fingers through Astor's hair, not letting it throw him enough to stop.