#tv man unfortunately is dealing with a yassified stray fhffhj

[a-hazbin-spider]

At first he was thinking he was asking for too much for something that would take under two hours. Maybe Vox was still powerful enough to be stingy? It wasn’t until he starts questioning the decision that Angel understands it was lowballing it. It isn’t like he usually gets to ask for anything. Even then, if Vox wanted it so secretive, maybe it was better, he can’t imagine Val wouldn’t notice an added sum for himself, or whatever else might’ve been on the table. Perhaps it could be pushed off that he thought of that- but it was before Vox had ever said a word of it being secret. He hopes under the scrutinizing red light of those eyes that he can’t see what must be a pink starting to color his cheeks. It sure feels like they’re burning. Vox is going to guess quite easily that he’s acting like some sad stray animal, wanting what he asked for over anything.

A silent breath is taken through his nose, the only indication that he’s trying to collect himself and stay cool being the slightly larger puff of his chest. He’s got this. He’s an actor! Nobody can tell the difference between his pain and pleasure on screen, naturally he can make someone think he doesn’t want to crawl in a hole and die twice. “Yeh, I don’t think ya understand how rare it is I get to do any wining or dining. I’m not askin’ for a date, don’t get me wrong, it just sounds nice. Thought two hours oughta pay for that.”

Can he pass that off as expensive taste? Maybe. Truth was he was grossly underestimating how much two hours was. Or- how big this task was as far as weight. Took it like maybe helping his brother with a car at the dead of night, and being offered to share a sandwich after the fact. What the two men had in common- each were able to make Angel feel very simple. For now, Vox isn’t making him feel berated or stupid, but Vox was always so smart and advanced. At least when simple solutions were all they needed, he was the right guy for the job!

“Take-backsies, he says.” An amused murmur is let out under his breath while he leans in closely. “I understand. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” All eight eyes hold a focus, and he is just as grateful for the sort of nostalgic familiarity with an admittedly strange task, as he is to have the embarrassment banished to the back of his mind. His claws are careful, but, in the mess of overlapped and otherwise displaced wiring, they glide into the underside, feeling for any give while he stares intently, searching for any open ports in the meantime.

Softly into his focus, a near inaudible chittering can be heard while the task is at hand, and wires are combed through as one might over hair, or pages of an old book. And with just as much tender care, too. These were, after all, rather important, or so one would think.

“I ain’t know a whole lot about computers.” He starts, yep that’s so reassuring isn’t it? “But I’m guessing these match their port in some way, right? I’m just gonna need to pair them up..?” Wishful thinking? Probably. What are the chances that a body fucking labels itself? It isn’t like the hand bones show their order, and make a handy matching color or number by each fragment and joint. This probably was like rearranging hands and feet. Half the bones- and nerves- are in there. That’s why so much torture involves breaking them! Only… wait this was literally his head. This is his brain isn’t it? That is… so much worse. At least thoughts like that keep him from messing up. Neurosurgeons must have balls of solid titanium.

One good thing about Angel’s body, it had so many fingers, that allowed him to start and keep holding any finds while he continues to hunt down the rest. Each area can be bookmarked essentially. Makes the time hunting less painstaking than it already was. “A’right… that oughta do it… Er. What’s next?”

[ alone ] for one muse to find the other trying to treat themselves /and or

[ drugged ] for one muse to take care of the other while they’re delirious

@a-hazbin-spider ?

[ alone ] from the injury/hurt prompts list!

~

Vox usually likes to be alone after a fight; to lick his wounds in private, so to speak. He has a habit of walling himself off in his sanctum, free to keep tabs on everyone while secure in the knowledge that no one could see him. The solemn darkness of the space was the next best thing to real reassurance that things were going to be okay, and much easier to get ahold of.

He's careless, perhaps. Maybe too injured to think as he stumbles inside, a prominent trail of black oil and bright blue coolant marking his path from the nearest CCTV camera to the door. He forgets to lock the door on the way in.

So it's a nasty shock some time later when the door slides open in the middle of his work. The bright glare of the hallway floods in, illuminating both his headless form and his TV on the table in front of him, its case pulled open and innards exposed for repairs. In lieu of his normal vision, each of the many screens around all swivel to look at the intruder, all displaying a single, familiar red eye.

Vox snarls as he recognizes the silhouette, sinking claws into the table. His speakers blow out and warp his voice as his audio processors fail to keep up.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Angel Dust?"