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instarsandcrime · 3 months

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Under the Weather

Oh my God @rosieknows you put me up to a really fun challenge!! Vo/x and A/la/stor are the two characters that are the hardest to write for me. But I really enjoyed this and it took so long because it became. Almost 7 pages???? It's a bit long and wordy but I hope you enjoy it, and that it matched what you wanted as a request!

Song near the end is Lady Luck by Ted Lewis and His Band from the musical "Show of Shows".

Thank you so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!

---

Alastor would not call himself a reckless man.

He prided himself on his calculations, his patience, and a dash of eloquence for good measure. After all, you can't slice your game without a well-sharpened cleaver.

But if there was one thing The Radio Demon lacked, his one Achilles Heel, was the eye of Lady Luck. Today, for instance. All it took was her flick of the wrist and a winter blizzard had all but ended him. He trudged through the snow, steaming breath hot on his face as it carried on the wind. Without an audience to speak of, and a lack of energy to even hide his misery, he rubbed at a raw nose that wrinkled against the cold.

Sadly, his near-frozen fingers did little to ease what came next.

“Hgg’tshzzzt! Het’tchzzzzt!” He wrenched out, stumbling...somewhere. Strange, he seemed to forget where his path went. His mind began to frost over as a sudden dizziness overtook him from reaching…reaching…where…where was he going again? His snowflake-laden eyelids drooped, swaying on his feet as his impromptu nap was rudely interrupted with a stinging itch that didn’t seem to quit. He wrapped his arms around himself. Image be damned, there was no one around and he was determined to keep his warmth. He was absolutely not going to...t-to...!

“Het’TSSZZZEW! Oh, fuhh..for God's sa-sakeET’SHHHZ̴̠͕͝Z̵̢̛͓̅͛Z̷͈̈́̄̕T̶̢̛̲͇̫͊͛͐̈́!̸̱̟̰̝̗̃” He gasped for air, barely catching himself on his cane. Of course there was nothing more he could do, could he? He was all but reduced to a walking shell. There was no path. There was no opportunity. There was no plan.

“Well, well, well! If it isn't Hell's most ancient artifact!” The ghost of a memory lit through the fog that was just about to swallow him whole. He would be more grateful, if said ghost wasn’t the most annoying burr that dared to attach itself to him every chance it got.

So in the face of his prey he did what he did best: straighten his spine, tug on his lapels, and flash Vox a smile. Despite the fact that its edges were already wearing at the seams. Despite the fact that he felt his face tingle with a rising heat. Despite the fact that, no matter how hard he tried, his nose just wouldn't. Stop. Streaming.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Can’t take a little water? Is the ol’ machinery finally rusting over?”

“I'm ahh-- afraid I don't know what...what you mean.” Alastor cleared his throat to stifle a cough, uncomfortably aware that it did little to hide the rasp in his voice. He quickly pulled his handkerchief from his breast pocket to stall the mess, cringing as its soaked fabric bit the tip, flickering tickle building to a dizzying roar.

“Oh come on! Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look even older than you usually...do...” Vox’s sharp grin fell, screen flickering lightly as he leaned in closer. And for a brief moment, Alastor too was stunned to see the reflection that stared back. His shivering frame rocked his entire body, forcing it to wilt as pathetically as the ears that once stuck straight up. His nose was not unlike the color of his suit, feverishly flushed and twitching madly as he slowly lost the battle against an itch that never seemed to...to...!

“Hgg'tshhhew! Hih-Hegg’tshhhhew!” He let out another desperate set, and Vox yelped as he stumbled back.

“Jesus, fuck! Watch where you're pointing that thing!”

“Well maybe if you weren't in my way you w-wouldn't…h-hhheh..! HeT̴̗͓̱͘̕͜S̵̮͚̽́C̵̼̱̠͎͓̀̊H̴͎̬͓͎͓̋́Ź̸̧̩̺̪̝͗̒͠Z̸͔̟͖̒̑͘ͅŹ̸͍͚̝̊̍T̸͔̔̽͌!̷̢̰̯̳́̀̉͒!“

Unable to safely trust his sensitive skin with the handkerchief he carried, he helplessly sneezed into the crook of his collar-- to no avail as the obvious happened and panic began to set in. He could only mourn his sloppy state of mind as he doubled over again.

“Het'tschhh! Het’shh! ‘Tschhh! ‘Tschh’HEW!” Alastor could feel himself lose control of his body. A blur of tentacles broke through the snow, writhing and curling in agony. And though the street was blurred with irritated tears and overwhelming vertigo, he swore he could feel unseen eyes crawl up his back. Examining him on a butcher’s block, sharpened cleavers waiting for the right angle to slice.

“Stop it. S-stop-- kaff! stop looking at me! All…all of you...” Alastor protested through slurring words.

“There’s...uh. There’s nobody here.” Vox answered.

And all too suddenly the audience grew quieter, satiated– a fever dream that nearly willed itself into existence. But it didn’t matter. All The Radio Demon could do was fall limp into the snow like a ragdoll, landing with a sickening crunch, a sudden gasp responding in kind. If Alastor had the energy to laugh, he would. An all-powerful Overlord reduced to a useless toy. For once, Vox had The Radio Demon in his hands. He had the power to end his life. A limp ear twitched when Vox made the first move. The mounds of ice beneath him shifted. His opponent was thinking. Most likely deciding on how to kill him, or worse. A sharp row of claws slipped to his waist and...

...gently uprighted him, slinging one arm over his savior's neck. Then pulled close, fans whirring to life and soaking the android's wool suit like a soft bedwarmer.

And as two sets of foosteps picked up again, Vox grumbled out an irritable, “You're a fucking idiot.”

For the first time in his afterlife, Alastor couldn't help but agree.

The rest of the walk was a passing blur. By the time Alastor's eyes had opened and awareness returned, the ice between his bones had thawed under layers of blankets— though the ache between his eyes wasn’t quite as settled. He reached to massage the bridge of his nose, mortified to find that it was still horribly sensitive. He clenched his teeth and tried to will the sneeze back–

“Seriously? Again? Come on, it’s not like we’re on air.”

– as Vox continued to examine him, luck still run dry. He sat opposite on an identical couch, leaning over the coffee table between them.

“Why were you out in a storm.” He narrowed his eyes.

“I see no need to dihh...!" Don't you dare! "Di- snfff! dihh-! ...hhh...d-discuss my mundane shopping excursions.” Alastor breathed out, hiding a sigh of relief as the budding tickle subsided.

“Ouch! You have to be feeling like shit if your lies are this bad.”

“And why would I bother concealing the answer to such a ridiculous question? Are you really interested in my everyday activities? My, your obsession for me must run deep.”

A spark popped from Vox’s antennae. “Will you shut up and take this seriously?! I'm trying to interrogate you!”

Alastor hummed, unimpressed as his dulled eyes swept the room. Garish pink and gold wallpaper rudely invaded his vision, wallpaper and furniture alike littered with disgustingly gaudy hearts. And to add insult to injury, the hideous decor touted posters of a familiar Overlord's sex workers. The most famous front and center, proudly rubbing a quote on quote “sexy as fuck” smirk in his face. Well. At the very least, The Radio Demon respected his attempts to make that miserable masquerade of a smile real.

But still.

Eugh.

“You really must choose a more intimidating cell for your next victim. Unless you mean to torture me with sparkles and hearts.” Technical clockwork whirred irritably, flickering screen brightening at the center, not unlike a flustered blush. Alastor's smug grin widened. Pushing himself up on a couch that smelled of smoke and cheap cologne, he grabbed the cane leaning against an armrest, clutching the handle with a death grip. “Now if you'll excuse me, I-- kff kfff! I must be going. I can only entertain your antics for so long."

"Whoa, hey, wait! Don't you dare--"

The second Alastor stood his body swayed, caught in another wave of dizziness. He was pulled in all directions, pitching down down down-- and into Vox's arms.

“The fuck! I saved you from a double death, the least you can do is listen to me!” He spat.

“Oh? And why should I do that?” Alastor huffed. He couldn't help but feel humiliation return at the way he was cradled– cradled– bridal style. Slipped back into the makeshift bed, Vox motioned to the wall wordlessly. Slowly, carefully, Alastor followed suit, paling at the garish sight of his shadow. Its form dripped heavily like ink, clutching its chest and swaying dangerously. Its ears pinned to its skull, stomach heaving once. Twice. Until the tickle that still lingered brushed just under Alastor's nostrils and he found the damn thing mirroring his every feeling, physical or otherwise. He cursed, instinctively reaching for the ruined handkerchief in his breast pocket— when a box of tissues was unceremoniously shoved under the crook of his arm.

“There. There's your fucking reason. Now stay. Down.” Vox hissed through gritted teeth.

And through a string of curses, Alastor ripped two— three— five tissues from the box, bringing it to his nose. “Het’kshhh!! Het’kschhhzzt! Hehh…hekt-! Het’KSCHHHZZT!!”

His lungs finally gave out, collapsing back into the cushions with a hacking cough, wincing in pain.

“Y'see?” Vox snapped, “You suck at not dying but you keep tempting it anyway! How the fuck am I supposed to keep my viewers entertained if you keep doing that?!”

“Doi'g– kff! ...what? ETCHHḤ̵̡̰̣͌̽Z̶̧̠̙̍Ẕ̶̼̱̬̆Ź̵̦T̵̢̳̅͌̊̓!” Alastor wheezed out, blowing his nose. Dignification be damned, he was already saved by this walking, talking eyesore. He didn't expect to sink any lower. “I-- Snff! Ugh, pardon me-- I don't follow.”

“That!” Vox gestured wildly, “That whole ego shit you've got goin' on!”

Alastor opened his mouth to question when a palm pressed to his head. All words died in his throat, and the world came to a standstill, claws blaring with each mechanical beep.

"...102.4." Vox decided, "Ugh, no wonder you're dizzy. Your body's probably running on empty and…uh."

He faltered when he met Alastor’s face– eyelids fluttered closed, ears drooped. He pressed further into the cool, metallic palm, entirely hypnotized. Involuntarily peace only lasting a moment before he stepped back at the sudden telltale twitch of his patient’s nose.

"Et’schhhzzt! Heh-eh-S̵͇̓̀͜C̶̮̻̉H̸̗̃Z̵̛͎͋Z̶̮̖̀͋Z̴͍͎͝Z̷̬̼̀T̷͕̦̓!" He pitched forward, the reluctant caretaker yelping as he barely dodged another wild, uncontrollable circle of tentacles. Shivering, frost laced Alastor’s breath as the lights in the room flickered and darkened– only for a moment as he felt the weight of a comforter. He sunk into the sudden warmth, shadowy whips snaking under the floorboards and disappearing entirely.

"Look, just. Let’s call whatever this is a truce, okay?" An onyx-tipped ear twitched in response from under the hem of the covers. Suddenly, a piercing whistle broke through the darkness. When he opened his eyes time had apparently passed, and Vox was hovering over him with a mug of tea-- and of course it was the Fuck Alastor mug.

"How charming." He sighed, feeling the heat of the ceramic between his claws, relishing the steam that loosened his slowly growing headache. Taking another tissue, he pressed it to his nose to keep from sniffling back the loose congestion that threatened to drip.

"I can see why you wanted to sponsor that broken down shack of a hotel. You're all so weak it's sad--"

"Rosie's."

Vox blinked, "...What?"

"Let me be perfectly clear: I'm only giving you what you want so you will finally stop screeching at me." Alastor muffled in cotton fabric. "I was going to Rosie's to..." His static-laced voice trailed off, as if testing the right words in his mouth. "...treat this bothersome illness."

Silence fell over the room. Vox stared like he had just burst into flames.

"I, uh. Oh." He stumbled over his own stuttering before readjusting himself, sharpening his smile and definitely not wiping the shock from his mind. "I-I mean Christ, about time!"

The Radio Demon narrowed his eyes, doing his best to focus and not somehow slip into unconsciousness while lying down. "I am simply doing this for my survival since you won't leave me to rest-- koff koff! Oh-- koff! Oh, dear." He mumbled, sipping the honey-laced drink to calm his throat. Surfacing with a soft hum to test his voice. "Besides, my death by illness is far less entertaining for you than viewed on those tacky picture boxes of yours."

And from the way you aren't broadcasting my suffering in the first place, your current motives are far more personal. He wanted to add. But didn't-- for his pounding headache, mostly. He wasn't interested in another childish tantrum complete with competitive singing. Instead he felt himself fade again, and allowed it. If not to see Vox's angry face one last time.

The next time Vox woke, the couch was empty.

Good. Finally rid of that smug ass face and stupid fuck ass bob, he rose to his feet, stretching his limbs and popping his spine for good measure— getting his synthetic nerves back in working order. Finally free of that walking malware, he could finally resume his work. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the empty mug resting on the nightstand. Well, it wouldn't hurt to check the balcony. Or the mini bar. And y'know, behind the TV. Just in case the dumbass decided to slink into the shadows.

And as he stepped up to the screen, the sudden blast of snowy static made him nearly leap out of his skin. A rapidly beating heart in his ears calmed, making way for a distant melody that played on the radio waves.

--Come on show me

Show me that you've got it

I wanna see that golden smile.

Oh Lady Luck, I knew, I knew you should

I knew I knew you would be good to me!--

Vox quickly flicked the remote with tightened fingers, an annoyed sigh breaking the short silence.

He really could never read that guy.

#ha//zb//in//ho//tel//#snz #snz fic #snz request #a/la/stor #vo/x

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instarsandcrime · 2 months

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Over the Radiowaves (2/2)

@ripelytoo So imagine me kicking down the door, completely out of breath with my hair partially on fire because hoo boy that took so long and thank you so much for your patience! Writing Vox and Alastor + life stuff got in the way of everything but I finished within the deadline baby! I hope the wait was worth it! We got silly, hurt/comfort, a smidge of emotions and feels, fluff, etc. Plus questionable, slightly less one-sided Radiostatic?

This is a sequel to @rosieknows's own request Under the Weather, so go check out part 1 if you're interested in starting from the beginning!

Quick cw: there is a small bit of mess at the end, though it's not very detailed. But I wanted to give a heads up at the end!

I'm gonna go lie down...in the meantime, thank you for the request and enjoy the fic! 🩷

---

Vox would not call himself a reckless man.

He prided himself on his maturity, his restraint, and a dash of opulence for good measure. All in all, he was the definition of the highest perfection in technology, a one-man revolutionary that never seemed satisfied.

But fuck did he need a vacation.

And that was just the case, glaring at the very screen that not too long ago sang a song that continued to haunt his processors. And the worst part was that he didn’t know why. He couldn’t quite place it, but it bothered him beyond belief.

“Ht’chhzzzt!” Speaking of which. It's not that his vents were irritated by Alastor's flu. It was just some bug– a minor glitch in the system. He was, without a doubt, above such an outdated virus! Clearly the rattling of his exoskeleton was from the malfunctioning air conditioning because holy Here it was fucking freezing. Clearly the excess electricity that rose his core temperature was from a long night’s work. And clearly the tingle that came with it, the static shock that ran from his processors through his wiring…down to his sk-skull…building with electric sparks until–

“Het’chhzzzzt! ET’CHHZZZZT! HET’KSHHHZZZT!” The sound of shattering rained down like knives, luxurious chandelier lamps burst and broken by uncontrolled power. “Eh…heh! HEKT’SCHHZZZT! Guhhh…”

Vox pursed his lips, flicking a shard of glass from his shoulder. Well, maybe he should pay the walking germ fest a visit anyway. Just to rub his good health in that smug prick face. He nodded curtly, ignoring the overwhelming dizziness and cooling fans that sputtered like an old, rusty engine. It was clearly a warning for his overheating mind. But he couldn't not be all there, could he? Because he was fine! Taking a deep breath-- or one that didn't result in a debilitating coughing fit-- he focused on where he wanted to go. Flipping through channels and pathways, he had planned on not looking too desperate.

Which he wasn't, of course.

Maybe in front of the hotel. A few blocks away, even. He could see it now: he'd stroll up to those stupid, gaudy double doors and invite himself in. Make a grand show of the lack of security. Brag about how weak and defenseless The Radio Demon was, and how Vox was clearly superior because machines don't...hheh...cahhh-catch the–

“Hekt’SHHHZZZ’hoo!”

It was around midnight when Alastor returned from his little excursion. Not to say his meeting with Zestiel was difficult, but it was...interrogative. The seven year absence can only boast mystery and intrigue when it remains an intriguing mystery. But now he felt quite silly for stringing one of his oldest friends along-- a little sympathetic, even. After all, the demon faced down on the hotel floor gave him a confusion and frustration that he didn't know was in him.

“Vox?” Alastor craned over the poor soul. Only for him to spring to life, finding balance with a hand to the wall.

“So we meet again, Alastor!” Vox laughed.

“What is happening.” His rival replied flatly.

“Isn't it obvious?”

“Is what obvious.”

“That I won! I beat you! You got sick and I didn't!”

A pause. Alastor looked at the state of the intruder. Then to the radio on his bookshelf, still flickering a striking electric blue. Then crossed the carpet with a sudden smirk on his face.

“I see! Then please, by all means, recount your glorious victory over the poor, defenseless Radio Demon!” He cried, holding a hand to his chest. “I deserve to hear it. All of it.”

“Well look who finally decided to give up and throw in the towel! And after I saved you from freezing face down in the snow!” His rival smirked drunkenly, tugging on his lapels– as well as himself, nearly stumbling into the corner of an armchair.

“A tantalizing sight, my life right in your claws for the taking.” Alastor recalled, catching Vox under the arms by the heel of his cane to push him upright.

“And– and I was the guy who carried you to the tower’s main office without being seen.” He slurred, pointing slightly left of himself. “You better be fuckin’ grateful, by the way. You almost blew my cover! Twice! Seriously, it's like your stupid flu was as disgustingly dramatic as y-yuhh-youhhh...are…! Hup’TSHHHZZT! HUTSCHHZZZZT!”

A battered desk lamp flared in a firework of light before settling back again. The overhead bulbs momentarily shook with a sudden burst of energy. And in the middle of the flickering, flashing mess stood the Tech Overlord, sniffling miserably into a sleeve.

“Truly you are a paragon of grace and wit.” Alastor assured as he strolled towards the bathroom. Leaving Vox to follow him in his delirious, rambling rage.

“And then! And– Hep’shhhzzt! Sdnff!” His body jerked forward, screen glitching wildly just for a moment before resuming the one-man battle that he was definitely winning. "And then I treated you pretty good I think!"

"Well."

"Whatever! I– ihh- It’schhhzzzt! Ughh. Th’ point is that I took care of you! Monitored your temperature, gave you blankets, made you tea. And then you just LEFT! How's that for morality--" Alastor hummed nonchalantly, passing him a downy comforter. "--oh, thanks. I mean come on! I already had like ten different projects I'm working on so the least you could do is..."

The Radio Demon stood, waiting expectantly while his potential patient trailed off. Vox stared down at the gathered blanket in his arms, hoarse voice lowering. "...you're taking care of me."

"Ah, I see your wires have finally uncrossed! Truly a headline for the ages, don't you think?"

"You're taking care of me?"

"Would you rather I show you the door? Because--"

"No!" Vox blurted. Then remembering himself, cleared his throat with a thick sniffle. "No, no, uh. It's. It’s juhhst- huh! HUT’SCHHZZZT! Ughh..." Already overworked vents shuddered with the effort, and his entire frame followed suit as it struggled to adjust. "I just-- I haven't seen you in a while. The, uh, other you."

The silence was heavy, and it smelt of dust and mold stuffed deep in the back of a closet full of unwanted things. Alastor paused. He inhaled. Then exhaled. "Let's make a deal."

At that Vox opened his mouth, stopped by a hand. "Verbally. And one I'm sure we would both prefer."

"...Okay." He exhaled wearily, wobbling to sit by the fireplace. "Lay it on me."

Alastor replied with another contented hum, sitting opposite, Cheshire grin still plastered on his face. "You’ve had the chance to kill me before, but decided instead to spare my fate. As you mentioned quite loudly." Vox’s flushed face spread to the corners of his screen, sinking into the blanket. “And judging by a severe exhaustion not dissimilar to mine, I’m sure that returning to your tower would be a near-Herculean task. So, for your repayment, I will assist you for tonight and tonight only. No strings attached, no loose ends untied. Do you understand?"

The Vee swallowed harshly, stuffing down his pride as far as it could go. “Fine. It’s a deal. You win.”

"Excellent! Now, then." In a snap a flurry of inky creatures circled the two, hammer and nail at the ready. “I believe it’s time to claim my prize. Shall we begin, old pal?"

Alastor expected whinging and moaning. Maybe a little bit of desperation. But instead Vox was eerily silent. Sensors glazed over lying propped up on the headboard of his newly built bed, watching. Waiting. Mind completely and utterly glassed over with fog. Not even a half-witted jab at the old-fashioned mercury thermometer that slipped from between his fangs. Sighing heavily, Alastor poured a spoonful of medicine from a bottle, humming softly to himself as he tipped the rim into his patient’s mouth. And ever so slightly some color seeped into sepia tone. Alastor was sure the second of cognisance was the foul-tasting syrup until a few weak notes echoed back– breaking into occasional coughing fits that rattled the poor man's chest.

“You can't seem to stay quiet, can you?” The Radio Demon snapped, though it had no bite. Closing his eyes, the soft broadcast of a song began to whisper.

“Does this satisfy?” Vox nodded slowly. Alastor swallowed a nauseating pang of relief.

It wasn’t long after that his caretaker was jolted awake, eyes pried open by screeching static and shouting voices. Pushing himself to his hooved feet, each delicate step across the room grew heavier and heavier as the deer demon approached. Through mucky speakers it sounded as if this fever dream was submerged in muck and grime. But between the two of them, the tangled mess of a memory from seven years ago might as well be clear as a spring. The reflection in the water stared back at him, and Alastor couldn’t help but watch. It was like a bad telanovela, and yet he could read every page of the script by heart.

“Listen asshole! You don't get to tell me what to do with my company and how I run it! I make the rules, not you.” The bitter voice crackled painfully behind the monitor.

“I assure you that my ‘rules’ are sound. These flashy entertainment devices and security systems you flaunt are completely and utterly worthless in the face of the exterminations, and yet you claim they bear the freedom and safety to back it up. It’s foolish and irresponsible to half-ass a game if you hold all the pieces.” Alastor muttered, mimicking his younger self that responded in kind. He squeezed a fistful of comforter until it ripped.

“Fuck no! VoxTech was made so sinners can feel safe. Seriously, what is your damage? You hide the fine print just like us, so why the Hell are you throwing a bitch fit about a few white lies?”

“Sinners need an honorable deal, not a gaggle of snake oil salesmen. The Vees are built on false hope, I have the power to actually fulfill my promises. And that, my dear, is the difference.”

“They want an out, I’m giving them an out!”

Alastor shot upright to face the bastard, every twisted feature hemmed by an eerie artificial glow. “If you cannot understand why I despise your nonsense business practices made of flowery language and empty promises, then I r̵̨̞͑͠e̸͉͚͛f̸͈̅ù̵̹s̶͈̅ë̵͇͉́̎ to join your useless little team you absolute–!”

“--Listen asshole! You don’t get to–”

And all too suddenly, Alastor snapped back to the present. The angry burn on his cheeks faded as the same memory played again. And again. Skipping on repeat over and over and over like a useless, broken record.

He stumbled, collapsing back on the edge of the bed. Calm yourself, it's just a nightmare. He'll break out of it eventually. But time passed again. And again. The horrid sting could not reduce itself to a dull itch, finally breaking its pattern when a pathetic whimper passed Vox's lips and– alright, that's enough.

Waking a person from a nightmare was dangerous, doubly so if said subject was a demon– triply so for an Overlord. And although The Radio Demon held far more power and control over his rival, the Vee still had countless amounts of voltage coursing through his veins. Hauling himself to his feet, shaking his previous nerves loose before plucking a snuff box from a high shelf.

Well, he decided, better a sneeze than the electric chair.

Sitting again by Vox’s bedside, Alastor held the powder under the vents that dotted the sides of his patient’s face, watching them shallowly suck in air– taking a small portion with it.

“Hhh..!” The reaction was immediate. The sound of sniffling and hitching replaced the cacophony of his dream, and he twisted with discomfort. Stuck in a torturous loop, unable to sneeze out the irritant. Alastor huffed in annoyance, rolling his eyes.

“Always with the dramatics.” He chided.

“Snffff snff! Ugh! And whose f-fuh-fault is…is thahhhHHH–! Hhhhghh…th-that!” Vox warbled out, airy voice pitching higher and higher. Finally deciding to end his misery, Alastor traced the tip of his claw around his vents with a feather-light touch. Quickly distancing himself, as a final shuddering gasp was his one and only warning before–

“Het’tshhzzzt! H’tshzzzt! ‘Zzzt! Zzt! hhhhHHHH–! …Hekt’SHZZZZHOO!”

A pop, and a firework of electricity branched from his core, erupting from his suit and branching out– which Alastor casually stepped to the side to avoid. “Gesundheit.”

Unfortunately, the blessing was premature. “HUT’TSHZZZOOO! HUP’TSHZZZZZT’hoo…huh-hehhHHHTSHZZZOO!” The ground rumbled with scorch marks from the lightning storm. Somewhere in the hallway, the shattering of a bulb made Alastor’s ears press to his head.

“Do you want to wake the entire hotel?!” He hissed through clenched teeth.

“I cad't hhhheh! helb ihhdt! IT’SCHZZZZTHOO! Heh! Hhh! …hghh…” The chaos began to settle, leaving the cyborg gasping for air as Alastor slapped his hands against his vents. Cringing as a thick fluid brushed his ungloved palms.

“S’rry.” Vox mumbled sheepishly.

“You're ill.” Alastor spat regardless, pulling back in disgust, “If you're going to annoy me, don't take credit for things you didn't do.”

“...Okay?” The sickly demon blinked blearily. He tried to sit up, stopped by the head of a cane to his chest.

“Ah-ah, don’t get up. I'll be back in just a moment.” The other sneered, plucking a tissue from the nearby nightstand and, wordlessly, exited. Ignoring the harsh, obnoxious blow that followed.

It took minutes for Alastor to wash the unidentified liquid from his hands and handle. It took an eternity for Vox to fall back asleep. Maybe he did regret that argument from seven years ago. Maybe not. Either way, he scowled and turned his back to The Radio Demon.

Because just for tonight, Alastor had won. Again. He had been cared for, doted over, and treated with the utmost respect. For the first time in a long time, he had a taste of happiness from an old friend.

And honestly? It was awful.

#snz #ha//zb//in//ho//tel//#a/la/stor #vo/x #snz request #ra//dio//sta//tic #cw: mess

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