Chapter Text
Alastor hummed a tune to himself as he strolled along the mismatched cobblestones of the entertainment district. He tucked his microphone under his elbow as he made his way back to the Cannibal District. He'd had a good hunt; the alphas in the Entertainment District were poor excuses for their designation, but they did make for easy prey. One hint of his scent and they all came running to him. It was hardly a challenge, but it was quite filling.
He would have to add Edison to his shrinking list of Overlords to star in his broadcasts. The man had no interest in protecting the fairer sex that fell within his territory, not if they came running like that if they smelt an omega. Alastor huffed in irritation. It really was no way to run a district. Why more Overlords couldn't install manners into their residents like Rosie is beyond him.
Still, seeing who would claw their way up to owning the Entertainment District if he toppled the longstanding ruler would be comical. It would be quite amusing to see them all struggle, and if the new Overlord wasn't any better than the last? Why, Alastor would be pleased as punch to kill them and start the whole event over again.
He's mulling over the timing and the easiest place to snatch Edison when he hears the growl. His heels click to a stop, and he tilts his head to follow the sound. His ears twitch, listening closely as he hears a hissed out, "Don't touch me!"
Well, he may have room for one more snack for the road or perhaps a gift for Rosie. Alastor grins and sets out down the alley. A few steps in, and there's already a sour smell of rotting brine permeating the air that can only belong to a distressed omega. His nose crinkles in distaste. There's a barely perceptible charge of electricity. How odd. Well, whoever the unfortunate soul is, they must be quite unlucky. Through their overwhelming scent, Alastor can smell their pheromones, and the poor thing still smells freshly arrived.
Really, it's just bad taste to pick on those newly fallen to Hell, hardly sporting at all.
Alastor rounds the corner and pauses. Eight sinners, a mix of alphas and betas, are crowded into the tail end of the side street. The three closest to the end of the alley are all hellhounds, and the others are a mix of sinner demons with various forms. He slips into the shadows to watch and time his entrance.
"Stay still!" The dark gray hellhound snaps his paw out and yanks the omega's arm up. Alastor bristles at the alpha command and feels his antlers beginning to grow on instinct.
The newly fallen sinner reels back and shouts, "I said don't touch me!" Static tinges through the voice and Alastor feels the fur on the back of his neck stand on end.
The hellhound releases the sinner and steps back. He looks dazed. Alastor blinks. He's never met another omega who could fight off an alpha command, let alone do whatever that was. How interesting!
The omega sinner pants and stands up to their full height. Their skin is the color of iron and they are dressed in a torn baby blue blazer, a long omega skirt covers their ankles. The style is quite familiar to Alastor and similar to what he had worn while living. It was disappointing to know that not much had changed for omegas since he was alive, not even the style. That’s when Alastor notices the sinner’s face. It's the most remarkable thing; shaped like a strange glowing box. It was like nothing he'd seen in all his years in Hell.
Light flickered through the box and Alastor could make out the grimace on the other omega's face. The Picture Box took a breath, their eyes darting between the pack of sinners gathered in the alley. It was clear the poor dear was looking for an escape route and Alastor almost felt inspired to give them one, except the other sinner was so unexpected that Alastor couldn't help but wonder what they would do next.
"Hey, now don't be like that fresh meat." A new voice from the crowd pipes up, "We just want to show you the ropes." The rest of the group rumbles a laugh and Alastor lets out a low hiss of their own. He can't wait to sink his teeth into these curs.
"Oh, wow ! You want to help me?" The omega says, pitching their voice low and sweet; a lure if he's ever seen one. It's a familiar trick Alastor has used himself. His pulse quickens in recognition. The omega before him is a wolf in sheep's clothing.
"Yeah, we'll help you right out," the same demon says with a snicker, "Give you some lessons, loosen you right up and show you where you belong. You just need to stay nice and still. Can you do that pretty thing ?" A crab demon wandered closer and is attempting to cage the omega in, resting one of its orange claws under the box-like screen to tilt it upwards. Alastor holds his breath as he sees wide, innocent eyes blink on the omega's screen.
"Well…" the omega says softly, their fingers trailing up along the demon's claw. They're crowding in now and Alastor materializes himself from the shadows behind the group while they focus on their prey. "I'd like to believe you, but I just don't think I could trust any lessons from someone with rocks for brains."
Then the crab demon is screaming. The alley is awash in blue light and the other demon lands with a thunk on the concrete. The smell is not dissimilar to what Alastor remembers of crawfish boils and he feels his mouth water. The omega sinner turns towards the rest of the crowd, who are frozen in place, their eyes snapping between what they assumed to be an easy mark and their dead comrade.
"How hard is it to follow simple instructions?" The omega pants, "I said don't touch me."
"You fucking bitch!"
And then all Hell -Hah- breaks loose. The betas and alphas rush forward, and a cacophony of clashing scents ensues as the alphas vie for dominance and submission. Alastor uses a shadow to cover his nose from the unpleasantness and sees the other omega wobble before they swipe their claws at the face of the closest hellhound.
Gleaming red blood coats the Picture Box's blue talons as they weave around the crowd, lashing out with sparks, claws, and teeth where they can. It's precise and it's vicious. He's never seen another omega respond with such violence before. His ears are perked up in interest as he watches the show. Alastor uses his shadow tendrils to pick at the stragglers at the back of the pack. One of the hellhounds makes a particularly satisfying pop when Alastor squeezes a little too tightly.
Soon enough, just the omegas were left standing with delightful carnage at their feet. Alastor felt practically giddy with excitement. He had to admit the other omega looked quite lovely, covered in blood. It was a pretty sight, even if they looked to be on their last leg.
"Fucking alphas," his boxhead says, looking down in displeasure at their ruined dress suit, "Do I need to gut you too, or do you get the message?"
Alastor's grin only widens at the snarl in the omega's voice. They're so feisty, how fun!
"No, not me, my good fellow. Nothing of the sort. I merely heard the ruckus and am ever so displeased by alphas with no manners." Alastor looks them up and down now that he's closer. The sinner has little sparks dancing across their fingers, but they're swaying back and forth on their feet, barely upright.
"Oh, good. I owe you one then." With that, the sinner's screen cuts to black, and they crumple to the ground like a puppet with cut strings. Alastor catches them with his tentacles before they can smash their strange face on the concrete.
"Well, my dear, what should I do with you now?"
The sinner comes to with a spike of static that makes Alastor's fur stand on end all the way from the kitchen. What a strange creature this omega is. In all his time in Hell, Alastor hasn't encountered another sinner who could tap into frequencies. Yet, here was one in his den, and another omega at that!
Alastor sticks his head out of the kitchen doorway. The boxheaded sinner jolts off the couch and sends themself sprawling out on Alastor's den carpet.
"Ah, you're awake then," Alastor says, not bothering to hide his amusement as he watches the sinner try to roll themself over on the carpet. Alastor turns down his pot to a low simmer and dries his hands on his apron before he steps fully into the den. His new acquaintance is still thrashing around on the ground trying to right themselves. It's quite the amusing sight.
" Fuck shit! YOU! What did you do? Where am I, you sick fuck ?" The sinner says, managing to tilt their heavy head back enough to roll their knees under them.
Alastor tilts his head as the omega attempts to shriek at him through the angry blats of static. "I would have thought that would be obvious. You're on my couch, my dear!"
"I can see that! Why? What do you want from me?"
They are such a suspicious little thing. "Did you want me to leave you in that foul-smelling alley? Can't an omega help a fellow omega in a pinch?"
"This is hell," the boxhead says flatly. Ah, so they were aware of that at least. "I may not have been here for long, but I know no one does anything out of the goodness of their heart."
"Indeed," Alastor's nose twitches, "I can practically smell the vitality on you! Now, where are my manners? Alastor, my dear, it's a pleasure to be meeting you, quite the pleasure!" Alastor sticks out his hand.
"Vox." The other sinner eyes his hand suspiciously but doesn't take it. Alastor's grin and pep don't falter. Suspicion was practically the currency in Hell after all.
"And what exactly are you?" Alastor reaches out to tap his fingers along the wood paneling on Vox's head, but his fingers are smacked away. Alastor is intrigued as small blue sparks fizzle to life from Vox's claws.
Vox scowls, "Is that supposed to be some kind of joke? You think I haven't had enough people come over to comment on me having a stupid television for a head!"
"Television," Alastor rolls the new word across his tongue. It certainly has a ring to it. It's not quite as nice a word as radio, but it's still intriguing. He pats Vox's head again, despite the hisses, and is rewarded with more sparks between the other's antennas. The static in the air makes his hair fluff up, and he attempts to smooth it down, amused, "My, my, the living world must be spinning on in such a strange direction to make a thing like you. What exactly does this television do, my dear? Is it like the talkies?"
Vox gapes at him, "The talkies —You don't know? How long have you been down here?"
Alastor waves a hand nonplussed, "A few decades give or take. You'll find time, and the living world doesn't mean quite so much down here."
Vox closes their mouth and tilts their head to the side, or rather attempts to, before the weight of their head pulls them back down onto the couch. Alastor laughs. The whole thing was rather adorable as Vox fights to move himself back into the sitting position. Their scent becomes stronger and slightly sharper in embarrassment.
" Shut up ! I'm still getting used to this stupid thing!" Alastor chuckles louder as Vox slams their fist against their head in anger.
"Now none of that, my dear," Alastor says, directing his shadow to pull Vox's hand away before the other sinner can continue the self-inflicted violence, "you'll find no sinner is ever happy with their new form, that is rather the point, though over time some do come to appreciate the perks!" Alastor smiles wide to show off his very sharp teeth.
Vox watches closely, and Alastor doesn't miss how the other's throat bobs as they gulp. Alastor falls into his armchair and kicks one of his legs over the other. "So, my good man—you are a man?"
"What? Yes, of course, what kind of question is that?" Vox asks with wide eyes. This whole interaction has thrown him off kilter, and Alastor can't say he's not enjoying the other omega's vibrant expressions and reactions.
Alastor rolls his eyes, "Well, you know what they say about assumptions, my dear fellow! It never does one any good to presume in Hell."
"Then are you a man, too?" Vox asks uncertainly, and Alastor's grin widens at how quickly the other is picking up Hell's customs.
"Indeed, I'm quite the gentleman, even! Hah!" Alastor lets a filter of audience laughter out of his microphone. Now tell me, how long have you been down here, and what have you been doing to attract so many alphas so quickly? I simply must know your trick with the voice!"
"My voice?" Vox asks, the sound popping with a pleasing undercurrent of static that Alastor had never heard in any other demon's voice but his own. He leans in closer.
"Why yes! However, did you order those alphas about? Quite the entertaining display."
"I, uh, just did?"
Alastor gives him a flat, unimpressed look, "Care to elaborate, my dear?"
"I don't know!" Vox throws his hands up, "I just did it!"
Interesting. The ability must be innate, something with his new form or powers. They'll have to experiment. If the ability is replicable, he can think of some very amusing ways to use a skill like that.
"Well, my dear, it's obvious you're new in town, and rather fresh smelling, so what will you be doing with yourself?"
"I don't know."
Alastor lets out a canned laugh from his microphone, "What are you, a broken record? You said that already."
Vox growls at him, and oh look, at that spark crawling its way up his antenna. How cute! New sinners were far more fun. Regular Hell denizens never seemed to have a spine once they knew who he was. He wondered how Vox would react when he finally had enough context about his reputation to piece it all together. It would no doubt be delightful given this fellow's funny head.
"I just found out I'm in Hell, and I have this," Vox gestures at his screen. “Fucking television for a head forever, apparently. So I haven't exactly had the time to come up with a twelve-step plan yet. Give me a break."
Alastor grinned, "So you need to figure out a place to stay then."
Vox snorts, "Yeah, sure, more like I need some divine intervention, but yeah, figuring out where I'm sleeping probably wouldn't hurt.
"Excellent! That should work itself right out then. Keep me entertained and you can stay. Deal?"
Vox blanches his screen, fading from a pale blue to a light gray, "Entertained-?"
"Oh, nothing like you're thinking of. I have no interest in any of the urges of the baser instincts." Alastor waves a hand, his lips curling in disgust, and Vox's shoulders relax slightly, "No, you just keep being your charming Picture Box self, and I'm sure we will get along just fine."
"So, I get to stay here as long as you find me funny? Is that it?"
"Entertaining, but yes. I'll let you stay here with me and not do anything untoward. Is it a deal then?" Alastor sticks his hand out in anticipation.
Vox eyes his hand suspiciously, smart fellow. Had he already come across dealmakers? It would be a shame if he didn't take it. A nice verbal agreement kept things so tidy. Alastor liked to give himself a bit of insurance, even for something as small as this; it was always good to be clear up front. And collecting little favors later on never hurt, at least not him. No, a nice binding verbal agreement would keep everything clear. Especially, with a sinner as fresh as Vox, who had no idea what he should even be asking for.
"Seems like you're not getting much out of it."
"Au contraire, my friend, you're new here, so you've yet to realize how dull Hell can truly be, but with time, you'll understand how valuable a currency entertainment is. Now let's shake on it."
Vox reaches out and shakes his hand.
Vox has been in Hell for less than two weeks, and if the Picture Box is to be believed, with Alastor for most of that time. In the passing days, his Picture Box has grown more timid, skittish almost as he paced around the house, trying to take up little chores until Alastor shoos him away. It was a far cry from that confident demon in the alleyway who ordered alphas around without a thought.
It's a shame, and it's hardly entertaining. Alastor is perfectly capable of doing his dishes. If he didn't feel like it, then Niffty would be delighted to do them for him.
No, he needed to shake Vox out of this funk and he knows just the thing for it! Why, a nice stroll around Hell would do them both nicely. Alastor could even pick up a fresh sinner to take home for their meal. Yes, that's the ticket!
"Vox, pal, come join me for a walk," Alastor calls.
Vox pokes his head out of the guest bedroom, "A walk? It's getting dark out. Are you sure that's the best idea?"
"Of course, it's a wonderful night for a walk. The skies are clear of acid rain, and the pentagram looks especially bright tonight." Alastor says, stepping his hooves into his shoes and swinging his cane up and around to rest in the crook of his arm.
Vox's expression still looks doubtful, but he's left his room and is slowly making his way towards his oversized shoes. They really ought to take care of that soon. Vox's wardrobe—or rather, his lack of one—made him look like the hobo he no longer was.
"Aren't you worried that an alpha might try to…" Vox trails off as he plays with the laces on his shoes. His unfinished statement is clear enough and hilarious to consider.
"Oh, haha, what a funny man," Alastor cackles as he wipes a tear from his eye, "Is that why you've been so shy lately. Did you catch the hunkers?"
"The hunkers?" Vox asks, his screen flipping to grey before returning to its usual blue.
"Yes, it's this ridiculous set of instincts certain sinners get when faced with the blatant reality of Hell that says if they keep their head low and hide, nothing bad will happen to them. It's complete nonsense, of course!"
Static flickers on Vox's screen again and his scent blurs. The air takes on a salty tinge as Vox lets his discomfort show. It's so interesting how many ways this poor man can project himself. He practically screams his every emotion. They'd have to work on that if his Picture Box was going to survive long without him.
"Now then," Alastor laces their arms together and pulls Vox out the front door, "Let's get you out into the world!"
A few days later, Vox comes down to breakfast and says, "Al, uh, do you have anything I could wear?"
Alastor flicks his ears and stares at him, waiting for the explanation. Vox shuffles back and forth, "I'd like to shower… and uh, wash my clothes, but I don't have anything to change into."
"Ah, what a poor host I've been," Alastor says, only the clothes on his back to his name, what a predicament for his Picture Box! "We'll have to plan a trip to the tailor today."
"But, I don't have any money," Vox protests.
"It's no matter," Alastor waves off his concerns. To be perfectly honest, Alastor seldom pays for things. Between duping old-fashioned alphas into making his purchases for him and eating particularly annoying clerks, he rarely pays for things outside of Cannibal Town. That's not to say he never does. There are a handful of well-run businesses he doesn't mind supporting, and of course, he would never play his games in Rosie's territory, but what is a little more sin and vice in Hell? "Besides, it would hardly be fitting to leave such a pretty omega in such a state."
Alastor watches in amusement as Vox's screen tints a faint purple at the compliment, "I just… you've been so kind and I haven't been able to do anything for you!"
"I'm quite sure you will pay all of my favors back and more once you have your feet under you! You truly have no idea how refreshing your presence is, Picture Box, why it's like a breath of fresh air."
Vox frowns; he doesn't truly understand yet, since his stay in Hell has been so short, and Vox had the good luck to run into him so soon after his fall. But, he's a quick learner, and Alastor doesn't doubt he'll soon put two and two together to realize exactly how few omegas are in Hell, and how only a fraction of those have the backbone and power to do something with it.
"I'll find a way to pay you back. You can keep a list—"
"Yes, yes, we can sort out all the minutiae later if you so desire, but I think breakfast now and then a visit to my tailor. After that, who knows? Let's see where the day takes us!"
Vox still has that stubborn look on his face that tells Alastor he's about to argue the point, but to his surprise, Vox merely lets out a long sigh and trails after him towards the kitchen, "Fine. But, do you think… no, it's stupid," Vox says, tugging on one of his antennae. A newly developed nervous tick Alastor would like to nip in the bud. It wouldn't do for the omega to project his moods further, not when their scents were already such a disadvantage most of the time.
"Do speak up, Vox, I can hardly hear you when you mumble," Alastor says, not even bothering to turn as he makes his way to the stove and begins cracking eggs into the frying pan.
"Do you think I could get a suit like yours?" Alastor's eyes widen and he whips his head around one hundred and eighty degrees with a crack to stare at Vox.
Vox gulps, and a little bolt of electricity jumps between his antennas. His scent takes on a deeper briney smell as he nervously rambles, "It's just I've always wanted to wear one, and my parents and then my alpha, they never let me. And all of the Hollywood stars looked so handsome in their suits, and you look so handsome and you're an omega too and I just thought if you could wear them, then maybe I could too ?" Vox finishes his voice practically a squeak of static by the end of the sentence.
"Why, my dear Vox," Alastor practically purrs as he turns the rest of his body around and twists the dial on the stove top down, "You simply must now. I've never had the chance to suit shop with another omega before."
"Oh," Vox says, flustering his screen, taking on that lovely lavender hue again, “Me neither.”
Alastor chuckles and lets his own sweeter scent out in reassurance as he flips the eggs onto a plate and holds it out. "Now eat up, the daylight is already nearly 9 a.m! We’re burning daylight and we've so much to do!"
"Are you sure this is okay?" Vox says nervously for the third time as they walk through the tailor's shop. He runs his blue claws against all the blazers they pass and keeps glancing at the omega section.
Alastor frowns as he follows Vox's gaze to the dresses. Alastor still has dresses, a few of which he was quite fond of that Rosie made him, but he only wears them when he’s in a specific mood, certainly not to please any knotheaded alpha. He'd thrown off dresses, as many omegas had in the roaring twenties, and decided not to look back in his living days, but in his death, he found that there were particular styles he rather enjoyed upon occasion.
"It's Hell, dear, wearing clothes you like is hardly the worst depravity you will find down here."
"Yes, but you're, you know…" Vox gestures at him, and Alastor tilts his head, wondering where his new friend is going with all of this, "You! The big, scary Radio Demon! No one's going to say anything about what you wear."
"And they won't say anything about what you wear, either, my dear! Not if they want to keep all of their limbs. So choose whatever you like."
Alastor sees his eyes linger on the blue pinstripe suit with its flared coattails and shoulder pads. It certainly isn't to Alastor's taste or style, but this isn't about him. This is about what Vox wants and breaking decades of ingrained programming about what he can and cannot wear as an omega.
"Go on, try it on," Alastor says from where he's settled on a bench. Vox's eyes widen, and he shakes his head, going for a much more conservative button-up with a high collar. Alastor sighs. This may be more of a challenge than he'd anticipated. While Vox is distracted, he plucks the blue suit off the shelf and adds it to Vox's pile while he isn't looking.
Vox is still filtering about the dressing room, too anxious to step out and show the world what he looks like. Alastor sighs, debating whether a challenge or coaxing will be more effective in luring the other demon out. He settles on words of encouragement, while he had no problem throwing off society's expectations even in life, he has a sense that Vox, despite his streak for violence, may have spent his life in a gilded cage. He is ever so curious what the other omega had done to fall to Hell. An intriguing mystery for a later time.
"Vox, dear, we haven't got all day. Now, why don't you come out and show off your smile?"
There's more shuffling and some mumbled cursing from behind the red curtain. "I can't."
"Why ever not?"
"I know I look stupid," the television says, his red eyes cast downward and his screen dim as he steps out. The suit is rather well fitted already, and the only places Alastor can see that may need to be taken in are the shoulders as Vox is rather petite. The blue pinstripes match Vox's screen rather well; only one obvious thing is missing.
"You look perfectly handsome, my dear." Vox's face tinges purple at the praise.
A small nervous smile lights up Vox's screen quite literally, "You think so?"
"Of course, there's only one thing that would make it better," Alastor stands, grabs a red bowtie very similar to his off the table, and walks over to Vox. With deft hands, he laces the tie around his neck and pulls the bow into existence, straightening it, "Look, now it's perfect!"
Vox looks at the outfit in the mirror with wonder, like he's seen the world in a whole new light. He does a little spin, and the coat tails rustle. "It doesn't flare out at all."
"Yes, much different than a dress or an omega suit. Now try on the rest. You have a whole wardrobe to put together!" Alastor shoos him back towards the dressing room with an easy grin.
They leave the shop with three perfectly tailored suits, not a single skirt in sight, and a soft smile on the silly Picture Box's screen.
"Come on, dear, big day ahead of us!" Alastor calls from the doorway, his fingers tapping impatiently on his microphone as he waits for Vox. His Picture Box really could stand to be more of an early riser.
Alastor raises an eye as he sees Vox come down the steps in his favorite blue pinstriped suit. Personally, Alastor would have picked something a little darker or more red to wear for today, making it easier to clean the bloodstains off, but who was he to judge if Vox wanted to look dapper for their first hunt? It was a momentous occasion! They would have to celebrate with champagne after the sinner was processed and ready for dinner.
As always, Alastor loops his arm around Vox's so his Picture Box doesn't get lost, and he portals them across the pentagram to the Doomsday District. The alphas were always much bulkier here; with all their running and fighting, it was much more muscle mass for much less work.
An explosion flashes behind them, and Vox jumps at the sound, gluing himself closer to Alastor's side. Alastor hums and sniffs the air. The tangy smell of blood permeates everything, even overriding the musky scent of a few rutting alphas.
Ah, nothing quite like the smell of violence in the morning. A jazzy number swings to life from his microphone.
"Alastor, where are we? I thought you said we were going hunting." Vox is looking uncertainly around them, "I was expecting a lot more trees."
"Yes, we are going hunting for some alphas."
" Alphas! I thought you said you didn't do sex ." Vox's voice jumps up an octave as he whispers the last word, like a scandalized schoolgirl. Alastor grins in delight at Vox's confusion. Oh, his sweet Picture Box.
"Quite right you are. It's not that kind of hunting, think of the other kind only with fewer guns and more claws," Alastor says jovially, pulling Vox along until he sees the first sign of movement. His ears flicker as the scent grows stronger. One alpha all by himself, recently wounded. Easy pickings! "Look, I've found dinner!"
Alastor twists his neck around one hundred and eighty degrees with a crack. The alpha that thought he was sneaking up on them freezes in place. He's a lizard sinner with bright orange and yellow scales. Very eye-catching, as was the scent he was now trying to overpower them with. Licorice. How perfectly awful.
"What are two omegas like you doing in a place like this?" The alpha grinned sharply.
Hmm, Alastor hadn't gotten to experiment much with reptilian sinners. Many of them kept closer to Zeezi's territory, and picking off another Overlord's claimed souls was considered poor taste. He would have to try some of his Mother's gator recipes and see if they would work with lizards.
"Oh, merely doing some light hunting," Alastor says cheerily.
The lizard sinner's grin falters, rolling into confusion, "Hunting?"
Alastor uncoils himself from Vox's clinginess and splays out his claws. Letting his grin and antlers grow, " Hunting. " He repeats. Alastor shifts into a shadow, racing forward and reforming to plunge his hand into the other sinner's chest.
He holds the sinner's still beating heart, appreciating the delicious waves of fear that roll off the other sinner. His licorice scent turns bitter and ashy as he dies.
Alastor pulls his hand back with a squelch, taking the heart with him as rib bones crack to make way. The lizard sinner remains standing frozen for a few minutes longer before his eyes grow dark and he crashes to the ground.
The heart is still warm in his hands and Alastor hums to himself as he places it in a sack as a treat for later. Hearts were always particularly delicious if cooked right. Alastor licks his hand, cleaning the blood off as he turns back to Vox.
"One down! I think we'll only need a few more! I know I was a bit hasty with this one, but you can take care of the next one."
"These are other sinners," Vox says, looking over at the dead body in shell shock. His signal and scent fluctuated wildly.
"Yes, they are!"
"Have we been eating people?" Vox asks, horrified.
"We live in Cannibal Town, my dear," Alastor responds, uncertain about where his friend's unease was coming from.
"Yes, but I thought that was just to keep with the theme of hell, not that everyone was a cannibal," Vox flushes, and Alastor can't help but chuckle at the naivete. "Shut up! You never explained how Hell's geography worked!"
"To answer your original question, my dear, I have been eating people. You have been eating a variety of hellish creatures."
"Oh, oh, that's good. I don't know what… that's really good," Vox's signal eases back out, and his smell returns to ozone.
"Of course, if you want to try a bite," Alastor offers the bag with the heart. Vox vigorously shakes his head no.
"No, thank you, I think I'm good. Please don't make me eat that."
"Don't worry, I won't force you to partake." Alastor chuckles. More for him, "Would you be a good helper and give me a hand to lift this fellow. We need to hang him up to drain; coagulated blood is dreadful!"
Vox fidgets beside him as Alastor raps twice in quick succession on Rosie's front door. He's wearing the lovely dark pinstripe suit with the navy vest, and he keeps playing with his cufflinks. Alastor's permanent grin twitches higher; he knew Vox would love it even if he was skittish about the initial purchase.
Alastor relaxes, resting his hands on the top of his microphone. He picks up the rhythmic clicking of heels on hardwood as Rosie comes to the door. It opens with a small creak, and the warm, heady scent of slightly rotten roses washes out over the porch. His nose flares at the familiar alpha scent, and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"Rosie, how lovely to see you, my dear! You look quite well today."
"Alastor, you flatterer!" Rosie says with a laugh as she slaps his shoulder, "Come in, come in! And who is this fine fellow?" Her black eyes snap to Vox, who is halfway to hiding behind him.
Alastor steps to the side, making his Picture Box come front and center for Rosie's inspection. Alastor raises his head proudly as he looks over the other omega before wrapping a reassuring arm around his shoulders when he notices his scent turns more salty than usual. "This is Vox!"
"Oh, Alastor, how have you managed to keep such a charming thing all to yourself?" Rosie asks, covering what he knows to be a grin behind her hand. Alastor tolerates her teasing as she eyes Vox up and down.
"So how long have you been down here, hun? You're still smelling a little fresh."
"A few months. I've been staying with Alastor since the first couple of weeks."
"Alastor, you dog!"
"Yes, Rosie, we have much to catch up on, including my new omega friend. But I do believe that's a better conversation to have inside, perhaps over some tea?" He offers as he pushes Rosie back into her home; she rarely gets this excitable. Vox is trailing along behind them like a puppy.
"Of course, of course, why I was just so surprised I forgot my manners! What kind of tea do you take, Vox?"
"Uh, Earl Grey?" He asks uncertainly, his antenna sparking as he glances at Alastor for reassurance. Alastor hums but keeps moving to the side to ensure Vox can't hide behind him like a child trying to duck behind his mother's skirts.
"Yes, I have some. Alastor, the usual?"
He nods and leads Vox to the parlor while Rosie heads to the kitchen. A few minutes later, she returns with a tray containing three teacups and some thumb cookies.
Rosie places a cup with deep brown tea in front of Vox before placing a cup filled with red liquid in front of Alastor. Oh, there was nothing quite like blood orange blossom tea.
Vox glances questioningly at him before returning to the tray with the finger cookies: "Is this...?"
"It's perfectly vegetarian, my dear," Alastor reassures and Vox reaches a hand out and delicately takes a cookie between his blue claws and begins to nibble at it. He truly should try to cut back on his sweet tooth; then again, with his head, who knows if it was possible for a Picture Box to get cavities?
"Why, I could just eat you up?" Rosie coos as she watches Vox. Alastor feels his hackles rise and his ears go back, pinned against his hair.
"There will be none of that," Alastor bites out. Vox was his and he had no intention of sharing with anyone, not even Rosie. Rosie raises an eyebrow at him as she sips her tea. "Why Vox is against cannibalism!" Alastor redirects his behavior into a joke.
His old friend gives him a discerning look, and Alastor knows he will be in for a game of twenty questions when he's next alone with her. For now, Vox's presence prevents an interrogation. Perhaps he will invite Vox to continue to join them and avoid the questioning altogether.
"Against cannibalism? Such a shame, I'm surprised Alastor would take you home if you're so against the lifestyle."
Vox flushes and looks down into his cup. "I only learned about that recently, " he mutters.
Alastor cackles. That had been a delightful hunt, but Vox's naivety had only added to the entertainment. "I'm afraid my Picture Box friend, as charming as he is, is still a bit too innocent."
"Hey! It's not my fault. That's never a question I thought to ask anyone before."
"My friend here thought your lovely town was named only to keep within the theme of hell."
Vox's screen floods with soft crackling static as Rosie joins in the laughter. "No—that's— I," Vox tries to defend himself before slinking down in his seat and crossing his arms to pout like a child. Alastor supposes Vox has had enough teasing for the moment; he doesn't want him to overheat and make himself faint.
"It's quite all right, dear. We meant nothing by it. I know you are quite fearsome in your own way." Alastor reaches over and pats Vox lightly on the shoulder, letting his sweeter scent roll off of him to calm the other omega. The instant Vox breathed it in, the static lessens, though his pout only shrank marginally.
"So, tell me what a sweet thing like you did to end up down here? It's rare we get omegas." Rosie asks with a glint for gossip in her eye, her eyes lingering on where Alastor touched Vox.
Vox frowns into his teacup, "But Alastor is down here too."
"And I'm quite glad for his company, but he killed thirty-two—"
"Thirty-five actually," Alastor chimes in.
"Oh, apologies, I always mix the numbers up, thirty-five alphas and betas, to make his way along down here. So what got you sent off to the eternal flames?"
Alastor's ears perk up at this topic. During their time together, Vox had said many things about how he worked as a secretary. Eventually, he was a news anchor in a studio, but he'd never mentioned his sins or death. Alastor always loved to hear death stories!
Vox grumbles something into the tablecloth before he sits up, "I… may have locked the doors and lit the studio on fire with all of the executives and lead actors in the building."
Alastor raises his eyebrows. That was quite an extreme reaction for his otherwise cautious and level-headed friend.
"Oh my," Rosie says, covering her smile.
"They deserved it!"
"I'm sure they did, my dear, but whatever did they do?"
Vox's mouth twists into an angry grimace, "The producer tried to get me to sleep with him. Said it was the only way I would ever make it and become the next hot thing, that I wasn't pretty or smart enough to do it on my own when I did all of their jobs. They passed me by again and tried to give my news spot to this alpha upstart straight out of college. He still had his fucking pup fat; he looked like he could barely spring a knot." Vox gnashed his teeth together on his screen. The wound to Vox's pride had not healed with his death. Not that Alastor blamed him. Why, Vox's actions seemed entirely reasonable to him. Alastor would have done it differently, adding more bloodshed, but the end result would have been the same.
Art by Shiveagit
"Hah, you certainly showed them the next hot thing," Alastor chuckles.
"Exactly." Vox says, showing his wide, shark-like grin, "And if I find any of them joined me down here, I wouldn't be opposed to showing them again."
Vindictive. Alastor felt his heart speed up; he quite liked that in a friend.
"Well, with a story like that, you'll certainly fit right in down here in Cannibal Town. Why, half of the omegas in my part of town ate their husbands to get out of a bad marriage!"
Vox's screen dims, and he looks a bit peckish at the comment. For a moment, Alastor thinks he might say something rude about their lifestyle, but instead he says, "Well, who wouldn't? No body, no crime, right? I hope they didn't get sick from the taste of bad meat."
Rosie chuckles and Alastor relaxes. This was going swimmingly. The conversation drifts after that as they nibble at their cookies and sip their tea. Vox is his usual charming self and the afternoon passes pleasantly.
As the red sun begins to set below the Pentagram, Alastor stands, brushing crumbs off his suit. "Thank you for the lovely company as always, my dear, but I'm afraid Vox and I had best be off. It's nearly dinner time." Vox follows his lead and rises, politely pushing his chair in.
"Oh, would you look at the time?" Rosie says, glancing at the clock. Well, let me get you a good cut of thigh before you go. It's fresh, and I know you'll love it! I can't let you go home empty-handed."
"That sounds lovely, Rosie."
Rosie smiles at him before bustling off to the kitchen and coming back with a brown paper parcel tied neatly with a white thread. She shows them both to the door. "Lovely meeting you, Vox. You let me know if Ol' Alastor here gives you a hard time."
"Oh, he would never," Vox says, his antenna bobbing as he shakes his head.
Rosie laughs, "Well, you just let me know if that changes, hon. " She pats him on the shoulder before turning to give Alastor a quick hug. She gives him a quick squeeze and whispers into his ear, "Now, Alastor, take good care of your omega."
"Of course I will, was that ever in doubt-" he pauses as Rosie's eyes sparkle. She gives him a wide grin like a cat that got the canary as he registers Rosie's exact words.
Oh. That is not what he meant! Vox is— Alastor opens his mouth to correct her, but she's already pushing him out the door.
"Now, don't be strangers, Alastor. I won't have you keeping Vox all to yourself and depriving me of some lovely company."
"I'm thinking about getting a job." Vox declares over breakfast one morning.
Alastor’s ears twitch as he looks up from his paper. “Whatever for?”
Vox still had a lot to learn about Hell. He was also an unmated omega, which presented unique dangers. Alastor isn't sure he likes this development.
“To do something! To learn the ropes. I had a job when I was alive even if it was shitty. Why shouldn’t I get one down here?”
Alastor blinks slowly. Not sure he’s fully understanding. “Why ever would you want one, when you can do as you please?”
“You have a radio show,” Vox points out.
“That’s pleasure, hardly work at all,” Alastor says, lowering the paper and giving Vox his full attention.
“Maybe I want to find some pleasure too,” Vox says as he taps his claws on the tablecloth. Ah, well Alastor can’t argue with that. He’d lived a life excess and delighted in his own style of depravity and bloodlust.
“If you think something as menial as a job will give you that,” Alastor dismisses and returns to his paper. The idea itches at him all day. Why would one want to spend eternity working for anyone? Alastor couldn't even begin to fathom. It's not that he didn't provide for his little Picture Box quite well. But alas, if Vox spent any more time pacing Alastor's house, he would wear through the floorboards, so when Vox finally stepped out in the afternoon, Alastor couldn't dull his shine, and off Vox went in his suit.
Was Alastor nervous? Of course not! He didn't spend an extra half hour at home in case Vox returned a nervous wreck from his first outing in Hell alone since Alastor found him. That would be ridiculous! Nonsensical, especially since Alastor slipped his personified shadow into Vox's on the way out the door.
Alastor had far better things to do as he made his list of favors and checked it twice. It was the time of year when Alastor would check on his contracts. It never was wise to let his contractees out with too long a leash. When left on their own for too long sinners tended to get ideas and why that was far too messy. It was never fun to add a soul he already owned to his broadcasts; that was just tacky!
Still, soul business was rather private between an Overlord and their thralls. So it was for the best; Vox was distracted by his job hunt, and Alastor would leave him alone. Well, mostly alone, one could never be too careful in Hell after all!
His afternoon moved quickly after that; he portalled to the first name on his list and most of them cowered and gave him his due when he asked, or he passed on a reminder with a smile that had them smelling of wondrous fear. Alastor could disappear into the shadows and go on to his next victim appointment. He was making good time; if he managed to keep up this speed, he would only have three more days of visits, practically a new record for how many souls he now had at his beck and call.
Alastor scratched another name off his list and was about to enter the shadows when he felt a definite tug in his chest. Alastor froze, his ears flicking up, alert as the sensation pulled again. He feels a flicker of urgency in his bond with Shadow. That was unusual and could mean nothing good.
He narrows his red eyes. What had Vox managed to get himself into this time?
"I'm afraid, I'll have to cut our business short, my friend," Alastor says with a false sense of joviality as he stands smoothing out his suit, while the centipede sinner in front of him shakes.
Alastor allows himself to fade into the shadows following the familiar pull of his doppelganger as he pops out into an alley on the outskirts of Cannibal Town. While the shadow and him were connected, he couldn't pick up on more than the briefest sensations when his shadow was so far from him. It was a useful spy, but more detailed information would have to wait until they merged back together.
He frowns. Vox certainly hadn't made it far in his search for a job, but Cannibal Town was perfectly safe for Vox. After all, he was friends with both Rosie and the Radio Demon himself. The sinners of Cannibal Town were far too polite to pose a risk to Vox.
He felt the pull on his chest again and he follows it. He finds Vox pinned up to the wall hissing and kicking at a sinner that appeared to be made of rubber tires. Ah, that would pose a problem for his friend, and likely give Alastor indigestion. Alastor registers another sinner in a tacky Union Jack suit snickering. Clearly, they were not locals.
"Well, well, well, this looks like quite the quagmire whatever is happening here, pal?" His pupils spread and his antlers grow, his neck cracking and bending unnaturally under their weight.
Teaching Vox self-defense would be at the top of his list as soon as he returned home. Obviously, Vox couldn't be trusted not to play the damsel at every given opportunity. Alastor couldn't have all of Hell thinking Vox was easy pickings, not when he'd had to wait nearly thirty years to finally have an omega friend.
The screams are music to his ears as the tire sinner startles back, dropping Vox in the process as it tries to wheel away. Alastor snarls in response and sends out one of his tentacles to pierce through its thick skin. He watches in approval as the sinner seems to deflate.
"Radio shit!" Says the other troublemaker, dressed in perfectly gaudy clothing. England’s flag is stencilled over a truly awful white jumpsuit. A flat guitar that's been mangled without its base to resonate with is thrown over his shoulder, and scratches along its bridge are scratched, showing that the care is far from present on the poor instrument.
"That's no way to treat an instrument," Alastor chastises. The sinner scoffs and hikes the guitar off his shoulder, holding it like an axe.
"Well, since you like singing so much, I'll have to have you on my show." With a swish of his hand, the poor soul drops into a writhing mass of shadows. Alastor inspects his work with a smile before moving closer to his housemate. "Vox, must I always come to your rescue?" Alastor asks with a sigh.
Vox's screen dims and he looks down embarrassed, his blue claws rubbing the elbows of his sweater. "They caught me off guard. I wasn’t ready for rubber. How did you know I needed help anyway?"
"I had suspicions about leaving you on your own." Alastor snaps his finger and his shadow peels off from Vox's, giving Vox a smile and a little wave. "Surely you've noticed him around the house before."
"I thought I was seeing things. Sentient shadow isn't typically the conclusion you jump to!" Vox says, a bit frazzled, as the shadow winds its way around him, trilling happily and rubbing its face into his screen. Vox flushes purple, and his screen fills with static.
" Behave ," Alastor says pointedly. His shadow chitters at him and leans closer to Vox. Alastor rolls his eyes and focuses on the two sinners he can feel fleeing in terror in his portal. He hadn’t damaged either of them too badly, nothing that should regenerate in a few hours, which gives Alastor plenty of time to write some jokes at their expense and make an appropriate musical selection to go with his baritone.
Perhaps the day wouldn't be a complete wash after all. Alastor hums and snaps his fingers to create a portal. He steps closer and has one hoof inside, only to notice that Vox wasn't following.
"Come now, I have a show to broadcast, and I'm sure you'll want front-row seats!"
"A show?" Vox asks as Alastor steps closer and loops their arms together, kicking the moaning soon-to-be dead sinner that moans from inside the portal before stepping through.
"A broadcast! Surely you've heard the titillating soundwaves from the radios all across Hell!"
"I've heard your radio show before, you play lots of Ella Fitzgerald."
"Why, it's her right! She's one of the greats!" Vox's response doesn't truly answer what Alastor is most concerned about from his house guest, but Vox had taken the cannibalism in stride, so surely this wouldn't be a bridge too far.
Alastor portals Vox back to their house, letting his shadow take away tonight's guest stars and get him situated at the studio. He has half a mind to bring Vox along and let him watch the show live… but, well, a man did need his own space, and Alastor had never let another soul leave his station. Perhaps… perhaps he might bring Vox along in a few decades, but now it was too soon to let Vox so close.
Alastor adjusts the dials on the cathedral radio in the parlor. Vox wraps himself up in the knitted throw blanket on the couch, looking quite cozy. Alastor's ear flicks, and part of him wants to join Vox. To curl into his soft static and ozone scent. Alastor clamps the instinctive omega down, ignoring it as he opens a portal, "Now, do be sure to tell me what you think, Vox. I want to hear all about it when I get back."
Vox murmurs an affirmation over his tea mug and Alastor steps into the darkness. His mind was already refocusing on which knife would be best for the evening's entertainment.
Alastor carefully tunes into the familiar frequency of his personal radio and feels for Vox's warm buzzing nearby. There he is. The electronic waves emanating from him are calm as ever. It makes Alastor's grin widen as he leans over his victim and flays his skin down to the bone. The screaming is so delicious as it broadcasts to all of Pride.
Alastor feels Vox lean in closer to the radio instead of flinching back in fear. His Picture Box was too perfect.
Vox is fidgeting in his seat at the bar; he keeps glancing up around the room and glaring whenever he finds an alpha looking at them. Normally, Alastor would be amused at the oddly aggressive behavior, but his Picture Box has been in a particularly sulky mood for the last several days, and this outing has clearly done nothing for his mood. When the beta waiter comes back around to refill their glasses, Vox hisses at him.
"That's quite enough of that," Alastor says, using his shadow to pin Vox to his side of the bench before he can snap his teeth at the waiter. Vox's right eye swirls in a black and red pattern. The waiter warily replaces their empty whiskey glasses before quickly scurrying away as fast as he can.
"Let me go," Vox begins to twist, fighting against his shadow. Alastor frowns and lets out a displeased hiss that instantly has Vox stilling before he lets out a low keening whimper. It's so out of character for Vox that Alastor damn near chokes on his drink as every alpha in the bar swivels towards them.
Alastor lets his rotten scent roll out around the bar, increasing his crackle of static to show he's displeased as any alpha with two brain cells quickly realizes their life is forfeit if they think about approaching the pair of omegas in the corner booth. Then Alastor raises his nose and sniffs the humid, smoke-filled air, leaning closer to Vox to get a read of his scent. It smells strongly of ozone and the ocean, Vox's usual scent, but a hint of unusual sweetness was buried under all of that. It rather reminded him of salt water taffy.
"Vox, my dear, I believe you are in pre-heat."
Vox blanches, "No, there's no way."
"Have you had a heat since falling to hell?"
"No… but I thought that didn't happen down here. It's not like we can have kids and you haven't had a heat either." Vox says his eyes grow wide in horror as he clutches onto the not-quite-nothingness of shadow like a lifeline.
Alastor's ears twitch and his smile strains, "I assure you it does. I am a deer sinner. I only have one season a year; it seems you are not so lucky."
Vox's screen pales to grey and then fills with snowy interference. "What do you mean?"
"It means we shall have to see if you are the type of sinner who gets biannual, triannual, or quarterly heats. I'm afraid Lucifer has never bothered to write a rulebook on how it works down here, so it is very much a play-it-by-ear learning curve."
Vox lets out an unhappy moan and Alastor can sympathize. He stands from his half of the booth and slides in next to Vox, pleased to smell his scent sweeten as he calms. He releases the order for his shadow to hold Vox in place. The dark figure curls comfortingly around Vox, letting out little trills, "Now, now, my dear, no need for that, it's perfectly natural. But I do believe we should go home, unless you would fancy one last hunt before your cycle."
Vox shakes his head and Alastor sighs as his shadow expands, engulfing them both. That was something they would have to work on. There was no easier or more satisfying hunt than before a heat. The prey practically threw itself on the ground, but that was something he would have to teach Vox later. For now, he needs to make sure his Picture Box feels safe, tucked away in his nest.
As soon as they get home, Alastor takes Vox to the linen closet and tells him to take what he needs. Vox runs his claws across the fabric before he pulls the softest ones out, scenting each one carefully before adding it to his collection of selected nesting materials. Soon, he has a small pile and a few pillows scattered on the wooden floor around him. Vox will need to move it all to his room because while Alastor may be a bit untraditional, he draws the line at allowing a nest in the hallway.
"Can I…" Vox mumbles awkwardly as he glances at the closet and then at Alastor.
"I'm afraid you'll have to speak up, my dear."
Vox fidgets, his claws clicking together as he weaves his fingers together. "Can I have one of your shirts to add to my nest?" Vox's screen fades slightly into a light purple and Alastor can hear some electronic contraption click on and buzz in his boxy head.
Alastor tilts his head to the side and watches Vox fidget. His scent spreads down the hall as he rocks the blankets still in his hand. Alastor is much more in the habit of taking others' clothes to add to his nest than providing them. Except Vox, he has no other omega friends, so it's never come up before. He may not have a pack exactly, but he does appreciate Niffty's calm beta scent, Mimzy's spicy cinnamon smell, especially outrageous for a beta, and Rosie's floral alpha scent when he is going through his season.
He scrutinizes Vox and his wide hopeful red eyes, but he doesn't particularly like the idea of Vox defiling something of his in his hormone-lauded debauchery. He can understand the need for familiar scents; outside of himself, Vox has no regular hellish contacts. It wasn't something Alastor had considered a problem before, but it is something they will need to rectify for the future.
Alastor peels off his favorite red jacket and hands it over. Vox clutches it to his chest like it's the most precious treasure in the underworld.
If you didn't count the pre-heat—and Alastor certainly didn't—Vox's heat lasted three days. It was about standard for most sinners, Alastor's, of course, lasted closer to ten days, but he was lucky enough only to have to deal with that particular facet of his biology once a year.
Vox comes out of his nest looking worse for wear. His screen is dimmer than usual, and his clothes are rumpled. He's dressed down to only a blue button-up and a pair of slacks, not even a tie in sight. He sits at the table, and Alastor sets a steaming mug of more sugar than coffee in front of him.
The other omega mumbles his thanks, takes a sip and purrs happily into his coffee. Alastor chuckles. His heat may be over, but his scent is still a touch sweeter than usual, and his hormones are still obviously impacted. Alastor records the sound. It is a nice purr, and one can never have too many sounds in one's basket as a radio host, after all.
The coffee wakes Vox up, and his pupils seem to sharpen. After he finishes the cup and Alastor places a plate full of eggs in front of him, and Vox asks, "Where do you get suppressants down here?"
"Pardon?" A screech of a record fills the air as Alastor turns his full attention to his Picture Box.
Vox rocks back against his chair, letting out a low whimper, he quickly clamps down. "You know heat suppressants, they cut down on the hormones, stop heats, and make everything more bearable." Vox waves his hand, then his eyes widen. "There were suppressants around when you were alive, right?"
Alastor sets a claw under Vox's screen and tilts his screen up. "Those vile things that dull the senses. Whatever could you want with those?"
"I want never to have to go through that again. It was like someone took my presentation heat and decided to make it a hundred times worse." Vox says flatly.
"I wouldn't recommend them," Alastor says through gritted teeth. Terrible, absolutely terrible things. It felt like subjecting yourself to a constant ice bath, not to mention what they did to his hunger. He'd once eaten five sinners in one sitting after trying one of those pills in Hell for the first time.
"Why not?" Vox's red eyes narrow, "You're not one of those naturalist omegas, right?"
Alastor waved a claw, "I wouldn't classify myself as such, but this is Hell, my dear, and so naturally suppressants have side effects."
Vox frowns, "Like what?"
"They suppress the hormones and scents, but they also suppress an omega's innate magic and abilities. Things like your little trick with the alpha voice. Now that may be fine for a bulky sinner that can simply stab their way out of danger, but not for those sinners more like us that use our wits and innate abilities. It isn't ideal to be missing a trick."
Vox grimaced, chewing on the new information, "How much suppression are we talking about? Have you tried them?"
Alastor's grin fell but didn't disappear. The suppressants had been one of his worst decisions in Hell, second only to the selling of his soul. "Why, I took them only once in my first decade. I was already an Overlord with hundreds of souls under my control. For a whole month, why I could only summon my shadow, for you, my dear, I think you wouldn't so much as spark."
Vox's face twists into a grimace as he runs one of his hands down his screen. " Fuuccck ," Vox whines out.
Alastor nods in commiseration. Being an omega was its own unique punishment even in Hell. "Well, we can only hope you're a lucky fellow like me with only one heat a year."
"Yeah," Vox says, not sounding convinced as he lifts his coffee mug, "Here's to hoping."
Alastor has to keep his concentration on his tail, or else it would wag vigorously under his tailcoat at the prospects for this evening. It's been a long time coming. Mimzy is ever so free-spirited though, and Alastor didn't want to bring Vox along until he was certain Mimzy wasn't stirring up trouble.
Mimzy was like a hurricane and predicting her was a skillset Alastor had honed across two lifetimes. The secret was knowing where she was in her cycle of trouble, and she was. Alastor had run into her not two weeks before and dealt with some rather unsavory sinners on her behalf. Now there was plenty of time before she fell into a new batch of trouble.
It meant tonight was the perfect time to introduce Vox to Mimzy. The beta woman was a delight, and he's sure Vox will adore her!
"So this is your beau, Alastor?" Mimzy asks, leaning over her glass of rye, giving a clear view of her plump and rather exposed bosom. Alastor supposes the position is intended to be seductive to alphas. He can't fault a hunter for their strategies.
Alastor's nose crinkles slightly at the term. Beau implied so much messiness. Nothing was messy or so filled with those tedious expectations with Vox. "Beau? No, Mimzy, this is my Vox. He's a delight,"
"Huh, guess he does look a lil funny. Is that why you keep him around?" Mimzy gives Vox an appraising once-over. Her eyes linger on his screen.
"Why Vox is a riot. Just wait until we get a few glasses of giggle juice in him," Alastor wraps an arm around Vox's shoulders, pulling him closer. "Vox, Mimzy," he gestures at his friend, "Mimzy, Vox. Now you two acquaint yourselves, and I'll gather the drinks!" Alastor trots happily to the bar, leaving his two good friends to get acquainted.
Vox stares at Alastor's tailcoat as he leaves him to fend for himself. He isn't sure what to make of the plump blonde beta woman. Her form was still rather human for a sinner, if you overlooked her dark eyes and sharp teeth. Vox fidgets his fingers against his pants, trying to decide what to say. Mimzy beats him to it.
"So, you're his type, huh? I always did wonder if he was a poof. I mean, you'd gotta be ta not want a handful of this," Mimzy gives her chest a firm squeeze and shimmies suggestively. "Still, shame he never let me have a taste."
Vox feels the electricity spark between his antennas, not liking a single word that the blond uttered.
"Pardon?" Vox asks stiffly. In his time in Hell, he found that it's better to lean on his politeness than outright violence, unless you were Alastor, who somehow managed to do both simultaneously. But Vox couldn't even pretend that was his style.
"You heard me," Mimzy said with a big sigh as she threw herself into the chair next to Vox. Far too close for his liking. "So tell me what’s ol' Al is like in bed. I bet he's a right minx."
Vox's face stutters at that. He's never even thought of Alastor like that. Omegas don't do that with each other! His screen flips to please standby, and he has to bang his hand to get it to clear. When his eyesight comes back online, Mimizy has leaned into his space and is watching his distress in fascination. She has one finger tapping his screen. Vox doesn't hesitate to let a spark find its way to her skin.
"Ywooch!" Mimzy screeches as she yanks her hand back, rubbing at the red skin. Her eyes still lingered on his face. "So, you play picture shows on that thing?"
Vox rolls his eyes at her, his goodwill long since run out. "No, it's my face."
"Sure, ain't pretty. Bet that makes getting an alpha hard for you, that why you settled for Al?"
Vox seriously considers electrocuting her. All it would take is reaching his hand out and letting out a steady stream of electricity. Sure, he's never done it on purpose, but for Mimzy, he would find a way.
"I did not settle. It's not like that," he hisses. His scent sours and there's faint pleasure in his chest when Mimzy recoils, "I bet you're just jealous. What you tried to mooch off Al, thinking he'd be an easy mark, and it didn't go your way?"
Mimzy scowls. "Yeah, and what's your secret, jigglo? You sure are a stick in the mud. I can't imagine Al keeps you around for fun. You that good in bed?"
Before Vox can vault himself across the table and claw out the blonde sinner's eyes, Alastor is between them, humming along with the club music as he lays three glasses and three bottles of bourbon on the table. Vox blinks. Wasn't that a bit much?
"Mimzy, I got your favorite!" Alastor calls and Mimzy instantly straightens up, wiping her face into a pleasant grin.
"You're always such a sweetie. You know how to treat a girl right!"
Vox glares at her pointed comment. "Cow," he mutters under his breath. As Mimzy turns and gives Alastor a simpering smile, and starts on a bit of gossip that Vox couldn't care less about, but has Alastor cackling. Vox turns to his glass and pours himself a healthy dose of bourbon. He might need that whole bottle and then some to make it through this night.
It doesn't take long for Vox to zone out of the conversation. He doesn't know most of the people Al or Mimzy are talking about, and it's irritating to see the two catching up like fast friends. It's much better to guard his drink and watch the dancers tearing up the floor.
"Dance with me, Al," Mimzy says. She's had more drinks than Vox can count in, and Alastor has matched her drink for drink, but she looks just a bit rosy in her cheeks. Alastor looks downright wobbly. His ears relax and his eyes are half lidded as he rests his hands and listens to Mimzy's stories with far more interest than she deserves. His ears perk up at the suggestion.
"I'm not sure that's the best—" Vox starts.
"Oh, can it, boxhead! Al can dance if he wants ta, can't ya Al?" Mimzy simpers, fluttering her eyelashes at him as she leans into Alastor's side. Vox stifles a hiss as his scent flares in irritation. He wishes he could reach out a hand and yank Alastor away.
"Yes, we can dance!" Al slurs out, stumbling to his feet like a fawn walking for the first time. Vox is actually impressed that Alastor is standing, but then he gets on the dancefloor, and it's like he has wings. Mimzy twirls around the floor with him. She focuses on the smooth, graceful motions Alastor leads them through. But that doesn't stop her from shooting Vox smirks between their songs.
Vox is on his feet and storming towards the dance floor before he recognizes what he's doing. He doesn't even wait for the song to finish once Alastor swings Mimzy out into a set of twirls and releases her, Vox steps in, taking Alastor's warm hand.
"Mind if I cut in?" He whispers with a grin, not missing Mimzy's scoff behind him.
Alastor tilts his head back and laughs, "Only if you can keep up, my dear." Then they're off. It takes all of Vox's experience, dance lessons, and focus to keep up. Alastor is a natural dancer, and Vox admittedly did much more waltzing when he was alive than swing, let alone the free-flowing moves Alastor is doing as he leads them around the dance floor.
Still, Vox doesn't step on his toes or fall as he follows Alastor's lead and even manages to put his own flourishes as he gets used to Alastor's chaotic style. He isn't sure how long they dance, just that he's panting and laughing when Alastor eventually slows them down. Alastor curls his head against Vox's chest, his ears tickling the bottom of Vox's screen. Alastor's sweet scent rises around them, and they rock to the rhythm of the jazz.
"Picture Box," Alastor says, scandalized. Vox wilts, unsure what Alastor didn't find passable about his dancing, afraid he would go back with Mimzy.
"What's wrong?" Vox rushes out worriedly.
Alastor's red eyes look up at him." You never told me you could cut a rug", Vox laughs as their next turn around the room leaves Vox panting and Alastor shaking with laughter. He leans his chest fully into Vox's and repositions his head to rest against Vox's shoulder as the jazz continues soft and slow.
"I'm a man of many talents." Vox smiles as he spins Alastor again, catching a glimpse of Mimzy standing alone, fuming on the edge of the dance floor. The other sinners give them a wide berth, watching enraptured as Vox and Alastor take turns trading the lead.
Vox is sure Alastor is going to have a bitch of a hangover tomorrow and probably spend the day on the couch whining and biting Vox's head off, but for now, Vox will enjoy the moment and bask in Alastor's presence.
Art by GoofBerry
Vox is holed up in his room. Alastor noticed the signs a week ago as Vox started smelling like saltwater taffy again. Vox was a bit slower to catch on, but by the time he was stealing the pillows off the couch to add to his room, it was clear he was nesting again. Alastor sighed. It appeared Vox's luck was not nearly as good as his own.
Alastor flips open the calendar and marks it down. Then he flips it four months ahead and adds another note. Poor Vox was one of those unfortunate sinners with at least three heat cycles in a year. He'll make Vox some soup, and then when he finishes his cycle, they'll have to have a conversation about proper preparation for one's heat in Hell.