route666rp | [Closed] The Calm Before The...

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[Closed] The Calm Before The...

Who: Alastor and Vox
What: It's the end of the year, and there's still plenty of unfinished business. That unfinished business is... whatever is in Vox's head at the time. Plus alcohol.
When: December 31st
Where: The Convoy
Warnings: Nothing big- Social constipation. The worst communication skills you've ever seen. And they're both media-themed demons. Fancy that.

Vox dusted off his hands and stepped away from his parked car. Slow night, but there were a lot of those lately with frequent bouts of inclement weather while also conserving what little fuel was left.

But the question of what they would do if the big guy ran out was not at the front of his mind. As he boarded the parked Convoy and tapped the snow and ice off of his shoes, he let his mind run idle toward thoughts of maybe knocking back a few of the drinks he'd managed to pilfer from those weird containers he dug up- good old holiday moonshine, he guessed??- and calling it an early night. He pulled a rag from his pocket and wiped off his face, his head, glad for its waterproofed seams.

But 'calling it' also was plopped on the back-burner when he spotted a familiar figure minding his own business. Just look at him. Lounging like he fucking owns the place-

He set his bag upon a table and rifled through it. "Look who lives to laugh another day, rather than become the newest ice sculpture on the mountain...!"

Ah-HAH, here's a little treasure in a crystal bottle... it's the right occasion for it.

"Pick any more fights with strangers on the radio lately...?"

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Even though Alastor's had a rough time of things and has been limping his van in the back, the demon absolutely refused to show any exhaustion or consequence he might be experiencing. No, instead he was lounging and reading a bit, one of the blankets left by Vox wrapped around his shoulders as he relaxed.

The recorded laughter from his speakers still rang in the distance, but at least here it was able to be ignored.

"Ah, there you are," Alastor ignored the jab and closed his borrowed (pilfered?) book with his thumb as a page mark, reaching to the side of his seat to dig through a bag. Out of it, he pulled a lump of... something wrapped with paper and tied with twine. "Heard you'd found a little stash, old pal - how's a bit of cold-smoked liver as a trade for a share, hmm?"

He'd certainly been harassed by enough of the monsters thanks to the gremlins affecting his van that he'd gotten a glut of meats and offal...

He crossed the way and went rummaging for a glass. A cable reached out to grab a chair, pulling it in closer. He fully intended on having a nice, luxurious little sip and not remotely sharing a bit, but he paused before that first pour.

Liver. ...Smoked liver.

You motherfucker.

Vox clicked his tongue, made a show of considering as he twirled the glass between his claws. "...Two fingers for the liver."

A pause. "More than that will... cost you."

"No one wants the livers more than we do, pal. This is enough to fill your belly and it's been smoked to perfection even in this dreadful weather - easily more than two fingers," Alastor drummed his fingers along the paper, chuckling. "But go on-- what else are you interested in trading?"

"Yet I'm the one with the drink, you understand! A precious resource in the middle of fuck-all that is our current locale. I think my price is more than fair."

He settled into that procured seat and gave the bottle a swirl. "So...! I heard on the grapevine that you talked of lindy-hopping with one of the Drifters! That hard-up for a little taste of old times?"

Vox finally went to the pour, focused on that. "You that confident they won't slow you down...?"

"You're still on that?" Alastor chuckled, passing over the parcel without any more negotiation or fuss.

He hadn't forgotten the blankets, after all.

"Everyone starts somewhere - you couldn't tell your own feet apart when you started either! Could hardly handle a tango with that head of yours."

The parcel was passed, and he placed the glass before the other demon before he reached for another to pour his own.

"Humble beginnings, sure sure, buuut... you never did ask- challenge. Challenge me to try and catch me off-guard, have an excuse to laugh at my expense...!"

He propped a side of his monitor with a hand and sharpened the grin. "...Y'know, that old expectation, right before I rattle those rickety old bones on the dance floor with how far I've come along!"

He took a drink, then was momentarily distracted with looking at the bottle. Whoa. Who made this? What is it with all this weird moonshine being surprisingly tasty and not just varnish with flavors added in...?

"I challenged because if I simply asked, you may have said no!"

And he had you pegged from the start - you can't resist a challenge.

"So? Are you jealous that I might train a few new lindy-hoppers? Is that sticking in your craw, still, old pal?"

He rolled his eyes and set the bottle down. "Oh, please. A tango or a waltz I can get, even a good half of all the tap steps out there, but you didn't pick any of those, did you...?"

Vox raised a glass-filled hand's finger to wave at him. "No, you picked your little favorite and with strangers, which tells me you're bored as fuck. Or..."

Let's just polish this first glass off, let it warm the belly. "...This is a new game tailored to piss me off. Either way, I'm onto you. ...Sssshit, I picked up a good one."

He poured himself juuuust one more...

"Anyway, I've been digging my as-of-yet-unnamed little lady out of the snow for the better part of the evening for tomorrow's drive and helped install chains on the tires of three others, so I believe I've more than won a few good things tonight."

"You really think I did that just to ruffle your scales, specifically? That's a little conceited, even for you!" Alastor guffawed, taking a sip of his exchanged booze delicately since he had yet to hear the terms to get more.

...Not bad. Not too sweet, plenty of kick, very warm.

"Maybe I was simply pleased to meet a gentleman who truly appreciates the radio! A limey, but he loves the classics."

His eyes turned to dials. He loved a good mimicry:

"So? Are you jealous that I might train a few new lindy-hoppers? Is that sticking in your craw, still, old pal?"

He'll even give the same guffaw.

"But far be it from me to keep you from making... friends, of course." He helped himself to a little more, but that one sat far more bitterly on the tongue.

He swallowed and ignored it, as well as the creeping chill up his back.

No.

Not that again.

"But! It's New Years, and I'm feeling generous. I thought, hey, I found a lot of tasty things these last couple of weeks, and maybe a little drink and a little dancing should set the year on its way proper. Besides-"

He elbowed. "You have to admit it's a little weird to not be watching the sky for angels for once, huh...?"

Don't you cry about it, old pal, no one's going to be friends with him. He just wants a few people willing to play ball for a while!

He chuckled... "So you need a proper dance partner to kick off the New Year, is what you're saying? Surely I'm a poor substitute for your accomplished Vees."

"Vel is a fantastic dancer, I'll have you know, and Valentino did take a few weeks to get to a level I was satisfied with, but he was a quick enough study involving the tossing. Having multiple arms definitely has its perks."

He quirked a brow. "Surely before we had our yearly visitors you did something for New Years, right? Other than the broadcasts with hold on some particularly big fish that needed flaying, anyway."

He smirked. "Hell, one year you timed a particularly loud scream to the stroke of midnight. Intentional, I'm sure."

Well... he'd been underground at that time. Oh, how he would've loved to test his teeth and claws against those Exorcists much earlier...! If Carmilla could kill one, he surely would have found the way himself - or made them WISH they were able to die.

"I was enjoying my sabbatical! I do remember ringing out the New Year long before the exorcisms, though - ahh, that woman was a fantastic screamer once her skin was flayed off," Alastor sighed nostalgically, recalling one of the Overlords he'd torn down in the good old days...

He remembered a particularly good screamer one year. It was probably the same broadcast he was thinking of. He'd listened in if only to keep an eye out. One dead overlord meant more territory up for grabs, and Alastor strangely never did any land grabbing.

He seemed perfectly happy to live with the other people-munchers. Vox figured at some point Rosie would feel threatened, and yet she wasn't. Why?

His smirk fell. It was... fishy, to say the least. Were they fucking? Oh god, don't think about that-

"...Where'd you even fuck off to, anyway...?" He drank to cover up the sudden parch in his mouth, the look away. His face turned a bit cyan.

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather-boy?" Alastor taunted with a far too new meme instead of answering, leaning back and chuckling smugly.

Though-- Vox was glancing away and glowing again. What was going through the man's silly head?

God, you must be so fucking proud of yourself-

Why did he ever tell him about his work...? Stupid, Vox. You're STUPID-

His screen flushed with static and refreshed into an eyeroll.

He swirled the glass in his hand. The other reached for the parcel to open it up. "Hee-hee, ho-ho... real knee-slapper, that one. Been holding onto that meme for a while, huh?"

Here's a nice slice. Let's give it a go, down the hatch...

...

"Where'd you find this?"

"A beast like the one that interrupted our last scrap, of course," Alastor answered plainly, sipping at the booze nonchalantly. "The rest of that liver I've been trying to cure in the van as sausages. Had to get a bit creative on the spice front - I'll have to get some potted herbs going once we're away from this wretched weather."

But he did still take a portion of that liver to smoke...

"That bit there - I cold-smoked it along with other meats. Wouldn't want it all to spoil - wasteful."

"You made this?" And you're giving some of it up, just like that? Why?

But something else hit him: Curing. Smoking. Of course- he'd been chowing on it raw and forcing himself to grow accustomed to it if only to make these weird and unruly feelings in him stop, the gnawing ants of a creature fighting to burst out of his skin.

"...Why didn't I think to cook any of it this whole damned time...?" He thought out loud before he could stop himself.

"Hah hahahahah!" Alastor laughed - at Vox's expense, yes, but at least the tone was light and amused.

"You have no experience getting in touch with your inner predator - some shark you are, hmm? Your hunger has only just started and all you can think is to fill your belly as fast as possible," he explained with all of the smugness of someone talking down to a child.

His grip tightened on the glass.

"I have plenty of inner predator experience. Only, I made use of it in grabbing territory in the Pentagram and beyond and covering through VoxTek. If we ever traded daily routines back home, you'd eat shit."

"No, Vox, you're a predator the way any human predates on others," Alastor rebuffed, crossing his legs and relaxing in his seat even more. Completely unthreatened. "With ambitions, and plans, and goals. You're a schemer. You have never followed the scent of blood with your stomach growling, never delighted in tearing open a belly, never felt that urgency to feast as quickly as you can before the scavengers catch up to you."

There was the sadistic joy of killing he knew Vox felt... the thrill of having power over others. The anxious rush to dump a body before getting caught.

But that's not the same.

"We're demons, pal. We're monsters. You're preoccupied with being the image you think you should embody that you forget those things."

Vox quietly chuckled, and drummed his claws across the counter. "...And that's where we differ, you and I. I like my schemes and plans. I love my strategies. Even sharks in the sea make a plan and execute with a deadly efficiency that they haven't needed to change for countless millions of years.

"The Mako will tear the fins or the tail from their prey first. A blink. They can't escape. They struggle. They send those wonderful little electric pulses through the water. Their heart races. The blood in the water spreads. Then comes the quick bite, the shred, and back into the dark depths the hunter goes... quick. Efficient. Fed. All before the idiot scavengers have even gotten out of bed in the morning. Well-oiled machines."

He set his glass down firmly and gave it a twist, let it spin. "But I understand if you've never seen what little is left of my quarry these last few weeks... too busy taunting disembodied voices over the radio and all of that. I've been hunting. I've been honing. I've been... studying."

Vox cast a quiet glance toward where the front of the truck would be. "I know exactly what I am. I know precisely what the mark on my body means. I even know what I'm capable of as this new creature I find myself embracing."

He looked back and propped his chin in a hand. He quirked a brow. "I've forgotten nothing."

"I never said I didn't appreciate scheming! It's important to keep a long view ahead of you - to do anything less is sloppy," Alastor waved at Vox dismissively. All of the chatter, the flapping gums - but he remembers vividly how unfamiliar he was with his new shape, how he couldn't control his impulses or even direct them.

"I'm simply saying - I'm not surprised that you have to study. You've never experienced or indulged these impulses before."

One corner of his mouth twitched into a deepening frown as he instead leaned on his elbows.

"I... haven't. When you come into my line of work, you can't be 'sloppy', as you've said. If I started hacking away at everyone and eating their hearts or whatever, I'd be just like the thousands of other butchering maniacs living in Hell. You need to stand out when you're starting a movement and need to keep eyes on you for the next command."

Tap, tap, tap of a claw. He looked ahead.

"But there's a joy in feeding the animal brain. The id. Once I came to understand it from that angle, I started being able to shift at will." He absently took the bottle and topped Alastor off before returning to his own.

"...Kinda wonder if all the id quadrants feed the curse similarly. Hunger's a definite yes. Emotional expression, debatable. Comfort? Sex?"

Funny of Vox to say that to the man who was THE butchering maniac of Hell... but then again, he knew he couldn't compete, didn't he?

Id, ego, and superego. That was that claptrap Freud, wasn't it? People certainly did love their little theories categorizing things, didn't they?

"I haven't felt a lick of difference in sexual appetite, but I have noticed emotions running much higher than before. And the very specific craving for eating liver - I'd never been so conspicuous in my consumption before now. I pride myself on making the most out of nearly all of a kill, after all - waste not, want not."

"Speak for yourself," he muttered, paused, and masked with another drink.

"God, don't remind me- the fucking liver...!" He gestured with the free hand.

"The number of nights I ran and hid when I learned it was liver and onions night as a kid...! And now I can't get enough of the stuff. Apparently it's a- it's a life force thing?"

"Funny, most stories and rituals tend to talk about the heart, or the brain. Sometimes the eyes," Alastor chuckled, finishing off his drink. Buuuut if a bit of dancing and company is all it takes for more, he isn't missing it too much.

"At least the liver is more flavorful! The heart is fickle to cook well, and the brain is simply too risky."

"I think I draw the line at brain. It's all fat too, isn't it?" Sounds like it'll be gooey or gummy, and he'll pass. It'd remind him of gelatin--

"But I think it was the kumiho... they eat livers to eventually earn a human body, as the stories I'd read say." But he waved a hand dismissively. Hoogh. Now this stuff was hitting. But he turned his head and extended a cable to grab another bottle from his bag.

However, the contents were a swirling off-white. He yanked the cork, releasing the scent of cream and spices. "Then there's something about... magic beads- do you like eggnog?"

Vox squinted a bit at him with the question.

"Is it real eggnog and not that saccharine swill from the stores?" Alastor asked, though he offered his glass to get some of it. The scent at least was enticing...

"Magic beads, you say? Something else to do with the kumiho, or is it related to the kitsune? Or whatever they're called in wherever else the stories go."

"The real shit. I've had a bottle recently." Had he lost the plot? Absolutely. He poured, seemingly just glad to have company this time around.

"...Uhhh, kuuumiho stuff again, I believe? Pure energy. Transferred through the mouth by a kiss, so naturally, you get some good old-fashioned paranoia about a person you meet possibly being a yokai... oOoOoh..." He waggled his fingers, laughed, and poured some of the eggnog for himself. This was calories. It'd take the edge off after the pure liquor.

"That's a way to go: Get the best kiss of your life, and the last kiss of your life. But I wonder if you can give energy, too... like some souped up CPR...?"

"Hmm," Alastor hummed, the sound crackling with dissatisfied static. A kiss, huh... not a chance in hell or whatever this godforsaken place was.

He sipped at the eggnog... rich, sweeter than his usual, but there was still that seasonal nostalgic warmth and the kick from the alcohol, so it went nicely enough.

"I suppose that falls in line with what I've read so far - deception, seduction, seizing control through being invited in," he grumbled. "I can find plenty of use for illusion work, but I'm not particularly a feminine wiles sort."

It'd been countless years, but he knew the grumps in that sound even before his receivers got a taste of the dissatisfaction in the air. With the alcohol dancing away in his bloodstream, loosening up those poor, tight muscles after all the shoveling and high-stepping he had to do through the weather outside, he was feeling a little giddy.

In the wake of Alastor's admission- did he mean to say that, he wondered?- there was silence.

Then a snort.

Vox took a breath and brought a hand to his chest. "Just a part of being an overlord, if you ask me...! I've sealed my fair share of deals that way. I'm also an accomplished kisser. No complaints yet!"

But then he leaned on his elbows, closer to Alastor. "And... what about you, pal? Because I'm sensing a little something."

"Sealing a Deal with a kiss? You really are tacky. Did you pick that up from your Vees?" Alastor grumbled, leaning away in his seat and shooting Vox an annoyed look.

"I've had my fun in the old speakeasies. I much prefer a tongue cut out of someone's mouth - maybe roasted a bit."

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[Closed] The Calm Before The...

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