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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"Nog overboard! Hahahah! Happy New Year, floor!" Sloppy Alastor! What a rare treat. Seventy years seems to fly right by, doesn't it-

Despite the grunt of surprise and his reactive stiffening from the shift, his arms still shifted to accommodate. To keep this other figure from squashing him by the shoulder, Vox huffed and scooted Alastor inward from the arm rest.

...Ya fuckin'... idiot.

"Oh, you wiiish I was slowing down! No, I'm getting all the scrap I can, but I'm nowhere close to somethin' like that. I just gotta recover my projector program, is all... then everybody gets somethin' WAY better than some dusty old radio show."

He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm gonna give these idiots movies..."

It's not a graceful move, getting the deer to scoot off of the arm of the chair - with a little bleat and a laugh his bony legs swung to try and catch himself again. He just ended up with his butt wedged against the edge of the seat and his gangly legs practically draped over Vox's lap, let alone the swishing tails wiggling as he did to try and get comfortable despite how unsteady he was.

Honestly, this is just like the old days... getting so sloppy drunk that he practically got carried back to his radio tower by Mimzy or Vox. Or even a grouchy Husk, when he was forced to.

Ah, the good days...

"Movies. Yes, yes, exactly what a bunch of people driving need! Hahahah! We certainly have pleeenty of time to waste on movies. Say, say, do you remember that movie-- what was it, what was it called... I can't get married to you! I have a terrible past - I lived with a saxaphone player-- hahahahahahahah!" he guffawed after utterly failing the quote, nearly tipping himself off of the seat entirely.

Oh, how he found any excuse in the book to tell Mimzy to take a hike so he could take point! Oh, how he did NOT like the way Mimzy eyeballed him suspiciously after with an insufferable little grin...

His eyebrows lifted with the quotes. That's Some Like It Hot, wasn't it...??

"I forgive you! Hahahahah!! Are you kidding me? That one's a classic, and that end scene...!" That 'nobody's perfect' read was a side-splitter, and so bold for the time, no less.

"I'm thinking drive-in style, when everybody's parked for the evening, right? I can throw on Some Like It Hot first."

Alastor laughed, the pacing of the scene coming back to mind - right, right...! That was a punchy line, too, though the jazz jokes throughout the movie really felt like they were just for him.

"Well! I suppose if we must freeze to death on this drive, may as well get a few rare good laughs!"

He gave a good-natured nudge of a shoulder.

"That's the spirit, Nawlins guy...! Laughing is good endorphins, you'll forget the cold! We northerners have our ways to get by despite living where the air hurts our face."

Alastor gave Vox's shoulder a few light swats. "It's awful! But just you wait - we'll end up having to haul ourselves out of a swamp at some point and you all will be begging me for help," he laughed, grabbing onto Vox's shoulder as he swayed backwards and almost tipped himself off the chair.

"Hahahah! Hahhh... honestly, that angry fellow sabotaging the van would be so disappointed at how much fur I've got now. And how the sabotaged air con just made it even more worthwhile to let the damn thing drive itself while I hunted - I certainly won't go hungry! Hahahah!"

"Fat chance! No, the first thing that happens is you try and take a fucking gator with- with you--"

You're swaying, stupid, come here- Vox grabbed him and settled him fully upon the lap.

"...What else is out there, though? Is it just the dinosaur moose, sword-butt and chilly-dog?"

"You're so grabby," Alastor protested - though it wasn't much of a protest. What was he doing again? Oh well. "You grabby asshole. I hate it. Did I ever tell you? No, hah, probably not. You should feel so lucky you have your hands still! Creep."

He is. So, so drunk.

"...Says the guy that is constantly grabbing people. And I saved your life..."

A claw jabbed his chest. "New Year's bad luck- you'll keel over because you're really, really fuckin' drunk, bust your stupid head open and die, and then you break your promise. And then I'm gonna be bored, and I don't wanna be bored."

"Heheheh. Hahahah. What a way to go! Oh, Rosie would laugh even harder," Alastor laughed - at least, before scowling a bit grouchily. "Ugh. She would laugh, that... mmrmff."

He can't bring himself to call her anything crass...

"Your little goons would have a laugh if you ended up skewered on an icicle. Or made lunch by one of those oversized lizards. You fight those atrociously, by the by."

"You haven't seen me fight 'em lately..." He grumbled, narrowing his eyes at him.

"...And why d'you care so much about what that creepy-ass ghoul thinks...?" His head swayed, remained canted as he scowled.

"Fuck her, y'know...?"

"Psh-- how would your mama think of you speaking of a fine lady like that!" Alastor blew him off, neck cracking as he let his head drop like a lead weight backwards onto Vox's shoulder. "An honest woman, always there to leeeend an eaaaaar..." his voice trailed off in a bit of song.

"Don't underestimate her or Cannibal Town. They have old, old secrets. Older than you or I can fathom."

Vox only gave a halfhearted grunt, rather than get into matters of his mother. His brain was swimming too far from shore to really settle on much of anything... especially as a head settled on his shoulder.

There's the smallest tickle of red, a bit of an ear. The narrow of his eyes softened, and as a helpless spark flit between his antennae, he just... focused... on that sensation. With a small tip of his head, he let just a little more of it brush against the monitor's rim.

God damn it, Vince. You're so... so pathetic.

"Didn't plan to."

He paused.

"...You haven't sung in a while."

He hasn't, has he? Well, at least not around others - that's been a bit of his time spent during the driving proper, with his speakers busted. Still - who is he to deny a request?

Hmm... but what to sing, exactly? Did he improvise? Hmm, nothing in that regard came to mind - nothing he wanted to voice anyway. What song, what song... something classic, something modern that Vox wouldn't expect him to know...?

With a slight giddy laugh and without lifting his head, Alastor lifted his hands and motioned as though he were a puppet playing piano - a tune began, and after a bit of buildup, he started to croon, singing lyrics with a sort of distant nostalgic sentiment despite the decidedly modern origin of the song.

"♪ A sight for sore eyes to the blind would be awful majestic.
It would be the most beautiful thing that they ever had seen...
It would cause such surprise! It would make all of their minds electric!
How could anyone tell them that some things are not what they seem? ♫"

Familiarity. Comfort. He hadn't requested anything of the sort, but with a small flip in his stomach, he would remain mercifully silent in appreciation.

It's funny- he doesn't recognize this one. Right on the money, he was trying to (vaguely) ponder the year, where he would have picked this up... but then the alcohol said 'no' and he instead let his body sink further into the chair.

A cable slid from his back, arched the arm rest and slithered across the floor to that blanket, looping and nabbing a corner before tugging it along to retrieve it. There was no telling how far the temperature would drop tonight, and... he didn't exactly... want to move right now.

...And who was he to fumble ~~yet another~~ opportunity...? It'd been such a nice night.

Even as he laid there like a lifeless doll, Alastor's hands kept playing an imaginary piano, the instrumentation coming from his speaker matching the keys.

"♫ In such disbelief, I thought I was asleep when I met you~
My heart liquified, and I sighed, 'Oh, this must be a dreaaaaam!'

If I forget to set the alarm and sleep on through the dawn, don't remind me--
I'd rather be dreaming of someone than living aloooone~ ♪"

With a bit of a flourish and a soft laugh, Alastor 'played' the piano a bit in lieu of a guitar solo - something rising, something emotional, making up for how the man himself hadn't raised his voice to belt the lyrics.

He really couldn't place it, but that didn't matter. With the blanket in range, he slowly reached out to grasp it and pulled it over them.

But somewhere in his addled mind, his stomach clenched. Though he didn't recognize the tune, he couldn't help but fixate, let his mind drift to the day he was in a gutter after so much confused wandering. His collar was sticky, wet with blood, and his head buzzed and rang with phantom reminders of what wasn't the swift and merciful death the authorities deduced. He'd tugged and banged that weird, box-like head against anything useful, fighting to free what had to be his actual head, make the pain stop.

But then the buzzing and ringing quieted. It... balanced, somehow. Blissful silence had flooded his mind, and when he turned his bleary eyes upward, unfocused from days of blinding pain, he saw a red figure, their face painted in mingled curiosity and amusement.

He had to wonder how much longer he would have wandered, sending intense transmissions of panic, frustration, agony and slowly-blackening, infectious anger otherwise.

Ah, those old days of curiosity, of finding the first fellow speaker over the radio waves, of finding the only other Sinner that could connect on a frequency no one else could hear. There were future ones, after that, but... never anyone important. Never anyone powerful or noteworthy... never anyone that either Alastor or Vox took under wing outside of the latter hiring them.

But those memories of strange curiosity and camaraderie weren't on Alastor's mind as he 'played' the piano. Nor were the feelings of anger, his end of those nights that followed, the bitterness they even spat earlier that night...

"♪ If you're searching the lines for a point-- well, you've probably missed it...
There was never anything there in the first place! ♫"

There was only the music, the warmth of the alcohol numbing his mind and his body, the warmth of fur and blanket and the body of someone else too drunk to move. Someone whose vents were still blowing out hot air after all of the rigorous dancing, enough that Alastor could feel it even through layers of clothes as a seeping warmth. There was only warmth, drunkenness, and the trailing off piano notes as he relaxed, arms finally going limp even as the last notes kept playing, too drunk and befuddled to fuss anymore.

He enjoyed this feeling of being all wrapped up, letting the snow storm blow outside. He was reminded of nights he stayed in a mountain cabin in one of the northern states, a little retreat to celebrate a new year, writing fresh material for future shows in the quiet solitude...

But just like that, it was like stepping outside, and having a freezing gale throw a spray of ice into the face.

...Right.

That's...

Right.

Alastor was going limp, but Vox turned his eyes to the far wall, the collection of bottles and glasses. The Convoy was still as stone, no engine rumble to add a vibration, but loaned its interior lights to the cream and amber liquids tucked away in those containers. He focused on those colors, the distant sound of the wind howling outside, and those last notes of the song that played.

As the pleasant buzz rolled through him, he wished he didn't handle liquor as well as he did. Sleep always seemed to be rather tardy when it comes to rolling around to claim him. His mind was always the restless sort.

So instead he quietly sighed and listened to the storm in silence, eyes half-lidded, maintaining an idle vigil.

Fucking insomnia.

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[Closed] The Calm Before The...

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