(Alastor x Vox) Knife Through the Heart

Chapter 3

Alastor has been struggling to get up for the better part of a minute. His ears are drawn back a little, and there's no doubt in his mind he must look like some sort of newborn fawn to Vox. It's honestly getting ridiculous, and a not so discrete part of himself wishes that angelic weapon had killed him on the spot, if only to spare him from this akward situation. He's leaning against the wall, panting heavily as he continues to hold a hand over his chest to stifle the bleeding.

Vox hasn't said thankfully not said a single word this entire time, and Alastor could almost count his blessings. But, of course, Vox has to ruin it by opening his mouth.

"You sure you don't need any help, Alastor?"

Well, Alastor be damned [More than he already is]. If he didn't know any better, Alastor would say Vox actually cared! Now, isn't that a riot!? Maybe he should reconsider his career choices and sign up for standup comedy. Niffty, however, might have a few choice words against that......

"On the contrary, my good fellow—I've never felt any better!" Alastor smiles sharply at Vox, wincing slightly as he attempts to stand up to his full height. He's not short by any means—goodness, no! That dishonor would go to the king of hell himself, but Vox has a good few feet on him, and solely because of his completely inane flatscreen television as a head.

Frowning, Vox murmurs, "Ya' sure about that? Could've fooled me—"

Alastor's knees buckle, and his vision is distorted, hazy. Blood rushes in his ears, and he feels himself slipping. He bites back a pained yelp as the sudden movement jostles his injuries, a sense of vertigo washing over him as he inadvertently collapses into Vox's arms. Oh great...Alastor can't recall the last time he was this hopeless. Even his death in the human world was nowhere near as pitiful.

Vox remains infuriatingly silent, but it looks as if the TV demon desperately wants to say something. There's no doubt in Alastor's mind that Vox very dearly wants to gloat—Alastor would definitely do that, if he were in Vox's shoes.

"Maybe I should just bring you to the hotel like this; show everyone that you belong to me." The taller demon is staring intensely into his eyes, and if Alastor wasn't this tired, he'd dropkick him into the sun. But alas, the world isn't that kind. And again, it's hell, so this is to be expected. Maybe his past misdeeds are catching up to him.

Karma really is a bitch, huh?

"Goodness, I really don't understand why you're so hung up on that business proposal," Alastor sighs, long and suffering. "It was seven years ago, Vox." Alastor is beyond confused and exhausted at this point.

Such a damn shame that Vox chose now of all days to be even more perplexing than usual.

"I..." Vox shakes his head, sighing deeply. There's a faint flush to his screen, right under his eyes. If Alastor's vision and slight blood-induced delirium wasn't getting to him, Alastor would say it seemed like Vox's screen had a rainbow tint to it. Instead, Vox quickly tacks on at the end, "You're so fucking dense. How can any man be this oblivious?"