(Alastor x Vox) Knife Through the Heart

Chapter 18

Content Warnings: Torture, PTSD, Graphic depictions of injuries/gore, Internalized homophobia, Extremely unhealthy codependent relationships, Victim blaming, Suicidal ideation, Multiple suicide attempts, Self harm, Vox's inner dialogue/musings about Alastor...because that happens more than usual in this chapter.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The year is...well, who the fuck even cares!? Certainly not Alastor! In a vague sense of the word, it's around the 1980s. He sorely misses the era of actual decent entertainment. And no, he's definitely not ticked off over that little argument he'd had with Vox. Perhaps Alastor had given Vox too much credit, afterall. He's just about had it up to here with trying to play damage control. And he's more than fed up with catching Valentino in...semi-compromising situations, ninety percent of which included Vox.

And Alastor isn't jealous, per-say. Vox is a fully grown man. He can make his own decisions, but choosing that reprehensible demon as a paramour is...a terrible move.

Alastor sighs, long and suffering as he takes a seat beside Rosie.

"Oh, not sitting with Vox today, sweetie?" Rosie worriedly asks, only to quickly divert her attention upon noticing how utterly annoyed Alastor looks. "Well, don't mind that silly little box man!" she chirps, clapping her hands together. "Lacy just opened up the most darling café. And guess what—they have the most scrumptious finger cookies made from only the most delectable sinners imaginable! Care for accompanying me for a bite after the weekend, my friend—?"

Alastor's eye involuntarily twitches as he takes notices of Valentino snickering and gesturing in his general direction...only to make some rather crude, obscene gestures with his hands upon noticing Alastor's eyes on him. Vox is smiling at Valentino rather awkwardly, though there's definitely a hint of infatuation reflected in his glass screen.

Vox turns his head towards Alastor's direction, upon being directed by Valentino.

Hesitantly, shyly, Vox raises a hand up, offering Alastor a slight wave.

Rolling his eyes, Alastor makes a show of ignoring Vox. Instead, he summons his tentacles, having them wait in the shadows—only to pull on Valentino and Vox's chair legs when no one is looking, which sends them both falling to the ground. Carmilla stops speaking, irritation permeating her very soul as she aims an unimpressed glare at the Vees.

Jumping to his feet, Vox points an accusatory finger at Alastor.

Alastor merely whistles innocently at this, all the while exchanging a high-five with Rosie underneath the table. All of the other overlords are looking at the rather juvenile fight with either immense irritation or mild amusement. Well...except for one particularly ancient overlord.

Zestial, who hails from the land of bland tea and Shakespeare, has always been a gossipy bitch. He's munching on scones and drinking from a seemingly bottomless cup of chamomile tea, yet he doesn't appear to be tired from consuming the same darn things in every meeting.

It surprised absolutely no one that Zestial watches the entire exchange with rapt attention, clearly enraptured with the prospect of drama not dissimilar to what one would find on a daytime soap opera.