⚠ WARNINGS ⚠
-Semi ship, semi just besties
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I'm telling you, Al, no old geezer in this shithole gives a damn about my tech!'
Alastor groans through his teeth, rolling his eyes. This conversation again. As he decides to ignore the TV, he continues conjuring up some dinner for the group rather than takeout. Recently Vox has been reading Alastor's listener statistics. Only those above the age of 100 years or so fancy his radio broadcasts, people around Alastor's age and time. People of class. The TV rationalised that old people ("Like Alastor," The deer bet he wanted to add) don't care about the advertisements Alastor brings up of Voxtech. Apparently, that wasn't a problem with them, it was a problem with Alastor.
'So, I have to do something that you won't like. At all. Don't rip my ballsack off with a feeding spoon.' Alastor chuckles, shaking his head dismissively. Such vulgar threats that Alastor would never do. At all.
'Do tell? I, frankly, don't see how the disinterest in the community is my issue.' He turns around, holding up a fork with some pasta on it. The cook must always try his dish.
'I'm having Velvet co-host with you.'
The cook has spit out his bite.
A piece of corn lands on Vox's screen, a kernel that he wipes away with disgust, shaking his hand as he places his other on his hip. Alastor remains in his spot, mouth open, fork in hand. With each passing second, it turns from just a kitchen utensil to a TV-murdering utensil. Vox lets Alastor process this new utterly repulsive disgusting sentence for a couple moments, before sighing.
'Velvet will bring in a much younger audience. We can get more sales, more power, more reach.'
'Absolutely not!' Alastor lowers his fork against the table, staring at Vox like he had grown two heads. 'What do you take me for? The charm of my broadcast is its age! It's nostalgia! I'm not having- As much as I love the belle- Velvet taint that charm!'
Vox sighs, muttering "I knew this would happen" before staring right into Alastor's eyes. 'Al, she's not going to do anything. She's just going to talk about her stuff with you, you guys talk for a while, and she leaves while you continue doing your own thing. And besides-' He walks up besides the deer, peering into the bowl of pasta. The man plucks a piece out, sticking it in his mouth while his other arm loops Alastor's shoulders. He decidedly ignores the spike in static around them. 'It's only a sometimes thing. Not all the time. She'll come in for half an hour every.. What? Two, three days? You can't handle that?'
'No I cannot!' Alastor slaps Vox's hand away from the bowl, though he doesn't struggle to get out of the man's grip. 'She is not touching my radio tower!'
Vox hisses in through his teeth, glancing off to the side as he moves away from the Radio Demon, the two facing each other. 'I... think it's a bit too late for that.' He laughs wickedly, waving Alastor's rage off. 'Now don't you go foiling our perfect reputation by making fun of your allies.'
'If she touched a single paper up there...'
Vox raises an eyebrow, left eye staring directly at the deer. The deer glares at him, his angry smile fading into something... Much more tranquil. His eyes are kept on Vox for a very long time, so long it's hypnotic. Eventually, Alastor blinks, mumbling a soft curse before nodding, redirecting his gaze with a faint grin.
'Good good.' Vox pats him in between the ears before Alastor can swat him away. 'Glad we agree.' He looks down at his wrist, pulling his sleeve back to glance at an imaginary watch. Alastor raises a pissed off eyebrow. 'Look at that. It's nearly time for your broadcast. Why don't you hurry along, Bambi?'
