Chapter Text
“So you’re telling me you lost it?”
The seraphim looked down at her counterpart, a grave expression on her face.
“It was stolen, not lost. A demon has it.” Emily pleaded. “I hadn’t meant to… I was only curious.”
“Do you think that changes anything?” Gabriel interrupted, hands landing on the court table.
“I think it does.” Raphael intervened, voice laced with sympathy. “We sent her out on an important mission alone, without support or proper guidance, and to hell of all places; a sinner was bound to take advantage of her.”
“I consider her unworthy of a place in heaven. She has fraternised with Satan's spawn and one of our most powerful weapons is now in the hands of hell itself. They’re all going to kill each other, and then come for us. We might as well sacrifice her to their wrath now!” The angel’s blond locks tumbled from his shoulders in neat rivers, jaw clenched with rage.
“You act as if the world will end.” Raphael pointed a finger into Gabriel’s face.
“The last time something like this happened, it nearly did.”
“Enough! You two are bickering like spoiled children. The council will decide.” The seraphim gestured for them to sit, awaiting for the murmurs of the elected souls to quieten.
An angel put her hand up, signalling a decision had been made. A golden envelope fabricated in front of the seraphim, containing the chosen punishment for Emily.
The smaller seraphim sat fidgeting in her seat, eyes welling with tears.
Sera reached into the envelope, hand wrapping around the parchment in her hands. She read it out loud as her eyes first met the words, voice wavering as she pieced together the meaning.
“The council decides you are to be expelled from heaven; on account of your behaviour towards Sinners and your carelessness with heaven’s property.”
The viewing crowd gasped. Gabriel couldn’t hold back a smile. Raphael turned his head towards Emily, looking at her solemnly.
She looked around the room - gazes of fear, repulsion, pity glazed the crowd. Hoping someone would save her, would laugh and say this had all been some funny prank.
With her last hopes, she looked up at Sera. Sera, her older sister - her best friend.
Sera’s eyes could not meet Emily’s, the stony figure faced the floor, doing all in her power not to lock eyes with her counterpart.
She truly lacked an ally in all of heaven - she was alone. Alone in a room of hundreds.
———
Vox turned uncomfortably in his sleep, his systems kept overheating. Error message after error message. Memory after memory.
Vox jolted awake
The television tried to settle back into a steady pulse, but something perturbed him. The dream he had was vivid and yet unclear - something he couldn’t understand. Angels… heaven… what?
He got out of the bath and put his clothes back on. It was quite early and he didn’t fancy waking up a snoozing Radio Demon, so he slipped out of the hotel room and stared out into the reddening sky.
He felt his pockets, feeling a lump within them. Aha!
He pulled out a packet of sherbet lemons he had stashed away, sucking on them.
“You’d make an awful ballet dancer with those elephant feet.”
The television jumped, nearly choking on the sweet in surprise.
“Oh- Al, you scared me.”
“What’s in your mouth?” Alastor grew uncomfortably close, looking at Vox’s teeth.
“Lemon sherbets.”
“Ooo, have anymore?” The radio demon’s eyes seemed to widen, not that Vox was staring.
Vox pulled two out of the packet, unwrapping one and hesitating.
“Uh, May I?” Vox wasn’t sure if Alastor could eat it by himself.
“Ofcourse.”
Vox pushed the sweet into Alastor’s mouth, feeling the teeth graze his fingers, canines wrapping around the sweet and Vox’s fingers.
The tv had been staring at Alastor’s lips for quite some time, a glance at Alastor's face showed he was still eyeing Vox’s expressions. Waiting for his reactions.
“You can let go now.” Vox could feel the radio demon’s jaw slightly clench before going slack.
The pressure on his skin, as if Alastor had the ability to crush bones, had lifted. A ghost of the feeling lingered in his hands.
“I’m not sure which tastes better - you or the sweet.”
“Might have to have seconds then, ey?” Shit. Why had he said that?
The two went silent for a moment, staring at the ground awkwardly.
“Best we make a move, then?” Alastor turned away, waiting for Vox to open the door to the hotel room.
“How’d you get out of the hotel room?” Vox raised a digital eyebrow. It wasn’t as if Alastor could use his shadows any longer.
“I have my ways…”
“Did you clench the doorknob with your asscheeks or something?” Vox laughed at himself, holding his stomach and pointing mockingly at Alastor.
The radio demon rolled his eyes, if he had the power he would have crushed the television into electrical goop and stepped on his remains.
“Just put me out of my misery already.” The radio demon grumbled.
———
They had gathered all their items, groggily slipping out of the hotel.
The receptionist seemed to still be asleep, so they left their keys on the desk and fled as quickly as they had come.
“How much cash do you have anyway?” Alastor asked as they wandered through the maze of concrete.
“Just a few thousand.”
“Just? You robbed a bank or something?”
“Times change, Al. Money is less than it was.”
“I know, I know - it’s just so odd! As a child I used to think a quarter would make me a rich man.”
They walked side by side, but there was distance between them. Vox checked nervously behind him as if someone were stalking him, his pace slowing.
“Is something the matter, my dear?”
“I’m just worried that one of the drones will find us. Maybe we should try and disguise ourselves?” Vox matched the pace with Alastor as they walked in sync.
“Well, there are a few shops further down, we could have a little look, no?”
“Yes, but Al you forget we’re still in the entertainment district. My cameras are everywhere. How’d you think I stalked… I mean-”
“I know you’re obsessed with me, no need to hide it. Too bad you can’t get a picture of my face on those tacky modern televisions.” Alastor smiled with confidence (or, as many would call it, narcissism).
Yes, Vox hated the glitched effect on Alastor’s face. Even the radio demon’s recordings cockblocked him.
“You egotistical son of a-” Vox started
“Do not finish that sentence.” Alastor interrupted. Vox huffed, he didn’t like being talked over. “You’re just as infatuated with yourself as I am, why else would you put your face on camera for all the lustful, animalistic sinners of hell to see? I bet you get off knowing thousands of sinners pleasure themselves to the sound of your voice.” Alastor stated this with his ‘holier than thou’ tone of voice. He always used it when addressing such a topic, Vox remembered. As though he was above such primal acts - the ritual of life beneath him.
It frustrated the tv no end.
“And why do you care?” Vox raised his eyebrow, crossing his arms and sending Alastor a scowl.
The Radio demon’s gaze flicked away. Vox knew he wouldn’t dignify the television with a response.
“Well, we can try, but there’s no way of knowing if going into one of the shops will alert Velvette.”
“God, what did you even see in that flippant blimp?” Alastor bit quite harshly. Too harsh of a response for such a neutral question.
Vox seemed a bit taken aback. That was uncalled for. he thought. Was Alastor jealous? Was that where the long winded monologue had been rooted?
“Since when did you care so much who I associate with?” Vox seethed.
“I never have cared, and never will care. I just don’t understand how you tolerate such idiocy.”
Vox scoffed and turned away from the Radio demon, an enraged feeling churning in his gut. Now he remembered why he hated the insufferable deer so much.
They wandered past various buildings, some offering rows of live televisions and others showcasing various trending outfits, however Alastor stopped at one particular shop among the clusters, eyes quite fixated on the sight.
It seemed to stand out among the various brands; instead of bright, neon lights attacking the eyes, there were soft oranges and almost divine yellows trailing out of the windows in neat beams, framing old fashioned dresses and hats.
This was most certainly one of Velvette’s forgotten works. Vox remembered her early twentieth century phase. Overall quite a violent transitional period for her, the combination of gothic makeup wasn’t very traditional in the sense, however.
For the first time Alastor seemed to truly fit in with his surroundings. Within Vee tower he stuck out like a sore thumb - bright, blood red contrasted far too much with the background blues - and within the crumby motel he seemed out of style, like a renaissance painting being blended into a cartoon show.
Alastor never asked, but Vox found himself opening the door for the yellow toothed prick and trailing on in behind him. A little bell dinged as they entered, it was almost as if Vox had been transported into a new world entirely.
Jazz played from an old fifty’s radio. Didn’t he break every radio in the entertainment district? An assortment of feathery hats greeted him - fabric expensive and well made; real fabric, not the cheap, man made kind he commonly supplied.
Vox quickly went to feel the material, extremities rubbing gently at the edge of a fedora.
“Oh Vox, look! An oasis inside your oversized man cave of squalor.” Alastor’s eyes wandered gratefully from one section of the clothing store to the other. Drinking in the sight of the carefully selected decor and soft music.
An old, glasses wearing ram could be seen re-styling a mannequin, hooves slightly adjusting a crimson red hat with a long, turquoise feather.
“Don’t you see? We could use these for disguises.” Alastor practically vibrated with excitement, finally within his element.
Vox’s face lit up, of course! Val knows Vox wouldn’t be caught dead in these old fuddy duddy clothes, they’d be undetectable.
“Alright, now, the only problem is, what to wear?”
“Good evening, any dresses of your fancy?” They trotted over, hands formally folded behind their back. The sheep’s posture was good, however, due to their slight height, this only seemed to make them more approachable. They were round looking with a small, wispy beard. An overall friendly face, especially for the likes of hell.
“Well, my dear, it seems me and my partner-” Alastor was interrupted by the sound of the sheep’s gasp. Vox’s brain couldn’t help but latch onto the use of ‘partner’, however.
“Oh my, the famous Alastor? In my shop. I say, what brought such a man of class to the bustling entertainment district? Are you on vacation, perchance? Although, it isn’t exactly tourist season.” The sinner removed their glasses, revealing blackened, hollow eyes and freckled cheeks. He broke out into a smile, sharpened teeth on show, not quite matching his soft appearance.
Vox recognised the select features - a citizen of cannibal town.
He was overwhelmed with a sudden recollection of his first meeting with Rosie, the nerves in his stomach as she toyed with him growing as they had done all those years ago.
“Oh Al, he’s such a polite thing! You know, you could learn a thing or two from your little tv friend. What’s ya name again, sweetheart?”
“Well… Vox.”
“A new name, huh? Was the one from when you were alive dull?” Rosie teased, sitting her cup on the mat. “Oh, what’s it my business, anyway. I’m just glad our scary radio host is finally spreadin’ his wings and making connections outside a’ soul contracts. You should’ve seen ‘em all those years ago when he first arrived in hell - meek lil’ thing that’d hardly leave his father’s side-”
“That’s enough, my dear.” Alastor said, static filtering through his voice; a laugh track playing afterwards despite it not being a humourous exchange. “Vox must be quite tired, and he hasn’t been able to nibble on any of your so kindly offered sweet treats. I think it’s best we leave now, whilst it’s still light.”
Rosie nodded solemnly, realising she had said too much.
“I’ll remember to buy some toffees for you next time, hun. Thanks for visiting, darlin’.” Rosie waved them a goodbye.
Vox pondered the information in his head. With every interaction he learned more and more about this puzzling radio demon, trying to see the full picture. It was his new hobby to obsess over his patron and, quite pathetically, most trusted friend.
“No no, just here for a day of fun with my companion.” Alastor said the last word with strain, as if it were vulgar and bad tasting on his tongue.
“Hmm, and who might you be? Anyone famous? Please dear, speak, I am blind.”
Alastor hushed Vox, giving him a stern look.
“She cannot speak.” Alastor butted in quickly, watching with pleasure as the tv squirmed in rage. “We were looking for a new dress for her, she’s an irresponsible, uncultured, washed out dancer who moved to this part of town due to money troubles. She has awfully tacky clothes, and we need to pick out a new look that doesn’t strain the eyes quite as much.”
Vox looked like he was about to bust a fuse. His right eye twitched in rage as the radio demon had effectively silenced him. Alastor tried not to laugh at the TV’s display.
“Oh, you poor thing. I have just the selection for you, half price!” The ram ushered the two into the back of the shop.
———
“Ew.”
Vox stared at himself in the mirror, feeling detached to his reflection.
Was that him? Was that really him?
The tv played with the gloves on his arms and felt the fabric around his torso - trying to shape a body it wasn’t designed for. He felt exposed and vulnerable in a strange way, putting on a cashmere scarf to hide more of his bare neck.
The garters were definitely something he wasn’t fond of, somewhat entrapping his skin. The shoes were new, too. He didn’t like the curves the clothes highlighted, he didn’t like the femininity the dress highlighted, either.
He opened the door, only to find Alastor being fitted by the ram, a red dress magically weaving around him. How come the infamous radio demon got special treatment and the washed up dancer had to slum it in the changing rooms?
“You look like a pansy.” Vox whispered into the radio demon’s ear with venom.
“Says the man in garters and Mary Jane heels.” Alastor taunted.
“Touché.”
“Well, my good people, how’d you feel about your outfits? Would you like any bags for other selections?”
“No, that’ll be all, my dear.” Alastor smiled, letting a small laugh slip from his tongue,
They paid the ram and said their farewells, putting their old clothes in Vox’s bag.
They began their journey once more in relative peace, Alastor finally allowing himself to tune down.
That was until Vox opened his mouth.
“I’m so hungry I’m actually considering resorting to cannibalism. Why did we only buy sweets for breakfast? I’m not even sure if my new head can process food yet. I’m having the worst headache, can we sit down? My legs hurt. We should get a bus or something. Does hell have buses? Imagine dying only to become a bus driver for all eternity. Ugh these socks are killing me, how’d you even walk in these?”
Alastor groaned in agony. However, he could resonate with the TV’s hunger. He was a bit peckish himself.
“We can stop at a cafe on the way, maybe, if we’re quick about it. We’re nearly at the train station, anyway.”
Vox nodded, hope churning in his food-less heart.
“How about that one?” Vox pointed to the direction of a breakfast café.
“Oh alright, if it’ll quiet your whining.” Alastor sheepishly followed Vox into the café.
If they weren’t supposedly running for their life, Alastor could almost be convinced they were back in the sixties on a little outing together. He’d remember how the younger, much more dependent Vox would lead Alastor to whatever corner of hell picked his fancy. It was strange how the television could make the most gruelling of places one of wonder and novelty.
That being said, at the time, hell had been a novel place for Vox. Alastor had butted into his life at a very vulnerable stage, the television’s whole existence had been freshly shattered, and he had to accept all these new rules of how hell worked, and the hardest thing of all, he had to accept he belonged in hell in the first place.
Alastor recalled first landing in hell; a repulsive, vile experience. He had still thrashed out into the air even after death, screaming for the pain to end even when he no longer bled. He should have known a soul as tainted as his would not be suitable for heaven.
“Are you getting a strong sense of Deja vu?” Vox broke Alastor from his trance.
Maybe they had been to this café once to discuss a new show Vox had come up with, or to analyse marketing strategies, or any other excuse for Alastor to listen to the tv ramble like a mad man.
“Maybe we’ve been here before.”
“True. What tea are you fancying today?”
“Peppermint, dear. You know the usual.” Alastor searched for a seat.
———
They sat in a corner of the room with their coffee, tea and light lunch. Vox found himself truly cornered; after all the brainstorming and walking - god, anything but the walking - they had never had a moment to actually talk with one another, without all the rush to move as quickly as possible.
Vox’s feet curled in his shoes, trying to break free of the tight leather. He wondered if people found the bound up dapper Alastor concerning, but considering this was hell many would probably assume they were nineteen thirties, kinky lesbians having a public bondage session over some tea.
That or a gay couple In drag.
“I can hardly recognise you in that dress. It suits you though.” Vox tried to make small talk, he couldn’t handle the silence.
“I always wanted to be a girl to wear my sister’s dresses. Back in my hometown, all women wore dresses. Ma couldn’t afford to buy so she and my sisters would sew our clothes. I was always slippery with the needle, I remember.”
“You mentioned you used to do ballet at one point, was that ‘cause you wanted an excuse to run around in a tutu?”
“Oh I adored dance as a child, but when paw’s money stopped coming through the mail so did the funding for such activities.” Alastor spoke like an old man reminiscing simpler times. “Course, daddy never liked being so dependent on his father’s money. Especially spending it on someone like me.”
“You actually call your dad daddy? What are you, three?” Vox laughed, Alastor of all people saying daddy was not something he expected to hear today.
“Well, by all technicalities, he wasn’t my daddy. Although, I grew up thinking he was.”
“Your mom fucked the milkman or something?” Vox covered his mouth, finding himself hilarious.
“If the milkman was a rapist, then yes.”
Vox shut up quite quickly. Oh.
“You were a product of… I’m so sorry-” shit, him and his big mouth! Alastor had been open with him, vulnerable, and Vox had made it into a joke.
“Does it matter? My momma loved me no matter how I came into existence. I was loved when she should have hated me. I don’t need your half-hearted pity.” Alastor withdrew, suddenly much colder. “I don’t suspect your family life was much better, considering where you ended up.”
“I mean, I don’t think it was that bad. I had food in my mouth. There was always surplus money. I had a good education. I got a good job. My mother thought I was a genius, my father…”
A cold, unlit fireplace took up most of the study. The room was dusty - uncleaned.
It had been ma’s job to clean the house, at one point. But it seemed in her age she had grown out of the habit of doing anything at all.
His dad looked through him. A cold, tower of a man. As lifeless as the fireplace.
“I thought I had grown out of this.” Vox walked over to the desk, accepting his fate with dignity rather than fighting it. As a child he’d scream and flail as his Dad pushed him into the hard wood. Now he no longer had the energy to, hoping his silent disobedience would contribute to his already crumbling decency.
“How could you bring so much shame onto us? How could you, we’re the talk of the fucking town!” His Dad bent him over the desk, grabbing a belt from the drawer and pulling the back of his son’s shirt up.
“I am cursed, Dad. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Somethings been wrong with me since I was a boy.” Vox melted into the desk. Tears began to form at the corner of his eyes. He was too old for this, he felt like a child again. He had done something wrong, and this time there was no light scolding or a slap on the wrist.
He had built a perfect life for himself: a wife, a job, a good house. He’d thrown it all away for some fag.
“What about Rebecca? Your wife? how could you suck a man’s cock when your good wife is alone and childless!”
There was a crack in the air and Vox convulsed under the strike of the belt.
“D-dad it wasn’t like that. We’ve been trying for so long, it’s not… nothing we do is working.”
Another hit, this time with the metal part of the belt, making Vox yell and brace onto the desk. He was embarrassed because of the position he was in, but also because of what he had done. How dare he. How dare he cheat, how dare he sin so lowly.
“Why couldn’t you be like your brother? He’s a good boy, he never had to be beat like you.” He could hear the sorrow in his father’s voice. A tear landed on his bare back. Too bad his brother was a menace to society.
“Dad, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I don’t want to make you cry.” Vox shook with another sharp hit, now crumbled in his place on the desk. He wanted to be wiped off the face of his earth - or better yet, to have never existed at all.
The pills he had taken weren’t helping the trembling, he’d done all he could to stop the urges. Shoving pill after pill down his throat, whatever the doctors recommended. It didn’t help him and Rebecca in the bedroom, however.
“You made your Dad cry, how’d you feel about that?”
“My father was a proud man - a good provider. Just a typical white, upper class family, I suppose. I had a brother and a sister, too, but they were somewhat good people. They’re not here or I would have found them by now - that or they were exterminated.”
“So, were you just a rotten apple? Nothing to do with the tree?” Alastor peaked a brow.
“I suppose. My mother always loved me, but sometimes she pulled the most awful pranks.”
“My mother was a good woman. Everyone around knew the woman had a heart of gold, that she was worth diamonds and more. I wonder how she raised something as foul as me, but then again, her hands weren’t exactly clean, either.”
“And your sisters, how many did you have? Any brothers?”
“Six sisters.”
“Six? Your poor mother’s cervix.” Vox throat when dry. That lady must have been rapidly firing kids out of her vagina.
“You act as if that was a lot. Back then most catholic houses would fuck so frequent you’d almost think god asked them to in person. Humans are no different from animals, hun, we’re horny rabbits at best.” Alastor laughed.
“And so you’ve never had sex yourself? You’re above it?”
“Correction, I’m not bothered about sex. It’s interesting to most, but at the end of the day, once you take out the initial excitement, it’s just an invasive medical exam that requires you to take off your clothes. Don’t be thinking I’m not experienced, though. I’ve popped many women’s cherries throughout my lifetime, occasionally even men.”
Vox fidgeted in his seat. He was confused at best.
“I’m sorry, I’m trying to understand. Val said I needed to act more ‘woke’ or something, but if I say anything wrong I’m not above being corrected, is what I mean.”
Vox sounded surprisingly sincere. It was rare people apologised in the pride ring, often sinners think incredibly high of themselves. The act could almost fool the great Alastor.
“Aren’t you meant to be eating?” Alastor looked down at Vox’s untouched meal.
“Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot.”
“Strange, is that…?” Alastor squinted, trying to focus on something behind vox’s head.
A white spider and cat slinked into the cafe. Angel dust and husk.
“What are you looking at?” Vox said with a mouth full of croissant. He turned around to see the two sinners calmly chatting as they waited in line. Husk caught sight of Alastor first, and then Vox second and his eyes widened at the two overlords before breaking out into a laugh and nudging Angel dust.
Fuck fuck fuck no! One of Valentino’s whores.
He couldn’t be seen like this. Not powerless, Not while he was dressed up like some puff.
“We need to go now.” Vox stood up quickly, nearly choking on his croissant. He dragged Alastor by the neck, the radio demon springing out of his seat as he was tossed around like a ragdoll.
“Wait Vox, My tea!
“No time for tea!”
“It’s okay I own husk’s-”
Vox charged out of the door, trying to figure out how to walk in the stupid girl shoes that had been forced upon him. He kept having to pull his stupid tight skirt down, god how did women put up with these impractical clothes all the time?
The door shop openened, Angel and Husk charging out behind the two.
“Smiles! Charlie’s bin’ looking’ for ya everywhere. Wait! Don’t run…” The spider bent over, catching his breath before beginning to sprint after them. Husk followed suit, yelling for his boss.
“We thought you disappeared again. Another seven years to add to the pile, huh?” Husk taunted as they grew further apart.
“Vox- Vox.” Alastor shouted to the sprinting figure practically carrying him. “Stop running, they can help us!”
Vox didn’t respond, throwing himself down the steps to the underground.
They landed with a thud, all four sinners piled on top of one another.