Tales From The Hazbin Hotel (OneShots)

First Date (Vox x Alastor)

(A/N a request for Alastor and Vox to go on a date, Ta Da, don't know what it is today, but my writing isn't writing if you get what I mean. Anyways. Enjoy this trash xox)

(Vox's POV)

In our dimly lit house, with Hell's cacophony rumbling in the distance, I stood in front of the mirror struggling with my tie. This should have been simple, a trivial task for someone as tech-savvy as me, yet here I was, wrestling with a tie that seemed to have a mind of its own. The neon lights from my screens painted the room in vibrant hues, but all I could focus on was the tangled mess reflected in the mirror. "You look like a child wrestling with a serpent, Vox" Alastor's voice sliced through my frustration, his amusement evident even before he appeared beside me in the mirror. His attire was a stark contrast to mine—meticulously old-fashioned, with a perfectly tailored red suit that complemented his devilish smirk. "It's this damned tie—it's defective!" I snapped, the irritation clear in my voice as I glanced at him. His presence only intensified the colorful shadows cast across us both. With a dramatic sigh, Alastor's fingers deftly approached the disaster around my neck, his touch precise as he untangled and re-tied the tie with ease. "Defective? Or perhaps the operator is simply outdated" he teased, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"Says the demon who marvels at phonographs as if they're the pinnacle of innovation" I retorted, raising an eyebrow at him through our reflection. "Ah, but there's a certain... elegance in the classics, dear. Something your flashing lights and buzzing gadgets could never hope to replicate" he replied, his voice smooth as he adjusted my tie. "Elegance?" I chuckled, feeling the tie now lying perfectly flat. "You wouldn't recognize elegance if it was digitized and displayed on a billboard". "And you wouldn't know subtlety if it was blasted at full volume directly into your audio processors" he shot back, securing the tie with a final tug, ensuring it sat just right. I smirked, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "Well, at least one of us can turn heads with more than just shock value, old man".

"True, although I find your brand of vulgarity quite... charming, in a gauche, neon-lit sort of way" he quipped, stepping back to inspect his work. "There, you're almost presentable". "Almost?" I turned to face him fully, the air crackling with our usual blend of irritation and intrigue. He leaned in close, his voice a low murmur, "We wouldn't want you upstaging the star of the show, now would we? That might overinflated your already huge ego". I laughed, rich and warm, "Keep dreaming, Radio Demon. Tonight, Hell itself will be captivated by both of us". "Ah, the perfect date then" he declared, offering his arm, which I took with a flourish. "Shall we?". "After you, Al. After all, every show needs a grand opening, and who am I to deny the audience such a spectacle?". Hand in hand, we left the house, our contrasting auras of old radio waves and digital screens mingling to form a unique harmony.

As Alastor and I entered the dimly lit confines of 'The Inferno Room', a swanky establishment known for its discretion and clientele consisting of Hell's elite, every head in the room turned to stare. It wasn't just curiosity; it was the acknowledgment of power, as two of Hell's most formidable overlords graced them with their presence. My neon-lit form reflected off the polished surfaces, casting dynamic lights around, while his aura of vintage elegance subdued the sharp edges of my digital display. We chose a secluded booth, the shadows just perfect for people of our reputation. Alastor, ever the gentleman in his own, twisted way, pulled out a chair for me, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "For the luminary of Hell's airwaves" he quipped. I settled into my chair, rolling my eyes. "Flattery? From you? How delightfully old-fashioned". He merely chuckled, taking the seat opposite mine. Alastor, with his usual flair, waved over the waiter—a trembling lesser demon whose eyes darted nervously between us.

"A whiskey, neat" he ordered, his voice carrying the smooth confidence of a bygone radio star. His tastes were as simple and refined as they were old-fashioned. I glanced at the extensive list of craft cocktails, each described more flamboyantly than the last, but opted for a beer instead. "I'll have whatever's on tap" I said, projecting a nonchalance I didn't quite feel. His laugh was soft but filled with barbed amusement. "A beer, Vox? Trying to assert your masculinity? We both know you'd prefer one of these elaborate cocktails. But of course, you wouldn't want anyone here thinking you've got a taste for anything...feminine, would you?". The comment stung more than I wanted to admit—he always knew how to push my buttons. I shot him a glare, the colors on my screen intensifying. "Sometimes, simplicity is the ultimate sophistication. Not that I'd expect someone who lives in the past to understand the choices of the avant-garde". "Ah, but even the avant-garde can appreciate the classics, can't they? Or is it that the 'avant-garde' is just a cover for not being secure in one's own tastes?" he teased, his eyes glinting with challenge.