Posing For A Picture | Radiostatic

† | Chapter Eight | †

† | CHAPTER EIGHT | †

† | NOTHING GOES RIGHT | †

For the next few days Alastor and Vox hadn't talked. They avoided each other at every turn and didn't talk about each other on broadcasts, everything had just been very awkward since Alastor turned Vox down on the dating offer.

Alastor's issue? He hadn't been genuine with someone in so long, maybe it scared him to go through with his idea.

Still, he really did like Vox.

Procrastinating would only make this situation worse. And eventually, Alastor gussied up and decided to just go for it. Maybe he'd feel better if he did.

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"Vox, darling!"

Valentino called out for at least the fifth time tonight. He was cranking out films like there was no tomorrow and Vox, because he hadn't been going out recently, was requested to sit and watch with Val, but he just didn't find anything satisfying since his night with Alastor. Nothing but Alastor was good enough, and he hated it all the same. "Just a minute."

Vox huffed, leaning against the doorframe and looking at his phone.

He couldn't help it. His way of retorting was simply cheating, even if it didn't make him feel any better, he knew it would hurt Alastor if the deer ever found out and that's all he wanted right now.

Despite the fact that he still loved Alastor.

He's immature.

And he wanted to make Alastor know that he felt hurt.

And speaking of Alastor. As busy as he was he couldn't keep himself focused. As Alastor made his way down to Cannibal Town, he consulted in his sentient microphone.

"Before I imprisoned you, Mike, did you ever... Make bad decisions?" Alastor asked as he walked down the street. The microphone looked up at him, and spoke in a huffy tone. "Yes. You." Alastor rolled his eyes, wacking the mic on the concrete. "Ouch!"

"I meant a true bad decision, Mike. I don't need your snippy-ippit at the moment." Alastor huffed. He turned the mic rightside up, giving it a bit of a glare. "Well, give me more context. I don't exactly spy on you, Al." The microphone's eye became half lidded with annoyance. Alastor paused as he thought about his current situation. He starts to fidget with the ring again, his ears pinning back. "Well, in a hypothetical scenario... Let's say someone asked you if you'd like to date..." Alastor started, before noticing the look that Mic was giving him. "Question?"

The microphone looks away and makes a static chuckle. "No, no. Continue."

There was a silence between the two, before Alastor's ear twitched and he began to speak again. "As I was saying. Hypothetically. If you turned down said person, and a little later you realized that it was... The wrong answer and you don't know how exactly you are to apologize, how would you go about it?"

"Well uh... That was real sincere of you, Al." Mic muttered, before playing a laughing track at Alastor's words. "Whatever, if you won't help me, Then I know who will." Alastor retorted, letting go of the microphone and watching it sink into the black ooze behind his footsteps. "'Ey! Al! Wait- wait!" The microphone complained before it was completely gone. Alastor continued walking until he got to his destination.

With a knock on the open door, Alastor peeked inside to see Rosie helping someone and their husband.

"Rosie, a moment, please?" Alastor honked softly, his ears still pinned back.

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In the grand scheme of things, Hell is round. Spherical. In a sense, an earth inside of earth. Seeing that the pentagram in the sky, also purgatory, is meant to symbolize their source of light. The centre. There are no corners when it comes to the rings, as the next ring is either above or below it.

For now, we're focusing on the pride ring.

And in a small secluded part of pride, stood a well kept house.

The walls adorned with the heads of deer taxidermied to sit lifelessly in place. The floors ; a dark wood covered by a carpet in the living room, and a quaintness to the rest of the house. And, classically, of course, a chair facing the fireplace for a man to think.

And thinking is what he did.

What a little brat. How dare he? Deny me my own possession?

The man thought to himself, tapping his foot impatiently. There was nothing more he hated than someone talking back to him. He reaches over and grabs his phone dialing in a number before coming to a thought.

Perhaps I'll just have to solve this issue myself.

He set the phone down and stood.

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"Going somewhere, my love?"

A woman's voice piped up from the silence of the room. He looked over, watching his fiancee's figure draped against the doorframe. "Ring shopping. Shouldn't take long, Honey, dear."

The woman sighed, folding her arms.

"Do be quick. I will not let dinner get cold on your behalf." She huffed. The man nods, pouring a shot of whiskey. He downs it before walking towards the coat rack. Honey stepped in front of him, taking him by the necktie and pulling him down to her height. "Yes, dear." The man grinned, kissing her forehead.

The two looked at each other for a moment before he playfully smacked Honey on the ass before pushing her away. "Now get out of my way. I have business to attend to." The man grabbed his coat, pulling it on and adjusting the cuffs before making his way out of the house.

If I can get this done today, everything will be fine.

He thought, as he quickly walked down the street. As hot as it was, he had grown used to it. There was nothing like walking amongst the burning ground. The man took out a box of cigarettes from his pocket and flicked it open. There's no reason to let Honey get suspicious. He continued to walk until he reached a more populated part of the pentagram.

The crowd grew thick with various sinners and demons. But he didn't pay them any mind. He had one goal in mind, and that was getting the heirloom back without Honey finding out that someone else ever had it.

That would be messy.

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Danke Fürs Lesen. Thanks For Reading.

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† | .•° Word Count - 1076 °•. | †

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