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Everything goes wrong— as it usually does— during an Overlord Meeting.
It had been rescheduled three times by the time that everyone was actually able to all show up for the damn thing, and of fucking course the one time that everyone was available would be the time for something to go wrong.
Laughably predictable, really— Vox didn’t know who the fuck came up with the idea of the monthly Overlord gatherings in the first place, but whoever they were he hoped that they were long dead by now, by extermination or infighting. Just what the hell did Carmilla have to inform them of that she couldn’t get across in a damn email? Sometimes, it felt like the woman was just trying to get on his fucking nerves, and while he wouldn’t deny the fact that she’d have a good reason for it given her weird feud with Velvette, it was still annoying as all hell.
In any case, the meeting had started off on an okay note. No one had done anything stupid— yet— and he and Vel had even managed to get Val off whatever new drug samples he’d filtered into his system for the meeting solely because of how much trouble it had been to schedule the damn thing.
The atmosphere in the room was alright and honestly, oddly civil for one of their meetings. Vox had even managed to strike up a conversation with Rosie again without Alastor piping up with his snarky retorts (thanks in part to the woman striking him over the head with her umbrella and telling him that she didn’t ‘need to be spoken for, thank you very much, or else I would have simply opened my mouth and eaten him myself!’) while Val and Vel busied themselves with some inane display or another as they idled.
So when one of Carmilla’s daughters— the blonde one, he’d never really bothered to actually learn their names, because, well, why should he bother when he can just cache the information?— came in the room and accidentally tripped and spilt a strange chemical that near immediately blossomed into a cloying smoke-like fog as its container broke, causing a mild panic to break out over the meeting, Vox could only think, Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Better this than Bambi fucking ripping another Overlord to shreds over the meeting table.
Or, well. That’s what he had thought— at first. When the smoke cleared up, however, it was clear that there was much more to deal with than a simple mishap.
“Amorcito!” “Vee!”
Both of the other Vees make a grab for Vox as his knees suddenly buckle, a heaviness in his joints he hadn’t felt since 1958. His hands fly to his head immediately— I’ve got fucking hands now. And my head— I have a fucking head now?
The neon claws he’d grown used to navigating around were suddenly gone, reverted back to the soft and fragile hands his mother had been so careful with taking care of in his youth. You’ll make such a wonderful star, Schatzi. You must promise to keep taking care of yourself. Vox’s hands flew to his face, feeling around the soft skin that he’d lacked for decades. Hair that he’d grown used to lacking fell in front of his eyes, obscuring his sight slightly. He felt a little lightheaded, due in no small part to the almost iron like grip that Velvette and Valentino were keeping on him.
“Let go, both of you,” Vox glared at them, but his voice came out quieter than he’d meant it to. More soft spoken, much like the roles he’d played in cinema before his illness got the better of him. From the looks of understanding on their faces, both of them can tell that he’s not feeling his best right now. “Your grips are too tight.”
“Lo siento, amor,” Valentino let go of his arm near immediately, hands flying to his own face as he seemed to regale in his newly human form. Which, in fairness, he had every right to. Though he’d definitely lost quite a few feet from the change (he had been twelve feet tall before), Vox was very much being objective when he said that nothing much had changed in terms of his attractiveness. “Ah, my luscious locks… how I’ve missed you, mis queridos! Hey, Vel, you think we could turn a bit of these babies into a wig for me?”
“Did you just refer to your individual hair strands as babies?” Velvette hadn’t let go of Vox since he’d nearly stumbled and fallen face flat into the table, but she had let him sit down at least, which was good. She looked the same as ever… which was to be expected, considering she was probably the most human looking Overlord in the entire Pride Ring.“Babes, don’t ever fucking do that again or I’m having you cancelled on Vitter.”
“Oh, come on, Vel, mi muñequita, you’ve got to understand— I mean, you’ve had your darling, luscious, flowing tresses since you Fell, but I didn’t have that luxury. See, you’d be doing me such a big favour, I really—”
“Pick up another damn wig from some other bitch with your dick too far up their ass to think! I’ve got too many projects to spend any amount of time on shaving your human hair to turn it into a shoddy B-grade wig for a spoilt brat like you!”
“But Vel—! ”
Vox groaned, tuning them both out by thumping his head down on the table, before raising it again and rubbing the sore spot on his forehead.
Fuck. He’d forgotten just how fucking fragile he was in life— and though that was never a word he particularly liked using to refer to himself, it really was the only way to put it.
Ever since childhood, he’d been frail and prone to injury, even at the slightest of things: a bump on the the side of a table could lead to a bruise, a stubbed toe could lead to him not being able to walk for a week, cuts would lead to pouring waterfalls of blood… which was all things that really didn’t bode well for him now, being in a room with a multitude of other Overlords who, even though they were also all human now, were all still likely to break into a fight at a moment’s notice.
Speaking of the other Overlords… Vox surveyed the room.
Rosie had barely changed, the only real visible change being in her complexion, eyes and teeth— her skin had turned… well, rosier, and her eyes had turned to a soft hazel colour, with straight teeth pulled back in a smile. She hadn’t seemed to have lost much height, though Vox wouldn’t be able to fully tell, considering he’d lost over a foot of height once the human transformation had set in.
And as for the demon— well, man, now, sitting beside her… Alastor seemed taller than him now, a fact that brought him no joy at all to notice: the bastard had probably been six foot something in life— not only was it enough for him to look like a complete and total heartthrob as a human, but he also had to be fucking tall? What the fuck? With deep, chocolatey skin and rich, wavy brown hair, Vox would have believed someone if they’d told him Alastor had been a model in life. The man’s warm brown eyes flicked to him for a second, and Vox quickly looked away, not intent on causing some sort of fight while he was this weak. (He turned back not even a second later to take another long look at Alastor, but that’s not important.)
Of course, when Alastor opens his mouth to say something to Rosie with a displeasured expression on his face as she’s ruffling his hair and giggling behind her hand, Vox notices with a small sigh of relief that his teeth are still just as fucking disgusting as they were as a demon. Sure, they’re not fucking mango pulp yellow, but it’s not rocket science to tell that the guy needs a dentist’s appointment stat.
Tearing his gaze away from Alastor, Vox looked over in the direction of the other Overlords. Zeezi’s dressed in bright neons and crisp blacks and whites, a completely different outfit from the one she’d entered the meeting in— and that’s what gets Vox to look down at his own outfit, realizing with a start that oh.
It’s the one he’d died in, on live television.
Contrary to popular belief, Vox wasn’t really all that insecure about his death like other Overlords and high profile sinners sometimes were. He just… preferred not to bring it up as much, because it was frankly an incredibly embarrassing scene. That day, he’d been wearing pretty simple clothing. A plain white button-down with a jacket draped over his shoulders, and long black slacks. Nothing compared to the other famous Hollywood stars at the time… after all, he was doing a simple interview with his co-star. It was a good thing that he’d been rather androgynous in appearance, even in life, because it let him get away with dressing a bit more handsomely than his contemporaries.
He looked back at Alastor, and realized with a quiet snort that apparently, the guy had been wearing more or less the same clothes he’d died in since 1926. Oh, sure, the radio in his chest probably caused him a bit of trouble getting in and out of clothing, but the fact that he hadn’t changed his suit in years said something about the guy’s personal hygiene. It doesn’t seem like his hearing has changed much, either, because Alastor’s head snaps to him nearly the moment he laughs, and Vox gulps with trepidation as the other Overlord’s eyes land on him. He wouldn’t be so concerned about it if they were still in their demon forms, but like this, in the body he’d had as a human…
Vox turned to survey the other Overlords again, but before he could do anything, a shrill whistle rang through the room, causing him to wince as he clapped his hands over his head. Two pairs of arms immediately wrapped themselves around him, acting as a sort of protective cocoon around him, which he was much grateful for.
“Attention, everyone!” Carmilla spoke with an almost completely unearned confidence, considering it had been her child that had gotten them all into this mess in the first place. She’s no less intimidating as a human than she was as a demoness, though— one of the reasons she was chosen to be the main meeting facilitator of the monthly meetings, alongside with the fact that she was allied with Zestial and ran the most neutral of all the Pride Districts, and as such, the room almost seemed to freeze as everyone paused to listen to her words.
“I know that this situation is… not an ideal one, and I apologize for the ruckus caused by my daughter’s mishap, but there is no reason that we cannot talk this out like civilized demons. Do calm yourselves and sit down together so that we can have an actual discussion on what to do about this situation.”
Vassago raised his hand. The goetia-like demon had actually turned into a red-headed man with a vest that looks like it came from the 1930s, but considering the rest of his outfit had remained more or less the same, it’s anyone’s guess as to whether or not he’s actually a sinner. Vox still believed that the guy was actually a part of the Goetia and decided to join the Overlord crowds in Pride for shits and giggles. “Forgive us for not being so trusting of your leadership skills when your spawn decided to go ahead and turn us all into humans. You’re absolutely insane for thinking you’ve got any sort of sway at all with us at this point.”
The blond girl standing next to Camilla flushed a bright red, hands shaking as she gripped the handles of the cart she’d been operating tightly. Zestial stood up from his position by Carmilla’s side, walking over to the teenager and directing her out of the room.
Meanwhile, Carmilla’s eyes narrowed as she leaned forward. The harsh lines of her face— the woman had lived to a rather old age, which was unusual among many of the other Overlords in the room, apparently— only deepened as she spoke, “I admit, it is my daughter’s fault for her carelessness. However, Vassago, I find that that is none of your concern— and if it truly bothers you so much, later on, we can discuss a more suitable replacement for the hosting party or parties of these meetings. But for now, I am the ultimate authority on my grounds, and I would advise against your careless words and actions whilst in my territory.”
With that, the room quieted down once more, and Carmilla nodded decisively. “Alright, then. So, first things first… can any of you use your powers?”
Unsurprisingly, Alastor is the first to speak. “No,” he says simply, and leaves it at that, observing the table quietly as everyone else breaks out into shouting and yelling.
In the midst of the chaos, Vel nudged him and leaned in to whisper into his ear (it’s weird, he’s not sure how long he’s gonna take to get used to that again), “Bet you anything he learnt that ‘cause he was itching to fight you in this body.”
“What? What do you mean?” Vox turned to Velvette, who shrugged slightly. “The freak’s been lookin’ at you from across the table whenever you look away. I mean, he’s doing it right now!”
Vox looked back across the table immediately, something that was probably not the best idea, as it made his head spin slightly from the sudden movement. “Son of a—”
“Ey, amor, you need a paper bag? I can get you a paper bag,” Val offered. Vox waved him off with a hand, holding up a finger to tell him to pause and that he could handle himself. “‘S fine, Val. I can take care of myself.”
“Whatever you say, amor. So long as that pretty face of yours doesn’t get any blemishes,” Valentino shrugged.
Vox rolled his eyes at him. “Didn’t you say once that you only sleep with 10s and me? ”
“Well, yes, but that was before today! I mean, you can’t blame me for not realizing what a knockout you are with a flatscreen perched on your neck, can you—?” Val cut himself off as the screech of a chair being kicked came from the other side of the room. Before Vox could even process what was happening, the other man had tackled him into Velvette, who was pulling both of them out before Alastor careened into the three of them. In the next moment, both Rosie and Carmilla had run to pull the Radio Demon back, both the women only managing to pin him down with their full body weight.
The next few seconds are a blur— he registered Alastor grabbing his wrist tightly, so tight that Vox winced as he’s jostled against the table, unable to do anything at all because of his own inability to move— and then he’s grabbed away from the meeting table by the other two Vees, pushed apart from Alastor, whose gaze bores into his own with an unsettling sort of precision and intensity.
“What the fuck—?” Vox questioned, yelping when Velvette and Valentino both grabbed ahold of him and practically manhandled him into a dual carry. “What the hell do the both of you think you’re doing—”
“You’re bleeding, Vee,” Velvette pointed out gently, her expression serious. “We’re going back now. ”
It’s only when Vox looked down at his hands that he realized he was in fact bleeding, and the realization made a faint laugh bubble up past his lips, because when was the last time that I’d felt this weak, when was the last time I’d had this little control over myself, I can’t fucking let anyone see me like this, least of all Alastor—
“You cannot leave the meeting right now!” Carmilla’s voice cut through Vox’s thoughts, her eyes drilling into Velvette and Valentino’s own. “I understand that your associate is injured—”
“Oh, shut the fuck up, would you fossil? Our best friend is bleeding so heavily right now the two cannibals right across the room are being restrained by numbskull and dinoass over there because they can’t be trusted to control themselves around him—” Velvette gestured across the meeting room at the two Overlords, who— well, Rosie didn’t look so much unhinged as she was looking miffed, but Alastor’s gaze was fixed solely on Vox, who quickly looked away from the other Overlord to avoid his intense glare. “—and you’re saying we can’t fucking leave? Be so for real with me, I’ll blow this fucking door down if that’s what it takes to get us out of here.”
Carmilla sighed deeply, pinching her forehead with her fingers. “Fine. Go back, but do not let a single word of this slip out. It will be utter pandemonium if any of this is leaked to the public, especially now that we’ve found that our powers no longer work—”
“What the fuck ever,” Velvette rolled her eyes. “I’m having Val burn down the building the next time you ever say something that fucking dumb again.”
Before they left the meeting grounds, though, Vox chanced a final glance back at Alastor— only to find that the man still had his gaze fixed on him.
Fucking creep.
The meeting was nothing special.
Not at first, anyway. It’s quite annoying how slowly things are moving along— it’s so slow, in fact, that Vox finds the time to strike up a civil conversation with Rosie. Alastor simply rolled his eyes as his good friend invited the annoying picture box over for tea the next week, mentally crossing out a spot in his schedule for tormenting the pathetic man. He knew better than to interfere with one of Rosie’s scheduled friend-dates, after all. That was a line even he wouldn’t dare to cross.
It’s only when Carmilla’s daughter— Clarice? Odile? He could never be sure, their names always escape them even when Zestial is talking about them— accidentally trips and spills a glass of some substance that things get more… interesting.
Like many of his fellow Overlords, Alastor lost a few inches with the transformation back to his human self— which, in all honesty, wouldn’t be too much of a hassle if not for the people he surrounded himself with.
Rosie, the giantess that she is— the woman only lost five inches at most, and she was already taller than him in their demon forms— immediately started to pinch his cheek and coo at how small and cute he looks, and saying something about how she could ‘put you in my pocket, my dear, you’re so adorable! Such a vintage heartthrob!’
It’s only after a few minutes of this relentless teasing that Rosie eventually let up and Alastor allowed himself to survey the room. Zestial and Carmilla were both more or less as he’d expected: middle-aged citizens who had likely lived a rather comfortable life before their foray down into Hell. Zeezie’s outfit was… far too bright for his liking, but it did bring attention to the fact that he was in the dark shirt and slacks he’d died in. An unfortunate outfit choice for socializing, by all means, but it was certainly quite useful for camouflaging in the dark.
Besides them, there was also Vassago, Mephisto, Ignatius, a handful of other younger Overlords he’d never bothered to learn the names of, and of course… the Vees. It had been surprising to see all of them show up together this one time, though Alastor wouldn’t be surprised if Valentino had merely been brought along because neither Velvette nor Vox would be available to babysit the overgrown manchild.
He’d expected something… laughable when he looked over at Vox. Perhaps something funny, like the face that one station hijacker he’d heard of in the 80s had used. But…
Vox looked… fragile, almost.
He was pale and clammy, two bright and mismatched eyes drawing attention away from his physical state to the beauty that was his face. Not even a single blemish showed on his porcelain-like face, three beauty marks strewn about his face making it difficult not to want to lean over and play connect-the-dots. Soft looking black hair fell over his face, framing his eyes nearly perfectly. The moment Alastor laid eyes on him, he thought he could understand why exactly it was that Vox’s punishment in Hell was to have the head of a picture box. Though he’d never understood people’s depravities in life, he wondered if he would think differently if he had met Vox in life.
That wasn’t all, though. Vox was being supported by both his lackeys, Velvette gripping onto one arm while Valentino supported him with the other. The sight of it made Alastor grip the arm of his chair tightly, unable to voice just what it was about the image that made him so irrationally upset. He watched as Vox leaned over to nudge the overgrown moth— who was evidently incredibly appreciative of the change, if the self-absorbed look on his face was any indication— and settled into his chair with the help of the doll demoness next to him. Velvette didn’t seem to have changed at all, perhaps besides regaining her pores and no longer displaying ball-jointed limbs.
It doesn’t matter. The only thing that he can focus on is Vox— his rival, his equal in everything but sense. He looked… he was… so… so fragile. So breakable. The way that he sits, that he holds himself, is not how he normally does— and all of a sudden, a memory from back when they’d first met comes back to Alastor.
‘Oh, well. I’m honestly feeling rather glad that I’m dead now,’ Vox had admitted to him as they’d taken a stroll down Cannibal Town. He’d still had the CRT television on his head, a model he wouldn’t update for the next forty years until newer technology rolled around. ‘I was… a very sickly child.’
‘Were you, now?’ Alastor chuckled lightly. ‘I hadn’t gotten that impression from the way you were sprinting across Rosie’s backyard like a madman the other day.’
Vox’s screen flashed with static snow: an indication that the man was flustered. Rosie’s teachings on how to recognize all the faint idiosyncrasies of a television had come in handy after all, for moments like these. ‘Well, yeah, duh, I mean— okay, look, I spent nearly thirty years on earth being able to do basically nothing cause the doctors said I’d fuckin’ keel over and die of a heart attack at age thirty two if I did anything more strenuous than hit a few notes on a movie soundtrack and sit around to look pretty. It’s… nice to get to do more now.’
And all of a sudden, Alastor felt very guilty for the assumption. ‘Ah, I see. Well…’ He fumbled for words to say, but came up empty. ‘I… I’m glad that that’s changed for you, then.’
Vox snorts. ‘You’re kind of bad at this whole empathy thing, old man, but thanks anyway. I appreciate it.’
Well, that certainly clears things up a bit, Alastor thought to himself, still keeping his eyes trained on Vox. The man had a delicate frame— nothing as thin as himself, having lived the final years of his life scraping by in the Great Depression— but easily damaged, if you had enough upper body strength. And, well… Alastor’s weapon of choice in life was always an axe. (And no, he was not and would never be associated with the Axeman of New Orleans— how ridiculous to ever think he’d be lumped with the likes of that cretin! )
He tapped his hand on the table idly, keeping his eyes trained on Vox— at least, until Rosie decides that she’s had enough of going around the room to torment other hapless Overlords and comes back over to pull at his cheek and tease him for his (very much relative) height difference and appearance.
“Why, Alastor, I bet you were a real casanova back in your day, hmm?”
“Rosie, you know me better than that,” Alastor shrugged. He glanced back across the table, only to meet Velvette’s eyes as she stared at him, narrowing her eyes at him before turning back to talk with Valentino. “I never had much time for romance.”
“Ah, right, who am I thinking of… oh, dear, I must be mixing up my acquaintances! I was meaning to refer to our dear Vox— look at the sweetheart, he looks adorable in that little getup of his, doesn’t he?” Rosie smiled, letting her canines poke through her lips. “I mean, I could just take a bite out of him!”
“ Don’t, ” Alastor whirled around with an incensed look on his face, and it wasn’t until he caught sight of Rosie’s giggling face that he realized his friend had played him like a fiddle. “ Rosie. ”
“I’m only joking, Al, don’t tie yourself up in twists courtesy of me,” Rosie chuckles lightly, her laughs dying off as she looks back at Vox. “Really, though… Vox’s human form is quite pretty. He could make for a good meal, don’t you think?”
“Stick to taking pieces out of your own wife, Rosie,” Alastor frowned. The answering laugh he got in reply only puzzled him further. He’d probably worded something wrong, again— and Rosie, being the master socialite she had been in life, was no doubt twisting them into another meaning in her head.
“Mimzy is adorable, but she needs rest too,” Rosie pouted. “Ah! Speaking of, how do you think my love would think of me now? I wonder… do you think she’d say I’m cute?”
“I won’t pretend to know a single word of what you’re saying,” Alastor mumbled in reply. He looked back to where Vox sat, the man seemingly surveying the room before their eyes locked and those mismatched pupils dropped back down to the table. They were a deep mahogany and a light, ice blue— a beautiful combination only made more unified by the artistry that was the face they resided on.
He wondered…
Fingers clenched at the armrest of his chair as he made to summon his tentacles, but— Alastor frowned. It didn’t seem like it was working. He focused on Vox, willing himself to create a mini trap to pull him under into the yawning void— but nothing happened.
“Rosie,” Alastor frowned. “Tell me, can you use your powers?”
Rosie considered for a second, then looked off into the distance. Alastor knew the other Overlord was attempting to see if she could create spreading vines across Carmilla’s workshop. “No, there’s nothing.”
Alastor frowned— but there was nothing he could do about it, unless he was planning on calling Husk (or worse, Niffty— he loved that girl, he did, but by the Lord was she nosy ) by phone to come pick him up with Vox tied to the front seat. So he sat patiently through Carmilla’s meaningless arguments and lectures, and waited for the perfect time to take Vox away with minimal damage done to both of them.
Or at least, that was the plan— but when he saw the man standing next to Vox, blond hair practically falling all over the video star’s face— well. Alastor lunged across the table, seemingly shocking Vox, who had been sitting still until Velvette and Valentino had both taken him away (the idea that he had been willing to wait… that he had seen him coming, and still chose not to stop him— Well. That was something interesting).
The rest of the meeting, after the Vees leave, goes off without so much as a hitch. But that isn’t what he cares about— what he cares about is the prize he just left.
Luckily for him, though, he knows just how to go about getting it.
Back in the safety of the Vee’s Tower, Vox allows himself a moment of respite as he enters his own penthouse, having been supported by Vel and Val most of the way and then taken inside by Dei and Populis, who assured him that they would be both splitting the work between them and finishing all the rest of his work while he was stuck out of the public eye.
“This is going to be a PR nightmare…”
Vox sighed as he pushed open the bedroom door, head already running through the multitude of horror stories the press is going to run. He had come back with the other Vees under heavy cover provided by Carmilla’s hosting party, of course, but that didn’t guarantee that neither Val or Vel would be posting unfortunate hints as to their situation any time soon. Before he can take even another step into his bedroom, though, an arm pulls him back and into the sturdiness of someone else’s chest.
In the next second, a knife is placed against his throat, cold and sharp against his warm skin. Vox sucked in a deep breath, pulse stuttering as the knife dug in enough to leave a small nick. The blood from even just that tiny cut dribbled over the edge of the knife, rolling down his throat in droplets of ichor. He raised a hand to cover the one wrapped around his neck, giving a nervous chuckle when he notices who has their weapon pressed against his throat.
“If you’re going to kill me, at least make it quick.” Vox doesn’t really know how reviving will work now that he’s no longer a demon, but dying once to Alastor is better than having the other man showcase just how far he’s willing to go to get whatever the Hell he’s looking for in Vox.
It’s probably entertainment. It’s always entertainment.
“Kill you, my dear?” The knife’s pressure on his throat is removed in the next moment as another hand and handkerchief comes up to wipe away the excess trails of blood, before moving to softly pinch his cheek. “Oh, no. I think there’s been a grave misunderstanding here.”
Alastor’s hand moved to his chin to turn him around, making him look up and regard the man’s deep brown eyes. His voice deepened an octave as he spoke, a deep Creole accent finding their way into his words. “No, no. Nothing of the sort, my lovely picture box— I’m going to keep you.”