Remote Access (Alastor x Vox)

Chapter 17

Perched high in his radio tower, Alastor sat rigid with tension. His foot twitched anxiously, a rhythmless tap against the cold floor, arms tightly crossed over his chest as his gaze stayed locked on the remote control resting in his lap.

Charlie's voice filtered through the white noise of his speakers, picked up from the radio sitting in the hotel's parlor, her tone soft and almost pleading.

 ["I know what Alastor did was not okay, but I'm sure it was just a moment of weakness.."]

The static washed over her words, distorting them, yet her earnestness was unmistakable.

["And what's stopping him from having another 'moment' like that in the future?"] 

Vaggie's question pierced the air, and Alastor's ears slowly pinned back against his head, a hand sneaking up to cover the sneer that stretched across his features from her skeptical tone.

The only reply was the empty crackle of static hanging thick in the air like a charged pause.

"I assure you that won't happen again..." Alastor murmured with conviction, although he spoke to no one but himself, his assurance falling unheard in the solitude of his tower.

With a frustrated sigh, he rose sharply from his seat, striding across the room to the window to look down at the hotel below. Alastor's fingers drummed against the cool glass as the voices from the radio continued.

["So, what are we going to do with HIM..?"]

["...He's not dead, is he?"]

Alastor grimaced as Charlie's soft, concerned question floated through the dimly lit room. 

"Oh, Charlie... your concern is utterly wasted on that damn fool..." 

[".....Nope."] Angel's voice chimed, much to Alastor's begrudging amusement, and the overlord scoffed with a shake of his head. 

"...It'll take a lot more than that, unfortunately..." he muttered with an edge of annoyance. His fingers tightened around the remote in his grasp, the plastic creaking slightly under the grip of his frustration.

["He'll probably wake up soon... We can just put him in one of the spare rooms until then".]

"Are you kidding me?!" The words burst from Alastor as he spun on his heel, striding back toward his speakers, his voice rising over Vaggie's with his own mounting frustrations. 

"He should be sent to the scrap heap!" he growled lowly, slamming his fist onto the edge of the desk. The remark was muttered with such vehemence that his horns grew imperceptibly longer and monstrous.

"He'd be better off as a paperweight anyway.." Alastor continued, his voice a dangerous whisper as he envisioned the satisfaction of witnessing such a fate for Vox.

Alastor wasn't accustomed to the unpleasant sounds that now emanated from his beloved speakers. The voices that came from it carried only bad news, and each syllable grated against his senses until he'd heard enough. 

He allowed himself to dissolve into the floor, his form shifting seamlessly into a sinister apparition that disappeared into the shadows of the radio tower.

In his eyes, Vox had stooped to a new low. The audacity of Vox appearing in person, spinning tales woven with speculation about Alastor's intentions for being at the hotel.

 The gall he had to bring his mother, of all people, into their little game and make it a spectacle for all to witness. He'd even managed to make Charlie and the others seriously doubt him, jeopardizing the freedom he was secretly so desperate for.