Now that Vox knows about Angel, the rest of their staff (and the fucking town) decide to let their glamours drop. He really wishes they hadn't 'cause some of these people are ugly as fuck. Have you seen Sheriff Striker? He looked like a dick before he transformed into a fucking rattlesnake. It's bullshit.
"Is everyone in this town a fucking supernatural creature," Vox demands, kicking the front door shut. There's a muffled thud and a curse on the other side before he remembers that Papermint had been behind him with an armful of groceries. He opens the door and glares down at his assistant. "Jesus, Papermint, how hard is it to not walk into closed doors?"
"Sorry, sir," he groans from the walkway.
"If those eggs are broken, then you're going back by yourself."
"Yes, sir." Vox slams the door shut again and strides into the kitchen. Alastor is busy as ever, cubing up potatoes for a stew he's planning to make.
"Alastor, did you hear my question?"
"Hard not to," Alastor drawls. "You're louder than the five year old." Vox bites back his offended squawk, not wanting to give the bastard that satisfaction. "And, no, there are some humans in town. Not many, mind you. Static has always been rather peculiar in that way."
"Seemed pretty human back in the forties."
"And yet it wasn't. The majority of the police department are the same Imps that worked there when I was alive. Still just as inept at their jobs, too." Which is fair. How could a bunch of hellborns not realize demonic forces were responsible for a string of disappearances? How could it take them five years and a freak accident to solve it? Striker couldn't pour piss out of his boot if the instructions were on the heel.
"What's the ratio of people to supernaturals?"
"I would say seventy-five percent of the population is supernatural in origin. Most of the humans left after the first fire in the twenties."
"What's the deal with fires?"
"What better way to wipe out entire blocks of your enemies? It's effective."
"It's expensive." Vox barely spares a glance as Papermint shuffles into the kitchen, setting the bags on the counter to be put up later. He leaves with his head down, the front door closing behind him and Vox's truck starting. "Apparently the idiot broke the eggs."
"We have plenty of eggs in the refrigerator."
"Eh, he's already gone." Vox crosses the room to snatch up one of the potatoes, popping it in his mouth. Alastor's quick to grab a wooden spoon and hit Vox's knuckles with it when he tries for another cube. Vox yelps, jumping back and cradling his sore hand against his chest. "What the fuck, Alastor? Were you a nun in your past life? Jesus Christ!"
"I assure you, Vox, Mister Christ hasn't visited this town in quite some time."
"I can't…. I can't tell if you're being serious right now."
"Serious as a heart attack. He's a very pleasant fellow, an excellent sommelier." Vox thinks he might short-circuit. No, no, he's certain of it. Any second now, he's gonna get one of those annoying 404 messages across his forehead. Alastor seems to notice his crisis, giving him a smile that's far from comforting. "He and his niece are very close."
"His niece?"
"Charlie."
Charlie. As in Velvette's best friend. Jesus Christ's niece.
What even is Vox's life, folks?
"Why is Voxxy's eye twitching like that," Valentino asks. He bends at the waist to study Vox, tilting his head this way and that to better see the twitching. "Usually this only happens when we have my mother over for Thanksgiving."
"A crisis of faith, I believe."
"He's an atheist."
"Jesus Christ is real," Vox murmurs. He meets Valentino's gaze, completely at a loss for words. He's never had that happen to him before, has been talking practically nonstop since he learned how. But this…. This is what's gonna send him to the looney bin. "Jesus. Christ. Is real."
"Is he?"
"He is," Alastor confirms.
"I owe my abuelita an apology." Valentino's hand drops from Vox's chin to dig his phone out of his pocket. "Do you think cataracts will make it hard to read a text? She's, like, a million years old. Probably shouldn't text, huh? But she'll stay on the line forever if I call. What do you think, Vox?" Vox says nothing, still processing. "You're right, I'll send a voice message."
"Perhaps you should take a nap, Vox." Vox silently gives Alastor the bird. "Shall I go outside and pick a switch to use on you? Or maybe you're offering up that finger as extra meat in the stew?"
"No taking parts off my boyfriend," Valentino snaps from the hall. "I'm the only one allowed to eat him!"
"Sharing is caring—"
"No!" Alastor smiles down at the cutting board, expertly dicing some carrots to put in the crockpot. Velvette refuses to eat them unless they're diced or served with a side of ranch dip and Vox is only mildly surprised that Alastor has remembered.
"I'm gonna—" Vox cuts himself off, swallowing hard. "I'm gonna go upstairs." He's shuffling out of the room before Alastor can share any other earth shattering revelations.
He doesn't remember climbing the stairs, but suddenly he's lying on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. It's perfectly white, no cracks to be found in the plaster, and he finds himself regretting the perfection he'd strove for when the house was being built. What good is a house with no personal history? No scuff marks on the polished steps from Velvette's sneakers, no pencil marks on the doorframes to track growth, and no cracks in the ceiling.
"You okay, Vox?" It's Angel, appearing by his side with the faint wafting of that sweet poison smell.
"There aren't any imperfections in this house," Vox murmurs. His pale eyes move from the ceiling to the wallpaper and then to the concerned crease between Angel's brows. "Isn't that a stupid thing to be disappointed about? The fact that nothing's wrong?"
"It's got a demon infestation, if that makes ya feel any better." Vox manages a quiet snort, just a puff of air through his nose. Angel sits beside him, tracing a featherlight touch along an old scar on Vox's face. He forgets it's there most of the time, lighting shaped and cutting through his right brow, ending at the hinge of his jaw. "What happened here?"
"Made Valentino jealous." He remembers the night vividly, dreams about it sometimes. "We hadn't been dating long, maybe a year. I brought a man home with me, but Valentino was already there and he didn't react well to me cheating. He kicked the man out and then he dug a knife down my face to remind me who I belong to."
"Holy shit, Vox."
"It's not a big deal."
"Like fuck it ain't!"
"I carved my name into his chest." Angel sucks in a breath, a sharp inhale that whistles through his teeth. "I had to tie him down to do it and he was pissed for months, but it was only fair." Vox's smile is a little on the sadistic side, just a smidge too unhinged. "Had to make sure he knew he was owned, too."
Angel's silent, staring. Vox can feel that gaze searing into the side of his face, burning through skin and the zygomatic ligament until it hits bone. Has he really never done something like that? Something so simple as marking what belongs to him? It's really no different than writing your name on your backpack before school starts.
"You guys are some real sick twists."
"A match made in Hell," Vox muses. "You and Alastor haven't staked a claim on each other yet?" He cuts his gaze to Angel in time to see a faint blush color his cheeks beneath the white fur. "Tell the truth and shame the Devil."
"We don't do a lotta touchy-feely stuff. Al's pretty touch-repulsed."
"A touch-repulsed Wendigo and an Incubus? How's that even work?" Angel shrugs, drawing his hand back into his lap from where it'd been tracing the scar on Vox's face. Vox misses the touch the second it's gone, that fleeting otherworldly heat. "Do you two have sex at all?"
"Of course not." Angel says this matter-of-factly, almost offended. "Sex is easy to find when you're as hot as I am in either form, so it's not like I'm going without. You know what's harder to find? Someone you wanna spend eternity with."
"An eternity of cold showers and blue balls? No thanks."
"So you're saying you'd dump Valentino if he couldn't get it up anymore?" It's Vox's turn to blush and avoid eye contact. "That's what I thought, shitass. Relationships aren't just about sex, they're about communication and occasionally throwing things when your partner doesn't clean out the sink after gutting a rabbit. Lucifer below, how hard is it to be sanitary?"
"Says the demon that literally eats come to survive."
"Hey, I eat a lotta things besides that. You should feel lucky that I didn't feel like turning you and your boy toy into a four course meal. My sister eats men, like, eats them. I'm pretty sure she served me some guy's pancreas last time I swung by."
"You really don't have to tell me this stuff, Angel. Sometimes it's okay to just stop talking."
"Hell, I talk in my sleep." Angel stands and holds out his hand for Vox, wiggling his fingers impatiently when Vox remains lying down. His legs are dangling off the end of the bed and he knows he should move if he doesn't want his knees to scream at him later, but he's feeling petty. "Get off ya ass and go spend time with your kid."
"Velvette's fine—"
"She's five years old, Vox. She needs adult supervision so she doesn't give herself micro-bangs."
"She wouldn't."
"She would if I gave her a pair of scissors and a nudge." Vox is up and sprinting before Angel's done speaking, nearly slamming into Velvette's doorframe. She looks away from her drawing, chewing absently on a green pencil.
"Hey, babydoll, what'cha drawing?"
"Clothes," she says, still gnawing away like a little beaver. He kneels down beside her, gently prying the pencil out of her mouth. He spends a lot of money to make sure her teeth are pristine and he won't have all that be in vain because she's peckish.
"That's really pretty! Why don't you go show Papa?"
"Okay!" She jumps up and runs out of the room, waving at Angel on her way past. He gives her a cheery wave back, leaning his shoulder against the frame.
"You didn't actually give her scissors, did you?"
"Do I look stupid to you," Angel deadpans. Vox opens his mouth to answer, then shuts it again when he realizes it was rhetorical. He's getting better at that, Valentino needs to put a little gold star on his sticker chart. "If you answer that, I'll make sure you don't get laid for a week."
"I wasn't gonna answer."
"Ya were, but then common sense won out. Consider yourself lucky."
Ya girl is officially training to be general manager at her job even though she doesn't want to and also got prescribed a higher dose of anti-anxiety/depression meds so I'm doing ✨great✨