[there's a loud hiss of radio static and a glitching of reality when Vox grabs the tail, and Alastor's sclera go black and pupils glow bright red]
Don't touch that. [YOU'RE THE ONE WHO PUT IT IN HIS FACE, ALASTOR...
Once the tail is released, he relaxes back into the drunken stupor he had cultivated, letting Vox yank him close with only a hint of residual irritation]
Mmmmmm. I don't think they did aaaaaanything. Neither of them could find their backsides with both hands, hahaha! But whoever is responsible for theeeee.... whaschacallit.... "mix up". Perhaps! I-- [he moves to walk away from Vox and... trips. It's a fake trip! But it's convincing. As he starts to fall, he grabs hold of the nearest thing, which just so happens to be the front of Vox's shirt and his bowtie... and he "accidentally" rips it off. He even manages to not catch himself as he falls! ... Not well, anyway. His jacket will be damaged, but he must make sacrifices.]
[ vox doesn't look the least bit intimidated. no. he's far too concerned about the other vees and how this bullshit clerical error could have fucked them up. or him, for that matter. he didn't notice any differences, but this shit could manifest later... like a virus. oh man oh man oh- ]
[ he flushes when alastor falls into him, his screen flickering for a moment, but he recovers a second later and goes to help alastor back onto his feet. ] Is there a reason you drank so much? Did something happen? [ it's hard not to let the closeness get to him, because when's the last time they even spent more than a few minutes together? ]
[it's nothing Vox hasn't seen before, anyway. An empty threat, not backed up by anything serious. Not right now, anyway.
Before Vox helps him back up, he quickly slides the bowtie into his jacket pocket. His shirt or pants would have been better, since they were closer to his body, but... this should do, for the time being. Of course he had to make a gris-gris against the only demon in Hell without hair or fluff or feathers or anything else that would be easy to snatch...
He flaps his empty hand and then hands Vox his bowtie back. Of course, it's not the same exact one. Alastor's powers are limited, but he can still conjure up simple clothing -- in this case, an identical copy of the bowtie he just filched. Identical, except this one will disappear once Vox takes his eyes off of it and it passes out of his mind. Vanished, like so many socks in dryers. Anyway, TIME TO GET OUT OF HERE. He has had quite enough of this "being close to Vox" nonsense, thank you.]
Clumsy... [he flaps a hand, dismissive] Nothing happened!! I'm on vacation, silly. [he holds up his arm and "frowns", entirely with his eyes, picking at his sleeve] ... Awwww, I got my coat dirty... I should go clean it before it shhhets in... and before I vomit! Hahaha!!
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Don't touch that. [YOU'RE THE ONE WHO PUT IT IN HIS FACE, ALASTOR...
Once the tail is released, he relaxes back into the drunken stupor he had cultivated, letting Vox yank him close with only a hint of residual irritation]
Mmmmmm. I don't think they did aaaaaanything. Neither of them could find their backsides with both hands, hahaha! But whoever is responsible for theeeee.... whaschacallit.... "mix up". Perhaps! I-- [he moves to walk away from Vox and... trips. It's a fake trip! But it's convincing. As he starts to fall, he grabs hold of the nearest thing, which just so happens to be the front of Vox's shirt and his bowtie... and he "accidentally" rips it off. He even manages to not catch himself as he falls! ... Not well, anyway. His jacket will be damaged, but he must make sacrifices.]
Ahhhh.... oopsie daisies.
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[ he flushes when alastor falls into him, his screen flickering for a moment, but he recovers a second later and goes to help alastor back onto his feet. ] Is there a reason you drank so much? Did something happen? [ it's hard not to let the closeness get to him, because when's the last time they even spent more than a few minutes together? ]
im sorry this tag is so long im tired and wordy
Before Vox helps him back up, he quickly slides the bowtie into his jacket pocket. His shirt or pants would have been better, since they were closer to his body, but... this should do, for the time being. Of course he had to make a gris-gris against the only demon in Hell without hair or fluff or feathers or anything else that would be easy to snatch...
He flaps his empty hand and then hands Vox his bowtie back. Of course, it's not the same exact one. Alastor's powers are limited, but he can still conjure up simple clothing -- in this case, an identical copy of the bowtie he just filched. Identical, except this one will disappear once Vox takes his eyes off of it and it passes out of his mind. Vanished, like so many socks in dryers. Anyway, TIME TO GET OUT OF HERE. He has had quite enough of this "being close to Vox" nonsense, thank you.]
Clumsy... [he flaps a hand, dismissive] Nothing happened!! I'm on vacation, silly. [he holds up his arm and "frowns", entirely with his eyes, picking at his sleeve] ... Awwww, I got my coat dirty... I should go clean it before it shhhets in... and before I vomit! Hahaha!!