Chapter Text
Hell was a strange place. Its red sky casting dark shadows across the entire pride ring in a permanent mock sunset. Sinners mingling on the street, hanging out in bars and clubs, coming and going from their jobs. Sinners going about their days not so differently from when they were alive. Things didn't change often, and never in an interesting way. Something new had arrived though. Alastor could feel it. Some sensation through the radio waves had captured his attention. His ears were perked up, and a subtle ache ran through his antlers as he followed the signal towards its origin. Alastor walked along the street in outward silence, sinners crossed the street to get out of his way, or threw themselves into alleys. Alastors grin widened as he revelled in their fear. As the signal got stronger Alastor moved into the shadows, he may be confident in his ability in battle but you can never be to cautious when something new happens in Hell.
As the signal became almost unbearably strong, Alastor looked over to his right to a dark line between buildings. There in the alley way sat a hunched over sinner. Alastor stood in the shadow, barely visible, and just observed. The sinner was sitting with his arms held tightly around his legs. He looked odd, not that that was anything unusual in Hell, but this sinner had an electronic device for a head. One of those picture boxes that had started coming out just before Alastor died. His body looked normal enough although outfitted with something from the modern year, but that explained the mysterious signal. Alastor watched for a few minutes longer waiting to see if this strange new sinner would do anything interesting, however the sinner didn't budge an inch. Oh well, boring enough. Curiosity satisfied, Alastor faded further into the shadow and began to make his way out of the alley, but before he could fully discorporate the signal suddenly latched onto him.
Alastor looked over and his shadow form met burning red eyes from the strange picture box head. The signal was harsh as it attempted to drag Alastor out from the shadows and into his solid form. He looked over the sinner, two large red eyes on a dark grey screen, two red ball antennae atop his head, and a thick CRT frame. Alastor manifested from the shadow into the alley a few steps away from the strange sinner. Crouching down he tapped his finger gently onto the screen, the glass solid and cold. The eyes under it flinching away as though they were still flesh. "What an odd thing you are. A curiously formed fresh sinner. Tell me picture box, what's your name?" Alastor coos. There's a faint static charge coming off the screen as his fingers move over it, almost like pins and needles. The sinner follows Alastors finger with his eyes, and Alastor notices there doesn't seem to be a mouth on the screen.
Just as he notices the lack of one, a mouth starts to form, almost as though the sinner needed to force the creation of one. Bright cyan teeth glitch into and out of focus on the screen as the sinner tries to form words. A static whine emanates from the mesh covered speaker at the base of the box before a barely audible word is heard "..v..inc..en..t".
Alastor moves his fingers down towards the televisions 'mouth' and presses against the glass, there's no breath or heat under it, just more solid, cold glass. His fingers continue their downward journey to the mesh covered speaker and he rests his palm against it. He rolled the name on his tongue, tasting it. "Vincent, a curious name for a television set. You may consider a change, but that can come later. Now, let's try talking again. How did you die?"
The picture box's, Vincent's, eyes dart between Alastors struggling to settle as he puts all his effort into manifesting speech. The mesh vibrates gently and Alastor can almost imagine it as vocal cords and mouth in one, a small amount of air being pushed through as Vincent quietly manages to say "Television... fell on me... who... are you?" The static covering the words had lessened slightly as the sentence clawed its way out. The symbolic mouth was staying more consistently on his screen as it formed the idea of the words. Alastor smirked at the irony, oh Hell can be cruel indeed.
"Many know me as the Radio Demon. Tell me picture box, are you able to stand?" Alastor queries, feeling the weight of the television set against his palm as Vincent attempts to use neck muscles that are brand new. He gives it a small push in a vague attempt to angle the box squarely on the neck, only for Vincent to lose his balance immediately and send the fragile box head into the wall behind him with a dense thud. Alastor cannot help the undignified snort of a laugh at the truly pathetic display. "I'll take that as a no, you've peaked my interest again, little box. Tell you what, let's make a deal, I'll help you find your footing down here and put you up with somewhere to stay and you indulge me my curiosities. Sound fair?".
Alastor's tentacles gently take hold of the television and move it forwards into a more normal head position, as Alastor places his hand in front of Vincent's chest ready to shake. Vincent considers the deal for a moment, there has to be a catch, something he's not getting, but there's nothing else he can do but accept. He can't even keep his head upright, let alone right what is clearly a powerful demon. So he hesitantly lifts up his hand and loosely grasps Alastors smaller hand. A flash of green light and a static charge that runs down both of their arms signals the deals manifestation, and Alastor revels in the power. He'd made hundreds of deals, but never one with that kind of reaction, curious.
Using his tentacles to hoist up the ill-proportioned sinner like a marionette doll, Alastor manoeuvres them towards his small apartment on the outskirts of Cannibal town. The walk is slow as Alastor attempts to make Vincent carry his own weight for a few steps every few metres, only for him to almost fall down every time. "So Vincent, are you able to control that static billowing off you?" Alastor asks almost indifferently to the limp body trailing behind. Vincent manages to move his head ever so slightly upwards to look at the back of Alastors head before having to let it hang down again from the strain.
"Uh... no I don't think I can right now, didn't even realise I was doing it. Sorry." Vincent tries to work out what Alastor means, he can feel some kind of fuzz, almost like a distant headache. The fuzziness gets more intense the further Alastor is ahead of him, could that be the static? He tries to focus in on it, using some of the breathing exercises they often tried to get the executives at the station to use during stressful periods... How was the network broadcasting his death? Surely they would have found his body by now, would they be slating his name and misrepresenting his broadcasting movement? The fuzz starts to become more of a hiss with crackling interspersed and Vincent can feel his head heat up like it was put into an oven. He tries the breathing exercises again.
"We'll work on that. But here it is, your living quarters for the time being."