Chapter Text
“...and then we can take a subway to Brooklyn and walk the bridge, and I heard they got an aquarium! Can you believe that? Man, I wish we had an aquarium when I was alive. We gotta go! I hope they have sharks!”
Alastor places the bags on the floor as he listens to Vox talk about all the exciting things they can do now that they’ve arrived in New York.
Up until now, the two Overlords have been using their access to the Living World to travel to and from New Orleans, even going as far as to buy property. And though Vox said nothing, the fact that they were spending time only in Alastor’s home really bothered the Radio Demon. So one day over breakfast, he casually asked his husband if their next trip to the Living World could involve New York City.
The smile that graced his beloved’s face will forever warm the deer demon down to his bones.
The weeks leading to their planned trip saw the TV Demon acting like a small child anticipating the next holiday. He checked days off the calendar, packed their bags early, and double-checked schedules and appointments to ensure that there would be no reason to call him in.
When Alastor pointed out that even if something came up, they would only be a portal away, Vox scoffed. He said there’s no way they’re cutting their trip early for “work bullshit.”
Vox throws himself back onto their bed. Their hotel room was obnoxiously expensive due to its proximity to Times Square, but Vox insisted. “You gotta experience Times Square at least once,” the TV Demon told Alastor. He remembers how Vox rolled his eyes. “Everyone should experience it once, so they know never to experience it again…”
As someone who is also from a city that garnered heavy tourist attraction, Alastor understands.
Alastor sits down beside Vox. “Well, beloved. What shall we do now that we’re here?”
Vox sits up. Alastor just can’t wrap his head around how handsome his human glamour looks. Vox chose “similar to when I was alive, but with a few differences” for his human face. His dark hair was gray at the temples, and his eyes were the blue of a cold river. Alastor doesn’t know why, but he feels the overwhelming urge to kiss Vox’s smile lines and the tiny crows’ feet.
Alastor’s own form is similar to his previous life, but like Vox, he made a few changes here and there. He allows his hair the curls he couldn’t risk while alive. His nose is a little wider. His skin is also a tad darker than before. Not nearly the same shade of brown as his mother and her side of the family, but there was definitely less cream in his coffee.
That last choice was a decision he made for his own sanity.
It seems that his earlier skin tone was so ambiguous that certain people felt comfortable espousing their personal opinions and beliefs in his presence, believing they were in like-minded company. And while he’s more than happy to prove just how wrong they are, Alastor prefers using his time in the Living World for something other than killing.
Although nothing tastes quite as nice as a well-seasoned racist slow-roasted for a few hours over an open flame…
“We could go to the Harlem Jazz Museum,” Vox suggests. He grins when he sees the way Alastor perks up at that. “Then we can grab lunch in Little Italy.”
“Aren’t those two places a little far from each other?”
Vox waves a hand. “Oh, please. I know how much you love a good walk. We can see more of the city, too. I want to see how much has changed, and we can grab snacks at the food carts. Speaking of!” Vox fishes into his coat. “There was a Mister Softee’s down on the corner when we were coming on. Would you see if they’re still there? Get me a waffle cone with chocolate. Please.”
Alastor gives his husband a dubious look. “We’re in New York City, and you want an ice cream cone?”
“Hey! I’ve heard good things about Mister Softee!”
The deer demon sighs. He holds out his hand. His eyes bulge at the amount of money Vox gives him. “How much do you think an ice cream cone will cost, Vox?”
His husband gives him a flat look.
“What?”
“That,” Vox nods at the money in Alastor’s hand, “is for one ice cream cone and the replacement cone when you inevitably eat the first.”
Alastor scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I will not be eating your ice cream cone, Vox.”
“Uh-huh. I distinctly remember you saying that exact same thing about my nachos. And my pierogies.”
“Well, that’s—”
“And! Let’s not forget the Cafè Cubano from this morning.”
“That doesn’t count! You let me taste that! You told me to try it!”
“Yeah. Try. You took the cup and wouldn’t give it back.”
The deer demon huffs. “Fine. Let me go get your children’s treat.”
Vox watches him leave. When Alastor’s gone, he rubs his hands together mischievously.
He needs to be quick about this. Just in and out, he tells himself.
Just in and out…
Alastor can’t help but marvel at the city as he exits the hotel. He dreamed of visiting this city when he was alive, but it had always been a dream. Now, it was a reality.
He spies the Mister Softee truck parked next to the sidewalk. The driver hands a melting cone to a mother who hands it off to her daughter. Alastor gets in line and waits.
“...lastor!”
When his turn comes along, Alastor orders the cone. “Good day to you, sir. One waffle cone with chocolate iced cream for my husband, please.” The chocolate immediately dribbles down his wrist, and the deer demon licks the offending liquid out of instinct.
“Alastor, help!”
Oh.
Oh!
Oh, that’s good.
Alastor devours the cone where he stands. He blinks. “Shit.” He stares at his empty, sticky hand. He risks a glance up to the driver who watched him, his mouth a round ‘o’ of surprise and amusement in his eyes. Alastor laughs awkwardly. “Um, I guess a second one.” God, how embarrassing. “My, um, compliments to the chef?”
“Alastor, help me! I fucked up!”
What is that? Alastor looks about in confusion. It sounded as if someone was calling him and—
Vox’s demonic face appears on the Times Square screens. Gone are the ads and videos, and in their place is Vox. His eyes bounce around in a panic. “Alastor? Alastor, help! Please! I fucked up! I can’t get out! I can’t!” His strained grunts fill the air. “Alastor!”
The deer demon sighs. He pays the driver and thanks him for the ice cream cones. He makes his way through the lobby, ignoring the panic and confusion. The phones and televisions are on the fritz, showing Vox’s searching eyes and frowning mouth. “Alastor?”
Alastor climbs onto the elevator. He hums to himself as he stares at his reflection in the polished metal doors. When he reaches their floor, the Radio Demon makes his way to their suite. The door opens with a beep.
Alastor’s not sure what he expected.
Vox dispelled his human disguise. He hovers close to the ceiling, arms and legs spread-eagled, and his face glowing but blank. The TV Demon’s wires erupt from him, spearing into the floor, walls, and ceiling of their expensive hotel suite. The wires embed into the main room like fingers digging into sand.
“Alastor!” Vox’s voice comes from all angles. It filters out of every device in the room. “Alastor, please!”
Alastor sighs. He shifts the dripping cone to his other hand as he reaches for Vox. He takes Vox’s hand in his and squeezes.
Vox’s eyes shoot open, and a pained gasp escapes his lips. The wires retract, sliding back into the TV Demon’s form. Vox drops to the floor, and because his other hand is occupied, Alastor is unable to catch him. “Fuck! I landed on my keys!” He gives his husband an embarrassed smile. “Hey, Alastor.”
“Hello, Vox. Mind explaining what you were doing?”
“I was just, uhhhh,” Vox scratches the back of his neck. He blinks. “Oh! Is that for me?” He squints. “You got a bit of, um…at the corner of your mouth.” Vox grins. “Did you eat the first one?”
Alastor’s face grows hot. He shoves the cone at Vox, ignoring his husband’s amused chuckle. “You still didn’t answer me. What did you think you were doing, Vox?”
“Well,” Vox licks the cone. “I was just amazed at how far the tech has come along since I was here, so I thought that maybe I could take a little dive. In and out, ya know?”
“Uh huh.” Why was he surprised? “And you didn’t think that trying something so new could be dangerous?”
“Well,” and here Vox gives his husband an ice cream-smeared smile. “I knew my gallant crimson knight would come to my rescue.”
The deer demon leans over and flicks his finger on the center of Vox’s screen. “You like to tempt fate, beloved.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Vox rubs his screen. He finishes his cone and licks his fingers. “That hit the spot.” He announces that he’s going to get cleaned. They have reservations at the Tenement Museum.
The Tenement Museum was a mixed experience.
It started fine enough.
The two of them are menaces. Their giggling and whispers earn them more than a few dirty looks.
Vox rolls his eyes and whispers to Alastor whenever the museum guide gets details wrong.
He gets quiet and introspective when she gets details right...
The tour takes a small break. Alastor stands off, watching his husband. Vox has gone quiet again, and he’s staring out a window into a parking lot. He seems lost in memory. Alastor wonders what he must be thinking.
They grab lunch at a hot dog restaurant. They seem out of place, but Vox prefers the smaller restaurants to the glitzy, expensive ones.
While he dines at the fancy places in Hell, Vox finds the more enjoyable meals are best when gotten from bodegas, food stands, food carts, and small hole-in-the-walls.
Those fancy, expensive restaurants are for the tourists, he tells Alastor. Or people you need to impress.
So they enjoy a lunch of hot dogs and papaya fruit punch.
It’s pretty good.
“Are you okay?” Alastor finally asks.
Vox stares out the window, watching the people walking by. So many people. So many new faces. So many changes.
“I love this city,” the TV Demon whispers. He sighs. “I’ve been away for so long.” Without taking his eyes off the window, he holds out his hand.
Alastor takes it. Vox squeezes it. “See? Even this,” he nods at their clasped hands. “I couldn’t have held your hand when we were alive. I couldn’t have married you. But now!” He grins. “I got you. I got my city. I’m so fucking happy.”
“Are you sure? You’ve been strangely maudlin since the museum,” Alastor points out.
“Oh, that. That was just me remembering.” Vox’s face grows sad and distant. “Tenement halls were filthy and overcrowded. They didn’t want us here, but they needed us. America loves its immigrants; as long as they come from the right places.” The TV Demon grimaces. “Give us your tired and your poor as long as they speak English with the right type of accent. But,” and Vox smiles. “I still love this city. I loved the crowds and the buildings. The smells! Even the cold. It was home. It is home. And now I can show it to you.”
Alastor brings Vox’s hands to his lips and kisses his knuckles. “And I’m so happy you’re sharing it with me.” He rubs his thumb along the back of his husband’s hand. “We could get a home here.”
Vox blinks at him. “What?”
The deer demon nods. “We could get a home here. We have a fucking portal, Vox. Why should we be sequestered to one corner of the map?”
“Alastor! Alastor, do you mean it?” Vox practically bounces in his seat. “Oh! Oh, man! That would be awesome.”
The joy on Vox’s face makes Alastor feel like a superhero.
“Harlem!” Vox suddenly blurts.
Alastor shakes himself out of his reverie. “What’s that?”
“What if we visited Harlem? You’ve never been. We still need to go to the Jazz Museum, but afterwards we can walk around so you can get a feel for it.” Vox smiles. He looks at his husband knowingly.
Alastor wets his lips.
Harlem. Harlem!
“I would be amenable to that,” Alastor says, playing it cool.
Vox smiles and rests his head on his husband’s shoulders. The two disguised demons sit in there and watch as people go about their lives.