The elevator doors dings open into Vox’s private lounge: neon strips glowing like a heartbeat. Alastor steps in to find the place nicely prepared. Fresh cables coiled neatly. Light jazz music in the background.

Vox lounges on a velvet couch, one knee over the other, drink in hand. “Alastor! Great timing. I've got Whiskey, gin, even Sazerac!” Vox gestures brightly to the drinks on the nearby bar table.

Just then, Vark trots in, the sharkdog's paws clacking, tail helicoptering. “BWRRFF!”

Vox, half-reaching for him, “Aww, who’s my goo-wait, no, Vark, not that way-” Too late. Vark launches himself at Alastor, tail wagging like a hazard, snout burrowing into the Radio Demon’s coat. He tries to curl into Alastor’s lap despite being a gigantic 90-pound weighted blanket with fangs.

“Oh no you don't! You little menace-” Vox stomps over and tries to pull the him off of Alastor. "-Al's lap is reserved only for ME-"

The cursed red cat pops out behind Alastor, looking silly and cursed as ever. It blinks up at Vox with wide eyes. "Ṁ̴̨̢̛̪̥̺̱̩͕͙̳̒̇͘͝͝ŕ̴̛̯̦̤̳͇̀̈̈͂͑̇̉͝ͅṟ̸̛̰̼̝̖̤̜p̸̗̭̦͌͑̌̈́͝.̴̰͉̂͆̎́̏͒̕̚͜͝.̷̧̝̖̪͕̻̳̒̈́͑͑̉͠.̷̢̗̹̲̻̀̎̔͊͊͂͒̚.̵̧͔̲͙̹̲͠.."