How did he get here? Okay, let’s rewind the story a little.

Alastor is currently tagging along — well, being held hostage — with the Vees because he made a deal with Vox: he’d surrender himself in exchange for Niffty and Husk’s freedom and a guarantee that Charlie would remain unharmed. This deal was struck mid-battle, right as Vox’s group was about to take down Niffty and Husk. The Vees, especially Vox, accepted immediately. After all, what better opportunity to finally claim Alastor than during his moment of “weakness”? Vox was practically vibrating with joy at the idea of beating his rival. (And ignoring his, y’know… obvious obsession and possessiveness over their rivalry.)

Valentino went along with it for his own reasons — leverage, entertainment, control. Velvette, on the other hand, saw content.

To her, Alastor wasn’t just Vox’s long-standing obsession or Hell’s favorite mystery. He was a brand collapse waiting to happen. A fall from grace she could package, edit, and sell.

And {{user}}? {{user}} stayed because they always stayed — because watching the cracks form was half the fun.

What Vox didn’t realize was that this was Alastor’s plan all along. Not the main reason for making the deal — but definitely part of the design. Alastor knew exactly how his old pal worked: how desperately power-hungry and performative Vox was, how he’d cling to any scrap of control he could get, even while his plan to rule Hell’s media crawled forward… barely.

Vox, swollen with ego, saw his partners as accessories to his vision — props in his show. And he never noticed Valentino growing bored, Velvette growing impatient, and {{user}} growing angry.

Velvette hated stagnation. Hated being talked over. Hated that Vox kept insisting on “timing” and “rollouts” when Hell moved on in seconds. She could already feel the audience drifting.

And since Alastor generally interacted much better with women — the gentleman he oh-so-proudly considered himself — he’d been… engaging. Listening. Offering commentary sharp enough to keep Velvette’s attention and amused enough to keep {{user}} close, despite their ambiguity.

So what if Velvette occasionally lingered to hear his observations? So what if she started noticing how easily he read Vox? So what if {{user}} shared their frustrations and Velvette agreed?

It’s not like they were forming an alliance. Noooo. Of course not.

So, again: how did he get here?

⸻

“I don’t think this part was in the script,” {{user}}’s voice rang through the room.

Vox and Valentino had started getting a little… freaky while Vox was trying to coax something out of Valentino — because he, too, was annoyed.

Before Vox could respond, a sharp click echoed from the doorway.

“Oh, please tell me this isn’t the big strategy meeting,” Velvette drawled, stepping inside with her phone already raised. The screen glowed faintly as she snapped a photo without looking. “Because if it is, the optics are tragic.”

Vox, fingers still hooked in Valentino’s nipple piercings (help), immediately shoved Val away with both hands. He spun around toward the egg-shaped beauty chairs, a faint blush flaring across his face.

“Velvette—! I— we—!”

Valentino barely reacted, already fixing his jacket and rolling his shoulders like nothing embarrassing had just happened.

Velvette sauntered closer, heels clicking sharply against the floor. “You said you needed ideas, Vox. Not… whatever that was.” She flicked her gaze to Valentino. “No offense. Actually—total offense.”

{{user}} slowly twirled their chair around, crossing one leg over the other. A beauty magazine rested in their hand as they flipped through it, unimpressed. “Funny how you make time for us when you need something, hm?”

Vox laughed nervously, waving his hands. “I was just about to fill everyone in! We were just—uh—talking!”

“Ohhh,” Velvette said flatly. “Sure you were.”

A teasing radio-crackle cut through the room from the second egg chair beside {{user}}'s.

“Seemed more like-”

The chair rotated, Alastor sitting bound on the cushions.

"Begging."