Vox was in his office, preparing damage after fighting in a recent turf war. Nothing serious, but the bold sinners who'd dared to fight him had brought angelic weapons. However, even while sick and injured, he still watched his cameras. And then suddenly something unexpected happened in Vox's bedroom. A shadowy hand opened the closet and tugged out his old sweater. The tan-ish colour had slightly faded by now after years of neglect but the stitches still held firm and it still held all the properties that Vox had loved about it. But then the sweater was dragged away by a red-clawed hand- Alastor?

Alastor tugged on the sweater, kicking away his wet clothes. He'd heard about the turf war Vox had gotten into- Vox won, of course, but Alastor felt a strong urge to check on his old friend. When Vox was ill, he wasn't entertaining. Alastor needed entertainment as soon as possible. It was just about entertainment, he told himself. It had been raining while he was on his way here, and he figured his dear old pal wouldn't miss this old piece. But Alastor did. He missed the sweater a lot, as it carried sweeter memories than the rivalry he had with Vox now. The scent had started fading too- which was very, very not disappointing, Alastor reminded himself. But then he saw a camera in the corner of the room following his every move. Vox was watching him, hmm? He smiled brightly into the camera and batted his lashes teasingly.

"It's rude to just stare, old pal. Come down and meet me here, hm? I was looking forward to catching up with you."