Chapter Text
The amount of fake laughing and chuckling that Vincent had to perform would have put those old sitcoms to shame. He smiled as the weatherman twirled his pasta idly around his fork while he talked about his job and showbusiness. They’d shared lunch a few times in the past month, and every time, he acted like he was giving some sage advice that the company and top executives didn’t want him to know lest he become the next big star. In reality, Vincent had known all of this from the very start. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew the steps to take, the risks to put into motion, and the consequences he may accrue. It was a waste of his time.
“Excuse me one moment,” said Rob, getting up from his seat. “I have to relieve myself.” He escaped from Vincent’s gaze, and when the advertiser looked at the empty spot on the table, he saw a phone left behind.
Well, almost a waste of his time.
Vincent looked around before swiftly picking up the phone. He’d made sure to watch Rob’s fingers whenever he unlocked the device, and so Vincent got in with ease. He scrolled through texts and photos, trying to find something perhaps incriminating, but Rob seemed to be a milquetoast family man with a pregnant wife. Boring. Vincent had a limited amount of time, so he checked through his emails and, to his delight, he found an unopened email containing information from the big boss telling him to come to a vital meeting on Wednesday. He didn’t hesitate to delete it. He put the phone back just as Rob was returning.
Rome wasn’t built in a day. If Vincent wanted to be seen by the world, he needed to start small. Instead of an anchor, the position of weatherman would be a great launch pad. He just needed to get Rob out of the way so he could shoot his shot again. The chance of actually attaining the coveted position was slim, but after scrubbing blood from his car seat after disposing of a human body, he realized he needed to keep pushing to get what he wanted.
Every chance Vincent got, he tried to sabotage the weatherman. He intercepted mail to Rob and tossed them in the trash. Whenever he met with Rob in the elevator or in the hall, he would occasionally drop some lies about his coworkers talking trash about his performances. When Rob was dumb enough to leave his phone behind, Vincent always lunged at the opportunity.
So far things were slow going, but he was hearing murmurs of problems with the weatherman being felt from the higher ups. He just needed to keep at it.
Sooner or later, he’d get what he wanted. He just needed to keep going.
***
Alastoor glanced over as Vincent collapsed in the booth across from him. “You’re late,” he stated, swirling his straw around his glass of sweet tea with visible disapproval.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Vincent murmured, picking up the menu placed in front of him. When the waitress came around, he politely ordered a soda before getting back to explaining himself. “Just some shit I got into at work. You know how my boss is. Never satisfied.”
“Hmm. And how are things with the weatherman?” Alastor inquired. “Is your plan coming to fruition?”
“If by ‘plan’ you mean the shit I have to get up to just to get this guy fired?” Vincent sighed. “I’m working on it.”
“I’m quite proud of you for taking such matters into your own hands,” Alastor hummed. “Though the fact you haven’t gotten caught yet indicates this isn’t your first rodeo.”
Vincent couldn’t help his smirk. “Well… I may have backstabbed a few people to get where I am. My old supervisor used to really tease me a lot for the whole glasses and heterochromia thing. Well, I may have spread a rumor about him snorting coke in the workplace bathroom. Got him fired.” Alastor looked rather impressed, and Vincent chuckled. “It’s not easy, though. I have a reputation to keep, and if people find out I’m sabotaging coworkers and stabbing them in the back, no one would ever trust me again. I have to be careful.”
“Well, you’re fairly smart about it, I’ll give you that,” Alastor hummed. “Now pick what you want. I’m starving.”
The waiter returned and Vincent picked the safest thing on the menu, which was chicken tenders and fries. Alastor looked fairly judgemental seeing as they were in a Mexican restaurant, but Vincent had learned to ignore his gazes.
“You know, I could give you some advice on showbusiness myself,” Alastor suggested.
Vincent propped up his chin on his fist. “Yeah? And would any of that advice include slaughtering your competition?” Alastor laughed and Vincent knew his answer.
“You do know me too well, but I have to tell you that I did it all myself. No murder necessary,” Alastor denied.
“And what about getting some help from those special people you mentioned?”
Alastor smiled smugly. “I may have used a bit of their influence to get my foot in the door, but after that, it was all me.”
“And how long ago was this?” Vincent asked curiously. He was always down to learn more about his friend. “I know you were pretty young when you started. At least, that’s what people say.”
Alastor gave the question some thought. “I think I was… twenty-seven at the time? Executives thought I was too young, but I have a way with words, let me assure you.”
He pulled out his phone, a rarity that let Vox know he was about to see something important. Alastor scrolled until he found what he was looking for, and then he turned the screen for Vox’s eyes to appreciate.
The picture seemed to have been taken of an actual printed photo, but he was still able to see it clearly. The photo depicted a fairly young Alastor shaking hands with one of the executives while behind a microphone. He looked nearly the same as he did now, though with more youthful features. That grin on his face was more cocksure and smug than Vincent had ever seen it.
“You look good,” he commented as Alastor pulled his phone away.
Alastor hummed with approval of his praise. “No news there, but thank you.”
Vincent thought for a moment before pulling out his own phone. He scrolled until he found the right photo. He just hoped Alastor would actually care instead of brushing him off as he always did when Vincent bored him. He turned the screen to face Alastor, and Alastor adjusted his glasses so he could peer at the photo.
“This was when I first came to New Orleans.” The photo depicted Vox about five years prior, standing in front of one of Louisiana’s more famous monuments. He looked so happy and full of life and confidence, but like much of his life at the present moment, it was more disingenuous than not. “I got offered a high-paying job back when I was up north. I took it thinking it was my chance to move up, but they ended up giving the position to who is now my supervisor. Of course, I had just moved across the country to get here, so they gave me an office job instead.”
Alastor squinted at the photo, confusion slowly painting his face. “That’s you?”
Vincent blinked and pulled his phone away, bemused. “Yeah?”
The radio host’s brow remained furrowed. “You look… different.”
Realization hit Vincent and he looked at the photo again to see he did indeed have some different features. He chuckled and tucked his phone away. “Oh yeah, that was before I had work done.”
Alastor’s smile tightened as he seemed to grow even more puzzled. “Work? Do you mean…?”
“Cosmetic surgery?” Vox finished casually. “Yeah. Had a couple rounds under the knife. Nothing too big.”
In a rarity even to Vincent, who saw Alastor at least twice a week, Alastor frowned. “Why on Earth would you do that?”
Vincent huffed, annoyed that Alastor was one of those people who looked down on his decision. “Well, I didn’t think I looked good enough for TV, so I tightened a few things. Nothing serious. Hell, you didn’t even know I had work done, so I’d call that a testament to the expertise of my surgeon.”
Alastor still seemed troubled. “I don’t like that. You looked just fine the way you were.”
“You don’t seem to hate the way I look now,” Vincent reasoned. “I think of it like getting a new TV. When the old one is outdated, you get a new model. That’s it.”
“And when this look gets outdated? Are you going to trade it in for a new model?” Alastor asked, criticism thick in his voice.
For the first time in a while, talking to Alastor was unpleasant. “Whatever. It was just something I wanted to do. It’s not like my skin is stretched tight over my skull. I’m perfectly fine.”
Alastor’s lip curled in disgust, but he didn’t say anything more about it until their food arrived.
They ate in silence until Alastor decided to bring up another topic. “So, tell me more about yourself, Vincent.”
Vincent was always down to tell Alastor more about himself, as it meant Alastor was actually interested in getting to know him. “Uh, sure. What did you want to know?”
Alastor tapped his chin as he jabbed his fork into his enchilada. “Tell me about… your home life. What was your childhood like?”
“What are you, my therapist?” Vincent snorted, though he wasn’t against the question. “Uh, let’s see… It was… relatively normal. My parents were loving. I didn’t have a lot of friends and I was an only child, so I just sort of kept to myself.”
“You were a shy child?”
“No. More like… kids thought I was weird. Can’t tell you why. They just didn’t like me.” Then, a smirk crossed his face. “I mean… there may have been a few reasons.”
Alastor quirked a brow. “Oh?”
Vincent laughed softly as he fondly recalled an incident when he was young. “I had a bit of a reputation. I remember when I was in first grade, a girl wanted to share my crayons with her. I told her she could have the whole box if she told the teacher to go fuck herself.” Alastor cackled and Vincent flashed a grin. “I’d never seen a teacher scream at a little girl like that. She was in tears.”
“I had no idea you were so delightfully wicked as a child,” Alastor commented.
“Yeah, I had a bit of a nefarious streak,” Vincent admitted. “Parents got a lot of complaints from teachers.”
“And I assumed you were justly punished for your crimes?” asked the serial killer.
When reminded of the punishments, Vincent’s smile dipped. “Yeah. They weren’t passive. My dad was a no nonsense kind of guy.”
Alastor grimaced. “He wasn’t abusive, was he?”
“No no, of course not,” said Vincent, dismissing his concerns with a wave. “Not at all. I mean, I’m not one of those snowflakes that thinks whooping your child with a belt is abuse. I got that quite a few times from my dad. I could handle that. My mom, though? Hoo, catching her ire was never fun. If I didn’t have straight As, it was my ass. One time she…” He trailed off and picked at his food.
Alastor, always the nosy one, urged Vincent to continue. “What happened?”
To that, Vincent gave a nonchalant shrug, trying his best to appear nonplussed. “Nothing major. I got two Ds in science and English. She acted like it was fine when I showed her my report card, but when I got home from school the next day…” He forced a chuckle. “All my toys were gone. All of them. In the dumpster. Including my stuffed shark toy, Shock Wave. I considered him my best friend, and… he was gone. Just like that.” He smiled a strained smile, his appetite diminishing. “I’ll admit: I cried. I… I cried a lot. She smacked me and told me to man up, and that I shouldn’t cry over dumb shit like toys. When I didn’t stop, my dad whooped my ass.” He laughed. “Probably the worst day of my childhood. But I got over it. They got me new toys when I got my grades up.”
Alastor was quiet and expressionless. Finally, he asked, “Do you still talk to them?”
“Nah, not really,” Vox replied with a shrug. “After I left for college, I stopped answering their messages. I can’t tell you why, honestly. I just didn’t want to talk to them. Ten years ago they just… stopped trying. I haven’t heard from them since.”
His friend watched as he forced down another bite of food. “Hm. Well, it’s their loss. Especially for your mother. Every child should have a relationship with a loving mother in my opinion,” Alastor stated. “It’s a tragedy otherwise. Your mother did sound like a bit of a bitch, though.”
“Ha, I guess she was.” Vincent didn’t really agree or disagree. He just didn’t really want to think about it. So, he changed the topic to revolve around Alastor. “What about you?” he asked. “Your mom. How was she?”
Alastor laughed softly as he brought another forkful to his mouth. “I’m afraid that’s private information.”
Vincent blinked. “Oh… okay, what about your dad?”
“My father? Perhaps I’ll tell you about it another day.”
Okay, well, that essentially meant Vincent wasn’t ever going to learn that tidbit of information. It was frustrating, but Vincent continued to prod in hopes of learning something new. “Well, why don’t you tell me about how you got mixed up with demons and religion and all that? Like, tell me more about that ‘Rosie’ woman you mentioned.”
“That’s a conversation for another time,” Alastor hummed, taking yet another bite.
“Okay… well, how are you on meat? Are we going to… do something again anytime soon?” Vincent pried.
Alastor’s eyes narrowed at Vincent, informing him that he was on thin ice. “You’re quite nosy today, aren’t you?”
Vincent set down his fork. “So, what? You get to just pry into my life and my childhood, but you won’t give me anything in return?”
Alastor pretended to think about the question for a moment before replying “Yep.”
“That’s not fucking fair,” Vincent growled.
Alastor just smiled. “You aren’t going to cry about it, are you?”
The other was quiet, his mood thoroughly soured. The waitress passed by and he waved at her. “Check, please.”
***
Vincent entered the main studio of the news station, looking around for the person he was seeking. He could see Swalwell getting his makeup done and his coanchor practicing her lines. They were backed by the large windows overlooking the city, and the lighting of the area was fluorescent, but not too bright to be overpowering. Over on the side was the green screen for the weatherman to do his thing, and beside that, a little table for the sports commentators to deliver the news about America’s favorite pastimes. On the far wall, there was a small room with a window overlooking the studio where the technicians made sure the process ran smoothly.
“Vin!” Vincent glanced over to see Rob approaching. “What’re you doing here?”
Vincent held up some papers. “Oh, just delivering a report. The supervisor is sick today, so I’m here to help.”
Rob offered a friendly smile, though it was tired and strained. “You can find the man you’re looking for in the technician’s room right over there.”
“Thanks.” Before Vincent left, he paused and took a cursory look over Rob. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Rob sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It just feels like things are going wrong constantly, you know? One thing right after the other. I missed a meeting this morning and the executives are saying I’m on thin ice, but I swear they didn’t send me an email.”
Vincent always loved a bit of schadenfruede. He struggled not to smile. “I’m sorry to hear that. Hey, it’s all just a few mistakes. Things will get better.”
“Yeah,” Rob muttered. “Anyhow, we’re on in ten. Make sure you get back to your office so you can watch the show.” He winked and turned away, barely missing Vincent’s scowl.
Entering into the little booth, Vincent met with an older man on a computer. Looking over his shoulder, the advertising manager realized it was the program for the teleprompter. He swallowed thickly. The guy must have been proofreading all the lines before they would be fed to the crew.
“Yeah?” the man said gruffly, looking annoyed that Vincent was bothering him. Vincent just handed him the paperwork, which the man sifted through impatiently. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “I need to get this to Swalwell.” He got up and headed out of the booth with the paperwork, leaving Vincent alone in the booth.
Vincent’s eyes fell on the teleprompter program. Looking around, he swiftly sat down on the chair and scrolled until he found the weather report. With quick fingers, he made a couple changes.
***
Vincent got to his desk twenty minutes later and slumped down into his seat. Instead of working on his assignment like he was supposed to, he opened up his laptop and turned to the news. Swalwell and his coanchor were in the middle of talking about bones discovered in the bayou, and as always, the main man himself was particularly irritating to listen to. Vincent had recalled how Swalwell had blackmailed him into a favor, one that he had yet to come to collect. He was nervous for the day when it would come.
“Alright, let’s turn to Rob for the weather report.”
Then, the weatherman appeared on screen, his green screen showing the temperatures of the cities and towns around Louisiana. He immediately dove into a spiel about lowering temperatures and whatnot, something Vincent had no interest in, but he patiently sat back in his chair and took out his flask for a quick swig.
“And if you look over here at Chalmette, you’ll see it’s going to get a bit nippy down there,” Rob announced, his tone level with professionalism while still keeping a great big smile on his face. “And Thibodaux will be feeling a bit of that cold front, too. It’s going to get cloudy with a light chance of rain, so be sure to keep your umbrellas in your car and bundle up.”
A smile crossed Vincent’s face. He crossed his arms as the moment came to them.
Rob continued and pointed to the city where they currently resided. “And as for New Orleans, it’s going to get plenty of rain. But, you know what I always say, that trash heap can go fuck itsel—”
Rob’s lips parted in shock as he was only barely able to keep himself from finishing the last word, but it was already too late. Vincent heard a gasp from the coanchor, all the while the weatherman just stood there, motionless and mouth agape. He sputtered, trying to come up with some kind of apology or explanation, but how could he do that when he’d just made one of the biggest news show blunders of the past decade? The weatherman could only make a choked sound before the camera changed to face Swalwell and his coanchor, who both looked stunned.
Vincent slowly closed the laptop, and with a song being hummed on his lips, he got back to work.
Later that day, he went down to the lobby, where the receptionist looked up at him with surprise. “Oh! Mr. Whittman!”
The manager glanced over and his brow stitched. The receptionists usually didn’t talk to him. “What’s up?” he asked, sauntering up to the desk.
“We just got a call from the hospital,” she informed him. “Rob, the weatherman? His wife has gone into labor and could give birth any minute. He needs to know, but I think he’s in a meeting with Stratford at the moment and I can’t reach him. I’ve seen you two take your lunch breaks together and talk often.” She gave a pleading smile.
Vincent smiled. As if the day couldn’t get any better. “Yeah, we’re friends. I can tell him,” he said. “I’ll wait until the meeting’s over and give him the big news.”
She sighed in relief. “Thank you, Vincent. You’re a lifesaver.”
He gave her a thumbs up and reentered the lobby so he could talk to Rob, and then proceeded to walk out the back exit so the receptionist wouldn’t see him.
***
That night, after Vincent kicked off his shoes, fixed himself a rum and coke, and flopped on the couch, he got a call. It was Alastor, who never phoned him. He muted the TV and answered with a “yellow?”
“Hello, Vincent, old pal,” Alastor hummed on the other end. He sounded relaxed. Vincent could almost imagine him on his own couch, feet up and idly twirling a knife in one hand. “How was your day today?”
Vincent smirked, indulging in his drink. “Oh, you know. Same old, same old.”
“I see. Well, that sounds quite boring. I’m assuming you rested easy?” Alastor inquired innocently. “Because, from what I hear, you were a little naughty.”
If Alastor was in front of him, Vincent would tilt his head to be the picture of innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Alastor chuckled on the other end. “Oh? I’m quite surprised. It’s all over the news. The weatherman tells all of New Orleans to go fuck itself? I had a blast covering that on my radio show tonight. Tell me… did you have a hand in that?”
Of course, Vincent had to tap his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm… perhaps.”
Alastor cackled on the other end. “Oh, Vincent, I couldn’t believe my ears. That was truly wicked of you. You can be quite the terror in your own right when you want to be. Tell me, how did you do it?”
“I may have messed with the teleprompter,” Vincent replied, swirling his index finger around the glass. “Had a bit of fun. You know me.”
“Was he fired?”
“I’d be shocked if he wasn’t,” the other said casually, revelling in the good energy. “If not, he’s on thin fucking ice, but I’m sure I can break it. Plus, I uh…”
“Hmm?”
“I was supposed to tell him his wife was in labor, but I just left without saying a word.” The way Alastor burst into howling laughter truly brought a smile to Vincent’s face. “That funny, eh?”
After his laughs toned down into giggles, Alastor asked, “Now, was that really necessary in getting him fired?”
“Not at all, but it was pretty fucking funny.”
They shared a laugh. Then, Alastor said, “I should take you out to dinner for that one. Maybe give you a pep talk before you go score your new job?”
Vincent’s smile softened. “Sure. Dinner with you is always nice. The Creole place?”
“I was thinking more that you could come over and have some of my cooking,” Alastor offered.
Vincent’s eyes popped wide open and he grinned. “Yeah! Sorry— I mean, yeah. Sure.” Alastor could be heard chuckling on the other end and he blushed. “Maybe instead of going to the bar this Saturday, we could go over to your place?”
“That sounds lovely.”
Lovely. That sounded lovely. Vincent smiled. “Great! I’ll see you—”
He jolted when a knock sounded at the door. He blinked and looked towards the entrance, and after a moment, another knock occurred, this one louder and more urgent.
“Someone’s eager to get in,” Alastor observed. “Expecting visitors?”
“Uh… no?” Vincent got up from his seat. “I’ll call you back.
“Toodles.”
Vincent hung up and approached the door, where he heard another knock, this one a thundering boom. He grabbed his pocket knife off of the shelf and opened the door, unsure of what he’d see on the other side.
To his surprise, he saw the haggard, tired, and very drunk face of the weatherman standing in the entrance of his home. Vincent blinked in bewilderment. “Rob? What are you doing here?”
Rob narrowed his eyes, and Vincent was forced to step back as the man shouldered his way inside.