hellbroadcast | Salutations!

"It doesn't truly reach people, but it does hook them in. Is it exhausting to keep thinking up more and more ways to keep them hooked?" Alastor imagined it would have to be. He smiled evenly, slowly turning his head to look past Vincent and debating how much longer he even wanted to stay tonight. Was there anything worth doing around here? "How are you going to make them stay loyal, Vincent?"

He asked the question but he didn't look at him any more. Instead he walked past him for the second time tonight, this time to approach the piano. He sat down right away and began to play and, since it was New Orleans, there were a couple other instruments brought out to join in before long and people were cheering, especially when Alastor sang.

After a couple songs, despite people begging him to continue, he got up and smoothly ducked out of the way of a woman who wanted to grab his arm. He fended her off with a smile and a joke and then he walked to the other side of the room. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, he adjusted his tie and checked his watch. Perhaps it was time to leave now.

Rebuffed again. Arrogant jerk. What was his fucking deal. So he could sing all nice and had a lovely voice, didn't mean he could be a dick to him. He was the fucking future and-- ah. Of course. He was threatened. An equal is also a rival and while he was in a dying medium, he was pushing ahead with future technology. He was merely defending himself.

Cute. Alastor was cute... not like that, not in any weird way, he was just kind of hiding everything behind that smile. All those insecurities for sure.

When Alastor was done showing off, Vincent knocked back his last glass of champagne and grabbed his coat, rushing through the party and stumbling out a bit after Alastor. He was drunk and determined, following along after the radio host. He kept distance but he didn't mind if Alastor knew. It was more fun like that. Being intimidated was healthy.

"I put a spell on you, cause you're mine." Vincent ideally sang as he shoved his hands into his pockets, fumbling to find his cigarettes. "You better stop the things you do. I ain't lying. No, I ain't lying. You know I can't stand it, you're running around"

Of course Alastor was aware of being followed. One didn't get away with doing all he was doing for years on end without having a lot of awareness. Most of the time, anyway, sometimes he could admittedly get into it. Especially when disposing of a body and reliving the fun. This was walking down the dark New Orleans streets followed by that pompous buffoon.

He didn't bother turning around, he simply let himself be chased on a merry walk further into areas of the city he perhaps wouldn't have recommended for the sheltered white boy to find himself in. Then he turned yet another corner and this time he waited, waited for Vincent to follow behind him. And he held out his leg for him to stumble over, then covered his mouth - and the smile there - with one hand in mock-surprise.

"Vincent, old boy! Whatever brings you here this time of night?"

It was a lively street in all the bad ways. Some prostitutes up ahead, an old woman with a table and a deck of cards not far from them, ready to read people's fortune, and some darker characters yet, lingering in the shadows.

Vincent had just been in a trance, not really thinking, just following half heartedly. It started out with determination to intimidate and reset their status but in the end, he just kind of enjoyed watching him from the back in a somewhat tipsy stupor. Not that he'd ever admit that. He was relatively handsome, a man could appreciate another man's handsomeness without it being queer.

"Fuck."

Vincent had stumbled over something stupid and dropped his fucking cigarette, almost going down but luckily, he had a wall for stability. He ended up snapped entirely out of his weird trance and looking around for the first time.

Fuck indeed.

He looked around in shock and then flushed. Oh boy. "Where the fuck..." He trailed off and then looked at Alastor, unsure how to answer. "I was just-- you know, exploring the neighbourhood. Like you said." That bastard tripped him. He nearly hit the fucking floor. There's piss there!

"Well. You've come to the wrong place morally and the right place for fun, depending on your vices." Alastor looked around briefly, ignoring that a few of the prostitutes up the street might have well recognised him - perhaps by voice - subtly creeping closer. "Although maybe you are a bit out of your element, pal."

Certainly looked it. "Maybe we can fetch a cab for you, hm? Wouldn't want you getting led astray. You're a bit-- you for that kind of entertainment."

He was baiting him. He didn't realise, of course he didn't, he felt it was just what men did. Challenged, pushed, encouraged. And he was not going to be talked down to by some old radio relic. There was nothing he couldn't handle, he deliberated focused his efforts on shit like this. Hell, it would be good reporting if nothing else.

"I'm a bit what? Go on, tell me? What am I? Cause we just met. So how do you know what kind of man I am?" Vincent looked at Alastor with a determined frown. "This is my element and I came to have fun. Stop talking to me like I'm a boy, yeah? I'm a fucking man."

"Ah, ah, ah, Vincent. You take things so personally." And clearly that amused Alastor a lot. Perhaps there was more amusement to be found with this one than he'd originally assumed. "Of course you are a man. My mistake."

Which did imply that he hadn't thought of him as a man so far. It was difficult, he was so incredibly childish. "You are in my world now, not your world. So let's see what's on offer, shall we?"

With that, he turned away and walked in the direction of the prostitutes, who were eyeing them both up like fresh meat. Alastor ignored that, he swerved to stop by the table the old woman sat at.

"Hello, auntie," he greeted her, bowing his head, "I hope you aren't too cold on a fresh night like this. Here, have an offering."

What he did offer was a wad of cash, which she vanished with slight of hand, smiling a mostly toothless smile at him that he answered with a brilliant one. "How kind, Alastor. Bondye bless you."

Alastor doubted he was overly blessed by anything good, but he kept that thought to himself. He simply turned to Vincent and indicated the chair opposite the old lady. "Have a seat, Vincent. Auntie, my pal here is tipping his toes. Won't you read him a spread?"

The woman looked at Vincent, noting his eyes. "You are blessed. Special. Sit down. Show your hands."

Right by Vincent, Alastor leaned against the table. "Don't fear, Vincent. It's only your past, present and future. What do you have to lose?"

"I'm not exactly afraid of this stuff. I got my fortune read in a carnival before. It's always the same old thing. It wowed me at 10 and lost me at 11." Vincent dismissed and then sat himself down, not overly wanting to be this close to some toothless old gal but he supposed he was proving his metal. Stupid Alastor, he was playing games with him, he knew it but what was he supposed to do? Not play them? That would be embarrassing!

"I'm blessed? Already? Look at that, not too shabby." Vincent boasted as he smirked up at Alastor. Then he turned back, held out his hands and hoped she wasn't as gross as she looked if she was going to touch them.

"I think you'll find my future is very bright." Like the glow of a TV screen.

She took his hand into her frail one, bony fingers turning it around and inspecting the palm. Then she reached for the cards and shuffled them, looking from him at Alastor. "Two different eyes in one man. He's been chosen."

"Hm," Alastor made the sound, clearly not too impressed. Or at least not wanting to act too impressed.

She snapped her fingers and the candles that lined the sides of the table all lit up at once. Alastor's smile widened. "What a show, auntie. Maybe you should be on television."

"Never," she said, while she laid three cards down, "They steal your soul."

He hummed in agreement and watches as she turned over the first card.

"Ace of cups in the past," she narrated, "Yearning for love."

"For adoration, perhaps?" Alastor mused aloud, "Attention, definitely. You would be one for cups, Vincent. I'm not surprised."

"It doesn't take your soul. By the way. It's like going to the pictures but smaller." Vincent tried to explain, knowing he was wasting his time but he couldn't let it go. He let her look him over and then leaned back in his seat, watching the three cards with idly curiosity. He was not expecting to be woahed.

"I wouldn't say I yearn for love but if you're good at what you do, why shouldn't people notice? If you say you don't like compliments and good feedback, you're a damn rotten liar." He felt that was just part of the human condition.

He wasn't yearning for just any attention, he wanted what he should have. He was hardly someone pitifully chasing love and affection. "You're hardly above adoring praise, Alastor. Don't bullshit me."

"I necessitate it. I don't need it." Alastor felt there was a small but important distinction to be made there. "Anyway, the cards don't judge. They reveal." He shrugged and watched as she flipped the second card over.

"The present. Two of Cups. In this position, that means potential for a deep, mutual bond. But upside down, so it may not work out that way. The future will tell." She hesitated, her hand hovering over the last of the three cards. Looking into those two-coloured eyes, she asked Vincent very seriously. "Do you want to know the future, mister?"

"Showmanship," Alastor complimented her, very amused, "Of course he wants to know. Vincent does not back down."

"You never know if you don't try. Potential is always a good thing." He turned and gave Alastor a look. He was sure this was all malarky but still. They had such potential if they worked together, he just had to get this stubborn jerk to stop brushing him off and take him and TV seriously. He was doing it for him! Who wanted someone with this kind of a potential as a washed up has-been.

Watching her stare into her eyes with sincerity, he idly noted away that one day, it would be fun to do some kind of live TV fortune reading channel or predictions, maybe even mediums!

"Show me what the future holds. I have no fear. I'll go how I want it to." Everything usually did.

She flipped over the final card, announcing it immediately. "Three of Swords."

"Ha!" That one sound was born of deep amusement, a satisfied smirk on Alastor's face that only lessened a little when she gave him a look. He waved his hand for her to continue, so she did.

"A heart pierced by three swords. Heartbreak, sorrow, and emotional pain." Looking at the spread before her, she shook her head, turning it to face him. "You need to guard yourself, mister. Always wanting can be terrible."

"Truly," Alastor added with fake sympathy, "Guard your heart, Vincent. So easy to break. A ribcage, that is. Just wait till you hear all about that in my next broadcast. What will that creep do next?"

"Haha. Very funny. Look, you got some kind of showmanship here and I admire it but let's all be real, it's hokum." He didn't listen, he didn't really care. He didn't see that as his future so it wouldn't be his future. Heartbreak? As if. He could get any girl he wanted. And emotional pain was part of life. Big whoop.

Getting up to his feet, Vincent smiled at Alastor, clearly not phased by his fortune. Wanting could never be a bad thing - without want, nothing could be gained.

"That rib cracking rascal is going to send my views sky high." He considered for a moment before cocking his head. "Is there a hot spot? Where the kills happen?" He wanted to get an interview with that sick freak if he could.

"A hot spot?" Alastor looked at him, still leaning against the table and raising his tilting his head a little, smiling. "I suppose you could say it's pretty warm around here."

He turned away from him to grab the pack of cards, shuffling it quickly and then laying three cards down. He flipped them over one by one, revealing the Fool, the King of Wands and then the Devil, in the positions he would have expected. He grinned at the old woman and then stepped away from the table, assuming that Vincent was going to come with him, no matter what.

"You know the kills don't happen where the bodies are found. Not with this one." Which was what made it fun, obviously. "But it does feel like a good place to get killed around here, don't you think?"

"It's also a good place to get syphilis." Vincent drawled as he looked around at the whores working their corner. "I'm not sure I want to spend my nights stalking around here. Besides, this guy is discreet, he's probably on the outskirts or by the bayou." Maybe Alastor knew better than him, he was more in tune with the city but this place was pretty active. Unsettlingly so.

"You ever want to do it, pal? Just catch a killer live or be right there in the thick of it, just for a scoop. Not many have ever done that sort of journalism before, it's all relayed information. It's boring." It would be far more fun to interview these assholes, exploit them for every penny they were worth.

"You are asking if I ever want to watch as someone gets disembodied? I don't know. The sound of ribs cracking might be something. I've witnessed murder up close before, my sheltered friend. It's not that special. Like a broadcast without a good personality, if you don't have someone with flair executing the deed, why bother tuning in?" Alastor kept on walking, leading them to better lit streets and ignoring anyone they passed by, even though some seemed to recognise him.

"What would you ask, then? If you interviewed a killer."

"I supposed I'd ask why. What's the benefit? Do you get off on it? Is it for the power or just the act? Do you feel justified? Cause I get it, means to an end and all. For all I know, they were dicks and he was just in a bad mood." How would he know? That was why he wanted a chance to talk to him first. Second hand information was something everyone had.

He wanted something first hand. "For this whole enterprise to work, we have to stand out and prove we're superior to other forms of entertainment - no offence, of course. We need to be unique. We need to push boundaries and do what others wouldn't."

Obviously, he couldn't broadcast a dead body but he could interview a killer, right?

"Most murders are either a matter of money or crimes of passion. I'm not sure what bores me more." Alastor yawned to showcase just how little interest those motives held for him. He stopped at a streetcorner, turning to face Vincent. "So maybe you are right, Vincent. Our current killer might be of more interest."

He shrugged, taking a step back. "Remember to catch my broadcast tomorrow. Lovely to meet you. I assume you won't be here for long, so remember to get some good food. You haven't lived until you've tasted a fresh beignet."

Salutations!

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