*summary: Vox is walking through Hell, until he accidently bumps into someone named Y/N, though trouble arises when the two of them decide to get to know each other better...*
(Inspiration from this photo)
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Vox exhales a soft breath, raising the straw in his espresso up to his lips for another drink. His left hand holds the latest version of a Hellphone made by his company, Voxtech, while he scrolls through a website unamused.
As usual, it's just another day in Hell. Someone across the street just died, someone's car is on fire, there's yelling and carnage going around, but hey, make do with what you have is a motto Vox keeps in mind.
Besides, judging everyone else's situation, he's got his afterlife pretty squared away, minus an old timey tampon soaked prick who just recently showed up after a seven year absence. He was better off staying gone, Vox says in his head.
But...Vox takes a deep breath in...everything is fine, he'll figure out how to destroy that piece of shit once and for all. After all, radio is becoming less and less popular now that there's TV shows and Spotify and all the other Streaming sites.
Who in all of would choose a radio over the latest News and trends? At least I got Alastor beat there, Vox thinks to himself.
Taking another drink of his coffee, not entirely paying attention to where he's going, he feels the sudden bump into his shoulder which causes his phone to slip out of his hand and hit the paved sidewalk beneath his feet.
"Hey! What the fuck?!" he grumbles, taking a knee to pick up his now cracked screen phone. Shit and JUST when he got a new one after Valentino broke his other one! What force is keeping him from having a phone?!
A female voice chimes in. "Oh my goodness I'm so sorry!" "You better be you..." he trails off once his fall upon the one who stands in front of him, a sudden blush forming on his TV screen for a face as he takes in the quite pretty sight.
You stand in front of Vox and stare down at him, your hair decoratively tied up with that of a black rose vine with it's thorns still intact, while you wear a 1920s styled skirt and blouse that match with your H/C and E/C.
Embarrassed, and feeling bad, you bend down to meet Vox's level. "I really am sorry," you stare at the cracked and definitely broken phone in his dark blue colored hand, feeling even worse as you notice how expensive his phone appears.
Phone...what phone? Oh...the phone. Vox had forgotten about the whole thing when he saw you. With an awkward clear of his throat and an attempt to form a dashing smile, Vox responds. "It's alright, I uh," he looks at his broken device, trying to keep the hiss from leaving his lips.
