The moment the first dagger arcs through the air—whistling with the soft kiss of intent gone sharp—Vox sighs like an exasperated wind chime caught in a thunderstorm. And then he disassembles.
One second he’s lounging on a void-squid floaty, brim of his hat tilted just so, one elbow thrown out with the louche grace of a lounge singer mid-cigarette break. The next, there’s nothing but static. Not just the sound of it, —the presence. A low, grainy hum that crawls between particles, fills lungs, gums up thought. The sunglasses hang in the air for one suspended beat like punctuation, then vanish too, collapsing into a pixelated wink.
He re-coheres—if it can be called that—in front of Pierce. A stormfront in the shape of affection, a group hug given horrible form, arms blooming out like glitching flower stems, like overlapping broadcast silhouettes from three different timelines all trying to embrace you at once.
"HUG BREAK~!"” he chirps, voice multitracked and wrong, a thousand frequencies harmonizing around a word that should not echo like prophecy. "WHO NEEDS CUDDLES???"
To his left, a drink hits the sand and vanishes into fizzing, hissing pixels. To his right, a gust of static catches an errant cocktail umbrella and gently lifts it back toward its owner. He expands. Literally. Horizontally. Emotionally. The embrace radius widens.
"Come to me, you emotionally repressed little murder muffins,”" he coos, radiating waves of unbearable comfort and the scent of expired cherry chapstick. "Violence is a cry for help and I am listening. I am here. I am hug-shaped."
Vox appears in front of Pierce, offering hugsto anyone who gets within range.
One second he’s lounging on a void-squid floaty, brim of his hat tilted just so, one elbow thrown out with the louche grace of a lounge singer mid-cigarette break. The next, there’s nothing but static. Not just the sound of it, —the presence. A low, grainy hum that crawls between particles, fills lungs, gums up thought. The sunglasses hang in the air for one suspended beat like punctuation, then vanish too, collapsing into a pixelated wink.
He re-coheres—if it can be called that—in front of Pierce. A stormfront in the shape of affection, a group hug given horrible form, arms blooming out like glitching flower stems, like overlapping broadcast silhouettes from three different timelines all trying to embrace you at once.
"HUG BREAK~!"” he chirps, voice multitracked and wrong, a thousand frequencies harmonizing around a word that should not echo like prophecy. "WHO NEEDS CUDDLES???"
To his left, a drink hits the sand and vanishes into fizzing, hissing pixels. To his right, a gust of static catches an errant cocktail umbrella and gently lifts it back toward its owner. He expands. Literally. Horizontally. Emotionally. The embrace radius widens.
"Come to me, you emotionally repressed little murder muffins,”" he coos, radiating waves of unbearable comfort and the scent of expired cherry chapstick. "Violence is a cry for help and I am listening. I am here. I am hug-shaped."
Vox appears in front of Pierce, offering hugs
vox
