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𝕋𝕠 β„π•–π•šπ•˜π•Ÿ π•šπ•Ÿ ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕝 [β„π•’π•«π•“π•šπ•Ÿ] (π•΅π–šπ–“π–“π–†π–‡π–Šπ–Š & π•½π–Žπ–›π–†π–‘)

Rival

Rival

𝔽αռɖσм 𝔽ιєռɖ
Joined
May 10, 2021
Location
β„Ρ”ΚŸΚŸ

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Alastor x Lucifer
✰ @Junnabee ✰ @Rival ✰​

"Alastor!" Charlie called out, holding a flattened hand alongside her mouth to amplify her voice over the rubble of what had been the Hazbin Hotel.

The enjoyment of their victory over the angels had been short-lived: the Princess of Hell all but ignored her father's suggestion of celebratory pancakes in favor for a rabid concern for her hotelier. "ALASTOR!" she yelled with the sort of desperation that suggested she was seconds away from being pulled under by devastating sorrow.

...Lucifer could empathize, in that he'd suffered such emotional trauma himself - on more than one occasion over the course of his eternal damnation - but he wasn't particularly pleased for whom his daughter's heart was bleeding. Alastor. What a jackass, Lucifer thought to himself. Personally, he was none-too-fond of the radio demon, but he'd joined Charlie as she searched the ruins of the hotel -- strictly as support, of course, as he wasn't at all that interested in finding the other father figure.

Still, as Charlie looked back at him, her beautiful eyes welling with tears, he felt compelled to contribute. Being in a much more rational state than his daughter, a quick glance over the wreckage of the hotel was enough to discern a piece that was decidedly familiar: it seethed Alastor energy. Not in a supernatural sort of way... rather, it was as simple as that it was a radio tower, in matching color and aesthetic to the radio demon. Lucifer approached his daughter, taking a moment to comfort her with his embrace. "I'm sure he's fine," he spoke confidently. "Perhaps we should check...the radio tower?"

"The radio tower!" the princess repeated brightly, brimming with a sudden optimism. The hug she shared with her father was quickly ripped apart as Charlie ran towards the aforementioned location. Lucifer frowned in the wake of his daughter's leave, following in her footsteps at a much more leisurely pace, giving him some time to reflect. There was no doubt that he hated Alastor. But there was also no doubt that the radio demon was alive - Lucifer had witnessed his battle with Adam from afar, and knew he had retreated before fatal damage could be dealt - which meant that if he wanted to reconnect with Charlie, he was going to have to suffer the demon's existence for awhile longer.

Lucifer kicked a small chunk of debris as he passed. He hated to admit it, but he couldn't fault Charlie for her attachment. What he hated even more? That there might even be some credit due to that damned radio demon. He'd seen the way Alastor was able to inspire Charlie when she'd returned from Heaven, utterly and absolutely defeated. As if it hadn't been enough that it was him that rallied her spirit and resistance - that he'd fostered her hope and dreams, supported her as he always had - she'd even used his microphone staff while she spread some hopeful inspiration of her own, gaining a small army as a result.

...Not to mention Alastor's contribution to the battle against the angels, what with his shadow shield that saved the hotel from being immediately overrun -- a shadow shield with shadow tendrils that cut angels from the sky with their own weapons...

Oh yeah, Lucifer had seen it all. It had been enough to spiral the depressed dreamer to wallow. He should have been there for Charlie, he knew, sooner than he had been. The same story today as it was years before, an absentee-ism fueled by their estrangement; now with the bonus of a seething resentment for the man whom had seemingly taken his place. Lucifer convinced himself that Charlie didn't need him, the father who had stood within her hotel and told her that her dream was doomed to fail, smugly showcasing the flaws of her hope in sinners as examples abound all around them. Even as he eventually came around -- well. He had been stupid to have come around, hadn't he? He knew Heaven would chew Charlie up and spit her out, just as they same as they had him: but he'd allowed the dazzle of her dreams, and his overwhelming love and hope for her, to blind his better judgement. He'd set her up to fail. Delivered her to the doorstep, no less! Upon her return, how could show his face?

...It hadn't been his intention to swoop in at the last second, to set himself up with the dramatic glory befitting of a savior. When his assumption that Alastor would come out as the hero of Charlie's tale was proven wrong, of course he wouldn't leave his daughter to the fate the Adam and the angels saw fit for his blood. ...And it immediately begged the question of why he'd let his hurt feelings/self pity delay him helping his daughter in the first place.

...Fucking Alastor.

Luficer's frown tugged deeper as he entered the fallen radio tower. Charlie was hugging the radio demon, her well of tears uninhibitedly falling down her cheeks as she sobbed her gratefulness for finding him alive. She withdrew from their embrace only as it seemed that the tightness of her clutching to his chest might be causing him pain. "Oh, sorry! I--ah, I didn't hurt you, did I?" she fussed. "I think... I'm pretty sure I can fix this," she spoke a with a shaky confidence, studying the wound that had soaked her own shirt in blood during their hug.

"Let me take care of this, Charlie." Lucifer spoke as he approached and placed a hand upon his daughter's shoulder, using the hold to gently draw her away. "I can handle an angelic steel wound. Have him fixed up in just a couple of minutes!" His smile was soft and reassuring as he locked eyes with Charlie. "You -- go check on the others. Make sure everyone is okay, and once we've regrouped... we can discuss restoration efforts on the hotel."

Charlie's smile made it all worth it. Heal the person he resented most in Hell? Sure. Anything for her. "I -- yeah. That would be great! Thanks, dad."

Oh, his heart! He drew his daughter close, giving her a tight enough hug that some of Alastor's blood smeared from her shirt and on to his suit vest, before releasing her to tend to her friends. Before she left, however, she felt it necessary to address Alastor further. "I'll see you soon! Thank you, again... You've done so much for me β™₯~" One could hear the love in her voice, and it was all so very...

Puke.

The King of Hell's gaze remained upon the threshold for several long moments after Charlie took her leave. He loved her so much, he owed it to her to be a better father. Unfortunately, that meant --

"Alright, then," Lucifer clapped his hands together, creating a rubbing friction that sprouted a faint glow of golden light from his palms. The crimson slits of his eyes shifted to focus upon Alastor. "Open your shirts and let's see what we're working with here."
 
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The shadows became corporal not too far from the broken remains of Alastor's radio tower. Unfurling from the dark shadow cast by a large piece of rubble from the damaged hotel. Tendrils twisted and withered against each other as they slowly took the form of the radio demon himself, before bleeding off the shape leaving the man sitting propped up against the rubble. The wound across his chest dripped at an alarming rate – soaking his suit around the injury and decorating the ground.

Once the shadows fully release him he presses his hand harder to the bleeding. His face twists in agony as his grin strains as it stretches wider across his face. He had thought he had been in control. How had things gone south so quickly? Had he been too arrogant? To cocky? Him? His hubris had been his downfall. Almost his death.

…His death?

No, no. Him? No.

Alastor uses the rubble to climb to his feet. The first attempt stops short as he staggers and falls to his knees – cane clattering on the ground. He quickly collects the two halves, wincing as he reaches for them before he tries to get to his feet once more. This time with much more success. Before slowly making his way across the distance to his tower. Picking his way across the rubble until he stood at the base of the structure. Staring up the broken glass and twisting beams, haloed in the light of what remained of the blinking neon lights.

He had to wonder… did he look as hopeless as his tower? It was a thought that wouldn't stand.

He climbs his way up the ruble till he can reach the hatch and pushes his way inside. Placing his cane on the edge of the lip before he throws one arm up to brace himself while he pushes himself up with his other hand. Making a strained groaning sound through his teeth as he hauls himself over the lip and inside.

He lays there a moment, regaining his breath on the floor before he rolls to his hands and knees. Cursing himself for needing these humiliating moments of recovery; and not allowing himself enough of it as a result. He pushes to his knees, collects his cane, and makes his way to the control desk of his broadcast. The glass of displays shattered. The film of one of the reels ripped from the cog. Dials missing and buttons were pushed so far that they would never come back out. The record that had been left in the player in between broadcasts was cracked down the center and the needle was missing entirely. It was battered and broken… just like him.

Just like him…

He really had almost died, hadn't he? If Adam had chosen to strike again, instead of letting him banter, instead of gloating over him, he'd be dead. His cane was destroyed and he had been rendered useless on the ground; bleeding out on the roof at Adam's feet. Adam could have killed him had he acted quickly enough, and Alastor would have been able to do nothing. Because he was weak.

His heart pounds and he begins to feel a little lightheaded. Dizzy, even, as he stumbles forward - bracing against the desk. His cane clattered loudly against the surface - making cold sweat bead down the back of his neck. His chest hurt more now, it felt like his ribs were tightening around his lungs. He had almost died because he had allowed himself to be weak. God, why had he done that? To protect his investments? He's like to think so but... no. It had been for Charlie. The hotel. His friend.

His "friends"?

This could never happen again.

That wouldn't be how he went out. It couldn't be. He was Alastor. He was The Radio Demon! He wouldn't die so pathetically. He wouldn't go down in history as someone so weak that they are known for dying for others in hell of all places. He was meant to be powerful. Strong. He was meant to be in control. This was all that stupid deal's fault. If he had never made it... If he had been strong enough to find another way. He would have never sunken so low as he had done today. He had to find some way out.

Charlie's voice came as a loud shout of relief behind him. So suddenly he startled and turned quickly on the spot. Feeling a bit like he was going to throw up as he did. He wasn't sure if it was because he had moved so quickly or if he had realized Charlie had so easily snuck up on him. Yet another failure. She practically sprints across the tower to him and he has only seconds to steel his resolve to put on a brave face for her. He has just enough time to lift one arm to brace himself on the desk as she slams into him. Arms winding around him and holding tight as she blubered.

The pressure on his wound shot lighting down his spine. He resists the urge to yelp and instead settles for a soft grunt before he uses his other hand to gently pat her back. Even as the beads of sweat begin to paint his forehead from the pain. He lets the panic drain from his veins and steadies his voice before attempting Charlie in a cheerful (and hopefully comforting) tone.

"There, there. You didn't think that would be the end of me, did you?"

Then again - Charlie's squeeze might just finish him off.

At least he's aware enough to see Lucifer enter the tower. Looking mostly disgruntled until he catches sight of his blubbering daughter. He watches the man's frown deepen and then smooth out as he begins to approach. He doesn't observe him much further than that because the daughter in question is pulling away from him. She turns pale when she notices the amount of blood that's on both him and now on her. Worry crept in to take over her relief at finding him.

"Oh, pish-posh! I barely felt a thing."

Lucifer - loathe he is to admit it - does him a favor in gently guiding Charlie away. He wants nothing more than for her to not see him like this. He listens to Lucifer expertly manage her concerns, offers her reassurance and support, and then sends her away with a quick hug. For such a historically dreadful father - he handled the situation beautifully. It was a wonder he couldn't do it all the time. Alas, not every parent was a winner, and even if you could teach an old dog new tricks they were never consistent.

He doesn't bother to reply when she thanks him, and both he and the king of hell stare at the threshold for several moments after she leaves. Most likely for different reasons, because once the coast is mostly clear he raises his hand to grasp at the gaping gash once more. Lucifer turns to him, smeared in his blood; looking like the very picture of the King of Hell. Bloody and regal in equal parts before he ruins it by clapping rather theatrically.

Alastor narrows his eyes, focused briefly on the sparks of gold coming from his hands - seemingly ignited by the friction alone.

"I'm quite capable of licking my own wounds."

He did not want Lucifer's help. He knew, deep down, he would likely need to... but his pride demanded at least the bare minimum amount of protest.
 
With his smile still warm from his interaction with Charlie, Lucifer's lips curled further at the demon's response, twisting into an amused grin. The β€Šleering, the venomous tone -- the refusal! The last word anyone would use to describe Alastor was "cute", no doubt, and yet here the King of Hell felt that exact sentiment towards the bleeding fiend in that moment. He might hate the guy but he had to appreciate the display of pride.

"Uh-huh," Lucifer agreed simply to the man's claim. "I don't question your capability," he continued after a beat. Lucifer spoke sincerely, and was surprised at himself for passing up the glorious opportunity to patronize his adversary. "Much as I'd love to stand here and watch you bleed out, I doubt you'd die without intervention." A heavy sigh escaped him, the grin melting from his lips, as if the acknowledgement was so thoroughly disappointing. "Still..." he interjected at the tail-end of his lament, as if to cut-off whatever remark the radio demon might think to bite back with in response. "...I did just tell Charlie I'd help you."

Help, Lucifer reflected... was a poor word choice. It was just the sort of notion that would encourage Alastor to resist his aid further. The fallen angel began to roll up a sleeve, though he hardly needed to free himself any further of material obstruction for the job at hand. He glanced down at his work for a fold before beginning to speak again. "Look, I'm going to level with you here, radio demon." He'd heard the name Alastor shouted at least a dozen times too many in the last five minutes, and so he refused to speak it himself. Lucifer's gaze shifted back towards the taller man. "...We both know I desperately need the dad points." He forced a small smile, as if the thin comical veneer made the 'I'm an awful father' admission any less painful. "I want to heal you more than you want to be healed." He finished rolling his second sleeve. A breath.

"Count it as a favor." Lucifer spoke with full eye contact and an unusual lack of flare. A significant step down from a deal, certainly - it didn't even require a handshake - but a favor from Lucifer was unheard of: even as the commitment wasn't nearly so binding or formal, it was a lot from the absolutely apathetic "ruler" of Hell. After allowing the offer to linger in the air for only a few moments, Lucifer motioned a hand in a clockwise rotation to signify his impatience to get on with treating the wound.
 
There's a humiliation in this, and the way Lucifer's eyes greedily feasted feels like someone twisting the knife. It makes his gut tighten and his temple pulse. The way Lucifer so openly finds enjoyment in his predicament licks hot inside his veins - stroking an ever-growing fire of fury. One that he masked poorly with his signature smiles. His eyes say everything; burning the way they do as he glares defiantly back at Lucifer's leering gaze. It made him feel, so sort of way. Sick, perhaps? Not that Alastor was much better. Regardless, he would like nothing more than to reach out and rip the smile directly from Lucifer's smug face.

He tries to temper himself. Sooth his own with the gentle reminder that he could make use of Lucifer's angelic abilities. Letting himself be patched up was more favorable by far when compared to the idea of bleeding out on the cusps of a battlefield. He had too much left to accomplish to simply perish. It helps that Lucifer acknowledges Alastor's power - willing to concede that he was wily enough to crawl himself out of whatever hole they tried to bury him in.

He was almost set to concede when that stupid fallen angel decided to muck it all up. He didn't need help. Temperaroy assistance, a brief truce in the name of Charlie's wants and needs was something he had been willing to agree to. Accepting aid for the sake of aid was out of the damn question. A muscle in his cheek spasms. His ears press slowly and begin to press flat at the offense.

He moves, ready to push his way out of the situation, and when he does his chest throbs. It's embarrassing the way the cough bubbles up from him, sending another soft spattering of blood decorating his lip. He's not sure if Lucifer thinks he's doing him some kind of kindness by not mentioning it - or if he truly can't be bothered to care. He hopes, earnestly, for the second. He might forget it later if he never pays it much mind to begin with.

Red eyes narrow dropping to focus on the rolling of sleeves briefly; then quickly return to the King's face. To watch his expression of deceit and manipulation as he laid out his understanding of the situation. With most, this kind of scrutiny could give him a vague idea of just what was going on in the other person's head - from simply knowing what makes a person tick. Lucifer was, usually, quite the easy one to manage. However, the man seemed just a smidgen more shuttered than usual. He can practically taste the self-deprecation. It's as sweet as ever, but he can't truly enjoy it when he can't find Lucifer's true motive. What he was saying seemed far too easy.

Still... A favor from the King of Hell himself. It was tantalizing. An unheard-of offer from the most powerful man in all the rings of hell, and freely given to Alastor of all people. Alastor, who did so loved his deals and favors. It was too good to be true. The perfect bait for the Radio Demon - A fact that Alastor was shamefully and, currently, willfully ignorant of. Just as ignorant as he is of the hungry gleam that brightens his eyes. It was too good to pass up. What else could he do but simply take it?

"A favor then! Your Majesty... at a later date and of my choosing."

He pulls back his blood-stained hand and sets to work carefully undoing the buttons on his layers. First, the jacket is pulled open, and then the bowtie is pulled side to loosen his cooler. From there he's able to shakily work through each of the red dress shirt buttons. He hesitates, though. Alstor's hands seem to stall on the last few buttons, a reluctance lingering in him to disrobe before Lucifer. It seems, for a second, like he simply might not do it, right up until he simply does. Pulling the shirt open to lay himself bare to Lucifer's tender care.

The damage is bad. A single gash traveled from just above his hip to up to the collarbone of his opposite shoulder. It's visibly deep, now that his clothes are out of the way. Adam had gotten him good. It was a miracle he hadn't subcome to them, let alone crawl his way back here. A man with a sense of humor might even say it was an act of god. The wound is not a pretty sight, and the skin of Alastor's torso is no better. A plethora of years-old scars decorate him. Darkened and pronounced, lacking uniformity.

"Have it it then."
 
It felt good to get under the demon's skin: Lucifer felt a sick level of satisfaction as he watched deer ears fold back against the bend of Alastor's skull. He made no move to try to stop the demon from storming off, though the injuries suffered ensured he wouldn't make it far. The blonde showed no reaction to the blood-spattering cough, though his gaze briefly traced the crimson that adorned the other man's lips as a result. His gaze lingered there just a moment too long, but still he made no other acknowledgement. Much as he might enjoy making Alastor angry - he had taken great pride when he'd inspired the usually perfectly-composed Radio Demon to devolve to a simple and crass "fuck you" response within minutes of meeting him - he knew some damage control was necessary.

...It would take nothing less than a favor to dig himself out of this hole, Lucifer knew.

The offer of a favor was accepted eagerly, just as hoped -- and a proper Your Majesty offered in exchange. The demon could turn on a dime when it suited him. "Of course," the king responded easily to the additional terms. He didn't know that Alastor now had two Morningstar favors in his pocket, with Charlie's bound by a deal. Even so, he realized that the demon was dangerous, and that trying to navigate any sway over his motivations (much less imagine any semblance of control), was a lofty - and perhaps unattainable - goal.

...Why was it that fucking with fire was so damned appealing?

There was something about watching a proper gentleman undress that was... indescribable. As the demon unbuttoned and peeled the jacket away from his slender form, Lucifer considered that he should look away so as to give the other man some margin of privacy. Even with this consideration, though, he was unable to but to stare as Alastor undressed the upper half of his body. Unabashedly soaking in the sight of the removal of the jacket, the loosening of the bowtie, and the eventual unbuttoning of the red shirt... The hesitance of releasing the final clasps was enough to have the King of Hell hold a breath -- an exhalation escaped him only as the Radio Demon pulled away the last covering of fabric.

His form was exquisite. Lucifer suppressed the desire to bite his lower lip, as no doubt such a forward display was unlikely to gain him much reward. Even so, there was a moment in which he was quite obviously ogling before he turned his attention directly to the injury itself. Lucifer studied the wound as he closed in the distance between them. A single finger found purchase lightly above the cut, a golden light shimmering upon the tip as he trailed the touch slowly from collarbone towards the hip. The wound didn't seem to improve, though a wash of energy worked to help soothe the pain.

"This is..." Bad. The word you are looking for is bad. "...my fault." For several moments Lucifer avoided making eye contact, and only after a long pause did he brave facing his confession. His gaze strayed from the wound, raising to meet pools of non-bloodied crimson. Lucifer took a deep breath before continuing. He should have been there. Alastor should not have been forced to face Adam alone: but he was, simply because Lucifer was jealous of his relationship with Charlie, and because Lucifer was... well, Lucifer. He wasn't really interested in unraveling the mystery of his own inner workings or exploring his flaws in any deep detail, but in this moment it felt beneficial to try to charm the Radio Demon to his side with some truths. Not with his deepest, darkest secrets, of course: but perhaps a sample of his vulnerability? Just as the favor had given a taste of what being in the good graces of the King of Hell could entail. "Thank you, Alastor." He didn't know who owned the overlord's soul, or what ulterior motives might be at play... but for all appearances he'd served Charlie's interests well enough. "I hate you for all that you've done for Charlie, but... I'm also grateful."

Ever the master of distraction, the man snapped the fingers of his idle hand. A long cushion appeared over the ruined radio tower's control panel, directly behind Alastor. Lucifer's free hand snaked around Alastor's ribcage, using the hold to gently guide the man to lie back. The cushion reclined at a relaxed angle, propped against a steadfast metal support beam that had formerly held the tower windows. The hand that had been utilized for pain relief lingered upon Alastor's hip as the fallen angel hoped to settle the demon in to a comfortable position -- though he doubted the other man was capable of being comfortable given current circumstances, no matter how soft and inviting the magically conjured cushion might be. Leaning back against the control panel meant that Alastor was still half-standing (-ish); to combat any possibly of slippage Lucifer positioned himself well within the demon's personal space, placing a thigh between his legs as he pressed closely against him. Both of his hands moved towards the deep gash of Alastor's chest, his touch trailing lightly over the scar-marred flesh en route.

Lucifer's gaze studied Alastor's reaction to his closeness, to his touch. No doubt his was loathe to have the fallen angel's hands upon him, especially with the liberties Lucifer took of his unspoken - and yet still totally obvious - boundaries. He was at least thoughtful enough to not drag out the awkward moment any more than was necessary, and after cursory soaking of the tension the blonde shifted his focus back to the wound. Both hands placed over the deep gash, the wash of energy between them building up to a pulse matching the rhythm of a heartbeat; golden light seeped in to the demon's chest, slowly reforming the torn flesh.
 
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There's something that feels unbelievably vulnerable about this situation. Exposed to Lucifer's greedy gaze; allowing him to drink in his fill of him. Longer than he would like, too. Considering the way he had let himself partake in the show of the radio demon stripping at his command. Alastor may not have looked at Lucifer while he was doing it, but he had certainly felt the heat of his eyes on his skin. He'd immediately regretted it - but he wouldn't give up that favor for anything. Anything included Lucifer's staring at the things Alastor kept so jealously guarded; out of view from everyone. He has to raise his head now. Unable to look down with the excuse of unbuttoning any longer. He had been avoiding looking at Lucifer since he started removing his clothes. Entirely unwilling to see disgust and condescension on Lucifer's face.

He feels his heart stop when he finds all that missing from the other eyes. There is nothing negative there. Greedy was truly the right word to describe it. Or maybe, admiration? Though... that label didn't quite fit the emotion either. Alastor takes in the way his pupils had grown wide as they lingered on his scarred skin. He takes note of the way he doesn't seem to want to look away. It hits him then. The name of what he sees on Lucifer's face. It's poorly masked desire.

Desire for Alastor.

Lucifer changes his focus to the torn skin, but Alastor knows what he's seen. There had been an attraction there, plain as day. He wasn't a fool, nor was he unfamiliar with the look of someone who wanted a metaphorical bite of him. There had been more than one occasion when someone had wanted to have a part of him, and he grown to recognize it because of this. A necessity of survival so he can sidestep it with minimal fuss. He wasn't in the habit of indulging other's more physical desires, and he would happily keep it that way.

Still... the King of Hell was looking at him like that. It was... flattering? Was that what it was? Either way, it was beginning to twist into a strange, dangerous thought. One he certainly should not be having. One that held as much risk as it did reward. Lucifer Morningstar, a favor from him was as miraculous as it was useful. Something he'd have to use with great care. What, he begins to wonder, would it be like to have more than a favor? What would it be like to have him in his pocket? To eagerly fulfill his whims simply because he asked? What if he used the man's desire?

What if he... seduced him?

He has seen the other man's devotion. The way he so desperately wanted to be wanted, and needed. Be it his wife or daughter. Lucifer was the type of man who would do anything for the ones that he loved. He would move hell and heaven itself if need be. This was a man who would at least try. Sure, there had been a time when he had been beaten down; seemingly void of all fight. Drained dry by the apparent abandonment and crumbling dreams... Alastor had seen that begin to change. A single spark was lit inside the fallen angel at the mere suggestion of something to fight for. Of getting back one single person that he adored. If Alastor could give him something to fight for. If Alastor could become that something he adored, if only for a time. He could only imagine the power that would be at his fingertips. All he had to do was get him on the hook.

It was crazy. Could he even manage something like that; would his mind even let him?

Lucifer reaches out and touches him. It's a single, careful touch. Only a single finger at his collarbone. Alastor can't stop the full body flinch that seizes him, nor the pained groan that the action causes. Lucifer doesn't react. He runs the finger down his body, towards his hip, and Alastor goes punch drunk. He can't quite explain it, because he can't think clearly enough to find the words. He already begins to loosen, dizzy with the relief that the energy brought. Feeling something adjacent to wonderful but above good as pain leaves him.

Lucifer speaks and Alastor allows his head to lull gently to the side, like trying to find his averted eyes. There's a fog in his head by the time Lucifer finally dares to face him, instead of acting as cowardly as he always does. The guilt looks lovely. Alastor likes it. It's sad and pathetic and-

"Think nothing of it."

His voice is hushed like he can't quite bring himself to speak any louder. All the same, he sounds utterly sincere.

There's no fight when it comes time for Lucifer to lie him back. Alastor goes easily, sinking into the cushion like he belongs there. He makes quite the picture too. If he had half the mind to think about it, he'd wonder if Lucifer found it enticing or pathetic. The Radio Demon is almost languid on the magical construct of Lucifer's own creation. A background of soft fabric with a frame of destruction. The shattered reminds of Alastor's pride and joy pushed aside for now - leaving him with only Lucifer. Lucifer's hands on his skin. Lucifer's magic at his back. Lucifer's eyes on his body. Lucifer between his legs. Lucifer surrounds him, and he allows it.

With him crowding his space like this, Alastor really should be disgusted - or at the very least he should be uncomfortable. His skin crawls, as it always does when someone else touches him first (even with his permission). He even knows he should start to feel the feeling creeping in. It's a split-second decision to force it away. To let his head lull to the side, cheek pressed to the fabric of Lucifer's construct.

His discomfort is nothing at this moment, and heavens above is he rewarded for it. Lucifer steals away more of his pains. The last few dregs of it, and then set to mending the flesh. He can feel his energy. The rhythmic pulsing so like the beating of a heart. Flesh knitting itself back together is a strange disquieting sensation, but in this moment it is pure bliss. The sigh he lets fall from his lips makes it known.
 
Admittedly, it had been... millenniums, at least?... since Lucifer had last utilized his healing abilities. The severity of Alastor's wound proved to be quite dire, and after only a handful of moments the fallen angel felt it necessary to close his eyes so he could better focus upon his objective. His eyes fluttered shut, though his gaze remained restless beneath his lids; his mind conjured images to sate the want of sight, even as the man actively sought to suppress the mental activity.

The vision of Alastor, so willingly sinking back on to the cushion beneath Lucifer's touch. That wide smile painted upon his lips, his gaze failing to contradict the constantly projected expression of satisfaction; the tension of his body melting away, the way his head lulled to the side...

Lucifer shut his eyes harder. The effort only succeeded in clearing the canvas for all of five seconds, at which point the aforementioned memory repeated, this time with bonus sexy undertones. Thankfully, the recurring fixation on Alastor's regard of him (since receiving a promise of a favor) didn't seem to inhibit his healing: but the blissful sigh that escaped the Radio Demon's lips in response to the magical mending certainly didn't help dispel the wild fantasies that were cropping up in Lucifer's imagination.

...Was he delusional? Was he so desperately lonely that he was projecting? Lucifer had known what to expect here... and what actually happened was 100% not that. He had been truthful when he said he hadn't heard of the Radio Demon upon their first meeting - though the fact was far more attributed to the King of Hell being completely apathetic and out-of-the-loop than some dig at how worthy Alastor might be of recognition - but he certainly knew him now. He'd obsessively learned everything he could about his competition since their meeting, and he'd found that he'd fallen in to a rivalship with a significant force. It was obvious that he'd made some deal to gain the powers he had - and he only amassed more with each victim he took - among all the research, Lucifer could find no evidence of a weakness. The man laid alone, and no one had come close enough to decipher Alastor's motives or allegiances. As such it only made sense that Lucifer would expect his closeness to cause a repulsion. The fact that the Radio Demon seemed so --

It had to be because of his power, right? An exception to the rule, maybe? ...Lucifer was a dreamer at heart, and he was all too willing to run with the latter. It didn't matter why Alastor might be receptive to his affections - it should, probably, but it didn't - and the fallen angel was quick to fall for his own romantic notions. He was the King of Hell, after all -- who would refuse him?

Lucifer opened his eyes, the usual color of his iris and sclera inverted. He wasn't sure if it was the expenditure of his energy in the healing process, or his heightened emotions, but something had flipped the switch to tap into the deeper reserves of his power. Not so much so that he sprouted horns, but enough so that he felt a tinge of bloodlust. His gaze sought Alastor's -- the demonic golden pupils upon a crimson field casting a look much softer than it had any right to be. The pulse of energy between them ebbed, the wound fully healed: in the wake of the magical infusion the former gash glowed a faint gold, only to flicker and fade to match the darkened color of Alastor's other decoration of scars.

His hands lingered for some moments, pressed flatly against the demon's chest and stomach (following the angle of the healed wound). Lucifer's lips parted, as if he might speak -- but the words caught in his throat. So instead he simply soaked in the vision before him, memorizing every detail of the Radio Demon in that moment.

Lucifer took a steading breath. "I..." he started, and failed. He cleared his throat. "I think," he tried again, "that...you're better now?" He moved his hands so as to look at the results of his labor, his touch sliding across Alastor's skin instead of lifting away from him. His suspicion checked out, and as soon as it was confirmed the man raised his gaze back to the demon's face.

He should withdraw, he knew. He had no reason to remain so close now that Alastor was healed. But Lucifer felt an undeniable stirring within his chest -- fuck, what was he thinking? How was it that passionate hate so easily translated to an equally fueled attraction? How was it that the prospect that Alastor might not resist him made such a compelling case to try to kiss him?

...He'd make for excellent advisor if Lucifer had any political ambitions. He'd serve much better as ally than a enemy, in any case: their connection through Charlie meant that their fates were already intertwined. But adding romance - or even lust - to the mix... didn't that make it more complicated? More volatile?

It felt as if he had been agonizing for several minutes, though in truth only seconds passed as Lucifer suffered his inner turmoil. "...How do you feel?" Lucifer asked baitingly.
 
Alastor had never felt more powerful undressed. Lucifer's face was a vision, pinched as it was. Eyes screwed shut, eyebrows furrowed with effort. He could only wonder what the effort was for, the sight of him or the continuous pulse of energy. There was a small frown marring his pale features. The man seemed deeply focused on Alastor's healing - Alastor himself - and nothing else. He couldn't help but watch the fallen angel with a relaxed expression of his own. A smile still fixed in place, but eyes lidded with contentment. All while his mind ran the calculations as quickly as they could.

When the fallen angel looked at him again, Alastor knew that he was going to try. When he sees how much of the red fills Lucifer's eyes he knows he has to as much as he wants to. He'd be more the fool to let such a deliciously convenient opportunity pass by. Alastor liked living hard and fast, and he liked playing games he thought he could win. And this here? This was a game he thought he could win. This was their opening round! The first match of what he daringly hoped would be many. It would be their opening ceremony; absent of an audience. Only room for two - with how delicate it was. The outcome, after all, would decide if the game would be played at all.

Alastor's breath hitches when Lucifer catches his eyes. The man already looked ready to risk it all. He's sure that the outcome of the opening round would all be a question of Lucifer's self-control. Could he keep his hands to himself? Would he try for more, or pull away in fear of making a mess of things? As long as Lucifer left this with a sense of longing Alastor didn't care.

The demon's heart squeezes when he sees how shaky a breath Lucifer has to take before he can speak. He feels it might burst when the king has to clear his throat just to speak to him. The man sounds unsure of his results, and when his hands drag over his skin to check Alastor finds his stomach flexing involitarily. He can feel the way his hands brush over the textured skin of his scars and feels the need to shudder. He lets himself visibly shiver instead.

"Am I?" He whispers into the space between them as Lucifer looks back to his face.

He allows himself to stay quiet and docile under Lucifer's hands. Let the man think and process the situation. He's sure the fallen angel will do an excellent job of leading himself around by the nose. He wouldn't even have to lift a finger to guide him. He'd lead himself from one dangerous thought to another. And, if Alastor was correct, he'd build his own possibilities. His own fantasies, even.

...How do you feel?

"Marvelous."
 
The word dripped from his lips like honey and Lucifer was all too willing to savor the sweetness. Marvelous -- there was a natural musical cadence to the word, and to hear it spoken with the precision of professional radio voice was intoxicating. Meanwhile, he was completely unable to tear his gaze away from Alastor: his still more-red-than-gold eyes locked on to the other man's gaze, his ability to soak in the demon's form otherwise undiminished. He was keenly aware of the exposed flesh, in particular, and the continually relaxed body language. The Radio Demon had made no attempt to disengage or cover himself, and seemed perfectly content to remain in such close proximity.

The fallen one was completely entranced.

Alastor's smile felt so knowing in that moment, as if the demon knew exactly what it was Lucifer wanted. Almost as if... he was waiting. Maybe it was a residual of the high that accompanied emerging from battle victoriously, or perhaps his energy expenditure had made him stupid -- whatever it was, he quickly cast aside his inhibitions. A leg lifted lifted, Lucifer's knee finding purchase upon the cushion on the outside of Alastor's hip. As he used the support of the control panel to lift himself to a comparable height, his hands rose as well, his touch running up along the demon's chest before hooking around the bends of his shoulders. He studied the man carefully for a brief but heart-wrenching moment.

Lucifer had always known himself to wear his heart on his sleeve. And right now -- he knew that he was the one exposed because of it. He allowed a brief but pointed moment open for Alastor to reject him; his emotional vulnerability was almost tangible, his increased heart rate thudding in his ears as his grip subtly tightened its hold upon his could-be lover. When the Radio Demon failed to protest...

He leaned in slowly, tenderly pressing his lips against Alastor's. He held for some moments, simply sinking in the sensation, before reluctantly drawing back by an inch. The break wasn't long enough to fit any words, as Lucifer's mouth eagerly sought the demon's again, this time with more conviction. His hand slid from the taller man's shoulder, tracing up the side of his throat, fingertips trailing along his jawline on the way to rake into his hair. Splayed fingers curled around the back of Alastor's head, a light grip pulling him in as Lucifer deepened their kiss. He could taste the blood on the Radio Demon's lips, and found the metallic bite disturbingly alluring; it only seemed to encourage his more primal instincts. His tongue confidently sought to explore Alastor's mouth, inviting his tongue to a duel of sensuality, the man fully committed to his intimate intentions.

Wrapped up in it as he was, he was still quickly pulled out of the moment by the noise of clattering debris outside of the tower. The "oops!" that followed was very obviously Charlie.

In a blink Lucifer's eyes reverted to their normal colors. The conjured cushion lifted, the gently increased angle encouraging the previous occupants to stand. Or, as was Lucifer's case, to jump off. He landed gracefully, of course. "Alastor! Dad!" Charlie called ahead of herself, no doubt to explain the sudden noise she'd caused outside. Lucifer took a moment to calmly close Alastor's shirt, dexterously hooking a key few buttons to properly obscure his form -- despite the gapping gash through the fabric it covered him well enough. The summoned cushion poofed out of existence as the internally panicking man - so much so that he hadn't even noticed the name order thing - spun on his heel just in time to witness his daughter crossing the threshold once again. "I know you said a couple of minutes, and it's only been a minute more than that, but..." She didn't need to finish for anyone to understand that she was worried, as the brightening of her expression upon seeing Alastor standing perfectly fine and painless upon his feet was beyond glowing.

"Yep, Alastor is totally fine," Lucifer said in the least conspicuous way possible. He could feel the heat of the stain of his cheeks -- and as such he didn't try to intercept Charlie as she burst in to give her hotelier a less bloodied hug than before. The father gave space for his own sake, and by the time the exchange between his daughter and former rival/unexpected love interest was concluded he had managed to suppress the blush.

He approached at the first convenient moment, joining the pair as he placed a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Everyone good?"

"Well..." Charlie spoke in way that the answer most assuredly wasn't going to be yes. "Sir Pentious..."

It was song time! And Lucifer couldn't have been more grateful for the opportunity to encourage his daughter by song -- to transition the scene back to the her and the hotel as it was especially convenient for dodging her discovering what she'd nearly walked in on. There was hotel to rebuild, and that was most certainly a big enough task to distract from Lucifer's other desires. ...Mostly. Probably he wasn't very subtle in how he was suddenly and often interested in Alastor: both apparent from longing looks and a low-key acts of favorism, such as personally assuring the the Radio Demon's reconstructed radio tower was absolutley perfect.
 
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Alastor's chest goes still as he holds his breath. Leaving his frantic heart beat the only sensation to be felt under his skin. It thumps away at an alarming rate. Near bursting from his chest as it so resembles the heart of the prey animal he is. If, here and now, he was prey, what did that make the man above him? He can't feel his own fear; too busy savoring the way victory tastes on his tongue. It tasted a lot like the copper of his own blood – but that was quite beside the point. He was so close to shaking with excitement (and it must be excitement, because it can't possibly be barely contained panic). It wasn't really the physicality of the moment that had him exhilarated. The way his skin tingle as Lucifer's hands trailed a path to his shoulder had nothing to do with it. It was the promise of things to come.

Lucifer stops; asking for his permission as much as he's anticipating his rejection. The serrated grin disappears behind his lips. The demon's face traded it in favor of a closed mouth smile. The invitation is very much there. Not only was he not rejecting him – he was making it easier. It was a smile that said: Here I am. Now kiss me.

He's almost disappointed by what he gets in return. It's gentle, chaste. Sweet, even. The kind of kiss first-time loves share shyly in the back of the theatre or the front steps of a house. Unsure and promising. Alastor shouldn't complain, the more puritan the once-angel is, the easier it would be for Alastor to play into the act. Which makes it all the stranger that when Lucifer pulls back Alastor's mouth is slightly parted as if to ask him incredulously, is that it?

Lucifer doesn't give him the time to speak. The second kiss takes him of guard. He isn't quite ready for it, so he can't help but let his shoulder's go tense. There's a sudden flash of the desire to rip away from the sensation. It'd been a life time since someone kissed him (and thank heavens for that), let alone as slow and hard as Lucifer was. Yet, he's somehow soothed by gentle fingers at his neck then his jaw. They pass under a particularly sensitive spot blow his ear before sliding into his hair, and Alastor catches himself sighing just as blissfully as before as a result.

Lucifer tilts his head slightly, pulls him further into the kiss. There's a tongue in his mouth and at some point, he's reached out; his arms coming around the King of Hells back to slide along the clothes on his back. He's not even sure when he's put them there. He's about to dig his fingers into the fabric when Lucifer does something particularly devilish with his tongue –

but then he's just gone.

Alastor's been deposited on his feet. His eyes wide and his grin as blinding as it is confused. It isn't until Charlie calls a second time and Lucifer is handily buttoning up Alastor's shirt that he register's what's going on. He grabs his own jacket and yanks it closed as Lucifer's hands leave him – so he can manage as least one button to keep it secured before Charlie comes scrambling into his tower.

His expression shifts to something a lot less startled as he spreads his arms to allow Charlie to barrel into them (he could give her this much considering the circumstances). There's not a trace of their previous activities in his face. He's not guilty or blushing. The only real evidence was the kiss swollen nature of his mouth – but the grin did more than enough to disguise that.

He lifts a hand to gently pat at her head; silently marveling at the girl's strength. Why, he was quite certain she was making a conscious effort to bruise his ribs! How delightful.

He lets her continue her valiant efforts up until Lucifer asks to the state of the rest of those who made a stand. Charlie slowly drew away as she delivered the bad news. Alastor's smile dims ever so slightly when he hears. He hadn't been aware that had happened. He wouldn't say he was sad to hear it, but it was an awful shame. Wasteful, too. He had really thought all of them would make it through. He wasn't sure if that was arrogance on his part, or an overestimation of the other residents of the hotel. But it burned that they couldn't lay claim to an absolute victory.

The singing starts, and Alastor trails after the action. Happy enough to let Lucifer do the dad thing and earn – what had he called them again? – dad points. He really was quite the competent parent when he tried. With fond reluctant he falls in step with the rest as they rallied Charlie. It was time to get to work.




Watching the new Hotel rise over time is a treat in of itself. It almost makes the whole damn thing worth it. He could have probably hurried the whole process along with a little more contribution – but he had been to bust revealing in it. He could inspect every detail, learn all the nook and crannies and add his own. (It had nothing to do with his silent recuperation.) And, more importantly, he could watch his plan unfold in real time. See how much of Lucifer he'd already stolen away.

The man was downright attentive to Alastor during the whole process. Lucifer had gone from actively trying to ignore him while he was around to constantly checking to see where he was. His shadow often caught Lucifer's staring more than once, and Alastor decided to not look back. He allowed Lucifer is pinning, and reacted favorably to his attentions. Nothing to noticeable, but when Lucifer would enter his space or grant him favor Alastor would make a point of brightly acknowledging him and allowing him to linger before moving on.

All while ignoring Husk's incredulous stare or Vagatha's distrustful glances.

At least Charlie was happy they weren't fighting.

Something Alastor found particularly interesting was the care in which Lucifer seemed to handling the construction of his radio tower. He's not sure if Lucifer knows that he knows he's putting in the extra effort, and he's decided that it doesn't really matter for now. It'll be more interesting to see if Lucifer admits to it later or leaves it as a silent gesture.

He could handle his own tower, really. Would prefer it if he were to be completely honest. That way he could make sure everything was up to his exact specifications. He would have made moves to change what Lucifer was doing if it wasn't for what he found the first time he went to quietly switch things around. A top of the line Western Electric recording console circa 1933. It was sleek, smooth, and right out Alastor's wet dreams. He had quietly left, touching nothing that Lucifer had done. Chest oddly tight and feeling weirdly giddy. He let Lucifer do what he wanted if the tower after that.

The finish product was worth the wait. The whole hotel was! He was wandering the halls admiring it because of just that. A bounce to his step and a little hum slipping between his bared teeth. (Admittedly a small part of his good mood was due to the Whisky in him. What man from the probation didn't have a bottle or two stashed away when the mood hit. And the celebratory mood had seemed the perfect time for the mood to hit.) He rounds the end of a hallway to walk towards the grand staircase – hand trailing along the banister as he did. He glances briefly over the railing to the occupants below.

Angel is sat at the bar, sharing some story with Husk who's refilling the spider demon's cup. Angel has his usual flirtatious tone, but there's a mad grin on his face that ruins the usual Angel Dust illusion. Husker snickers at whatever he's said. Charlie and Vaggie are chatting near by the shrine they've erected for their departed comrade. Charile offers a small wave to Cherri Bomb who seems to be just leaving out the front of the hotel as Alastor arrives. The woman had yet to fall to Charlie's pleading for her to live here at the Hazbin Hotel – but dropped by quite frequently to both visit Angel and, seemingly, pay her respects.

He can't see Nifty, but can hear her scuttling somewhere below with her charming murderous muttering about the bugs stupid enough to enter the newly renovated building. He half suspected that she was purposely luring them in to later hunt them down at this point – as the infestation problem was cut clean in half with the building untimely demolishment.

The Radio Demon turns to start down the stairs to join them. His hand leaves the banister to tuck his arm neatly behind his back. Twirl his repaired microphone in his free hand as he goes. The humming from his mouth is slowly joined by music begging to slowly filter it's way out of the cane in question.

It draws the attention of the occupants of the room to turn curious looks to the stairs. Just in time to see Alastor skip the last two steps with a little hop, accompanied with a small kick – flaring the arm hidden behind his back out as an unnecessary flourish to the movement. Crossing the space in a few long on beat strides to Charlie. Shoulders bouncing ever so slightly as he goes. The princess was alright lighting up despite her confusion – always the sucker for a musical number.

He reaches out to snag her by the elbow and on reflex Charlie grabs his own. He spins her once and then moves like she's spun him. She gets the idea quickly enough and after three turns they arrive at the couch. Alastor quickly let's go of his microphone so it drops to lean around the back of the seat before he grabs Charlie's other arm. The hand sliding from her elbow to grasp her hand. Showing her a kick or two. Bless the girl's musicality – before anyone knows it the two of them are jiving from foot to foot. Little kicks and spins. He keeps her dancing until she's beaming at him – then steers them back over to the Vaggie.

"Oh no," Vaggie starts, "I am not dancing with you."

Alastor pays her no mind, spinning Charlie away with one hand while grabbing Vagatha with the other so he can pull her in. Last second, he lets both of them go and ducks backward, sliding onto his back foot – literally bowing out of the dance. The two girls collide and Charlie quickly sweeps Vaggie away into a dance; not a single beat missed. The girl's much more willing to dance with Charlie then she is with him.

Reaching behind him he snag's Niffy out from under chair he's slid too. She giggles hysterically as she's caught and pulled into Alastor's arms so he can start spinning her around by her arms. She seems much more the fan at getting swung around – so he's more than happy to provide. He makes sure she's good or dizzy as he spins her across the lobby towards the bar and sets her loose on the bar top – where Husk quickly moves to grab a bottle before she knocks it off with her stumbling.

Angel laughing in disbelief asks, "Are you kidding me?"

"Not at all, my dear!"

Alastor swings his arm wide to offer a hand to Angel. The spider takes his hand in delighted disbelief and allows the demon to swings him off the bar stool. Alastor seizes him by the waist and grips his hand tight before twisting him into his fancy foot work. Twisting him lose now and again for Angel so the spider can add his own embellishments to his heart's content. Seemingly unconcerned even when Angel throws his hips around a little more than he absolutely needs to. He doesn't care at all – beaming at Angel as they dance. That was the nature of dance after all, where was the joy in it if you weren't using your whole body?

Angel laughs when he pulls him close for a series of quick steps, asking loudly, "Are you drunk?"

"Not yet," is his jovial reply.
 
Rebuilding the hotel had been a magical experience, both metaphorically and in practice. Lucifer could feel the bond with his daughter - and even her friends - increase as they sang and worked, happily collaborating and laboring on making the hotel better than it had ever been before. Of course the fallen angel had put forth everything he had, his pride shining brightly as he very theatrically flaunted his powers throughout the project. Undoubtedly his contribution served the greater purpose well, and his ego thrived, but... it was maybe a bit much, especially if one considered how much energy he'd expended healing Alastor, not to mention that he'd battled Adam just before.

By the end of it all he was absolutely exhausted. He wasn't accustomed to using his using his magic at such a level; outside of providing himself simple conveniences, like summoning instant snacks or conjuring comforts and duckies, he'd rather allowed his talents to sit dormant. Coming from his isolated lifestyle, as well, he found the social aspect of the endeavor was just as draining as the hit to his actual mana meter. When everyone was ready to re-enter the completed hotel, excited and awed by the greatness of it all, Lucifer was ready for a fucking nap.

"I'll be back," he promised Charlie lovingly as he returned the key to her care. His gaze couldn't help but drift towards Alastor shortly thereafter, a small grin lifting the corners of his lips as he considered just how anxious he was to return to him, as well. Attention snapping back to his daughter, he gloriously displayed his triple set of wings, the gust of a flutter enough to raise him just slightly above her height so that he could offer a dramatically-flourished kiss to her forehead. Exhausted, and yet still unable but to showoff. He was too tired to read in to what that might say about his character, instead focusing his attention on taking to the sky so that he might return to his castle for a bit of much needed recuperation.

He flew to the balcony of his personal chambers, a small flip of his wrist opening the double-doors that led to the interior. His wings disappeared the moment his feet touched the ground, and only now that he was out of sight of everyone did his weariness show upon his expression. A dozen steps in to the main room of his dwelling, a dismissive wave closed the doors behind him.


Thankfully, just a couple hours of sleep could work wonders. As Lucifer opened his eyes a smile was already upon his lips: he dared to allow a hopeful optimism - comparable to that of Charlie's - sway his expectations for the future. Rising from his bed he was actually excited to be awake, which... hadn't been the case for a loooong time. He wouldn't dwell on exactly how many countless years had been suffered and lost due to a complete disinterest, built upon a loathing of his circumstances / himself. The show must go on, right? There was nothing productive for Lucifer in the past. He had to move forward, just as he'd encouraged his daughter to do.

And forward was looking pretty good~

Lucifer sprung from his place of slumber, immediately set to a musical hum and subtle dancing as he made his way to his shower. He wanted to rush back over to the hotel, of course, but he also acknowledged that he was in need of a bit of self-care. ...He wasn't above admitting that he also wanted to smell nice and look pretty for his return, as well. Cleaning himself up, he considered his scent options: sandalwood, vetiver, spiced vanilla...cardamom? Who was he kidding: he was going to go with fresh apple. (If anyone asked his expert opinion in the matter, he'd say the scent was very much honeycrisp.) It was subtle, sweet, delicious: besides, apples were just kind of was his thing. (Right next to ducks.)

Deer like apples, he mused to himself with a chuckle. He was completely unbothered by the fact that many of his recent thoughts involved/revolved around the Radio Demon, and in the present moment he was rewarded with an adorable imagination of Alastor nibbling upon his neck. An odd thought to enjoy, given that the demon was a known to eat flesh, but as what seemed to be becoming a pattern Lucifer was willfully blind to any danger that might be associated with this particular love interest.

Stepping out of the hell-hot cascade of water, a billow of steam at his back, Lucifer felt like a new man. It was insane just how resetting a boiling shower could be. He toweled off in an unhurried fashion, still humming the song from before, letting his imagination to continue to roam. By the time he'd dried off and wandered to his wardrobe he'd already mentally dressed himself a dozen times, and as such he was sure of what it was he'd wear that evening. Much like how he hadn't touched a doorknob in...ever... a similar wave of his hand was sufficient to retrieve and magically cover his body in his chosen attire. He'd picked something similar to what he always wore, insofar as it was a suit and was primarily white -- but it differed in that it was nearly devoid of red, asides from a brilliantly vivid crimson silk tie. Currently he lacked for the jacket, his crisp white dress shirt covered only by a gold-embellished vest. The back panel of the garment was entirely gold, of the same material and color quality of his tie, and the front a particularly royal-looking jacquard pattern. Accessorized with his usual under-the-knee black leather heeled boots, apple-cane, and...

He had been admiring his own image in a full length mirror, a frown tugging at his smile as his gaze fell upon that golden band of his. He'd like to pretend that he simply forgot that he was wearing it, as if it wasn't a conscious decision to hold on to the bond he'd once shared with Lilith, but... He'd be a damned liar to claim any differently. In the spirit of moving forward, he was inspired to face reality.

Even if she ever came back, he couldn't take her back.

The thought was reflected with action, Lucifer very confidently removing the ring from his finger. He considered it for only a moment before tossing it casually in to the air, watching as the object shifted out of existence. Golden particles broke apart, swirling gracefully in a vortex before simply fading away. As if the moment hadn't been a monumental one, the fallen angel turned his attention back to his reflection, his upheld hand conveniently placed to execute a gesture that would dry and style his hair. He'd forego the hat this evening, he decided.


Lucifer arrived at the hotel, having added a white English Drape suit jacket with golden buttons and chain to his ensemble. He swung open the front doors with a wave of his hand, his smile widening at the sight to be found inside the lobby: there was dancing, there was music... there was a vibe of happiness and fun like he hadn't experienced since being cast out of Heaven. His precious Charlie was swinging around with her girlfriend, a musical laugh escaping her when the couple successfully pulled off a particularly challenging move together. The music and the style of dance being employed was decidedly from Alastor's living era, and in a visual sweep of the room the man was found easily enough.

The Radio Demon was always smiling, of course, but Lucifer couldn't help but imagine that it was brighter than usual -- just as, no doubt, was his mood. It was easy for the fallen angel to give himself credit: he certainly had brightened on oh-so-many levels since daring to kiss his rival. It would only make sense - and be very flattering - if Alastor was experiencing similar side-effects from their budding relationship. His own smile grew as he watched the graceful movements of the other man's body, barely even registering the existence his dance partner, and Lucifer was quick to decide to join in on the enjoyment. A back sweep of his hands closed the doors behind him, a roll of his shoulders slipping the material of his jacket from their purchase. The coat slid evenly down his arms, catching in an open hand. Tossing the garment aside, the article floated itself away and found itself somewhere to hang. The removal of the jacket revealed the underlaying dress shirt to be rolled above his elbows, showcasing the deeply dark black color of his hands and forearms. The gradient fade to white upon his flesh happened just beneath the bend of his arm, the 'grey zone' only covering a span of inches.

It was all too easy to feel the rhythm of the music, and as Lucifer approached the impromptu dancefloor his footfalls naturally synchronized with the tempo.
 
Alastor doesn't even notice him at first. Far too busy using Angel in a way that wasn't too unlike a whip. He does it in response to Angel making good-natured fun of his entertaining alcohol-fueled display - getting a sudden shriek of laughter from Angel. He's careful to brace his back when he pulls him back in so he doesn't tip, and when Angel tips his head back with another throw of laughter Alastor finally catches sight of him.

The deer demon's ears seemed to swivel in Lucifer's direction. Almost as if he needed to hear him coming as well as see him to confirm that he was there... Or, how even embarrassingly likely it is, is a subconscious reaction to being genuinely pleased to see him join the festivities. It's hard to imagine it being anything but the section option with the way his cheeks begin to hurt and his eyes brighten at the sight of prey.

Angel is abandoned without a second thought. Not that he was callous to the fellow. Oh no, he makes sure to deliver him directly into the arms of their bartender with a rather energetic spin. Allowing the man to work his magic in getting the grumpy man away from his bottle and onto the floor. Keeping the energy alive. Alastor is far too busy to look and see if Angel has any degree of success (he does, however reluctant Husk pretends to be). He seems to jive from foot to foot for just a moment - observing the way Lucifer's steps line up with the beat before he bounces his shoulders and struts his way forward a step or two. A hand already coming up to reach for Lucifer's hand with an expectation of acceptence.
 
His heart skipped a beat when Alastor's gaze met his: he saw an obvious brightening of those crimson orbs, a sure sign that he was happy to be in Lucifer's company again. In response, the fallen angel adopted a smile that reflected the one that had so utterly captivated his attention: matching the wideness of the demon's grin was a feat, even if it came so naturally to some. The blonde easily mirrored the demon's movements, as well, adjusting the bounce of his shoulders and the strut of his step as the distance between them closed.

Charlie had inherited her theatrics from him, after all, so while Lucifer didn't know this particular dance style at all he was overly confident that he'd master it quickly.

The expectation of acceptance was only natural given how Lucifer's eyes sparkled at the sight of the invitation. He reached out for Alastor, wrapping his fingers greedily around the offered hand with a widening of his already-impossibly-wide smile. Freestyling a spin, the fallen angel entangled himself in the Radio Demon's arms -- and he beams with delight as he is afforded the opportunity to be in close proximity to Alastor once again -- but then he spins away to stand at arm's length away. Besides his flamboyant introduction he allows the demon to lead their dance, enjoying himself so much that he freely laughs and simply radiates happiness as he does, indeed, quickly master proficiency of this specific art form.

While he might not have any reservations of Alastor's intentions in the matter, a couple of the onlookers certainly did. It was too early for either to try to say anything, much less try to intervene; but it was quite the scene to witness for those that were paying attention.
 
"Ha, Ha!"

His usual bark of laughter leaves him, bright and ready for broadcasting with the way it's overly pronounced in his transatlantic accent. It's something of a Victory cry to see Lucifer match his energy the second he lays eyes on him. It's always quite fun when someone matches his smile. It could mean any number of different things. A good fight. A stimulating conversation. Always a good time!

While a sad mopy King of Hell was unbelievably funny - Unrestrained Joy suited him quite well. Alastor wasn't sure if Lucifer was just built like that or if it was a trait belonging to all angels. It certainly had to be genetic. Charlie was quite the same. Though, he was coming to find she didn't wear it quite as well as her father did. Alastor did remember reading that Lucifer was supposed to be the most beautiful of God's angels. He could see it when he looked like this.

The next laugh that comes out of him is something a little surprised and a lot more genuine. Slipping out more than anything when he finds himself tickled pink by Lucifer spinning himself right into his arms and then right back out again. Escaping him just as he was in his clutches - like Alastor wasn't quite fast enough to get him. He's quick to slide bast Lucifer - lifting their clasped hands for Lucifer to do the same.

The laugh that he let out; the one so unlike the first, was the faintest hint of something. It's a true laugh. It's missing the hard H and forced A that come with overpronunciation. It's an involuntary thing - and there, just under the radio filter, is an accent. So small, so fleeting, that it's easy to miss. Whatever it is - it's not transatlantic. Either way, the sound is something truly joyous.

Alastor starts easily with Lucifer. Sticking to basic steps and turns, and when he catches on just as easily (if not easier) the Charlie he starts introducing more and more. It starts with him wanting to see if Lucifer can keep up. Morphs into genuinely wanting to teach Lucifer newer and more interesting moves. Before quickly tumbling directly into the territory of simply knowing Lucifer with follow - and indulging in the thrill of it.

"Why, If I didn't know better I'd say you've done this before!"

He speaks up, needing to. Even with the two of them so close, the others are laughing and going on and the music is still playing loud enough to fill the lobby. Alastor hadn't even realized he had allowed it to grow so loud. At some point, he must have stopped consciously paying attention to that in favor of seeing if he could get Lucifer to keep carrying on with that laugh of him.
 
Lucifer would freely admit that he loved Alastor's laugh, even when it was so obviously produced for the benefit of his audience. ...Hell, he even enjoyed it when it was blatantly β€Šforced, if only because the resentful 'ha, ha, ha' could be so easily associated with Lucifer getting under his skin.

But as he twirled himself in to Alastor's arms, the stunt enough to elicit a real laugh? The fallen angel felt an obscene level of satisfaction, as if the naturalness of the response gave some insight to how special he was to the demon. Their relationship was hardly developed, being only a single interrupted kiss in, but as the hopeless romantic he was - and being completely head over heels, himself - he believed it was possible that the Radio Demon already had some love for him. Or was smitten, at least? Either way, he was positively giddy at the prospect!

With that thought in mind, Lucifer's mood soared. His wanted to dazzle his dance partner: like a bird showing off their plumage and grace to a potential mate, he put in every ounce of effort he could muster in to the display. His attention was 100% focused on the Radio Demon, on his movements and recreating them, and - perhaps most importantly - on impressing him. It seemed that he was successful enough, with Alastor's remark giving him yet another reason to smile so brightly.

It wasn't beyond the fallen angel that the volume of the room had been steadily increasing, and the amplification of the music from Alastor's cane was interpreted as an increase in his passion for their dance -- as if the demon was willing to drown out all the rest of Hell so that he could enjoy his company. Lucifer was flattered, of course, and he'd like nothing more. Focused upon those crimson eyes as they continued to dance, he was entirely too willing to forget that Hell even existed.

...And...he might have actually forgotten whereabouts they were, right along with who was around, as at the conclusion of the song Lucifer was inspired to tenderly stroke the side of Alastor's face with a delicate and loving hand. His eyes sparkled even more so than when he'd received the invitation, whereas enchanted didn't even start to describe the look on his face.

"You dance wonderfully," he complimented Alastor with full sincerity. He looked dangerously close to following up with a kiss.
 
Alastor finds himself with his hand on Lucifer's back as the song itself comes to a close. A natural reaction to the other coming close after putting it there over and over for the last few minutes when leading Lucifer into what turns and tricks he wanted him to do next. It's like his muscle memory had kicked in; preparing for a second song that wasn't coming. It means he's in the prime position for Lucifer to reach his face.

Not that he knew Lucifer was going to reach for it. Lucifer had a not-quite-surprising warmth to his touch. The way his palm cups his cheek, briefly, feels vaguely reminiscent of something he can't quite place. And the way the pads of his fingers briefly brush across the base of his jaw has a subtle shiver pass down his back - not to unlike the way it had back in the destroyed remains of his tower. Lucifer completes the motion and Alastor goes ramrod straight at the realization he's shivered involuntarily to begin with (and in front of others at that).

Still, he's incredibly pleased despite it. Lucifer was forgetting himself already. The man seemed ready to be falling into Alastor's orbit beautifully. He hadn't been unaware of how hard Lucifer was trying to be impressive. He had put in an effort. He couldn't be sure how much of it was his naturally flamboyant nature and how much of it was to show Charlie that he was here to keep trying, but he knew for certain that the dancing had been for him. That was an effort dedicated completely to the goal of pleasing Alastor. That knowledge was almost as thrilling as the dancing itself had been.

"You're too kind."

He briefly considers tacking on a term of endearment but quickly disregards the idea. Lucifer looks very much like he's considering stealing what would be their third kiss - and Alastor hadn't decided to allow him that yet. He'd let him have it eventually. When it served Alastor best, he was more than willing to indulge Lucifer's desire. At the moment, however, there really wasn't all that much to gain from kissing him. It'd be a headache to deal with the fallout of letting him in front of everyone. In the same breath, it was still far too soon to turn him down. He'd like to King of Hell to believe he was just as impulsive when faced with the chance. He tilts his head, just enough to feel as if he's leaning into Lucifer's touch without looking at it. Softens his smile, and lets the surprise drain from his eyes.

All the while he silently sends his shadow on a quick errand. It zips around the room, keeping to the shadows itself. Staying underfoot and out of sight until it's able to reach out and jab Husk's shadow in the shin with a single sharp claw. Causing the man in question to feel the jab and give him its attention so it can quickly convey the orders it's been sent to deliver. Out of sight even with all the eyes in the room. The only other person who seems to notice is Angel, who murmurs to Husk that he didn't know Alastor could do that.

Husk clears his throat loudly, and Alastor lifts a hand to take the one on his face. Acting as if he's just come to himself but is playing it off. He steps back from Lucifer and bows over the hand he's holding like some gallant knight thanking a princess who's given him a sliver of attention. He offers Lucifer his signature grin as he does, "I've quite enjoyed myself."

He lets him go and reaches up to pull on his lapels to fix his jacket before strolling past the King to go retrieve his staff from where he's abandoned it in favor of the festivities. His shadow silently joined up with him as he went - acting as if it had never left his side at all.
 
It was the second time Lucifer felt a tremor from the demon. The first time, he'd tried to ignore it: he'd been uncertain as to what it β€Šmeant. They hadn't kissed yet, and the fallen angel had wondered at the time if the shiver was thinly veiled repulsion -- though this time he was entirely certain that the tremble was based in pleasure. It was enough to encourage his notion of rising onto his toes to kiss the taller man, but a sudden straightening of Alastor's posture made the endeavor a literal β€Šclimb.

The Radio Demon looked... surprised? Or maybe caught off guard? ...Was Lucifer not supposed to kiss him?

The verbal response - and the stress on the word 'β€Štoo' - was a very easily read. It suddenly occurred to the fallen angel that they were in public. A proper gentleman from Alastor's era probably found public displays of affection distasteful, right? ...Lucifer had no such reservations, so much so that he felt a bit silly for the way he'd leapt away from their last kiss when Charlie's approach startled him. Probably it was better if they didn’t flaunt their relationship in front of his daughter, anyway -- to shield her from whatever fallout there might be if things didn't work out.

Even as he felt like he'd been softly rebuked for his forwardness in public, his companion gently tilted his head in to the press of Lucifer's hand. Undoubtedly it was his reassurance, Alastor's wordless comfort. Silent as it was, the gesture was received as: later.

Husk cleared his throat and it seemed to bring Lucifer - and the Radio Demon - more firmly in to reality. Alastor reached for his touch, his palm pressed against the back of the fallen angel's hand just moments before his fingers worked to gently pry the hold away from the side of his face. The demon smoothly coupled the extraction with a step back, allowing room for him to bow as he spoke of how he enjoyed himself.

"Me too," Lucifer responded hazily. He felt like he was waking from a dream, their surroundings slowly taking form around him. Even so, his attention lingered on Alastor, up until the very moment that the demon took his hand away and set to straightening his jacket.

...

"Charlie!" Lucifer cries out suddenly, pivoting to face his daughter and her girlfriend. His approach is accompanied by a continuation of him speaking. "I have to say: I'm quite impressed," his smile beamed with pride. "Must've inherited some of daddy's dancing skill, eh?"

"Ah-ha, yeah..." Charlie responded with a sheepish smile.

"And you!" Lucifer turned his attention to Vaggie, motioning an open hand towards her as if there might be any confusion as to whom he was speaking now. "You're a remarkable dancer, as well! And you make an awfully cute couple with the little lady here," he elbow nudged his daughter to further solidify his approval.

"Thank you, sir," Vaggie responded with a pleased smile on her lips. The two women were inspired by the remark to interlace their fingers as they offered each other a loving glance.

Lucifer's gaze couldn't help but drift down to the union of their hands. It was super sweet, and he was truly happy for them -- but it also made his heart yearn for such affections. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd held hands with someone... It had probably been with Charlie rather than her mother, which of course wasn't even romantic.

"A drink!" he suggested suddenly. "To celebrate our victory," he justified as he hooked an arm around Charlie's shoulders, leading her and her partner towards the bar.

Husker didn't look particularly interested in the patrons. Still, he watched and waited for their orders so he could begrudgingly serve them.

Lucifer asked for a vodka redbull, Charlie a Shirley Temple (even after her father pointed out there was no alcohol in that particular drink), and Vaggie a short pour of red wine.

"How did you two meet?" Lucifer asked as Husker prepared their order. He propped his elbow upon the bar, resting his chin on his loosely curled fist, clearly very attentive to the story his daughter was about to tell.

...Or mostly so, at least. Even as he employed the best of his active listening skills, he found some of his mind was still otherwise occupied. He had the restraint to keep his gaze from wandering but his peripheral vision was focused on red -- despite this, Lucifer was able to keep up appearances in his conversation. The need for him to speak wasn't much between the ladies fondly reminiscing, but still he offered happy little remarks, smiles, and laughs in response to their story.

Husker delivered their order just as Charlie and Vaggie were finishing up, allowing a perfect opportunity for Lucifer to put another task upon the former overlord. "Could we also get another of whatever it is Alastor is drinking?" The bartender looked at least a tad annoyed at this request. "Please? And thank you!" Lucifer followed up in a sing-song sort of fashion. The drink was easily made and handed over, Lucifer eagerly collecting the glass.

Hoisting the drink in the air, he hailed for the Radio Demon. "Alastor! Come, join us for a drink~"
 
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Alastor had planned on returning to the second floor of the lobby now that he had gotten the mood lively - having worked off his own pleasant buzz. There was no reason to hang around down among the rest of them when a higher perch would grant him a better vantage point to watch them all. He didn't have any real work to get up to at the moment and with spirits so high it made for excellent watching. When he had first come to the Hotel he had been under the belief that the rag-tag group of wayward demons and sinners were at their most amusing when they were in distress or disarray. The time he spends with them all, however, has proven that fact to not always be completely true. The plucky cast of characters had their own certain charms that could only truly be observed when they were all in higher spirits. Charms that could prove just as entertaining as their ever-so-fascinating spirals of despair.

He makes his way to the bottom of the stairs and rests a hand on the bottom post as he means to climb. His accent pauses before it can begin as he hears a question that catches his interest. How did Charlie meet their lovely angel Vagatha? He hums and turns to lean a hip against the railing - both hands resting on top of the microphone handle of his cane - keeping close to listen to the following conversation. The answer isn't exactly what he had been imagining, but was still close enough to it that his passing curiosity is sated. He didn't much care about the more jovial asides beyond the initial story of their meeting.

He's glad he's stayed close enough to hear them because he's able to overhear a delightful if not brief exchange between Husk and Lucifer. The King asks for a hit of Alastor's preferred poison and gets a blank stare from the bartender in question. Followed by a delightful under-his-breath grumble of "You have got to be kidding me" as the previous overlord quickly pours a few fingers of whisky into a glass. Not up to Alastor's usual standard - but not much behind the bar actually was.

The drinks lifted in his direction and he allowed himself to be summoned by it. Slinking over to join the group at the bar without a word of complaint. He feels cheeky as he draws closer. Emboldened, perhaps, by the fact that he's being beckoned for even as the man is actively spending time with his daughter. He makes the quick decision to reward the behavior - even if he'd rejected public displays of his newfound affection for Alastor. He's simply too thrilled by the rapid progression of this particular gamble. Lying there in his ruined tower he hadn't dreamed of such hastily developed attachments.

He brushes his fingers over Lucifer's wrist as he reaches out to take the drink from him. He dangles the drink precariously from his fingers as he gently swirls the amber liquid in the glass. All the while he lets himself slide into Lucifer's space, letting his hip press into the bar in favor of sliding onto a bar stool. He had briefly considered sitting himself in Lucifer's lap if the shock factor of it - but had quickly mentally waved that idea away with amusement. Coming to the conclusion that standing close enough that Lucifer had to crane his neck to look up at him was the better option.

"I suppose one more wouldn't hurt. What are we discussing over here? Hm?"

Charlie seems to brighten up at his arrival, while Vaggie seems a little put off by his presence. Perfect.
 
"Oh, we were just telling dad some stories," Charlie answered earnestly as always. Her already brightened mood bubbled to the brim of bursting as she looked between Alastor and her father. "It's so great to see you guys getting along," she spoke with the sincerest happiness.

Her level of happy, however, couldn't compare to Lucifer's in that moment. Upon the flesh of his wrist lingered a blissful tingle, a phantom of Alastor's touch. He was utterly captivated by it. The Radio Demon had willingly initiated physical contact with him: and while his marveling might be in part from his desperate romanticism, there remained the undeniable fact that Alastor simply did not touch. He seemed to be above making contact with others. At their first meeting, the demon had shook Lucifer's cane, and had even been so brazen as to wipe his hand afterwards. To have him so teasingly trail his fingertips over Lucifer's skin was...

Fuck.

He felt drunk and he'd yet to take a sip of his drink. Alastor was goddamned intoxicating and Lucifer was all too willing to drink it up. "Cheers to getting along," Lucifer offered, lifting his drink. His smile was downright stupid, in that it was entirely obvious exactly what he was feeling in that moment. That whole heart-on-the-sleeve thing, you know.

Charlie was quick to clink her glass, and there remained a space for Alastor to join in their toast. Vaggie, however, had a somewhat horrified expression upon her face and was unable or unwilling to participate in the cheers. Her gaze flitted from Lucifer, to Alastor, back to Lucifer... down to fallen angel's hand, where she was certain there had been a ring before. It had seemed odd, earlier, when the dynamic between them had suddenly shifted to friendly, and the dancing had seemed totally out-of-place, but this...

There was nothing she could do to stop it, she knew. Certainly, she didn't hold her tongue out of regard for Alastor: while she rightfully feared him, she certainly did not cower in the demon's presence. ...Lucifer, however? There was no fear of him, certainly, but there was a lot of respect. Too much respect for her to tell him that he was making a big fucking mistake in his choice of love interest, being that she knew him not at all. ...Maybe...through Charlie...she could try to intervene?

Not even a bit aware of his company's concern, the King of Hell happily cheered with his family and had a deep drink of his poison of choice. "Mmm!" he exclaimed as he swallowed. "Speaking of getting along..." he shifted his focus upon Alastor, looking up from his seated position at the demon that loomed so closely to his shoulder. "I have a gift for you~" he spoke with an overwhelming fondness.

Charlie couldn't help but coo softly in the background.

"Adam's corpse," the fallen angel spoke the words with a regal grace and proper honor that should be associated with such a trophy, "is yours."
 
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Alastor offered Charlie his vague smile in her direction as she answered. He's paying half as much attention to her as he is to Lucifer; keeping him at the bottom of his gaze even as he seemingly turns his attention onto Charlie. Cataloging each contented blink, fluttering lashes, and every inch of the man's unabashed smile. He even committed the faint color splayed along his cheeks to memory. It makes a pretty enough backdrop for the red splotches permanently marking the apples of his cheeks.

His radio-filtered voice crackles with a sudden laugh, "Getting along, my dear? I wasn't aware we weren't! What's a little harmless competition between new friends, hm? Why I'd say we were just having a bit of good old-fashioned fun. Wouldn't you?"

He directs the question down at Lucifer, tilting his head to face him fully. Getting to see Lucifer's smile in its entirety, and oh... what a smile it is. It's a wide vulnerable thing. Open and unguarded. It's not brandished like a weapon or a shield. It's almost pathetic. This stupid, joyish thing. Large and boyish, and completely out of place in hell: An idiotic love-struck thing. It's a lovely smile. A compliment sits on the tip of Alastor's tongue - unspoken.

"Still," Alastor lifts a hand to splay it between Lucifer's shoulder blades, leaning into his spare as he holds out his glass, "to getting along."

Lucifer's shoulder presses into his sternum as he does since Alastor shows no reservation about crowding into Lucifer's space to make sure his glass can reach theirs. Letting the cups make that satisfying clinking sound as he sweeps his thumb mindlessly over the fabric of Lucifer's clothing. Pulling back to take a measured sip of his cup - hand remaining inconspicuously on Lucifer's back. Offering Husk a quick look over the lip of his glass.

Husk quickly rips his gaze down and away from where he was looking blankly at Alastor. Having stared down the demon during absolutely every second of the exchange. Mimicking Vaggie in the way he had looked from Lucifer to Alastor, and then back to Lucifer. Before finally zeroing in on the way Alastor had openly pressed against the king of hell. He saw what was happening here and was going to quickly drown any memory of it in the closest bottle of booze. Reaching under the bar to grab a bottle of whiskey, he does exactly that.

He turns his attention back to Lucifer as he sense the man's attention coming back to him in turn. A curious, indulging smile as the man spoke of some kind of gift for Alastor. With how bust they had all been after the battle he couldn't think of a single thing that the other man could have had time to scrounge up, let alone think up, between then and now. Still, he wasn't exactly going to turn it away without hearing what it was.

He cocks his head to the side, silently questioning him.

Angel, still close by (hanging around both the bar and Husk), winces at the mention of a corpse. Charlie's cooing face shifts into something a little more horrified. Nifty suddenly pops her eye up over the counter to stare at Lucifer as she giggles unhinged, and Husk reaches over to shove her back down and out from behind his bar. None of this is important to Alastor who's frozen where he is. Smiling at Lucifer.

Adam's Corpse...

Alastor sets down his glass and brings a hand to cover his mouth in an exaggerated display of shock, "Oh my!"

An odd ballon of emotion in his chest accompanying the undeniable pleasure at being offered such a boon. Really, he should be angry that Lucifer deems himself the one who makes the calls of the fallen Adam. He hadn't even dealt the final blow! Sure, he helped soften him up - stepped in where Alastor stepped out, but it was Nifty who held claim to the kill. And, seeing as Nifty was practically his, did that not make the kills something that also belonged to him? Still, he can't can't deny Lucifer's part in this. He tries to be angry with him, but he can't quite manage to stir up the negativity properly. He's far too busy being flattered.

"That is quite the grand gift. I'll have to find some way to thank you."
 
"Think nothing of it," Lucifer reflected the demon's words from earlier. His adorably sly smile made it obvious that he considered it some sort of inside reference between him and Alastor, which was obviously proof of bonding. There was supporting evidence, after all, given the Radio Demon's closeness to him, the placement of his hand upon his back -- the brush of his thumb as they'd cheered their drinks. Oh yeah, he bought in to it all.

Vaggie's expression had shifted from horrified to uncomfortable. Charlie was still mortified by the macabre of the corpse gift.

Lucifer's attention lingered on the demon but he eventually returned his gaze to his daughter. "He's a cannibal, you know," Lucfier offered, as if the fact made the gift less inappropriate than Charlie was acting like it was. Certainly, one could only dream to feast upon the first man, right? It was a delicacy.

"I know he's a cannibal, dad, that's just --" She couldn't call it gross could she? She was grateful to her small army of cannibals, so it would be not only be rude but also --

Vaggie placed a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Oh hey, speaking of gifts, I have one for you, too!" she presented excitedly. "...Not on me, though."

"Oh?" Charlie mirrored her partner's excitement, all too willing to escape the previous conversation.

"Yeah," her girlfriend insisted. She took the woman's hand as she rose from her bar stool. "It's been great, guys," she lied but smiled all the same. "But it's late - and it's been a long day... I think we're gonna call it."

"It has been great!" Lucifer agreed. "Have a wonderful night, ladies!"

Charlie said her goodbyes as she was promisingly led away by her girlfriend. Besides her most recent predicament brought on by the whole cannibalism-is-gross bias she was completely unaware that they were excusing themselves from any other concerning behavior. It was simply a reasonable time to go to bed. And to get a present! ...Assuming Vaggie didn't make it up in order to so smoothly segue out of their previous engagement, which was totally possible... Whatever the case, it was a win all the same.

Lucifer was all too happy to turn his attention directly back to Alastor in the wake of his daughter's departure. He turned on his seat, the demon's exact proximity seeming all the more close as he stood so near his chest rather than his back. The fallen angel gazed upwards, a smile coming to his lips. "It's not late, is it?" he asked in a rhetorical fashion, as he didn't leave room for a response. "...How would you like to see Morningstar Castle?"
 
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