[ As the throng of give-me's conveniently thins, Lucifer looks around for the reason. He doesn't see Alastor and his whatever — must've gone to a room in the back when he was busy with the crowd. His eyes stop on the hulking monstrosity of the shadow spread across the wall and stretching the floor. Even with a lack of a third dimension, it's very obviously hunching over him, glowering and growling — almost protectively, Lucifer might have said, if the shadow belonged to anyone but Alastor. Huh. So Alastor's shadow is useful after all. Certainly more useful than the man himself. He won't complain about having a companion without compunctions in clearing away the crowd. Already, Lucifer's feeling his shoulders relax, his breath coming a little easier. He hadn't even noticed how tense he'd become until there's only him and the shadow left in a wide ring marked out by its grasping, razor claws.
He can't figure out why the shadow has decided to lend a hand. Why Alastor would, for all that the shadow often seems like it has a mind of its own. The reason certainly isn't out of the goodness of Alastor's rotted, dead heart, and try as he might, nothing else comes to mind. Lucifer's about to try asking the shadow when that nails on chalkboard scream interrupts him — and makes the reason exceedingly clear.
As soon as he sees the bite taken right out of the demon's side, Lucifer knows what's happening. This is just dinner. Dinner and a show, though, very deliberately. Well, when offered the evening's entertainment, who is he to turn it down?
A wave of his hand and Lucifer has one of those fruity drinks with the little umbrellas that he likes so much. He kicks back in his chair and sips as the melodrama plays out. It's all very exciting. Excellent effect, that whole gaggle of chains even if Lucifer finds the whole contracting souls deal gauche. He'll give Alastor his due, the man does know how to stage a scene.
The question really is why. Why the production? The shadow isn't any help, too busy cackling where it's still being his now considerably littler buddy.
There's no doubt Alastor could have kept the whole thing from playing out. He hasn't had any trouble with his previous entrees escaping, let alone going to the trouble of making sure there was a clear warning for someone to see. That someone isn't him, for all that Alastor's shadow made sure he had a front row seat.
He glances at the shadow. Swirls the umbrella in his cocktail before tapping it against the glass, dropping it on the table, and downing the rest of his drink. The glass clicks as he sets it on the table and stands. ]
I take it you're the invitation to the private part of the show.
[ Not a question. There's no other reason for the shadow to still be with him — and Alastor wouldn't have gone to the trouble of making sure he could see the first half if he didn't want Lucifer at the second. For some reason. For once, Lucifer finds himself more curious than dreading what he'll see as he walks with the shadow through the parting crowd — nice touch, that — and follows the trail of blood into the room where Alastor's waiting. ]
no subject
He can't figure out why the shadow has decided to lend a hand. Why Alastor would, for all that the shadow often seems like it has a mind of its own. The reason certainly isn't out of the goodness of Alastor's rotted, dead heart, and try as he might, nothing else comes to mind. Lucifer's about to try asking the shadow when that nails on chalkboard scream interrupts him — and makes the reason exceedingly clear.
As soon as he sees the bite taken right out of the demon's side, Lucifer knows what's happening. This is just dinner. Dinner and a show, though, very deliberately. Well, when offered the evening's entertainment, who is he to turn it down?
A wave of his hand and Lucifer has one of those fruity drinks with the little umbrellas that he likes so much. He kicks back in his chair and sips as the melodrama plays out. It's all very exciting. Excellent effect, that whole gaggle of chains even if Lucifer finds the whole contracting souls deal gauche. He'll give Alastor his due, the man does know how to stage a scene.
The question really is why. Why the production? The shadow isn't any help, too busy cackling where it's still being his now considerably littler buddy.
There's no doubt Alastor could have kept the whole thing from playing out. He hasn't had any trouble with his previous entrees escaping, let alone going to the trouble of making sure there was a clear warning for someone to see. That someone isn't him, for all that Alastor's shadow made sure he had a front row seat.
He glances at the shadow. Swirls the umbrella in his cocktail before tapping it against the glass, dropping it on the table, and downing the rest of his drink. The glass clicks as he sets it on the table and stands. ]
I take it you're the invitation to the private part of the show.
[ Not a question. There's no other reason for the shadow to still be with him — and Alastor wouldn't have gone to the trouble of making sure he could see the first half if he didn't want Lucifer at the second. For some reason. For once, Lucifer finds himself more curious than dreading what he'll see as he walks with the shadow through the parting crowd — nice touch, that — and follows the trail of blood into the room where Alastor's waiting. ]