[ What. What. Lucifer's no Vox, but he's certainly experience a BSOD. With his jaw held firmly in Alastor's hand and a spoonful of soup shoved into his mouth, he has no choice but to freeze up, deer in headlights, before the sheer mind-blanking force of his outrage wears off. He glares at Alastor, doing his very best to murder the demon with sheer will. It doesn't work, and he finally has to give in and swallow.
Fuck his immortal life, the soup's actually good. ]
You earned it. By being more powerful than the rest of the rabble. [ Mumbled around the spoon, but still flatly. And ignoring how he wants more soup. ] Isn't that the pot calling?
[ He has no problem admitting that Alastor's powerful — for an overlord. And damnit, he really wants more soup. ]
no subject
Fuck his immortal life, the soup's actually good. ]
You earned it. By being more powerful than the rest of the rabble. [ Mumbled around the spoon, but still flatly. And ignoring how he wants more soup. ] Isn't that the pot calling?
[ He has no problem admitting that Alastor's powerful — for an overlord. And damnit, he really wants more soup. ]