Alterations and Adjustments

A/N: Goes with Preamble collection on AO3 (time in LA before show). Darker, delvier than the others so far.

[ - ]

"Nice, my lord. Suits you." She giggled a little bit at her own attempt at this 'humor'; a harmlessly appealing new addition to her longstanding forms of amusement. So far she preferred physical absurdity like the slapstick Three Stooges or even Tom and Jerry, but as Lucifer liked wordplay she was trying that out as well.

The whiplashed looks launched off the carpeted dais from both the man kneeling with a tape measure and the one standing in the piecemeal of couture Armani were exactly the same: bemused shock. The first ripened into wider-eyed awe as he took in the 'so?' expression on the striking (literally when necessary) woman wearing a lot of attitude and some leather – and not much else. The tape measure rolled away from his hand; a lolling dangle of a cartoonish tongue. Maze nearly laughed aloud as she thought of the appropriate sound effect to accompany – "Aaa-OOO-gah!". Yes, old-school animations before the days of pabulum PC were much more fun indeed. Her joy dimmed when she saw Lucifer's rebuking expression. The Devil had pursed his lip, dropped his chin and glared. If he'd said it twice, he'd said it once too many times...

She narrowed her eyes. Fine then. By her estimation both of them deserved a cream pie in the puss. Not the fun kind. Go Moe.

"Oh, she's just gone coloring outside the lines with some role-play," Lucifer wiggled long fingers and swept his arm up and down in front of Maze's outfit "…as you can likely surmise by her options for dress. All fine; never you mind. Keep on."

Casting a reproachful side-eye at her.

"Whatever." She was powerful in her own right. Addressing him as 'My Lord' wasn't a slight to her at all. He *was* a lord, of their Hell and he most certainly was hers. To protect, placate and apparently entertain on field trips. Often, now.

And he was a real idiot sometimes as well. Especially with these creatures.

Who cares what they thought? It's not as if their opinions or misplaced ideas of permanent control over their existences lasted long anyway. Mortals and their fallible follies - hmph.

Mazikeen crossed her arms and waited impatiently as the wizened man finished pinning the cuffs and inseam on Lucifer's new trousers and sent him back to change. In the brief time that took she'd made the clerk decidedly more uncomfortable by staring unblinkingly at him, and then tried smiling instead just to see what would happen. By the respondent hard swallow stuttering down that turkey neck of his, her grin was probably more threatening. Ugh, amusing though this was, she found perceived weakness to be repugnant.

'And bor-ing', she singsonged to herself, taking a page from her boss.

Maze steeped her icy glance in warm irritation as Lucifer returned, squandering time both time and money soothing the man with cool words and cooler cash in making arrangements for his final fitting. He beat a hasty exit from the shop pushing her by the small of her back; yet another place on Rodeo Drive his demon would find herself unwelcome.

Not that she cared, overmuch.

She slipped an arm through his as they walked, scraping lacquered nails over the luscious material of his sleeve. "Why are you even bothering with human clothing when you can manifest something this…toothsome so easily?" She bit him on the shoulder, deliberately ignoring the option of discretion.

Laughing, he shrugged her off. "Because Maze, that's not what I'm about now! Already bad enough the higher-end shop tailors get crossed eyes when they touch it; can't hide a good whim and wish blend. Besides, I like this," gesturing at the pomp and circumstance of well-dressed and coiffed people throwing money to quench the fire of their underlying psychosis, "…this sort of hustle and bustle is fun! And I want to be properly recognized as the best of their best. IN their best. So…indulge me, won't you?"

"I AM." She grumbled here, but found herself reluctantly smiling as he purred in her ear. It derailed completely into a grimace at his next suggestion.

"Feh, NO. Bored enough already this morning. So for that, Lucifer my lord, you're on your own. If I wanted to see what these humans could come up with I'd be part of the process. I'd get more out of it. Actually…" here she tapped her shining teeth with a long nail, looking delectably diabolical, "…not a bad way to spend an afternoon. I'll see you for dinner. I'm sure I'll have worked up an appetite by then. Ta darling!"

Blowing a haughty air kiss with her last mock of his accent (that she still found a slightly silly affectation), he watched her saunter off, pulling his grin wider as he enjoyed the parting shot of a deliberately provocative leather-clad swagger. Men and women scrambled slightly to move out of her way, perhaps sensing her feral danger…but by the looks of appreciation eddied in her wake it seemed these creatures did find his demon to be singularly interesting.

If they only knew.

He shook his head with a soft chuckle, spinning on the arterially red heel of his Louboutin and raising one hand to hail his driver. As he watch the car approach he grumbled a bit to himself, wanting a toy of his own. Hmm. He was reveling in the independence from his more ghastly responsibilities; why not more of it in pursuit of some fun? As Lucifer settled himself in and let his eyes adjust from the dazzle of sunshine to the cool interior of the car he thought, 'Yes…a little staid for my liking, this antiseptic bubble. This world feels more real when one's better a part of it.' He was jostled from his thoughts by the voice through the slider.

"Where to now, sir?"

"5905 Wilshire."

"The Art Museum?"

"Exactly."

As his driver navigated the snarls of LA Lucifer idly observed the hustle and flow of people and vehicle outside his tinted window. Swirling eddies of both glutted the streets and sidewalks like schools of fish or flocks of birds; strange there weren't more collisions. Benefits of instinctual groupthink he supposed; so very odd and even vaguely repugnant. He felt alienated behind the glass even though the estrangement from his environment was thin. Like Hell, this was. Separated from them by the specific constructs of the souls he honed, proximity had very little to do with reciprocal interaction. For all their errant thoughts on the matter, most humans - if they considered it at all - thought Hell to be a storm of violent noise…shrieks and wails of the damned blah, blah, blah, et cetera. And they could not be more wrong. The rictus of malevolent hush was one of the worst aspects of punishment his father could have dealt; not simply the noxiousness of the actual work needing done, but foisting upon such as him this degree of personal isolation in doing it. And the deep wallow of silence…nothing like it anywhere else in creation, and barely any relief. He interacted with very few of the denizens other than Maze, and even so, fulfillment of their roles meant long gaps in contact. And as much as he was enjoying the physicality and copious contiguity of this earthly plane it was sometimes still a bit overwhelming after all that solitary barrenness. However, still and for now, that alteration remained his preference. Under his own control for a welcome change, this adjustment was. The car slowed down and as the driver parked Lucifer wrested himself from his thoughts – good. More than enough of that. Too much introspection brought an unwelcomely eerie reminder of some of the reasons behind his final drive to escape.

Happy to be once more striding along in the flux of people and sensation he wandered around a bit outside before a colorful display caught his eye…hmm, wasn't this interesting? Reading the placard outside the Pavilion he felt the edges of his mouth lift, raising the curtain on an approvingly toothy smile.

Eye for the Sensual: Selections from the Resnick Collection

Well that sounded promising. Let's see now…

While particularly famous for its important eighteenth-century French paintings—including works by François Boucher, Élisabeth-Louise Vigée-Lebrun, Jean-Honoré Fragonard—the Resnick collection also includes a variety of other European works by artists including Peter Paul Rubens, Francesco Guardi and Henri Lehman, as well as a rare religious composition by Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres.

He sniggered somewhat on the last, figuring family portraiture would be the least likely portion of the exhibit to hold his interest. Squander his time ogling those insipid bastards? Not bloody likely. He read further.

The exhibition also reflects the Resnicks' passion for sculpture, for example in works by Clodion, Jean-Antoine Houdon, and Nicolas-Sébastien Adam, among others.

Mmmm. Three-dimensional appreciation: now this he could get behind. As he had recently, although in different settings as well as states of dress. He chuckled a bit, thinking. Lost in warm, wistful daydreams he meandered down the light-quenched space, enjoying himself. They could be so creative, these creatures of his Father's…for good or ill in equal measure, it seemed. Peeking around surreptitiously before acting, he skimmed an inquisitive fingertip over the coldly pert nipple of the woman in Faune Pleurant, rather hoping Maze wouldn't wear herself out completely before evening.

"Sir? Sir! You're not supposed to handle the art!"

Lucifer rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, being fairly certain the terracotta lady did not mind seeing as she'd been in this state for quite some time with no quarter given. "I see. Well. Are you offering me an alternative, then?" He turned to face this spoiler of fun and the mischievous trace of his smile lines deepened. Oooh, some entertainment to be had here….

His accuser was tall, seemed a strange combination of accidently beautiful and awkwardly lanky and it seemed as if said awkwardness had a hold on her elsewhere as well. He took in her look of unconscious appraisement and smiled more broadly, preening as he did.

"Like what you see? Go on then, you can touch. I've few of the objections you seem to think the art has."

The complex reaction of flush and stammer amused him further. Humans indeed seemed simply variations of storms in teacups within their mortal state.

"I'm – I'm in a relationship!"

"Not a satisfactorily satiating one it would seem; at least not by that hungry glance. Unless you and your anemic playmate have some sort of agreement – good on you both then; many of you simply pine away in quiet desperation it seems."

The woman felt her blush deepen, knowing that she was involuntarily looking over him once again.

"Dearie me, such a conundrum for you, is it? I frankly don't understand – oh, not just you. And not just this." He tossed an elegant hand back and forth between his chest and hers, smiling more as he watched her inch closer, apparently unaware of the fact that it was her body betraying her, not her convictions. "Many here seem to be caught in the same fix. Why? Who's the injured party if you let yourself enjoy your time here more completely, hey?" He took in the darkening of the blue eyes behind her hornrims at his emphasis of the word 'enjoy'. He'd not done it purposefully; he was simply expressive but this was something he'd begun to notice…the human response to his voice when he was intent on something. 'A rough little nugget to polish later', Lucifer mused.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" The woman's bony hands fluttered; naked broken birds flickering over her dowdy slacks, then her shapeless blazer with slightly skewed nametag and finally alighting on her chained glasses. She removed them to wipe the clouded lenses with a crumpled tissue from her side pocket, looking for a way to settle herself. What a strange man! And what a stranger reaction she was having to him! Her girlfriend would be appalled; not that she'd ever tell.

"Oh no, darling. Allow me. You should at least see clearly what you're refusing." Lucifer stepped right into her personal space (ridiculous concept that, when considered from a quantum level) and held one hand over hers as he polished the lenses with his linen Giovanni pocket square. Holding the temples of her glasses gently he gave her astonished baby blues a long look before delicately replacing them on her face. "Lovely eyes, those are. Judiciously 'come hither' with a hint of shrewdness. You should perhaps consider contacts." He let his tongue slip along the side of his mouth and watched her lean in closer, having no intentions other than simple curiosity about what she might be harboring behind the prim exterior. A raucous noise shattering through the entrance disrupted the reverie and Lucifer looked over her shoulder in annoyance as she spun around. Bloody hell, really?

"Oh! My two o'clock tour is here." 'And just in the nick of time' was the follow-up thought erupting from somewhere north of her weak knees.

"What, you need to deal with those? Whyever for?" Lucifer eyed the approaching gaggle of third-graders and haggard-looking teacher caught in their wake with genuine malevolence. It was the first time he'd seen children herded together in this way, and he wasn't impressed. Repulsed, even. En masse, they reminded him of sniveling little demons; nasty and detrimental to his peace of mind. If he was going to be thwarted by personal will that was one thing. Being shunted off due to this untidy riot was quite another. 'Loathsome', he thought, shuddering.

"It's my job, Mr…?"

"Morningstar." He sighed. The woman was clearly collecting herself and girding her mental loins in advance of this unwelcome invasion. Opportunity, like Paradise, lost for the moment. He sighed again, but then recovering some of his earlier aplomb he leaned to kiss her hand, better appreciating the breast and fluttering heart underneath her nametag by searing his gaze through it. Making certain she could feel the heat of it as he looked up – yes, lovely that responsive flush on her skin was. "Pleasure to 'barely meet' you, Abigail, is it? Though I confess, I'd have rather seen you more…bare. Another time, perhaps."

She giggled despite herself, and the soft wisp of 'morningstar' crossed her lips with the same breathy laugh.

He smiled at her, then trialed his earlier thought. "Yes. Lucifer." With the intention of provocation snaking as a conduit through his voice, yes, she did indeed react, simpering. Very interesting…have to play more with that.

But not here and certainly not now what with the infestation of these mood-pirates. Ugh. He now found himself surrounded by the mob of unruly, fidgety, likely filthy children and could not extricate himself quickly enough. With nary a backwards glance he swept out, contemplative mood disrupted by their shrilly nattering yaps. Despite the distractions he still felt vaguely unsettled and after a brief conversation with his waiting driver he dismissed the man to embark on the long walk back the loft he shared with Maze.

Hands in pockets he whiled away time as he strolled, observing everything. He had near-insatiable curiosity and it had gotten him into trouble more often than not, but who was he to question his own design, although that courtesy was not paid as a matter of course to the designer. Feh. He gave himself a slight shake, longing to be eventually free in mind as he was in body at the moment. His sensitive ears pricked and as almost always, he followed his whims. Down a long block and a quick jaunt across the street…ah. There.

He looked up at the sign before stepping closer to the thick plate glass of the large display window. Steinway Piano Gallery, eh? The harsh gleam from the white building and angle of sun prevented him from seeing inside until he came close enough for the shadow of his body to blunt the glare. Well then. There we are now. Lucifer resisted the urge to cup his hands around his eyes and press his nose to the pane.

Seated with his back to the street outside, a tall man with graceful arms and elegant fingers was playing one of the pianos. He had dark blond hair pared in a disconnected undercut, was dressed in a tastefully understated steel grey suit and with lissome movements he was pulling magic from the keys. Beautiful. The music as well as the man. Drawn by both, Lucifer watched unobtrusively for a few moments before entering.

The human must have realized he was there, but still took a slightly-longer-than-custom-for-waiting-customer hesitation before finishing and looking up. The sigh was barely audible, but it amused Lucifer nonetheless: the broker been enjoying himself and resented the disturbance. Cheeky. And marvelous…. As the man rose to greet him, the Devil saw the suit matched the grey eyes that raked him with mild appraisement. He was but a whisper shorter and his build was more solid than Lucifer's own, but held lightness and grace within the form. Marvelous again.

"My apologies for any offense in your wait. Been a trying day and I was taking a moment to myself. Gideon Ilan now graciously at your service. How many I assist you?" He extended a hand out and Lucifer took it, pressing slowly.

"Interesting."

The man's eyebrows raised slightly although the clasp of his hand remained strong.

"Sorry," Lucifer let a slow grin wash his face, "didn't mean to be off-putting. Bit of a back-parlor philologist. Your name; it means 'feller of trees' in Aramaic. I've a younger brother and some of his friends who would've found that skill to be handy."

"Mmm. And here I simply thought my parents were fans of classic haiku. Or assonance."

Lucifer chuckled. Pretty and intelligent this one was.

"So, preliminary witty repartee aside, how may I help you Mr…"

"…Morningstar. Lucifer Morningstar."

Without missing a beat the blond retorted, "It also seems that possibly unlike yours, my parents had less lofty, or at least more anodyne goals for their son."

Instead of feeling needled, Lucifer laughed aloud. FUN. "Perhaps you're right; final verdict not leveled yet, I'm afraid."

"So."

"So…tell me about this instrument?"

"This one in particular, or pianos?"

"Both."

Gideon smiled in arch amusement. Then he relaxed, albeit cautiously, observing the man more intently. This dark stranger might be an enigma, but he could tell the interest was genuine and piano was his own great adoration. He began to speak, quickly inviting Lucifer to sit beside him as he extolled the virtues of the heirloom grand at their fingertips. Lucifer listened, at first simply amused by the fetching human and his lovely toy, but then found himself paying closer attention as the man began to put into words what he'd always felt about his own music. That linear time could pause long enough for infinity to spin in one note. That it could make hearts mend and break; often simultaneously. That the hidden could be pulled on display not only for the musician but the audience as well; like voluntarily ripping one's spine out through your mind and taking the attached entrails of your soul along with. Music ran the full gamut of shine and joy and despair and longing and was a supple harness to tame wild forever down into an instant and ride it back out again, listeners and creators alike changed by the journey. It seemed only the scale and methodology differed between musicians light and dark together on the piano bench.

The man's words opened Lucifer unexpectedly. It had been so long, so very achingly long since he'd had anyone to share this love with…his most precious gift…that he'd safely crushed away inside his spirit so well he'd nearly forgotten how deeply it permeated…how could he have?

Lucifer had strung the fervid radiance of stars amongst the heavens on chains of harmony and celebrated it. Wavelengths of light and sound were axial reflections cruxing with one another and passion was the medium through which they coursed. Passion he'd been created to express. In this unlikely little corner of creation was the doppelgänger of his own lucent shadow as by way of his words, the MorningStar knew this finite creature had the hollow echo of this imprinted on his very soul. The gift was lovely and precious and to be treated with care…and in this human, it was. Lucifer was rapt as the man drew simple, pure notes from the keys as he spoke, singly then in combination, creating haunting arrangements of layered sound and silence both. Lovely. His own fingertips were itching to touch them; both the deceptively simple keys as well as the talented hands weaving their yield. He sighed in appreciation for both art and artist, leaning in just slightly to Gideon's shoulder and did not feel him draw away. Music, and someone who might indeed understand some little aspect of its ken for him, oh yes…such exquisitely complex sensations he'd unexpectedly found here. As always, he wanted more. He rested a breath closer and thought he might've noticed the man press back. Maybe…

The heady thrall was disrupted by an unwelcome intrusion. A fine example of LA's plastique perfection bedecked in all of the false glories of affluence intruded with her nasal shrill, her affectations, her nanny and the three squalling brats she claimed by proximity if not motherly warmth. Lucifer's upper lip curled in disgust at the scene before him: Gideon excusing himself and dampening the light he'd been allowing to glow and gingerly engaging this…farce. No genuine interest here, only simple pretense and not even well-veiled in basic manners. Foul. The woman was demanding a piece appropriate for her 'very upscale home' and sufficient for her childrens' elucidation; present and future. Ugh, children. Spawn, more like, seeing the low level of interest the glittery vacancy had in her own progeny. The Devil decided that yes, he did truly despise them. Feckless, feral creatures resulting in the divergently harried nature of the two women present and his own subsequent loss of now not one, but two missed opportunities this afternoon. Left his own devices he stroked tenderly over all the keys, instantly remembering what tones corresponded with which. Wishing to drown out the irritating noise of the rascals and their keepers he threaded a few collections of jeweled notes on torn strings of fragmentary melodies together, becoming accustomed to the play of the instrument. Entranced with this tool of remembered joy he continued to explore and was shocked out of his reverie by a jolting spasm in his back where wings lay hidden.

It had been so very, very long since he…no. Oh, too much, too close to surfacing. Father, no. Of all the public ejaculations one could have, this sort would be the very worst.

Lucifer arrested himself, recoiling from the keys. He was surprised to see Gideon standing above him once more and the human's eyes sharpened in evaluation. Something had happened here, but he wasn't sure what.

"So, you play?"

'Yes. With the birthlight of stars. But not this beguiling human instrument of yours' was the silent thought. Aloud: "No, I'm afraid not."

"Really. Surprising. You've an excellent ear and careful hand. This one, like most Steinways, has a slightly heavier touchweight action; about 55 grams. You handle it well."

Usually Lucifer would be more than happy to embrace the obvious sensual clichés and construct some verbal foreplay, but he was surprised to discover this instrument had an unexpected siren call for him. He found the idea of using a human device to soothe some of the ache of divine loss oddly comforting. And perhaps appropriately fitting as well – after all wasn't he on their plane in the first place to assuage the pains of Hell? Wanting more he asked a few questions, simple in word and loaded in intention. Pleased with the rather one-sided conversation that followed he learned a few more things.

Formidably expensive pianos weren't exactly flying out of the showroom on a regular basis and Gideon only worked here to supplement his own meager composer's portfolio. Apparently he was a bit too avant garde for the local market, but refused to compromise his art to make it more palatable for his potential customers. As the man spoke, he played a bit of his own work, and Lucifer silently agreed – breathtaking stuff for a human, really. He considered what he was hearing as very Howard Roark-esque, but rather than fictional architecture it was a colorful tapestry of razor-fine auditory lace. Something quite appealing about that defiance, but he deliberately shunted away any other thought of comparison between them, focusing instead on being indignant over the poor reaction the musician's work got. It seemed mortal as well as divine beings could be such doltish lemmings; only appreciating what they were 'supposed' to rather than thinking for themselves. Apparently Gideon was not overly successful as a broker either, since he found pandering to fools irritating, and though he might not say anything untoward, he had a tendency to show it. Sheer luck and good looks had carried him farther than manufactured charm, but it wasn't enough lately to keep him competitive with the others here, largely dependent upon commission as their wages were. The man was in danger of being tossed out on his fine ass, but hadn't yet decided if he cared. He surprised himself by speaking so plainly to this dark stranger and for his part, Lucifer was pleased to round out experimentations in letting persuasion saturate his voice. Turns out it didn't take much with Gideon; perhaps as he was rather boldly unapologetic under his civil veneer. More commonalities.

"It would be terrific if you were genuinely interested." The blonde sighed almost wistfully as he let the keys go silent under his fingers. Lucifer suddenly wished to feel them in his mouth; to taste the talent under the warm skin – stop. Focus. Despite his own more reflective mood he was sorely tempted to tease at Gideon.

Well, why not? After all, it was only a tease if there was no follow-though, and it seemed there were more than a few avenues that might be…interesting to pursue here. So…

"What makes you think I'm not?"

The human chuckled, running a hand over his hair and one small lock twisted out of place in its wake. Lucifer badly wanted to reach over and smooth it down, but instead simply repeated his question and got a generous ladling of snark in response.

"Don't be ridiculous! Other than the very occasional cretin such as just left, people who don't play simply don't waltz in the door and purchase one of these! Even the most basic is some serious coin."

"Ah. Well, I suppose you're correct. I don't want to buy one."

Gideon's eyebrows flickered and he gifted Lucifer a small, quirked 'of course not, what do you take me for' smile.

"I want two. And the best of the best: I don't do things half-measure."

The expression blooming beside him was nearly as priceless as Lucifer's offer, and the Devil grinned to himself. "I'll be wanting a favor in return, though."

The human had the decency to put effort in attempting to regain composure by closing his jaw and swallowing hard before speaking. "Are – are you serious?"

"About favors? Oh yes, very much so. I usually delay my own reciprocation but in this case I've something quite specific in mind."

The blond just stared, giving in to the overall shock and…some other mild as yet unidentifiable disturbance he felt. His voice was faint as he asked, "Such as?"

"Private lessons. Gratis. Deal?" Not that he'd need them per say, but proximity and perseverance could only be assets in pursuit of this amusement.

"Done. With pleasure."

Lucifer certainly hoped so.

He left the store a scant half-hour later, arrangements tidily sorted and happier than he'd been all afternoon. No great inroads with the man; he sensed a very closed book there, but he was nearly beside himself with excitement. It wasn't just the piano(s); after the few months they'd been in LA he'd finally found how he most wanted to occupy himself here, and now, with this addition…well…he was even more impatient to begin. Wait until he told Maze….soon. Soon enough.

Several weeks later one very irritated Lucifer was bellowing over the din into his demon's ear.

"This is a trial, Mazikeen. Ludicrous. You simply can't be enjoying yourself."

She could barely hear him through the tinny blast of what was passing for music here, but caught the intention in the disgusted tone and body language. He was right – this place was terrible. All of it. Atmosphere, people, whateverinhell that reek was…yeah. NO.

"We could go…."

"Yes, lets."

"I wasn't done. I was going to say 'we could go' instead to…."

Lucifer stopped listening. He had a pretty good idea of what would likely transpire next without his overt interference…his demon had a knack for finding interesting gatherings of all sorts, and more often than not there was some amusing debauchery to partake in. But he was overly weary of simply being dragged around. Tired of hoping the venue or the humans attending would be worth his time. Bored in general of not being in total control, even if mere fun was the aim. And he'd been working clandestinely for awhile now to rectify that. Perhaps it was time to let her in on his little secret, seeing as she'd have a starring role.

He interrupted her again, and irritated as she was about it, took note of the different light in his eye. When he broached his own option with simply 'it's a secret surprise, Mazie – let's go play' she figured they were just going back to the loft to entertain themselves. With themselves. Which was an acceptable alternative as they'd been together that way far less over the last few months – simply too much variety here to enjoy. Monogamy was baffling. Why only two together? She couldn't understand how these humans did it or even why they wanted to. More oddly, they often got ANGRY when confronted with perceived threat to their pairings. Who cared? Numerous fish in the sea, familiarity breeds contempt and all that. Besides. Complacency was dull stuff, and that she simply could not abide.

As he led her out she found herself more happily switching mental gears same as he did the ones on the 1962 Chevrolet Corvette C1. Top down as he preferred his bedmates meant the dank air swirled around her in the passenger seat, tangling her hair. Catching it in a fist at the nape of her neck Maze looked over at him, obvious delight in driving shining on his face. By her estimation the car was a strange acquisition considering how easily they could get around with little effort, but he was clearly tickled with his new toy. The demon was simply impressed he'd made it through the entire Greater LA DMV experience without the chasms of Hell erupting under the sketchy tectonics in the area. She smiled at his grin, looking him over. Yes, attractive for here, and being able to enjoy him in this way wasn't difficult: it just wasn't necessary. They'd been together forever it seemed and sex, even stupendous sex, had little to do with their uniquely characteristic relationship. Present or in the future, although it wasn't a bad way to pass their time here seeing as it was impossible back home. Maze settled herself in to the idea of a nice ride now, and an even nicer ride a little later, but then was surprised when he drove by the turn-off to their loft.

"Lucifer?!"

"I told you, Maze! It's a secret. Now unclench your knickers and mind your patience."

"I'm not wearing any," she retorted. "And like you're such a great example at that yourself."

"On occasion I am." The look skimmed underneath the phrase was an interesting complexity, but before she decided if she wanted to spend any time figuring it out they'd arrived. Or at least the car stopped.

"Where are we?"

He said nothing, just smiled at her, opened her door and scooted her down a sloping alleyway between two large buildings. She could smell dust, concrete new and broken, fresh paint and a faint scent of ozone. Plus some old urine…a rather unpleasant blend of cat and human, apparently. She was rather hoping that was only the outside décor as he unlocked a side door and nudged her in.

"Well?"

"Well, what? What am I looking at?" The demon walked forward up a narrow stairwell and paused, her footfalls echoing inside the cavernous space. She spun slowly, sharp amber eyes taking in the deconstructed maw of the building's vast interior. Large drapes of plastic sheeting were hung haphazardly, scaffolds and wood framing cobbled along the walls, huge bobbins of electrical cables were stacked in a far corner along with what looked like serious welding equipment. Whew, that must be where the ozone scent originated. For a second she'd been concerned some of Hell's reluctant residents had come through uninvited. Sneaky bastards they could be, and the longer this 'vacation' wore on, the more concerned she became about the solvency of Hell's borders. However Lucifer refused to even entertain a conversation about it. Not yet, anyway. Standing in the middle of the vast space she turned again to her Devil and arms shrugged out with palms up, repeated her question.

Lucifer, who had been quietly watching her from his lean in the doorjamb and hands folded in front of his buckle simply indicated with a head tilt a large structure leaning against a far wall. She hadn't seen it in the dimness of sparse emergency lighting, and walked over. It took her a second, but saw arrays of sockets on a metal framework. Stepping back slightly she realized it was a sign of sorts. A huge one.

"L-U-X. 'Lux?'"

"Correct."

"What is it?"

"The name."

"Of?"

"Mazie…don't be dense; it doesn't become you. It's the name of this place. My place."

"What?"

He continued as if he hadn't heard her, beginning to pace away. "Yes, my place. And yours to run, as you did my…other. I suspect this'll be far more pleasant for both of us. Definitely for the patronage. And certainly better than some of those nonsense venues you've subjected us to." She spluttered a little bit at this, but he just spoke over her. "As tonight, prime example of all things dreadfully nasty. Here, free rein for free will under the umbrella of my choices." He pulled a dropcloth away from a section of a long structure at one end of the room and gently ran his hands over the exposed wood. A bar. His pulpit for her. He spoke so softly she could barely hear him. "Yes, much more pleasant. For me especially." He redraped the expensive piece, turning to face his actively perplexed companion.

"Lucifer…" she shook her head incredulously, feeling surreal. Nope, despite the jarring movement still standing here in the dusty gloom with him and still badly confused. Becoming angry, too. Shaking harder and gathering her wits from where he'd scattered them barked. "You CAN'T be serious?! You're the Lord of Hell and you want to," she spun around, palms out, "…do what? Play host here? With these creatures? For what possible reason? And – AND - you've never told me exactly why we left so suddenly!"

"And I won't be now either, demon mine." His voice was soft, but she heard the veiled threat in it. Her jaw snapped shut in frustration and after a few moments of détente he just sighed and began speaking again lightly. "It's got a fun backstory, Mazie, steeped in mayhem – right up your alley." He strolled back towards the center of the large space, brushing by her shoulder and indicating she follow with a twirl of his wrist before clasping his hands behind his back. "Had some little heyday before being abandoned – sounds like yours truly, yes? Then stood fallow for a bit – my my, how the correlations accrue – before squatters and arsonists had at." He paused at the far end and stared up into the exposed ductwork. "Only a little singed; barely damaged goods but that's not what most investors saw." He chuckled, still depreciatingly amused at the parallels. "Apparently had such a taint in the local market that I was able to get this for a great price…you could even say a devilish deal indeed. And that's not all." Lucifer began walking again toward a partially reconstructed staircase, huffing when she did not jump to his heels. "C'mon, c'mon…I want you to see." Ascending to a curved outlying portion of a landing they leaned on the railing and looked out over the vast space: two very different creatures perceiving very differently the very same scene.

Lucifer saw chaos here, but not of aftermath of destruction. Of creation. His own, for a change. Not simply someone else's to act a part in. Maze saw only distraction and delusion. She realized that Lucifer was likely hiding far greater damage than she'd thought, but understood that pressing him for answers too soon would only go badly. Probably for them both. She sighed and he nudged her with an elbow. "There's more." She followed him to a dark corner of the landing to a set of steel double doors and let him push her inside.

His mood rose as the elevator did and he began to smile as the doors opened.

No functional electricity here yet but huge sweeps of glass on the exterior walls let the human-made false twilight of LA's witching hours flood in. This space was more finished than the club downstairs with shelving going up along two sides and marble slabs waiting to be installed on the other where it looked like other rooms lay beyond the open central one. Archeological elements crusted some of the columns under the walls and crates labeled 'fragile' waited in the center of the room. "Books and art," was his response to her questioning gaze. She tightened her jaw at his incomprehensible fascination with human tidbits and walked toward the balcony beyond the windows. Easy view of the stars here, artificial and otherwise. No surprise his need for either, really. Maze walked back in past Lucifer and saw an alcove holding a large bed with a few books on the rumpled linens, one of which looked to be a ledger. So. He'd probably been staying here when she merely thought he'd been sleeping out with the night's amusements.

Not in the space they shared together.

And not with her.

Keeping secrets.

She tabled this new concern for the time being, verbally worrying instead over the possession and display of some of this (even for them) clearly blatant 'hand-in-the-cookie-jar' historical acquisition.

"How did you find contacts to accrue these pieces? That human you met at the museum?" Maze was once again irritated at herself she'd not gone with him that day; he wasn't known for a lot of the discretion that she'd found to be so very useful when interacting with people. Especially disreputable people. Most required a lightly manipulative touch and the Devil more readily employed heavy blows.

Lucifer grumbled a little – he knew what his demon thought of his methods – she just didn't know all in his repertoire. Yet.

"Yes, Abigail. Canny little vixen once I got her unstarched; she's got some nefarious contacts in the worlds of art and artifacts and I am only too pleased to invite such deviants to a seat at my table. Do enjoy a good fresh dish, Maze – you know that."

She was still shell-shocked at what he had on the walls. Especially one. She ran her fingers over it lightly, stunned he'd choose something so obvious in declaration.

"Cuneiform? Especially this one? Don't you think people will recognize it?"

"Feh. As if they'd even likely bloody notice! Nothing more amusing that hiding in plain sight; it's astounding really, how myopic these creatures can be…gives me gooseflesh the likeness is so uncanny." He laughed sardonically here and Maze understood why. He might be quite self-involved but was also self-aware…a distinction not often shared by those enmeshed in the former. "I could probably walk about LA with a bullhorn announcing 'I am the Devil himself' and n'er a false eyelash would bat." Lucifer's forehead creased in amused consideration as he steepled his fingertips under his chin. "Might try that actually – good for a giggle, perhaps."

"Lucifer."

"Oh, what now? Still sulky, are you? Come, come Mazie mine, surely you see the appeal of it all?"

The demon nudged her irritation aside as she focused his last phrase. The overall tone was light as the rest of his recent banter, but could swear she'd heard a plaintive echo…perhaps she'd been mistaken….

She wasn't. Lucifer had felt it escape and was quick to brush away the slight lapse. He rose quickly and herded her toward the elevator. "Well, enough sight-seeing for now. Lots of work ahead yet, so let's away. Got another surprise for you, but I'll save it since the night is still young enough for some other minor shenanigans you think? Perhaps some more private ones?" Feeling his tension she simply smiled coyly, hiding her concerns behind the expression she donned.

And kept it on through the trip out of his in-progress attempt at some small form of resurrection.

And the car ride back to the loft where his nails bit into her leg when he wasn't shifting gears.

And in the hallway outside their door when he hurled her against the wall and went down on his knees to lift her skirt, angrily trying to fill his own emptiness as well as slake her ire.

And in his bedroom where pleasure was distilled through pain as he punished them both, and both willing to endure it together for different reasons.

It only fell away as he did into sleep, sated for the moment and slung away from her on the far side of his bed. Only then did she let truth of her own show: pretty pretense dissolving under her acid opinions of this LA masquerade.

Mazikeen the demon lay in all her Hellish glory next to her Lord sound asleep in his featherbeds and wondered exactly what she had gotten herself into by following him here. Wondering further if he knew, either.

She was becoming more concerned that he did not. Not at all.

In the week preceding the expected opening of Lux, Maze came by late one evening to walk the space and suss out any last minute problems. She was impressed despite herself at how it had all come together; not just the physical aspects but all the logistics of supplies and personnel and had herself to thank for organizing it effectively. She still didn't agree with the entire premise, especially since she was painfully aware he was keeping the reasons from her, but…whatever. Enough that things were unfolding without major hitches. For now, anyway. Having something to do and orchestrate made her feel more like herself here, even if the whole concept was still 'off' in her own estimation. And Lucifer had been much happier with this little project, and wasn't that really the inertial point of it all?

She took the elevator up the space he'd set aside for her to do with as she pleased; a section of the floor just below Lucifer's penthouse. She walked in and simply stood, arms crossed and thinking thoughts as hollow as the wide room before her. Not being a creature of comforts as he was she felt no need to nest. And this wasn't her home, after all. The space was sprawling emptiness aside from her own bed in the center, and a closet full of clothes. He'd finally bought the loft they'd been leasing and moved her out, citing blithely her need to be in closer proximity to Lux as its overseer, but they both knew that was not the whole truth. She shook her head; frustrated with both him in general and herself as well for not being able to figure him out here. It had never been a problem in Hell….so she'd thought. Perhaps she was wrong about that, too.

Lost in tangled musings she slowly became aware of sound trickling through her ruminations and snarled: that piano downstairs was priceless and only to be played by him – who dared? Furiously stalking back to the steel doors it was only once she was inside that she realized the music was coming from above. She quickly keyed in his private combination and tapped her booted foot impatiently as the elevator rose.

As the doors slid open she saw Lucifer sitting with his back to the elevator playing a piano similar to the one in Lux. All the balcony doors were open and words and song inundated one another through gusts of wind blowing through the space. It was unlike anything she'd ever heard, could ever even understand. She knew every tongue but this, the inexplicable one she was hearing…yes, she suddenly realized that this language would never have been heard by a demon before. The soft lights began to flicker as his song intensified and she was startled when he stopped abruptly, back twisting in a sharp clench.

He knew without turning she was there of course, and after a few moments he spoke to her.

"Come with me, Maze. I have need of a special skill set of yours."

Following him as she always had, she was surprised to wind up on the section of beach where they'd arrived. Returning hadn't crossed her mind since that first night and she wasn't aware of him coming back, either. Lucifer plunged his hands deep in his pockets, walking slowly away to approach the waterline. The primordial roar of the ocean and the tang of salt were an odd foil to the human influences surrounding them. Domesticated electricity could not rival the stars so they smogged out what their artificial lights were a wan echo of. Hiding under the taint they created, tainted themselves. It was easier to remain focused on the small bauble of a life: finite creatures in an eternally fluxing universe needing grounding somehow, and successful at hiding their true natures within their constructs. As both she and Lucifer seemed to be doing now themselves, she mused. Maze remained still, arms crossed as she watched him finally stop before the tideline wasting away from them. He looked up, silent as the sky spanning above them…silent as Heaven had been to him since his fall. She watched him with growing apprehension coiling in her gut: something far amiss here….

Finally movement; his hands coming free of his pockets to disappear in front of his body.

"Why are we here, Lucifer?"

He did not answer, still and quiet except for the slight movements of his elbows. After a few moments he let his hands drop and the shirt he'd undone fell away as well, crumpling at his ankles and blowing over a few times in the night's errant gusts. From this distance the expensively crafted garment looked like any other piece of humanity's windblown trash on the beach. His skin glowed in the city's hollow light reflected under the low cloud cover, pristine and beautiful. As he was intended. As he'd been wonderfully crafted himself, and claimed again in his image here.

Apprehension beginning to crowd in on concern, she repeated her question, but he did not respond although she knew he could hear her voice. Mazikeen trod closer, the soft sand becoming denser underfoot where the tide had retreated. Slowing as she came near, pausing behind and beside him. Chancing words again, she tried to lighten this mood of his she could feel mirroring the darkness over them.

"Lucifer. If you wanted some frolic, we could've just stayed in. This place is…gritty. Harsh. Thought you were becoming one for more creature comforts?" The sound of her words are lost in the depth of the skies and the fissures behind his eyes. He did speak, finally.

"It's not play I'm after, Maze. Not now. Deadly serious, hear?"

Quiet again fell over them both: his resigned, hers confused until he spoke again.

"Might want to retreat a bit."

She hedged, concern growing. "Lucifer..?"

"Mind me, demon. Now. You'll be glad of it, considering. And my preference is your role to enact – as it is in anything else may I ask of you. Remember that."

Sighing in irritated trepidation, she backed away once more, slowly at first and then in lurching stumbles, barely catching herself on her elbows as the glorious aurora of twinned plumes erupt from his back.

"Oh God…" The startle of words are torn away from her mouth faster than she can clasp a granular hand over to stem them. She is terrified. She is in awe. She is beholden to the wonder of what she sees in front of her and doesn't know whether to kneel or sing though she's never done either. Behind her curled fingers she whispers, the words blooding her mind as her teeth do her knuckles in the effort to recover. "You're…so beautiful…" He does not hear this, reacting only to her first.

"Yes, exactly. God. His gift for his beloved First Son." His voice fractures through the words he's emphasized, rifting wider to the darkness within him.

The sheer span of the wings is a tremendous display of balance in delicacy and power. Outstretched as they are Lucifer's body looks slight despite his size and light floods over them. No, she realizes looking closer…not exactly. Yes, the feathers seems to sieve ambient luminosity from their surroundings but are replete with an austere glow of their own. Oh…how could she not have wholly realized? Her lord was created as his own touchstone for all the light in existence and she just now begins to appreciate the persecution he's endured having to sequester these wonderful talismans under the scabby slag of hellish ash and violence.

He continues to speak to her, needing his demon only to understand enough to do as he'll command.

"Me. His 'precious child'. The first, and first lost." The words revealed from the vaults of him here were cindered husks of reluctant old hopes. They crumbled and withered away into the wind as other debris loose under the stars did this night. "His Light Bearer. For his glory…and by proxy, mine." The stance he took on the sand seemed to intensify, though his body had not moved. "No need to bear light in Hell, Maze; dear old Dad lit those furnaces himself. Nor here. These creatures create their own as they mimic other heavenly things, anemic though those results may be. It seems enough to sate them, this wan comfort. Perhaps it is. Cold coddles are enough if you've never known different, I suppose."

The predicated sigh echoed from the depth of Lucifer's grudging homesickness. His true home, not the cruel one he'd been residing in for so long. Or even the thin delusion of relief here. His loathing for this perception of weakness in himself seeped out through his thoughts. 'Precious child indeed. Such faith you've shown me, Father.' He grew angrier. At his family. At his treatment. At himself for still caring. So very much – ah, no. Enough.

Aloud now: "I've no further need of his gift, as he has not had for me."

Her heart stuttered as her voice did. "My lord…I…"

"Sever them, Maze. Unburden me. Pretty shackles, but I'll wear them no longer."

"WHAT?" She could not have heard him correctly…no…this was…no…. "You can't mean me to…mar you that way. Lucifer, I can't. I won't."

"Oh, but you will." She had to. He could not do it himself.

"Can't you simply…." She swallowed the tremor, the Judas weakness of this humanoid throat. "Can't you just hide them again? Please?"

It was her brokenly rare use of that last word that softened his voice, but even so, she could hear the waning patience in it.

"I'm tired of hiding, Mazikeen. I'm done. Finished. I refuse to play a game where I can have no say in the rules nor act in a play where I've never wished to take the role assigned. I'll not be beholden to one where I'd never a choice to be created. Wasn't my call, darling. But regardless of my etiology, the simple fact remains that this is my existence, not his. I'll no longer be a plaything to be trifled with and flung away when the toymaker's dissatisfied. Pinocchio's his own boy now and I'm quite real enough to thrive without strings or things rhyming with. Now, demon mine, do as I ask."

Mazikeen rises to her feet, using the strength in his voice to fuel her shaking muscles to approach. The outstretched wings shine across their tremendous span, washed with subtle rivers of light sluicing along the rachii of the feathers through the vanes. The illumination flickers as she comes near, almost as if they know. And of course they do being a part of him. Close in, they have a scent of rain-washed embrace and sense-rending joy if blend such as that existed. She pauses behind him and tentatively lays one warm palm between where they furl from his back, feeling the supple musculature flex underneath at her touch. Any hopes she harbored for reprieve fall as hard as Lucifer himself had at his next words.

"I'm ready, Maze."

'Oh my lord, but I am not…' is the last thought that escapes the shell of her mind she is locking around the portion of her capable of this task. With a last soft press to his perfection, she draws a single curved dagger from her back harness, the wicked metal singing against the holster - but it is a dirge, not a hymn. Unlike Lucifer, she wasn't made for joy in creation but destruction, and it is this harsh nature that he now has need of. And she is here to fulfill those needs as he asks. With her other hand, she grasps where warm flesh cusps against the start of silky down. Biting back bile, she begins.

It is agony.

For both.

The wing she is gripping flares out as she slices, jerking and flailing as the radiance fades from it, shine bleeding away as crimson washes do from the lengthening gash. Her demon blade is sharp and expertly wielded in the hideous act, but this…this abhorrent work of hers is challenging the undertaking of the true form of God for his child and the struggle to rend asunder Lucifer's choice from his design is rife with the necessary violence of Hell, itself another of God's creations. He gives neither movement nor voice to this blaze of pain, but the stars swim before him as his eyes and heart flood at the loss. Maze becomes desperate in her efforts, the divinity in this blood of his hotly caustic over her skin as it spills. Pouring down his back, staining the intrinsic purity of him, burning her hands though she heals quickly. As he does not, dealt such a grievous injury. The weight of the dying wing begins to tear the skin and muscle underneath away in shreds and she hurries to finish before he is further despoiled, sickened at the sound. She cannot bear to look wholly at the ruinous abomination of his construct; only staring blankly at the mending flesh and exposed bone of her hands as she prepares to finish what he's asked. The injuries are nothing compared to the hurt and gorge rising within her…and she feels transient fury's cold lick of hatred for Lucifer smear her guts. How dare he? Making her appreciate then destroy this most tangible aspect of his original grace. Still, she knows his pain is far worse and for now, the only way to staunch it is to end this quickly.

When she begins to cut the second one away Lucifer is silent no longer. He clenches his fists, begins to scream and does not stop nor take breath until she is finished. The design of his voice for song is instead shredded by embattled pain and he purges himself of any latent hopes for divine intervention or reconciliation in the sound. It is blistering rage and defiance that ring clear most now and all of Heaven and Hell alike echo with his anguish. Fallen archangel. Reluctant ruler in abdication. Proud, lost, heartbroken son still railing against his father's anathema and not even this horrific mutilation draws his attention, it seems. But unbeknownst to Lucifer the bitterest lance of his cry pierces far through the irredeemable wishes of God in his isolation and the nascent devastation wracks parent and child alike, forever. Autonomy. On occasions so costly as these, the price is exhorbitant for all that possess it.

When he is free, and only then, Lucifer sinks to his knees on the fouled sand, head bowed and gasping. Maze begins to kneel behind him, offering herself in support but he pushes her away, needing to be his own solace for now. She retreats a few steps to stand behind him in the wreckage of his forfeiture, her clothes stained with his blood and their spirits washed in shared torment. She watches him settle as she yet cannot. When he finally rises and speaks, he is in control of his voice, but the divorced form of his body – that still trembles.

"I'm leaving now, Maze. Going home." He laughs here, and the edges of the sound are as sharp as the dagger she's ravaged him with. "Well what passes for now, at least. I wish not to discuss this, hear?"

"Lucifer, I…" she falters, at a loss. For words…for everything, really. She needs a task, something to cleanse the palate of this devastation - and her action - from her. He turns, and she never, never again wants to see this hauntingly peculiar expression on his face as he looks down at the carnage.

"I'll not be needing those any longer, but can't have 'em adding to the mess these creatures seem hell-bent on creating for themselves here, so…." He laughed again, hollowly and she clung to the words if not the tone.

"I'll take care of it, Lucifer. I will." She watched as he walked away, sourly uneven rips curdling his flesh grotesquely into what might pass for consequent healing on him. He paused to pick up his shirt, sliding it gingerly over his raw skin, leaving it loose and undone. As he was himself, nearly.

"Thank you, Maze. Ever so. For ever on. For…everything."

She simply inclined her head in assent as he looked on her, then turned to leave. She watched his progress up the beach until she could no longer see him and then head pounding, collapsed to vomit, her retch just adding to the mess. The wings are softer than the dreams she's never had and still warm, twitching erratically as Mazikeen stroked them….covered with sand and their comingled blood and now a few of her own tears she didn't even realize she was capable of shedding. For a moment she lay with them gathered in her arms, demonic face buried in the fading scent of his first home, the one she'd never see. Fury once more breaching her sadness she stood, laden, to glare as her true self defiantly on his behalf at the sky, soiled and alone under her burden. An abattoir of his dead blessing, yes. But strong. Capable. Knowing her role as she is needed, which is more than she can say for anything 'up there' regarding her devil. With a last parting stab with her amber eyes at Heaven and its pretentiously twaddled occupants Lucifer's demon finishes cleaning up the mess she's made of him.

To Hell with them all, and she dearly hoped she could meet them there. Soon.

He is waiting for her when she returns, sitting on the foot of her bed in the midst of that empty space she'd wished not to stay long enough to fill. Flicking his coin over his palm as if he hadn't just had her cleave him. For an instant she is not sure she is relieved or angry about that. She desperately needs time alone, but is comorbidly glad to have all loose ends raveled in.

"Well?"

"Safely away, my lord. Lucifer." She deftly corrects her misspeak in response to his drawn brows.

The same now arch in silent question.

Maze sighed, suddenly tired after the exertions of the night. Exhausted to the depths her soul would plunge to had she one. "Hidden well in the bowels of some of our other new interests here. No need to think on them again unless you wish it."

"No, no…I don't think I shall. Not tonight, any road." His tone is soft, but not reflective. Like her, he is well finished with this evening.

She walks away, only to be snagged again by his voice and in the fleeting hesitation before she turns back he glimpses the crucible where the steel of her resolve is forged anew in her own fire. He smiles to himself. He could not have asked for a better ally here and she should know…

…and in the resilient glance she gives he realizes she already does. So simple then, the appropriate codicil on this night.

"Thank you again, Mazie mine. Sleep well, big day coming soon…lots yet to see to and do…"

She simply nods.

It is enough for them, now. This simple exchange, this silent acknowledgement of different strengths, these plans for this new place…this new, unspoken understanding of how long they may stay…

Reluctant to think any more tonight the weary demon starts the scalding water of her shower hoping for both cleanliness and absolution, and rolls her eyes at the last thought. Not likely from outside sources; perhaps from herself, in time. Steam rising as she sits on the edge of the bath she removes one high boot then the second, feeling a slight prickle behind her left knee as she does. Damned sand. She'll not go near that beach again willingly. But no, not grit…she pulls at the small object barbing her skin. And stares.

A feather.

A small blood-tinged remnant from her mutilation of Lucifer. It mocks her with its mere presence on her palm: accusatorily tangled divine witness.

She shakes her head in disbelief; not one to be overly given to prolonged introspection. Placing it on the edge of the sink she strips then shrugs her way under the scorching water and after a long, long time she feels clean and as herself again. Drying her body after she appraises the feather as she combs her hair. It no longer seems critical and Maze smirks at herself for even thinking such a thing in the first place.

'Must be tired. Either that or I'm becoming as delusional as these meat suits are'. But she does clean it and try to smooth it down. Unfortunately to no avail as the barbels refuse to be soothed, but at least they are pristine once more and if she is not mistaken, glowing. Faintly. For a moment she holds it, pausing briefly to taste the quill and the salt of Lucifer's blood on the tip of her tongue, wondering if she should tell him sooner rather than later about it, but unwilling to shoulder one more unwanted burden this evening simply decides not to decide at all.

She leaves her soiled clothes in a heap on the floor, not caring about a small mess after tonight's large one. Only the feather and her blade harness are taken as she walks naked to look out one of her own large windows, the deep sill empty save for a few candies (her weakness), a bubbling tank with a dragonfish in it and a small silver box from an antique store she'd found herself inexplicably drawn to during her early wanders. Strange, that afternoon's activity…collecting human bits is definitely not her thing. Somehow, she is not surprised to find that the feather fits perfectly inside it without no further trouncing. She closes the lid as her mouth opens in a vast yawn, latently sharp teeth shining as she places the box next to the fish. She taps the glass lightly as it swims closer, wondering if it feels trapped as she does. Even in captivity wild things know what they are. It comes close to her fingers, then moves over to peer at the box shining in the light from its tank. Maze smiles. She'll tell Lucifer about it tomorrow. Or the next day.

But the demon does not. Neither tomorrow, or the next day - nor the next week. Nor year. Or several. She does not know why…but again, she is not a creature of introspection naturally and feels no need to change. Occasionally on difficult days, she opens the box to look, less often to touch. Each time the feather glows softly: sometimes she thinks that it is waiting. For what?

And if someone had told her on that night about the event the feather was waiting for five years' hence and her part in it, she'd have laughed in their faces before she punished them soundly for such delusional thoughts. As if demons would have anything to do with fucking angels. Well, exactly.

Sequestered in his space above and staring at the play of city light from his balcony, Lucifer was grounded as he could never be otherwise before tonight. He was shocked to feel so bereft, and found this unanticipated nuance challenging to manage. Nonetheless, he also felt freer now than in epochs of Hell with them and that is what he decided to focus on.

Not their loss.

Not everything, everything that entailed…and until now he hadn't even realized…

(…not loss. choice…right?)

Oh God.

Oh no.

(…oh, Father…I'm sorry, and I can't even bring myself to say why, not even to myself…)