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The night is late, and nearly everyone has gone to bed after a long day of planning and building. Everyone but the king himself. Lucifer Morningstar was brimming with energy and excitement, but Charlie made him promise to at least try to rest. He just couldn't sleep though- too many thoughts raced through his mind. So, he’d decided to wander through the lobby, coat off and sleeves rolled up, and admire the work so far. He was especially proud of the main entrance- he’d made it especially grand and intricate and massively spacious. The simple yet eye-catching check-in counter outlined in a glimmering gold apple; sweeping, dual staircases to handle a larger flow of sinners, several seating areas; and he’d even kept the bar most of the others insisted on. Since they had a seemingly permanent barkeep, it had been designed entirely off the gambling cat sinner.
Busk had filled the shelves up, making the almost complete lobby look put together- a far cry from the old, shabby, haunted house look from before. Though, it felt cold and empty without Charlie’s friends lingering around, crowding the area with noise. Too much like a certain palace he’d been avoiding going back to.
Hm. Nope, none of that now! Lucifer was happy and needed by his wonderful daughter that he would do anything for. Everything was great! Yup. The shadows in the corners were absolutely not creeping and crawling around his throat, shoving their way into his bones and mind to sink him back down into a murky pool of hazy dreamless despair.
Everything. Was. Great.
He snapped his fingers to summon warm flames in the opulent fireplace, chasing the looming darkness back to the walls of the lobby. A mild relief at best. Maybe… Lucifer glanced at the well-stocked, freshly finished bar. He had worked hard that day and his dear child was asleep now, along with everyone else. No one to tattle on him for a tiiiiiny bit of indulgence. Besides, he’d be quiet and it’s not like he would get drunk on such simple, mortal concoctions.
Firmly decided on his course for the night, the lone devil waved a hand to summon a glass and a bottle while he made his way to the open lounging area. Settling on a couch, Lucifer poured a few fingers of his favorite apple pie inspired brew. The amber liquid burned his throat and left a sweet note on his forked tongue. A deep, satisfied hum resonated from the man as he let himself relax into the plush cushions.
Two cups in, the fine hairs on the back of Lucifer's neck rose, his senses alerting him. The King of Hell wasn't alone anymore. Buzzing static told the man exactly who lurked behind his seat. “Oh, look who’s finally crawled out of his cave,” Lucifer mocked, not letting the demon get the first jab in.
“Better a cave than this hideous display you call a remodel,” came the radio filtered reply.
The seated man poured his third glass slowly as he tracked a shadow slithering in front of him. Alastor rose from it, as well dressed as ever in his red garb and wide grin. Lucifer couldn't help his long, tired sigh. So much for relaxing. “It's called style. I’d ask if you knew what that was, but it's pretty damn obvious you don't have any sense of taste.”
Alastor's red eyes glanced around the room, surveying the grand decor, eventually settling on the decanter at Lucifer’s side table. “Hm. If this is what children are into these days, I’ll have to pass.” The bastard played a quiet laugh track at his own joke, loud enough to be heard by the two of them, but not echo through the empty corridors. “Though I do wonder about your majesty’s personal taste. I would never want to assume you are one to drink straight maple syrup, but I’ve seen your breakfast choices.”
“Oh ha ha, bellhop-”
“-Hotelier.”
The devil didn't growl at the tall man standing over him, but it was a near thing. “I’d offer you a glass to prove it isn't, but you’d just complain anyways.”
One fine eyebrow raised, Alastor slowly took the seat across from the small king, his shadow stretched long in the firelight that lit the other man’s mildly pale face. Lucifer couldn't help but enjoy the way the lively flames reflected brilliantly in the hues of his crimson eyes.
“I’m sure anything befitting of the King’s tastes is too fine to waste on a lowly sinner such as I,” Alastor finally said, his smile strained ever so slightly. It made Lucifer wonder if the wound from Adam was still pestering the demon. It’d only been half a month since the battle and it was a pretty large gash, if the footage was to be believed.
Grinning himself, he decided to test his theory with a wave of his hand, summoning another glass with a cube of ice and a separate decanter of darker liquid. “Maybe, but if you're going to insist on staying, then you need to keep up.” If the uptight sinner really was hurt, then the blood loss would probably get him pretty drunk quickly. Then Lucifer could maybe see him unwind a little. “If you can, of course.”
The Radio Demon's cheshire grin widened, his clawed fingers reaching for the crystal glass. “My, quite the invitation, sire! How could I dare refuse?” When the deep brown liquor hit that sharp mouth, Lucifer delighted in the demon’s surprise. He’d taken queues from the man’s general, dated style and pulled one of the better (if few) ryes from his vast collection. The tall man closed his eyes for a long moment and took another drink, humming static crackling around the two. “An agreeable enough choice,” he admitted on his sip.
Lucifer matched the other’s pace with ease and the two fell in silence, watching the flames lick the logs with endless hunger.
It took nearly half the bottle before Alastor spoke up again, his distorting filter dulled the smallest, minute bit. “When you finish your ‘masterpiece’ here, what’s next on the agenda, your highness?”
Pale face scrunching up slightly at the continued formallies, he answered, “Charlie asked me to stay for a while. She thinks I’ll bring more traffic in, I guess. I’m sure she's got a brilliant plan I haven't thought of. Char-Char is brilliant, after all! Hahaha…” His laugh is nervous and short lived, full of doubt he’ll never speak aloud. “What about you? Why’re you even hanging around here after nearly getting sliced in half?”
An unseen record screeched to a skidding stop, Alastor’s bright eyes narrowed and his previously relaxed grin sloped on one side. “I assure you, sire, that I am whole. More than we can say for the first man, hm?” With an eerie snap, his neck tilted to an unnatural degree. “As for why, well, I told our dear Charlotte my reasons for my stay some time ago.” The sinner rose from his chair, a newly filled glass in hand. His bottle was half drained as he’d started a slow, steady pace back and forth. Drawing near to the burning fireplace and back again towards the seating. “I arrived here seeking entertainment. I wanted to watch her either fail miserably or happen upon something entirely new to Hell.”
Lucifer’s golden blood was already heated from the alcohol, the other man's words were close to boiling it. However, doing his best to keep his temper, he only allowed his own eyes to turn red as his gaze followed the pacing demon.
Before the nearly feral king could retort, Alastor continued. “I’ll give her this- Few others could have gotten so far as she has. Fewer still keep their heads!” Raising his glass in the general direction of her temporary sleeping quarters, he toasted to her.
Partially mollified, Lucifer joined the toast, thinking it was oddly nice of Alastor to praise anyone. Maybe he was further down the drain than the angel thought. A stray memory guided Lucifer to wave his hand yet again, conjuring a simple radio that caught a warm tune of jazzy comfort. Seeing those tall, fluffy ears swing backwards on Alastor's head towards the sound gave the blond man a massive smile of amusement. He really hoped his half formed memory held true and the sinner would at least stop his pacing. The movement kept catching Lucifer’s gaze, his head following the red sinner’s track.
Lo and behold, after a moment of letting the sound drift around the two, Alastor wandered over to the already occupied seat, taking the other half. He winced, a hissing breath escaping the tall demon as he collapsed onto the soft cushions with far less decorum than before. Lucifer pointedly occupied himself with pouring the last of his bottle. Then, glancing at Alastor, whose head lulled over the raised back of the couch while he recovered, the monarch had another idea to try. He let the partly melted cube in his glass clink against the edge, successfully gaining the other man's attention by the look of the ears flicking towards him.
“Wanna give it a taste? It’s not that sweet, promise.”
Black-tipped, crimson hair splayed across flushed cheeks as Alastor’s head twisted in his direction. Ah, yup. The Radio Demon, infamously known for his murderous sprees and spine chilling broadcasts, was definitely drunk as he hummed questionably. It took another swirl and a ringing clink to convince the mildly conscious sinner to take the glass and lift his head up to sip. A string of expressions played on his face, a movie playing just for Lucifer- one he watched with his full attention.
From a touch suspicious to surprise at the strong percentage burning his senses, only to crash into that sharp nose winkling at the sweet aftertaste, and lifted eyebrows when an autumn based spice entourage rushed in with his next inhale of breath. Ultimately, the drink was handed back to Lucifer, but the intoxicated man didn't seem disgusted at least.
“So? Thoughts?” Lucifer pressed, not wanting the other man to fall asleep before he got his answer.
“Hmm. Apple pie? Without…the pie. Flavors were too…seperate.” Alastor's words had started to space out, like he was gripping them before they left, struggling to keep his normal cadence and failing miserably. Elegance forcibly stripped away, the deer demon’s presence had little to no bloodlusting malice behind his lopsided grin. “Not. Terrible. No, the… was nice.”
The king’s grin widened even more at the relative mess Alastor was slowly becoming. It took everything in him not to chuckle at the deer, not sure if it’d set him into a rage. Lucifer’s brain helpfully supplied the word ‘adorable’ when those ruby bright eyes half closed, trying to think of more words. The monarch was forced to admit that maybe he was a tiny bit affected by the drink. He probably should have eaten more at dinner instead of pouring over the plans.
When he spoke again, it was with a voice free of the scratchy filter, accented with notes of a peculiar twang usually absent in the man’s typical accent.
“Heyy…” Alastor's eyes were wide open again and trained on the ceiling, sheer force of will keeping him awake with the need to ask a question. “Why. Ducks? You’re…you. ‘supposed ‘t be mighty- Kingly king ruling Hell. ‘N yet you just sit there… makin’ stupid ducks.” He sounded insulted by the very idea of the rubber ducks existing in Hell, or by the thought of Lucifer failing to meet another sinner’s expectations. He also sounded about two minutes from passing out.
The fallen angel laughed, bitterly, as the memories of his past slid through the walls he’d put up, a slime oozing through the crumbling gaps of his millenia of years. Gulping down the last of his drink, he hissed his response through the burning sensation. “Ducks were the last creation I worked on. Before, well. This,” Lucifer swept his empty glass in front of him vaguely.
A flash of glowing yellow caught his eye, turning his attention back to the sinner beside him. The ever present grin had turned to a dangerous snarl out of nowhere and a spike of a charged current laced the air, standing Lucifer’s hair on end. “I’d rip ‘m to… en rubans… did t’ you.” The ferocity behind his slurred, hard to decipher words hit Lucifer’s chest hard. It was the first time the other man had been angry for his sake instead of at him.
He…would have to unpack that later. The red headed demon was surely babbling about something from his own past. No reason for Lucifer’s heart to skip a beat by assuming it was about him. Alastor was probably far, faaar too gone to give proper, coherent answers to real questions. “So uh. What's your favorite animal?” Mhm. Perfectly smooth subject change.
The air cleared of energy immediately, but the deer demon looked upset still. An internal battle waged within him, evident in his wavering smile and flicking ears. Even as loose as he was with so much alcohol in such a short time, his self control was impressive.
Lucifer lightly elbowed the man. “It’ll stay between us. ‘S not like I get a bottle deep that often to begin with.” His tail manifested to snake out and grab the half empty one, pouring a decent amount into his glass. “To new drinking pals!” He downed a little more than half the glass before offering it to Alastor.
Said demon relaxed in the face of more delicious rye, taking it and gulping it greedily with a pleased hum that crackled with a hint of his filter trying to return. This guy was too stubborn for his own good. Did he ever let himself breathe for a minute? Take a day off and relax from being the self important, stuck up bastard he molds himself into every waking moment?
A voice drifted through his thoughts, extracting him back into the present. “Plat…aty…us.”
“Huh?”
“M’ fa…v’ite a’mal. Pl…plat…ypus,” Alastor had to say the strange animal’s name slowly, his tongue betraying his attempts at coherency. “...ve’m…ve…nemous act…’ly .”
“Oh. I remember those. A really early design of beavers, I think. Kind of ducks’ too. I took the bill and shaped it differently-”
The look in Alastor's eyes was unreadable to Lucifer. Mostly because he refused to believe his first assumption of amazement. This was Alastor. The guy who’s only objective in his afterlife seemed to be causing pain and chaos at whim.
“-’Zek added the spur bit though. Speaker took one look at it and added the poor thing straight to-”
“‘Stralia.”
“Is that what humans call it now?”
“Mhmm. ‘su…p…’sed t’... pri…son. ‘en… prison…ers col…col’nized it ‘n … th…their ow…n co…try ‘tually…” Alastor continued on, and the pale angel started drifting off to the radio host’s struggling explanation. Closing his heavy eyes for just a moment.
Only to be startled awake by a weight falling onto his lap- probably just the cat jumping up. Lucifer carded his fingers through the long fur, lightly scratching just behind fuzzy ears for a few moments before looking down. He expected Keekee’s black fur between his own dark claws, not strands of red. The angel froze, hands still lingering in the softness of Alastor's hair. What.
Movement stirred in front of the two as Lucifer had a quiet panic attack. Alastor's mysterious shadow stood from the ground, flickering slightly with the fireplace light until it properly solidified into a hunched, shaking shape. It… was laughing at him. That was only slightly better than it attacking him, but still!
“Uhm. You might want to get big guy here to bed? I’m pretty sure he’d hate anyone else to see him like this!” Lucifer’s voice was a low whisper that pitched into a near squeak at the end. He was close to begging the shade when it finally gave him a huge smile full of mirth at the situation and sunk Alastor's sleeping form into shadows that shot off to somewhere unknown.
The king decided that he’d drunk more than enough for the night. He rose off the couch, a slight sway in his vision and body, one hand tiredly tugging at his own, blond locks as he waved the evidence of the night away. Then, hoping to follow the Radio Demon’s example, Lucifer snapped his fingers to his own bed for another try at sleeping.