The Devil's Nest, Tuesday Night

[my_own_advocate]

The weekend after the party had been perfectly fine, bar that little spot of Octavia jumping ahead and blurting something out that Lucifer hadn't intended to come out just yet, and so Lucifer was just fine, and not at all working on a revised list of Valentine's Day orders more in line with reality.

Between side-eyeing Tiny's sudden fondness for the strawberry vodka and finding himself drawn to playing Robbie Williams tracks of all things, well.

At least he was distracted.

"If a man could be his own fantasy, then to only breed in captivity is pointless; I've been doing what I like, when I like, how I like, it's joyless..." Deep breath. "Since you went away, my heart breaks everyday. You don't know 'cause you're not there..."

Comments

Have A Drink

[my_own_advocate]

Hope you like strawberry vodka. (Does someone have a crush?)

Listen to the Music

[my_own_advocate]

There is definitely cheerier work in the discography of Williams and his contemporaries, here and there.

Talk to Lucifer

[my_own_advocate]

At the piano, or messing with his phone at the bar.

Back Office

[my_own_advocate]

If Eric's around.

OOC

[my_own_advocate]

Re: Talk to Lucifer

[my_own_advocate]

By closing time, with the absolute quiet of the club tonight leaving him entirely too much to his thoughts, Lucifer had removed, then returned Duke's flowers to his shopping cart multiple times. It was pathetic. The whole thing. He sighed, and cast his phone onto the piano.

"Lock the door and turn down the lights on your way out," he told Tiny, "I'll tidy everything else up in here."

Tiny gave him a quizzical nod, but complied. Lucifer waited until he left. Until the lights had dimmed, leaving only the more atmospheric ones ablaze and casting shadows across his face.

He stared at his phone. Picked it up again.

...

Dialed. It rang, and it rang, and it rang, and something in him cracked a little further with every go-around--

"Lucifer?"

"You picked up."

He hadn't intended for his voice to break.

"I guess I did," the Detective said slowly. "What, uh. What's going on, Lucifer?"

Can I come home?

"Just... wondering how you were doing," he said. "Ah. Sorry that I broke our previous agreement, it's just-- it has been a while, and I wanted to be sure you were in good health, and... everything."

"I'm. I'm okay. Sort of. I don't know. It's--" She sighed. "This is weird. No, I'm okay. Trixie's okay. Work is okay. How are-- are you okay?"

He stared at a bottle of-- it had to be Bailey's, he wasn't sure, his eyes were a bit moist and it was hard to tell. Was he okay? He was. He--

"Lucifer?"

He shut his eyes and rubbed his eyelids. "I," he started. And faltered again. And noticed, in spite of himself, the long silence on the other side of the line. How she didn't reach out. How she was... waiting.

"Right," she said finally. "I, uh. Trixie just got home, so--"

Bugger. "Chloe--"

"I gotta go."

She hung up.

He held on to the phone until his eyes stopped feeling fuzzy, and wet, and aching.

Re: Talk to Lucifer

[my_own_advocate]

Lucifer put it down again, eventually. He'd been sitting there for close to half an hour after closing time, and he realized he needed to go home.

Instead his fingers brushed over the keys. Pressed a few, until the notes strung together into a solid, bittersweet tune he recognized.

"How do you rate the morning sun," he sang softly. "After a long and sleepless night, how many stars would you give to the moon?"

He straightened up, his fingers a little more solid on the piano. "Do you see those stars from where you are? Shine on the lost and loneliest, the ones who can't get over it--"

There wasn't a pause in the song here, but he took one, a loud breath, and-- "And you always wanted more than life, but now you don't have the appetite; in a message to the troubadour, the world don't love you anymore. Tell me how do you rate the morning sun?"

The words had come out of him halting, at first. Then quiet. Just like the simple chords that joined them. But he picked up force-- "It was just too heavy for me, and all I wanted was the world--" until by the end he was belting.

"And you don't see anything. Not even love not anything-- the night could take the man from you, a sense of wonder overdue. The morning brings a mystery, the evening makes it history!"

A final breath. "Who am I to rate the morning sun?"

His hands stopped moving. He stared across the bar.

Finally plucked the whiskey off the piano, and got up.