The Park, Sunday Morning

[my_own_advocate]

For once, it had been Lucifer who woke up early, his mind full of fading images of Michael, fighting, falling. So he'd left a note (and some fresh orange juice) and gone wandering off the Rouge.

There was something off about the air. It itched a bit (Aren't you eager to find some disgusting human to--) on the edges of(I'll call you what you really are: unworthy) his mind. He couldn't quite place it.

But it brought his feet around to the park, where he could amble idly onwards while tossing the odd suspicious glance at the duck pond. He stopped by the edge and watched the flamingoes snap and weave and chase each other.

"Restless, aren't we all?" he said, and glanced up at the sky.

His nose itched. He took a deep breath.

"Oh, wait, hello," he said, expression brightening. "I know this one!"

Well, this week would be interesting.

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