Hand went to her holster the moment she heard the gun, those assassin like reflexes still deeply embedded in her psyche. She had barely extracted her blaster when she felt the gust of wind whip through her hair, watching with dawning horror as the Devil’s wings furled around them. ❝ Lucifer, don’t! ❞ it left her throat as no more than a rasping hiss, dark eyes softening with realisation. ❝ Of all the stupid sentimen —— ❞ the rest of those words were drowned out by an explosion of sound, reverberating off the roof & walls. Gun fire. The acrid smell of residue hung over the scene. But nothing touched her. Nothing came close to doing so, not a stray bullet or the butt of a rifle. Nothing.
She knew. She knew exactly what he were doing because if she were in the same position as him, she would have done the same. In this impossible universe they’ve found each other & neither are willing to part with the other over something as simple as an old fashioned shootout. But It didn’t mean she was going to wait contently, oh no. Free hand reached up, pressing it to his cheek gently, you’re completely ridiculous you know that?… Did it hurt? She wondered, not daring to look anywhere but his face. He had said he was immortal, that didn’t necessarily exclude him from feeling pain. She hated to think that did as much as the knowledge that he wouldn’t relent. He were as stubborn as her. So, she chose to channel her efforts elsewhere, jaw set as she ran a finger down the cold edge of the blaster’s barrel. She’ll make them pay for what they’re doing. Bullet for bullet.
❝ listen to me, whoever did this….when this is all over, they’re mine to make pay! ❞ Her voice screamed for retribution, the demand of a woman who had taken life before. His enemy or hers, it didn’t matter, a dead corpse was a threat to no one!
Heav'n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn'd,
Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.
Congreve, the man who coined that phrase, was clearly wrong. Her anger is matched by his fury -- monstrous wrath that he feels burning in his entire being. Eyes flash to a fire-red abyss - terrifying in itself because it confirms everything people assume him to be - that doesn’t relent & skin becomes charred and red. The pain is unreal - especially when the bullets hit BONE - but he’s had worse than this. Lucifer keeps her close, unmoving. Unphased by the shattering of bone.
Once white feathers are now stained red by the time their assailant’s bullets run out. Lucifer wants to punish them. He wants to send them so far down into the pits of hell that even his father won’t be able to hear their cries for help. He doesn’t care for who they’re after. That’s not important.
Her words draw his attention back - she’s unhurt, it seems - and he nods. She can kill them, yes. Wings unfurl after a few moments’ silence ( when he’s certain they haven’t reloaded a weapon ) and he loosens his grip. Very well.
“ Yes.” Lucifer’s tone is quiet, dark & foreboding. It’s a side of him she hasn’t seen. He looks to their would-be assailant, who cowers when they realise just who they’re dealing with, before back to River. .
“Give them hell, darling.”
