Dallas Bancroft

 Bronx lived in an apparent perpetual chill state. He always took his time with things when it seemed convenient ( which was almost always ) and grocery shopping was not an exception. He liked to roam around the aisles calmly, checking every product he was interested in and peacefully taking his decision. He was, in fact, deciding between to peanut butter brands when he heard an angry rant next to him.    Ah, Bronx has heard about this man.     As a lawyer himself, he had heard the name of this person around the firm more than once, but as of what comments… he could not remember. It was work gossip; so he categorized it as boring immediately; maybe he should’ve paid more attention.

“Maybe they are in lunch break”, Bronx replied calmly while checking one of the jars, “maybe this place only hires ghosts and they cannot clean because their hands keep going through the products”, he added and surprisingly giggled at his own joke. “Anyways, what are you looking for?”

Dallas recognized the other man. Of course he did. Dallas made a point to keep tabs on certain types of people around town, fellow lawyers naturally being one of them. Also naturally, he felt a general disdain towards nearly all those on the list. 

“Every employee is on lunch break? Sounds like bad management, then.” he muttered, raising his eyebrows at the giggle released from his acquaintance. “Ghosts? You think that was funny, do you?” With an overdramatic roll of his eyes, Dallas returned to scouring the shelves. “Hot sauce. Tapatio, specifically. And no, I’m not interested in a substitute, so don’t offer one.”

there were things in lucifer’s life that were so unavoidable, he had to learn to live with them. dallas bancroft was just part of that deal, the son of the man who’d trapped him into a business transaction that he never asked for. every single day lucifer cursed his father for getting him into this, and every single day he contemplated teaching dallas some sort of lesson, though he feared what would happen once dallas’ father found out. the morning at the office had been peaceful, starting at five a.m. sharp so he could get as much done as he possibly could. but lucifer, caught up in his work, had forgotten to close the door to his office, and it was as if he could feel dallas bancroft enter the building without even turning around. and then his voice hit lucifer’s ears, and a hot annoyance bubbled up on his skin. “go away, bancroft.” his voice comes out in a monotone, curt way. “just because my door is open does not mean it’s an invitation for you to speak to me.” he was already turning around, gaze lifting to land cooly on his counterpart’s face. “what do you want?”

There was such a sweet satisfaction for Dallas knowing the power he had over Lucifer. After all, in nearly every other dynamic, Lucifer held most of the power, Dallas relished in being on of the exceptions. Though, frustratingly, Lucifer held his own power over him. He’d never let it be known, of course. And, truth be told, he didn’t even know what it was that Lucifer had, but every once in a while the man’s look could stop even the eldest Bancroft in his tracks, if only for a second. 

“What? A guy can’t come chat with his colleague? And after such a warm welcome, too.” Doing the opposite of what Lucifer asked, he moved further into the room, planting himself in one of the seats opposite the other man, kicking his feet up to rest them on the edge of his desk. 

there was something about family that hero just couldn’t pry herself away from, and growing up with an older brother like dallas, sometimes she wishes she could. it wasn’t that she didn’t love him, her bond with him coming in the form of sharing books or the odd joke across the dining room table during family meals that all seven children were forced to attend. but she didn’t particularly like him, either, and there was a delicate balance between the two feelings that she teetered and tripped over on an ever-changing basis. 

“and here i thought you’d picture yourself as the man whose collarbone was carved by the hand of Michelangelo. just when i think i might have you figured out, you turn around and tell me love poetry isn’t your thing.” the blonde sighs, though the look she flashes dallas is playful, one brow lifting at him. “i bet it’s because you’ve never actually been in love.”

“I did picture myself as the guy. But then it just got weird. “ Dallas scoffs, rolling his eyes at his sister “Of course I’ve never been in love. I have way more important things to do than worry about love.” In his mind, this was genuine. He didn’t feel he had time for love. The part he wasn’t saying, was that he wasn’t sure he was capable of feeling it. “What am I going to do? Abandon all of my obligations because someone batted their doe eyes at me? I’m doing just fine bach’ing it, sis.”

He sat forward “Like you’re one to talk anyway. I’m shocked to learn you’re a closeted romantic.”

location: Grocery store. 

Most people around town probably knew of Dallas. not because of his family ties, per say, but because he came with his own famous reputation. And not exactly a shining one. Known to most as an arrogant asshole, it wouldn’t be a surprise if most people avoided him at all costs. Unfortunately for everyone, he wasn’t known for making himself scarce. 

The golden boy was standing in the middle of an aisle of the grocery store that was clearly in disarray, a mask of slight disgust painted on his face. “Do none of these workers want to get off their lazy asses and make this place presentable? “ he said to no one in particular, but certain to be loud enough for others to hear. 

Typically, Dallas just avoided her. After all, he had his own place now and all of them were adults with their own lives, there wasn’t too much of a reason to be around family members he didn’t want to be. But his position as his fathers second-in-line meant they often had to have fairly private discussions, and often the best place to do so was in his family home. Where, sometimes, he had to make contact with others. As soon as he entered the house and saw his sister he rolled his eyes “Just when I thought I may get away with a visit home and not have you show up too.”

“I finished that poetry book you gave me. It was okay. I think my brain just has a hard time grasping poetry. To...floaty and emotional. And love poems, at that. I mean, I get it, he makes your heart drop into your chest and all. Why would I want to hear about some guy’s ‘collarbone carved by the hand of Michelangelo” unless it’s someone talking about me?” 

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