😈

you    don’t    work    in    jobs    like    this    without     brushing     a    little    too    close    to    insanity  .        something    of    the    strange    could    often    be    unlocked    with    liquor    and    men    had    confessed    they    were     much    more     than    satan    while    blurry    eyed    at    her    counter  .        unshaken   ,        julia    slid    a    clean    glass    out    onto    the    side   ,        folding    her    arms     behind     it    and    waiting    with    patient    wit  .            ❝             the    devil   ,        huh   ?            ❞         a    wicked    grin    to    rival    the    man     himself   .        there    was    something    amusing    about    the    sentiment    that    she’d    spend    a    lifetime    tracking    demons    to    have     one     waltz    into    her    bar    and    announce    himself    without    a    care  .        ❝             sure    you    are  .        and    what    does     the    devil     want    to    drink    next   ?            ❞  

“satan. the dark lord. beelzebub. take your pick. lucifer? morningstar? pleasure to meet you. what’d you expect? little red horns? a flaming pitchfork? i think i’d have to die and go to -- well. hell. before anyone believed me, and even that’s like trying to score weed from jesus.”

no matter how many times he has this conversation, the naysayers and nonbelievers always prick their little ears up at the mere mention of the theistic but never believe it until they wake up straddling an old school torture rack with a couple of demons either side. yoohoo. it’s real.

i gave up an epic foursome to be here.    (  @deivll  )

                  “    well,   pardon    me    for    ruining    your    evening    with   banal    things    such    as    a    murder    case.  ”

               Words   are    spat    back    with    far    too    much    spite    for  her    taste    –    she’s    trying    her    best    to   feign    nonchalance,    because    she    knows    his    sole   purpose    in    life    is    to    get    under    her    skin.   Whatever    reason    she    had    to    call    Lucifer    for   backup    in    this    case,    she’s    now    immediately   regretting    it.    Perhaps,    she    supposes,    a    part    of  her    is    still    trying    to    give    him    a    second   chance    –    it’s    not    in    Chloe’s    nature    to   do    so,    however.    In    her    mind,    there    are   certain    mistakes    that    cannot    be    undone,    and    some   people    that    simply    do    not    deserve    to    be   judged    twice.    As    far    as    she    can    tell,   Lucifer    Morningstar    is    one    of    them.

                 And   yet,    here    she    is,    once    more    recruiting    him   for    a    job    even    though    she    doesn’t    want    him  involved    in    any    kind    of    LAPD    business.   However,    she    will    ease    her    own    conscience    by   saying    this    time,    he    could    actually    be    of   help.    When    it    comes    to    the    LA    club    scene,   he’s    sure    to    be    the    one    who    knows    the   most    about    it,    about    what    goes    on    behind    the  curtains    of    glitz    and    glamour.    He    did    prove   himself    to    be    useful    in    the    first    case    he   meddled    himself    into,    back    then,    and    much    as   it    bothers    her    to    admit    it,    he    keeps    on   helping    sometimes,    in    his    own    controversial    way.

              “    if   I    remember    correctly,    you’re    the   one    who’s    always    trying    to    stick    your    nose   into    our    businesses.    be    grateful    that    we   actually    considered    calling    you    for    this    one.    ”   arms    fold    over    her    chest,    a    feral    furrow   of    her    brows    as    she    keeps    his    gaze    held   with    her    own    –    she’s    not    taking    any    of   his    shit    tonight,    “    come    on,    we’ve   got    witnesses    that    might    have    seen    something   important.    by    the    way,    the    victim’s    a   nightclub    owner,    rumored    to    be    involved    in   cocaine    dealings,    ”    she    gestures    for    Lucifer   to    follow    her    through    the    crowd    of    police   officers    and    forensics,    “    maybe    you    know    him?  from    one    club    owner    to    another,    I    mean.    ”

he has mismatched buttons and one lip of his shirt is still hanging out from the hem of his pants which he’s now trying to correct with the right amount of squirming and ignoring the bombshell red lipstick from the underside of his collar. that’s strictly foreplay. and by epic foursome he means he’s peeled three britneys off his chest and left them with a to be continued because what the detective wants, the detective gets. and right now, she wants him. perhaps not in the way that he’d like her to, but he’ll take anything at this point and twist it into some good-hearted jape.

“ah, dear charlie. he always was on top of a mountain, if you know what i mean.”      sniff sniff. he’s talking about drugs. specifically, coke. and charlie definitely isn’t his name. it was one of the worst kept secrets in all of downtown LA and dear charlie had a booming business with a queue to the toilets a mile long every night.

“first rule of drug dealing -- don’t get high off your own supply, detective.”     again, another badly kept secret -- if you showed up at charlie’s side, chances are his pupils were blown and his teeth were grinding their way down to little stubs in his smarmy little face anyway. but the way the detective leads him to a seedy corpse she seems to be convinced he’d know something about is a little demeaning. maybe he’ll huff about it later into his coke.

you’re quite adorable when you’re flustered.    (  @deivll·  )

                  She   doesn’t    reply    immediately,    instead,    she’ll    roll   her    eyes,    try    her    best    to    ignore    his   remark    by    pretending    she’s    buckling    the    thin   strap    of    her    heels    around    her    ankles    –    it   fails,    of    course,    because    she    can    still    feel   the    slight    burning    on    her    cheeks,    the   exasperation    in    her    actions,    hasty    and    rushed   just    so    he    will    stop    looking    at   her    –    most    precisely,    at    her    cleavage,   courtesy    of    the    horribly    flashy    and    revealing   dress    she’s    been    thrust    into.    A    dress    he   specifically    picked    for    her,    because    of    course   this    would    be    his    time    to    flash    wealth    and   past    conquests    into    her    face    –    what    man   keeps    dresses    in    his    apartment    just    like   that?    A    creepy    jackass,    that’s    who.

               “    i’m   not    flustered,    okay?    –    unlike    the   sparkly    ditzes    you    frequent,    I    don’t    cave   in    so    easily    to    cheap    compliments    about    my   body.    ”

                She   huffs,    choosing    instead    to    focus    entirely    on   the    situation    at    hand    –    it’s    by    far    not   the    first    time    she    goes    undercover,    but    it   is    the    second    to    third    time    she’s    had    to   do    it    with    Lucifer    breathing    down    her    neck.   And    that’s    not    something    she    appreciates    at   all,    because    she    knows    he’ll    find    a    way    to  screw    it    up,    one    way    or    another.    Which    is   the    reason    why    she    wants    to    get    this    over   with    soon,    but    to    do    so,    she    needs    his   influences    and    money    in    order    to    get    inside   the    VIP    section    of    the    prestigious    club,    where   the    suspect    is    supposed    to    spend    most    of    his   Friday    evenings.

                 Much   as    it    pains    her    to    admit    it,    once    more,   she    needs    his    help.

             “    I   hope    you    remember    what    the    plan    is,    ”   she    straightens    up,    takes    a    step    forward    on   her    massive    heels    and    tugs    the    hem    of    the   mini    dress    in    a    vain    attempt    to    cover    more   of    her    thighs,    “    we    go    in    there,    find   the    suspect,    and    we    leave.    no    drinking,    no   socializing    –    no    womanizing.    are    we   clear?    ”

         “ooh, detective. i didn’t know you had it in you. or -- well. i suppose on you seems more appropriate.”

he’s talking, of course, entirely of the dress. freshly dry-cleaned with special thanks to maze and covering just enough to stop curiosity in its tracks -- delightful. he never understands why she insists on covering up; we’ve seen it all before, detective, and nothing you can say or do will stop the fact that you’re very deeply seated into every teenage boy’s thoroughly overused wank bank from the early nineties. 

                  “for what it’s worth, you look stunning, detective.”     it’s true -- trampiness aside, chloe covers up with big jackets and mom jeans to distract from the absolute femininity she could show if she wanted without hot tub high school following her around like a bad smell, for which, he understands -- it’s a hard job for a woman, let alone one who’s got her knockers out before. but still. she looks good with a bit of leg out.

       “and don’t listen to what they say -- you don’t at all look like a world class hooker.”

all in all, he’s sure of the plan. no this, no that, no having a good time in a place where you’re supposed to have a good time -- although he’s sure the moment he walks in, there’ll be a whiskey in his hand and a forming line of girls who want a moment with the infamous lucifer morningstar. but he can always try. no promises are given because none can be made.

                >> 🔥 <<           THE SMELL ACTUALLY,    but he wasn’t going to   admit that   to the lord’s face.  certain being’s had a scent he could immediately pin point and those that are  HELLISH   in nature always was pungent.  but   . .  he’d been in hell once or twice enough  personally   to know when something wasn’t quite right.  and the   HEAD HONCHO   of it all.  over it all he snorts soft,  waving a hand   NONCHALANTLY   in the air.         ❝          i’d say  both   –  but s’ th’   throne   that really stands out   —  what is it  ;  human flesh or something  ??  has a kinda  AIR   t’ it.         ❞         he murmurs,  fingers raising to  scratch  at his own stubble as he viewed his cards.  

he’s not really   SUPPOSED   to be here  —-  in front of   him   anyway   (   though he’s sure that  LUCIFER   hears it all the time  ;  unsurprising.  )

        ❝          ah  —  i’d rather   PASS,   thanks   ;   what’m   ACTUALLY   here for   (   requestin’ yer audience i ‘spose.  )   is t’actually get outta here.  i ain’t dead or nothin’   —  i’ve got work t’do at  SIX   ‘n this whole shebang’s a waste’ve time  . .        ❞        

              “brimstone, actually.  you know, the whole fire and brimstone schtick -- less of a schtick, and more of a quite literal pain in my arse.”     devil face or not, he wishes he’d been able to even pretend that hell is any less boring than listening to brother uriel’s welcome speech over and over. perhaps that’s his personal type of hell. what kind of irony would that be? -- then again, knowing the absent father of the year, that’s exactly his rotten little puppeteering plan. boredom. boredom and screaming -- that’s what he’s resigned to and however he perches on the end of a gargantuan, entirely reductive throne that’s cold, and hard, and starting to give him sciatica, isn’t going to change anything.

                                         but he likes to play along.

inbox .  “ it’s  suddenly  very  important  that  i  get  drunk . ”    @deivll·  .

❝             well   ,        you    have    come    to    the    right    place            ❞            julia    gestures    to    the    bar    before    him   ,        a    dirty    dish    clamped    tight    in    her    hand    as    she    continued    to    clear    the    filthy    counters  .            ❝             don’t    get    too    carried    away    though        –        i    do    have    a    liquor    licence    i’m    sworn    to    protect  .            ❞ 

“not to worry, i’m the devil.”      protect and serve, but when it comes to slamming down a quart of whiskey before venturing off to work with the ever-lovely detective, he’s become somewhat a pro. money, jobs, and the mundane of human life don’t appeal to him, but there’s something of a soft spot for what burns down his throat and livens up a party.

       “your lady garden isn’t really relevant to this potential crime scene, lucifer.” chloe doesn’t look up from her hands as she snaps the gloves into place. she refuses to even acknowledge the implied reference to her own ‘garden,’ or whatever. “look.” she opens the beat-up storm door to find the back door proper left slightly ajar. “there’s probably a joke about leaving eden for the desert in here somewhere.” 

      “i’ll have you know, detective, that my lady garden is almost always relevant.”

this is how they work: he makes some inappropriate comment that the detective nearly always hides a chortle in favour of a tasteful rebuttal, and the two of them go back and forth until the murder is just sort of... well... solved. what a brilliant partnership. he’s sauntering forward to keep up because there’s no way he’s about to miss the keeping up with the bible studiers reference.

                “tempted, are we? i can tell you this -- the forbidden fruit certainly wasn’t an apple. well -- i suppose you could say it dangled... --”

                                              insert the contemplative pause.