FEAR.

@kniightli

        ears flick.  with everything around him, he neglects to focus on the one thing in front of him.  nevertheless, whenever he looks at her, he sees the irritated skin that had not been explained to him.  he sees bruises, far worse than those he has ever seen;  he sees abuse.  and even now, as he fixes blank eyes on her face, he still sees abuse.

        lucifer stares, nails meeting, scratching against one another in a distracted manner.  all alone, huh...?  and since when had it been any different?  why does this boy fear the quietness of solitude so much when he has lain entangled in it for many years?  perhaps satan is missing something, but he does not think he is.  houtarou has never been longed for.  what would be the difference?

psh, who needs rules anyways

@browneyed-gemini

        a moment to collect himself in the wake of stolen attention.  a shake of his head, fingers resting on his hips.  valiant attempt to garner the most foul of sentences on the devil’s behalf only piques his interest, has him meandering closer to the other to see him better.  houtarou very much reminds him of church windows, a very plaintive lie burned into its pane yet the truth was difficult to see through its murky lens.  this boy is nothing but a defamed cross.

   “I couldn’t HEAR you over     the FUR and GOAT HORNS.”

  Doesn’t he have grass to chew, or some sort of field to frolic in ?   No wonder Lucifer was cranky, he was out of his element– lurking   about a near inhospitable environment. 

   No open space, no Shepard to herd him into                                                                              the right direction.

        ❛ i highly suggest you open your ears.  i am speaking at a very audible level. ❜

        he regards the other as something gone past its expiration date.  like sour milk that has been left in the sun for months-- such a vile stench masking something that was once useful makes him sick to his stomach.

   ❝ BITCH IF I COULD– ❞

looks can kill bi tch

        ❝ I’m not entirely surprised. I sort of expected them to get themselves into trouble eventually—— ❞ she cuts off briefly, eyes diverting across the room as she becomes lost in thought and whimsy; staring at nothing in particular at all. ❛ Trouble, ❜ perhaps, was not the best descriptor. But she would hate to offend a surprise guest with tactless wording. Even if they did sort of kill all her housemates. ❝ Unless you’re referring more towards calm in the sense of disgust or horror. ❞

        ❝ Either way, I’ve seen worse. Not usually this thorough though, and I can more than appreciate whatever emotion led you to make such a mess. ❞

    Hands rest gently between her legs as she gives the room the final once over from the desk she had unceremoniously parked herself ontop of. Coming to her estimate of the damage took a moment, as did how best to even begin cleaning this up without simply bending the reality of the room.

    Gods, she did not want to rip and hem the seams of space-time today. Nuh-uh, she’s exhausted.

        ❝ What would you like to drink? We have a variety of wines, a collection of teas and coffees… Oh, and I make pastries and desserts. I think right now there’s a tiramisu out on the counter in it’s display that was g o n n a be eaten by these guys before they got eaten by you in turn. So you’re basically obligated to try a slice. ❞

        ❝ and maybe take some home. ❞

       he listens with a hint of enthusiasm.  people’s justification for accepting graphic violence in their immediate surroundings is always intriguing to him.  he has overseen wars for that very same reason;  listened to soldiers on both sides convince themselves and their comrades that mutilation of the opposition was necessary to ensure the good of the future.  what either side failed to recognise that they both had the same future, regardless of whom technically triumphed on paper - and none of it was positive.  even those who survived were left ruined.  it is why he finds people’s unconcerned approaches interesting in the first place.

       the offer of a drink makes him perk up.    ❛ did you say wine? ❜     usually, he would go for tea upon hearing of it, but wine is something he gets to indulge in even less.  its presence is generally well-liked by him, though he does not appreciate the association between god’s tyke’s blood and the beverage.  he will spare himself the thought this one time.  after all the energy he had had to exert on behalf of these pests, he deserves a drink.     ❛ …if you have red wine, consider that my selection, if you will. ❜     for even in the wake of murder, complete chaos, lucifer is polite without fault.  after all, he is in her abode.

       the offer of food is something that makes him blink.  he generally does not make the request, especially not after such a full meal-- but alas, the devil is a glutton, and it is without mercy on his own insides that he nods his head.  he will not sport a stomach ache after all;  does not tend to fall victim to such human conditions, and if he does he can use magic to alleviate it.

   Composure, Ayane couldn’t keep it for very long when she was suddenly whisked into another room quite abruptly. Eyes widened, though trying to hide her awe. It certainly wasn’t science, not even quantum physics could explain this phenomenon. 

  “-Oh Lucifer.” Ayane coos, her smile dying down, yet her soul still bubbled with the adrenaline rush. The doctor gingerly stepping before his form. His willingness, the tranquillity he presented; which wasn’t apparent in her other victims. 

   “You will be a wonderful patient, I can hardly even wait to see what’s inside of you…I-” She murmured, a sickening grin growing across her tender features at the sight of his undressing- his abdomen exposed. He had aroused her sadism, her excitement, her predatory instincts. Barely holding back, she reached out for the scalpel in an attempt to swiftly move it into her own possession.

 “I need this.” She stated desperately, eyes darting at his exposed flesh as if it were a necessity - like water, she didn’t refer to the scalpel, she referred to needing to cut him up. 

  “Wouldn’t you need your body to be numbed?- Do you feel pain?” Ayane asked with unhealthy interest. She wasn’t trying to hide anymore; her rather empathetic question had sadistic intentions. She was careful not to venture further towards him until he said so, after all, he seemed quite eager to do this as much as she was.

  “Or do you want me to just start the procedure, Dear Lucifer?”

       something about her enthusiasm is captivating, and it is enough to keep him interested in what is going on.  after all, he has met plenty a sick person, and it is no secret that he would be spoiled for choice had he wanted to divert his attention elsewhere.  perhaps all desires are not as vivid and palpable as ayane’s are, but everybody has a desire that they keep secret from the world for fear of judgement.  it is his job to bring those out.

          ❛ pain? ❜     satan inquires while chuckling, snapping his fingers to have a surgical table appear, as well as one he can lay on.  he sits, ankles crossed in a casual manner.     ❛ i can handle you, my dear, ❜     he says, and in that silk-smooth voice is a hint of  affection  for her.  after all, somebody who is so honest about their disturbing tendencies is noted as somebody thoroughly honest in his book.  honesty, on another’s front, is something he finds inherently attractive-- even though he himself sits atop a shrine of lies.

       the devil lays down, and it is with willingness that he shifts his shirt completely aside, pristine material draped from the table until it pools atop his waistcoat.  an arm props behind his head, muzzle turning towards her.  a beckon closer.

                              she immediately goes stiff.  not only is his sudden touch unwanted, but the familiar name makes her blink.  did he say lucifer?  she instantly sidles away, feet taking tiny pigeon-steps away from him, shoulders hunched and eyes fixed on the ground.  not again–

                                   ❛ um… ❜     hands are fumbling.     ❛ w… um.  i–i already… know… a lucifer… and you… you’re not him… ❜

       a sharp flick of his ears.  she already knows of a lucifer?  how… interesting.  he has never heard of his name being used as a genuine title for somebody beyond media representations of characters and personifications.  in fact, the last time he had heard of an attempt to do so, he learned that it was unlawful.  whether that applies to all places or not he is unsure.