ㅤㅤㅤSliding up next to the bar, leaning one arm against it as he takes the stool next to rodeo-clown imp,ㅤit’s second nature, how casual it all is, the way he moves. For a moment, Striker says nothingㅤ[ his presence should be enough; & isn’t it always? ]ㅤa calculated silence,ㅤ❛ Funny to run into you again, Blitzy… ❜ㅤhe drawls out, voice oozing poison & syrup, thick with Hell’s equivalent of Southern charm.ㅤAs if in a show of good faith & a temporary cease-fire, he tips his hat back, eyes locking onto Blitzo / @blitzs with a sharpness meant to cut that hardest stone ( & this, folks, is him being friendly… )ㅤ❛ Drownin’ your sorrows here…ㅤI guess even clowns gotta take the face-paint off sometime, yeah? ❜ㅤhe picks up a glass of whiskey that slides his way with practiced grace, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow, measure slip.ㅤNot once does his smirk falter, instead somehow growing sharper as he continues,ㅤ❛ What’s the matter? Did a job go sour? ❜ㅤHis tone is laced with mockery, but there’s an edge of something darker beneath it, something that hints at unfinished business, voice dropping down to a murmur,ㅤ❛ Or is it problems in the sack; cain’t satisfy the blue-blood shit-stain? ❜

From this prompt! / Always Accepting!

How'd it come so far as for someone to notice his little idiocracies? For a man that was so used to the bare bone company to having a constant presence became an unknown comfort. He pledged countless times of solitude, being separate from both Heaven and Hell would be his heavensent gift. Lucifer, in his various moods, would do silly things in regard to nobody witnessing; adept to his fortress of glass that once another bore a glance at his actions, his reaction was to quickly turn away.

How embarrassing.

How could the royal court of Hell dare forget he invited his bodyguard to his humble abode and perform actions he would only when alone. The fallen angel wasn't a man easily embarrassed and if ever he were to be, nobody would've thought twice at his all too common poker facade.

But Blitz was a different chapter entirely. A sub-section written into his ongoing story that always read the same; the events of his life turning like a vinyl on repeat until a little imp strolled into his space one day. A day Lucifer often thinks of fondly looking back, especially compared to where they were now in their relationship. They mirrored each other in the good and bad, his initial opinion almost completely vanished from existence.

More respect had been earned, more information gathered about each other's lives, and a heart beat that started to drum in his presence. Something Lucifer tends to try ignoring.

⸺ ❝ Ha ha! I don't have a single clue as to what you're insinuating! I happened to touch your hand by mere coincidence due to your hand being where mine was trying to go! A common mistake, I'll forgive ya this once. ❞

@blitzs ❤ for a starter:

He one of those types : the ones who want to appear smarter than they actually are to buy themselves time, and who always want to get the last word in. Lashes blink, seemingly unperturbed by his playground taunt.

❝ now would be preferable, ❞ Stella speaks with a lighter tone to the hound with the wagging docked tail, ingoring the imp as a breath leaves her ; one that she wasn't aware she was holding in. Must she do everything to keep the family reputation from being reduced to pulpy remains when even the smallest threat is able to squirm their way in?

❝ and i'll deal with you, later. ❞ Chilled eyes surveyed the imp with annoyance before the guards are dismissed with a wave of her fingers, her occupied hand swirling the remains in her wine glass before departing from the trio.

tag drop for @blitzs!

it's not an uncommon occurrence in hell , the age old act of murder has been around since cain --- what's peculiar is imps within the pride ring running it. he'd caught wind from flyers & questionable newspaper clippings of the service ( & bits & pieces of a commercial jingle that he actually found surprisingly pleasant. ) zestial flourished where he could not leave ; but extending his reach to earth to ensure his iron - clad hold of fear remained in tact could prove to be fruitful in more ways than one. the least he could do is scope it out himself , he's never been fond of calling ; besides , there's always pleasure to be had in showing his face ! the overlord revels in the attention , the heightened pace , the quickening of beating hearts & strangled yelps. he doesn't need to lift a finger to garner such a reaction , there is power in itself there.

the halls of the building fall eerily quiet as shadows envelope , prying eyes peer from behind blinds as he passes like a horrific specter. he stills in-front of the door marked IMP & knocks once before entering with a duck of his head. zestial's quick to take stock of the room , slithering closer to the empty desk. " i know that someone doth linger here. " an amused coo that echoes with the timbre of his voice , " @blitzs, was it ? "