#oc sol

It was a seedy show, one that could barely be called a “news” channel. It thrived off of cheap scandals and manufactured drama. And still, Sol had been devastated when he mentioned he refused the interview. “It’s a chance to show everybody a different side of you,” they pled with him. “'Cause you’re so scary all the time.” That is, largely, the point, he’d thought.

“Oh, really?” the interviewer’s thin eyebrows shoot up in manufactured shock. “Do tell us about some of these challenges.”

Lucifer pulls in a deep breath and leans forward, placing his elbows onto his knees. “There are certain… preferences that Diavolo and Sol have that may not necessarily align with my own. Small things, really, minor grievances, but they add up over time. When you live with one partner and work with the other, it’s easy to be frustrated by their antics.”

The interviewer is smiling broadly, leaning in close to him, trying to catch every word. The drama would be fantastic for their viewership. He glances at the camera again; Diavolo and Sol would be watching. But it was time for them to know how he really felt.

“It happens most often at lunchtime. That’s the meal that the three of us most often share together, due to our respective classes and duties at the academy. Most commonly, Sol and I will bring food from home or purchase something from the cafeteria, while Diavolo’s meal is made by the royal staff. We all have our preferences, of course; there’s nothing out of the ordinary there.”

The interviewer nods at all the right times, paying rapt attention to him with her hands clasped in her lap. “But sometimes…” Lucifer can feel the frustration bubbling up again, and the interviewer leans in expectantly, glancing at the camera crew to make sure they focus in on this vital moment. Lucifer takes a calming breath, a few seconds on the inhale, longer on the exhale.

"Sometimes I wonder if they understand that even the Avatar of Pride can only eat so many pickles."

The interviewer blinks at him. "I'm sorry?"

"I mean, really," Lucifer gestures helplessly towards the air. "I'm not offended by them having preferences. But I'd pay any amount of grimm to understand why they insist on giving me their extra pickles."

"What does this have to do with-"

"Pickles," Lucifer waves a hand impatiently. "Both of them hate pickles. It's unfortunate for them that so many dishes come with pickles or pickled vegetables, but many demons are quite fond of the strong flavor. I've already had to block a motion to ban them from the academy cafeteria," he sighs. The interviewer looks at staff behind the camera, trying to decide if she can get him back on script.

"But the real problem," Lucifer cuts in, "is the fact that I now eat three times the amount of pickles that I should eat with any given meal. Occasionally, I have a fleeting moment of peace whilst looking at my sandwich with a perfect, thin layer of pickles on it, only for that peace to be shattered by twice the pickles being unceremoniously tossed onto my plate. Should I start making excuses to take lunch in my office? Should I try to sneak them onto another plate for some other poor, unsuspecting soul to find?"

The interviewer's lips press together in a thin line. Clearly, she thinks sourly, he's needed to say this for a while now.

"At this rate, I may start to develop a distaste for pickles myself. They say, 'oh, Lucifer, when there's pickles on my sandwich, all I can taste is pickles!'- well, when there are triple the amount of pickles there should be on my sandwich, then all I can taste is pickles too! Sodom and Gomorrah forbid that I begin to dislike pickles, though, because then where would they be? Will they start a pickle-collecting charity to pass them off to disadvantaged demons? Maybe we ought to start a shipping line to the human world to dump our vast quantities of pickles onto their hallowed Earth, since they're too hellish to be tasted by the Devildom's most refined palates!"

"It sounds like they can be terribly frustrating sometimes," the interviewer says drily.

Lucifer's eyes narrow in an instant, and he turns his icy blue gaze on her. "Why would you say that?"

"I just said it sounds like-"

"I hope you aren't implying my partners are anything less than flawless. I certainly wouldn't," he sniffs. He checks his watch with an imperious look, then turns his eyes back to the camera. "I believe that's all the time we have today."

"We haven't even gotten anywhere!" the interviewer shouts after him, his footsteps receding away from the set.