maskormenacelogs | Damnation is waiting in the mirror but you shouldn't mind

Freedom was a meeting away. One meeting with "Admiral Naismith". Miles. He had to be on his best behavior. Cal would be ruined, and he was so close - so close - that ruining him that way wouldn't do him any good. The future was so close to him that he could feel it, and this brief stint in RISE's jail cell only gave him a good taste of what there was that needed avoiding, and how to go about avoiding it.

Miles had asked for the mark to be removed. He thought that he had the devil outmaneuvered. Well, Lucifer still had one more thing up his sleeve. Literally, in this case.

Lucifer was waiting for that moment, for the weight pressing him down to be lifted away. He had so much power taken away from him that when it came back... Oh, he could kill them all. That was a possibility too, but it wasn't a very good one.

Mostly, he was just anticipating having Miles back in front of him. After their previous meeting... Third time was the charm, right?

So he was escorted into the room, he sat down at the table, looking like the cat with the cream, and waited for Miles, waited for the color to come back. He wanted his world back, and after so much waiting, he was about to get it.

Edited 2016-02-15 21:41 (UTC)

[ Miles had studied the message he'd received from all angles. Knew that Olivier had accepted his suggestion, knew that Lucifer was surely pinned, had gone over everything with Gregor from every angle he could think ... so why was he still nervous?

Because you're not stupid, is the insistent little voice in the back of his brain. Just paranoid.

Well. A healthy dose of paranoia never hurt anyone. It seemed singularly appropriate in this case, anyway. He pauses outside the facility for a moment, reaching out gently to Gregor to make sure his Emperor is properly situated in his head. Sharing a direct feed like this is usually strange; today, it seems almost like a natural outgrowth of that deep bond they'd exposed in the wake of Miles' proposal to Tex. Something to be concerned with later. Desperately useful for now.

When he enters the cell where Lucifer is to remove the mark, Miles is in full Naismith mode. Confident, projecting more space than he actually takes up. He leans back in the chair slightly, arms splayed out and comfortable. He's the mercenary admiral with thousands of men and women (and one hermaphrodite) at his back. He doesn't need Lucifer's temptations in the slightest. And Gregor himself is there to watch every move ... Miles manages a bit of real relaxation at that. H can withstand nearly anything if Gregor is there to bear it with him.

He grins brightly whenever Olivier's men escort Lucifer in. That scar is still bright and pink across his face; he's taken no steps to hide or heal it more deeply. In fact, he's decided he rather likes it. ]

Lucifer! Delightful to see you again.

[ It's so well played, that confidence, and it goes no end of the way toward reminding Lucifer why he wanted Miles in the first place. Look at him sitting there, brave, keen eyed, wearing the scar across his face like it was a trophy. Lucifer shakes free of his bondage, moving over to settle in the chair opposite him. Free.

Almost. Almost. ]

Do you mind? I can't do anything with my powers blocked this way. It's about time you took a little leap of faith.

[ And then--ah, the veil lifted away. Without exposing himself this time - no need to frighten the little mudfish - he spreads his invisible wings, opens himself wide, sucks the universe in through every single pore. Everything clicks back into place.

He smiles, vulpine, across at the young man in the seat opposite. ]

That's much better. So much better. Now... Shall we talk?

[ He'd been expecting it, at least; no way Lucifer could actually remove the mark without his powers, surely. But he still has to repress a faint shudder to see how much comfortable Lucifer looks. There is a man who looks fully himself again, unfolded as surely as Miles feels when he becomes Naismith ...

This man is dangerous. Desperately dangerous now. Miles has to swallow a little anticipatory thrill despite himself. What an adrenaline junkie he is ... A faint apology to Gregor for making him feel that. Miles just gets a little excited about dancing on the edge of a knife sometimes.

He leans forward now, hands folded and elbows resting on his knees. ]

I wasn't aware there was anything to talk about. The deal is set: you remove the mark, and then you go free. Anything else is quite off the table.

[ His eyes close. He savors it, everything, the thrill of fear and accompanying adrenaline. Through the link of the mark, he can feel Miles' soul longing, reaching out like a flower bending toward the sunlight, and though he can feel that it's tethered - no, anchored - to something else, it's enough. Not perfect. Of course, he could read the same from anyone else, in the rooms around them, but Miles could be in Russia and he'd feel him, feel intensity of spirit when it was that dense, that focused on a single point.

When his eyes open again, the cold, watery blue is crystalline, like the polished surface of a neutron star. His expression is keen. ]

Even if it were that simple - and it's not - it isn't what you want. Hear me out. You seemed adamant before, and I consented. I really wasn't left with much choice. But that ignores the...the rigmarole of the whole thing. I need ingredients. The liver of a sacrificial calf, a wolf's skull, the bone of a saint. Do you have all these things on hand? No, I don't think so.

But I can find them, every one.

[ A few days, to get into Miles' dreams, to change his mind about having the mark removed. A few days was all he needed, he just... He just needed to be free in order to have the chance.

Of course, he wouldn't get the chance anyway. ]

[ The telepathic link would surely be strong enough to detect even on a normal day; today, though, not only is Gregor right there in Miles' mind, but they've also recently professed their (platonic) love for each other. The bond is a rope of gold between the two, two thick strands intertwined. Miles would sooner tear out his own heart than untangle himself from Gregor at this point.

But Miles sees nothing except that expression. Using his spell, maybe? Or just enjoying having whatever angelic senses he has back on again? Eh. He has more important things to focus on. Because there's the catch, or so Miles assumes. He puts on a great show of sighing, to make it clear how very disappointed he is. ]

I'll inform Olivier to put you back in your cell then. Nice speaking with you, Lucifer.

[ He stands as if to leave. ]

[ Gregor holds himself back, not wanting to distract Miles unduly, waiting with bated breath. He tries to keep all of his rapid-fire calculations to the distant part of his mind from Miles, composes it all into a cohesive summary, and says over in neat packets as if by tight-beam:

He's lying. He wants the upper hand back-- he'd say anything to stall you as long as possible on the removal. He would've mentioned this during the initial conversation if these were prerequisites.

He has to additionally keep all of his kneejerk revulsion at the thought of Miles keeping the mark a single second longer than necessary. This is less possessiveness and much more his deeply ingrained disgust toward being manipulated. ]

[ Gregor is right. He wants the upper hand. He wants time. Miles has taken that footing, and Lucifer isn't used to it; to being the manipulated instead of the manipulator. He must overcome. To be otherwise? To be dismissed? Beaten? It's Jesus all over again.

When Miles stands, Lucifer shoots to his feet too, suddenly, and there's the slightest hint of fear in his earnest expression. It's in the tone of his voice, too, strained as he presses on quickly: ]

Don't!

Don't leave. I said I'd remove the mark and I will. I just need time.

[ He worked his mouth, and then sat back down, almost in a submissive gesture, looking up at Miles through his eyelashes. ]

There must be something I can do? Some other way that we can...come to an agreement? Not for anything but time, you understand. Three days. If after that I don't do as you wish, I'll walk back into this cell myself.

[ And hopefully what Miles wished for would be different by then. ]

[ You're right, returns Miles, having come to much the same conclusion but not with the same level of piercing detail that Gregor has. A quiet flare of gratitude to have Gregor in the back of his head doing the calculations. It feels terribly natural; more importantly, it lets him sink into Naismith much more fully than he usually finds feasible here.

A slight misstep, perhaps. Naismith is the one who stops, wants to pause and watch his enemy try to talk his way out of it. Vorkosigan would have kept walking. ]

I have no reason to believe any of that. [ He leans against the back of his chair, noticing that flicker of fear. Can he trick Lucifer into revealing more? Just by staying here and pretending to consider alternatives? He's utterly secure in any temptation, he assumes, especially with Gregor right there. ] You'd just come to me with more arcane conditions. Put off the removal indefinitely, until you finally admit you never intended it to begin with.

[ Gregor considers this quickly, and puts in, You could tell him you want a good faith gesture as well. He's broken trust with you; you're not averse to building it and meeting on equal terms.

He's basing this wholly off of his talk with Kitty about Lucifer's motivations. With the words he sends back reassurance, solidity, determination. Gregor's usual poise during difficult diplomatic or political talks-- he absolutely won't be moved on any point he doesn't want to be moved on. Too much rides on him for him to have any weakness. This sort of thing is his element. ]

[ Something there. Something strong, not concealed by pain this time. If he just has a little longer, he can tweeze it out, get it between his fingers and pull it with his teeth, and if he follows that thread, what will he find at the other end? What will he find waiting.

He can't be distracted, and yet it tempts him, arouses him. His curiosity growls low inside of him, impossible to feed the way he needs it to, because if he's put back...

He'll have to run, and it'll destroy everything he's done until now.

Miles is in a stronger position, and Lucifer knows it, so if he wants his time, his chance to squeeze in through the cracks, he has to take a risk. If only he knew about Gregor's good faith suggestion, he might have earned himself a retrieve. Instead, he goes ahead and jumps the gun, and a moment later there's a flash of silver as he flicks his wrist. The blade comes from seemingly nowhere. He shouldn't be armed, after all. But the weapon is a part of him as much as anything else, like his wings, unseen until he elects for them not to be. ]

Not if you're holding me hostage to my word. You remember this blade, don't you?

[ So okay, the guards were looking pretty edgy... ]

[ An excellent idea. Gregor's words are nearly out of Miles' mouth - and then Lucifer pulls out a blade. The same blade that gave Miles his scars, cut with impossible sharpness ... Miles doesn't have quite the same visceral reaction as he would to, say, Lucifer prepping another mark, but it still has him flinching a few steps back. ]

Very well. If you're planning to reintroduce me to it - with witnesses - I promise you that you'll be locked in here for a very long time.

[ Even as he puts some distance between himself and the weapon, he's flicking his gaze up and down it, trying to think of a way to turn this to his advantage. Gregor had mentioned good faith gestures. ]

Put it aside and we might be able to continue this conversation.

[ In any other circumstance it would be worth that reaction, the way that Miles flinches away as though Lucifer has outright lunged at him with the weapon. Instead, he just arches one eyebrow, watching Miles intently, the blade held firmly in his right hand. ]

I'll do better than that.

[ He does do better than that. Holding Miles' gaze, he brings the blade up to his own cheek, pressing the tip of it just behind his cheek bone and drawing downward, toward his jaw. The pain he shows is instant, and visible, a flinch, his eyes closing for a moment before he opens them again, hissing through his teeth. But the cut? The cut glows. It bleeds, too, oozing blood that drips from his jaw.

Lucifer throws the blade down on the table, toward Miles' side, then clasps his hand across his jaw, staring defiantly up at him, blood and shining light oozing from between his fingers. ]

Well?

[ What the fuck was that.

Miles sucks in a sharp breath, his attention focused entirely on that cut. The blood he more or less expects. The glowing? Not so much. And there's the fact that Lucifer is apparently cutting himself in front of Miles, which also begs the obvious question of what the hell the angel is up to. There has to be some plan. Something Lucifer is driving at. ]

That's very impressive. [ His expression is grim but attentive, gray eyes sharp. One can practically see him calculating practical possibilities. ] But what's the point of it? I saw you bleed before.

[ He doesn't mention the glowing yet, assuming that Lucifer will surely explain it. ]

Yes, you saw me bleed before, but not like this. That blade is the only thing in this entire world that can cut into my grace. My being. The source of my power.

[ He tips his head, eyes narrowing very slightly. ]

That blade is the only thing that can kill me.

[ He doesn't mention that anything else can kill him so long as he gets killed twice; doesn't have to. This still maintains the veneer of invulnerability for him, after all. The only thing that can kill him. It's a nice temptation, and also mostly true. One shot. That's why he didn't propose it first.

But there it is. ]

You keep it, until I remove the mark.

[ Miles' mind immediately whirls with possibilities. He could refuse - he could almost certainly insist that Lucifer remove the mark now or face more jail time - but that sword is a threat too, and now an opportunity. Surely there's someone here who can identify how such an angelic blade is made. Or identify the magic that makes it work, for Miles and Gregor to make their own, real weapon ... After all, it's not as though removing the mark makes Miles safe. If anything it paints more of a target on his back...

The temptation is immediate, severe, and obvious. Miles' mouth twists a little to consider it, running his own calculations in addition to Gregor surely running through his own possibilities as well. He won't jump without Gregor's agreement one way or another. But the opportunity involved is entirely too good to just pass up entirely.

He forces himself to straighten, continue playing the cocksure mercenary admiral. ]

How long?

[ Gregor is similarly fixated, and torn. But Miles is right. This is the physical advantage they need, the one that could actually make Miles safe instead of merely conniving enough to hold him off. They have to at least try to replicate it.

He is desperate, isn't he, he breathes, amazed at how correct a read Kitty had had. His respect for her is secretly notching up, but he doesn't get distracted. With a swift judgement, he goes on, You're right, the length is the key. Tell him you want it removed whenever you return the knife, the date being your decision. Your good opinion of him contingent on his cooperation.

Trying to keep Miles having the control of the dynamic. ]

Three days. A week at most. You can imagine I'm not eager to leave it in your possession--so you see, it's great impetus for me to get what I need and get back to you.

[ Temptation. Oh, temptation! It works so well, so beautifully; when the right thing was found, he could use it, really use it, and nothing, not even the most cocksure, intelligent creature in the world, could ignore the temptation that snaked around them.

He'd get the time he wanted. But he expected Miles to push for something else. Lucifer had snatched the upper hand away from him, and he had to prove himself, try and regain the ground he'd lost. ]

You'll get what you want.

[ Upper hand indeed. Miles agrees both logically and emotionally with Gregor's assessment on this one; it's rare that the smart thing also happens to be the one that indulges his pride at the same time. Such a rare confluence can only be followed through on.

Physically, he leans forward a bit, considering the proposal thoughtfully. Rather exaggerated, that motion, plus there's no hiding the very real temptation in his eyes. ]

Seven days, then, as a baseline. That seems an appropriately deist number. [ He's done a little research since their first encounter. ] But I reserve the right to return it at any time, with the mark being trade for its safe return. Collateral.

Cal had vouched for him, and so Lucifer had done his best, obeyed all the rules, and he hadn't fled when the power over him had been lifted. Oh, he'd been tempted to--the rush as it came back to him, all of reality, everything beautiful, his wings stretching, easing out invisibly to freedom.

Oh yes, he'd been tempted to go, he'd been tempted to kill everything in the room just to prove he could...but he'd stayed. It was the long game, and he'd had more than enough time to learn that it was the long game that he ought to play--with Sabriel and Olivier, with Miles, with Callaghan, and with Russia.

When everything was settled, Admiral Naismith adequately satisfied, he took his leave. Lucifer retreated back to his church, settled the nerves of his poor, rattled followers - did a whole second coming thing - and then head back to find Cal. It was important that they could be alone, that they didn't do this around other people.

He alighted nearby, arms folded, head slightly tilted...and found Robert - unsurprisingly - fast asleep at his desk.

Poor thing.

He came over, lightfooted, and sat on the edge of the desk, very carefully laying the tips of his fingertips against his temple. He could do this from further away, but this gave him more control, more room to reach in and change everything he wanted to.

And Callaghan would dream. He'd dream that he was working late, the lights were hurting his eyes, and Lucifer had come to him. Dreams were always suggestive of subconscious concerns, and Cal was terrified that everything that they were doing would go wrong. So Lucifer gave him the impression that they were both speaking Russian, even though he understood every word in English. Cold War undertones.

"Selling your soul to the American government, Robert? You'd be safer with me."

Edited 2016-02-15 21:27 (UTC)

He couldn't risk it going wrong.

He'd worked too long, too hard here; put too much of himself in to a life beyond a point when he thought he had nothing else to live for. And so, Robert Callaghan was prepared to defend that life - and, by extension, others' - by doing whatever was necessary. By putting every iota of his formidable mind to work, forcing himself to stave off rising above the ashes of past mistakes in lieu of making sure nothing else would burn.

Is it any wonder Robert was exhausted? There was only so much one man could do, but he demanded more of himself, anyway, a manic burst of energy that would and could eventually take its toll. No amount of coffee could stave it off forever.

No amount of coffee could keep him from feeling somehow sluggish when Lucifer came to him, and he squinted, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the light. They almost reminded him of an interrogation room, somehow...

"...I'm not for sale."

It's why he remained Unregistered, even after everything. Why he endured the discomforts, why he pushed himself past his boundaries, because he- he could only rely on himself, and he had to make himself reliable. He felt like a machine made to function long after it'd had a glitch, but there was no time to take it apart and fix.

He still had to fix everything else. Was this strange sense of language part of it, now...?

Edited 2016-02-15 21:37 (UTC)

"Everything's for sale, you just need to decide what your price is."

And suddenly Lucifer steps back, and everything changes at once. The office is on a stage and there are bright studio lights on them, a studio audience, invisible with the blinding lights - the same blinding lights as before - rising up into his eyeline.

Wheel of fortune style music is playing, the audience is cheering, and a young woman in a red dress - Callaghan's daughter - steps forward to take his arm, guiding him up from the desk. As he stands, the desk is swept away, replaced by a giant spinning wheel, and there are names on each of the colored triangles, as well as "My soul" and "Self-sacrifice". Lucifer hands Robert a silver token, after showing it to the camera.

"Here's your way out. A holiday of a lifetime within your reach. One ticket to Heaven. All you have to do is beat the wheel."

And those other names... His friends, his family, his loved ones, small children under his care.

"Go ahead. Pick a place to put your token and take a spin, but don't forget--the game is rigged."

What in the hell?

Robert has to shield his eyes again, and before he can really recover, there's someone at his side, leading him along. Any resistance he might offer is quelled at the sight of Abigail, smiling and cheerful, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. Quite the opposite of what Robert's feeling, now, the surrealism only getting worse as he takes the token, looks out over the crowd, looks from Abigail, all in from one to another...

And finally, the wheel. It takes him a moment to understand the implication - to place a bet. To wager one, all of them, or himself. For...redemption? Heaven?

"...no."

His hand tightens around the token. This is- this is insanity, but not only that. This- what he'd be willing to bet is not for the world to see, and that's only to start with. The man looks up, nails digging in to his palm.

"No," he repeats, a little louder. The token slips from his grip, falling upon the wheel and rolling about. But Robert doesn't simply let it; he grabs hold of the wheel, expression twisting in to a grimace.

Because damn this game, rigged or not - he won't play. He won't leave this up to chance, he doesn't care about what Lucifer or anyone else thinks. If it's fixed, he'll fix it right back, but for that...

"I'll make my own way!"

...for that, he has to break it, first. The force, the vehemence in it, would normally be enough to wake him up through emotion alone.

Of course he would. Of course he would. That was why Callaghan fought, after all, it was because when there was a natural order to things, he had to do everything in his power to break it. He had to master it, to be in control even of the uncontrollable. He'd cheat his way to it, throw over the table, rip out the pages of the rule book.

That was the kind of man he was.

That was why Lucifer wanted him.

The table flew up into the air with such force, span over and cracked down the middle, and as it snapped apart, violently, and Callaghan flinched away as though he was waking...Lucifer pulled him down into another dream.

A dream where he started awake in his office, at his desk, with Lucifer standing in the doorway, arms folded. This one was one step less crazy, one step closer to a potential reality. The angel stepped forward, and laid a tablet on the tabletop, followed by a little wooden box. There was a severed finger within.

"You said not to kill anyone. So I didn't. The information you're looking for is in there. The finger is... Well. It's hard to make a fingerprint without one."

His head swam. Of course, there was that whisper that he had been dreaming, but...

Robert shook his head to try and clear the fog, still feeling as if he was swimming, but- already? That was faster than he thought...he could barely even remember getting started. He couldn't remember getting started, but maybe because he was still waking up. He frowned at Lucifer, taking in the report before his eyes drifted down to the box, hand reaching of its own accord...

He didn't flinch at the sight of the appendage. He went still, staring, processing that information. Finger, fingerprint, the tablet had to have a scanner...

"You're...certain this has everything we need?"

Handkerchief, handkerchief, he needed- there was one in his vest, usually. He could use it to remove the finger without contamination as he made to thumb on the tablet, more focused with the results than the methods.

If this was worth it, the ends more than justified the means.

"And how much time before they realize you did this?"

Edited 2016-02-16 00:51 (UTC)

"What sort of fool do you think I am? He thinks he lost it in a car accident. And to be honest he got off easy. If the car had rolled one more time, he'd have drowned before rescue came."

The handkerchief would be there, and then Cal would be able to use the finger to fingerprint his way into the device. Lucifer came to perch on the edge of the desk, folding his arms across his chest.

The device would come up with useful info. Not...memorable useful info, but Cal would be excited. The names, the codes, the overwhelming information on LACKEY and Russian plans. But it was a dream, and all he would remember when he woke was that it was useful. It was everything he needed to know. All the answers.

"Is it good enough?"

Give him a break, he had to make sure. Still, if it was worth it, it was worth it. And as Callaghan logged in, fingers all but dancing across the screen, his expression turned from perturbed to something undeniably positive.

This was it.

"Perfect," he breathed, not even bothering to look up. Quite the opposite - he hunched over it, pouring over the data, not even bothering to give Lucifer any sort of thanks. With this- this, he could finish the protections, and then get back to work on the real project.

Hell. He could probably use some of this for that...if the Russians could build LACKEY to access half the Porter's specs, who was to say he couldn't use those for Phoenix?

Damnation is waiting in the mirror but you shouldn't mind

13th - Maurtia Falls

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13th - Callaghan

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