maskormenacelogs | As the flames climbed high into the night, to light the sacrificial rite--

What's the best way to sell an album? When you've exhausted all the other official ways to sell your album? Oh right. Take it to random karaoke bars in imPort cities and get people singing tracks from it. Lucifer doesn't really care about sales all that much, it's very much just about getting his brand out there, but when it comes to entertaining his restless pet demon? Damn right he's going to sing his heart out.

So there are a few surprise...let's call them "concerts" at karaoke bars around Maurtia Falls, De Chima and Heropa, in the days following the release of Lucifer's Best Of album.

The joke starts thus: "An angel and a demon walk into a karaoke bar..."

And the rest, however that goes, follows.

[ OOC: Please feel free to set up in the bar however you like! Yours can be the character singing, or he can be listening to the show. Alternatively, as the night draws on, your ears may be tortured. ]

Edited 2016-07-12 21:43 (UTC)

[ It just so happens that Mark is an investor in a number of businesses, and one of those happens to be a bar. That does karaoke every Thursday. And it so happens that Mark is visiting that bar that he has invested in to check on the business during karaoke night (because, well, it's a bar near a college campus and karaoke tends to attract groups of giggling girls and sometimes he likes to bask in the existence of pretty, giggling girls). And so it happens that he is there when Lucifer and his friend show up.

Well. There really isn't anything to make someone you're completely terrified of seem less scary like him making an ass of himself singing karaoke.

So the first few minutes, Mark stands frozen and terrified, and then slowly that terror turns instead into a sort of contempt. He even goes so far as to contemplate asking the bartender to cut off the karaoke machine just to put one in Lucifer's eye. He's not...quite...that brave. But he thinks about it. And definitely his expression turns more sour than scared as he listens. ]

[ The fact that Mark had an investment here wouldn't have bothered Lucifer one joy if he'd known it. In fact, throwing the worst (best) karaoke night known to man would have still been on the agenda, all things told, because he would have wanted to make a point: that he didn't care who owned what, whose money was where, or anything else for that matter--he went where he liked, and did what he liked.

Here was no different. It was karaoke night, and having surprise imPort guests made this place like the Cavern Club during a Beatles performance. The energy that's about the place is intoxicating, but the dark stormcloud in the corner. Mark. Like he could be in the same room with him and miss that squirrely whisper in the corner of his mind.

He chose the exact moment that he willed it to reintroduce himself, stepping up behind him. ]

I have to say, I didn't ever expect to see you again.

[ Shit. Okay. Lucifer stepping up behind him without warning, speaking to him unanticipated, does rekindle that fear - rekindles it strongly - and he fights to suppress a grotesque shudder as it runs down his spine. But he doesn't run away. For once. Instead, he turns and crosses his arms and looks up (way up) to meet Lucifer's gaze.

He certainly looks better than he did the last time they saw each other. He's fatter than he was before - it's not easy to mistake him for Miles now - but he's also less twitchy and cringey. He's scared, yeah, but it's less of a desperate animal cornered desperate terror. ]

Yeah, well. You expected the Vorkosigans to finish me off. That didn't really work out.

[ He jerks up his chin, a stubborn sort of gesture. ]

I'm a Vorkosigan too, now, by the way. And you swore you'd end the feud with them. Just in case you were thinking about trying something.

You're a Vorkosigan too? Just like that?

[ His tone affords pretty much no respect for the statement. Which is true. Names don't really matter to him; identities don't matter. He cocks his head, lifting his hand and brushing the back of his knuckles against Mark's jaw. Seriously. He doesn't care. Besides, it's not like he's cutting into him. ]

The same applies to you, doesn't it? You couldn't touch me if you wanted to. [ His smile was open. ] Out of responsibility to your masters, not to bring my full power back down on them. I was only toying before--imagine what I could do to them if I wanted them to really suffer.

[ He angled his head back toward the bar. ]

We're just having fun, and as you can see, it's good for business.

[ He jerks back physically from that touch, almost his whole body recoiling from touch of Lucifer's flesh. The reaction comes either from of fear he'll try something or simple revulsion. Yet deep down some nameless part of him wishes, desperately, that that Lucifer would try something, so that Mark would knock him down and step on his throat as he struggled, until Lucifer stopped breathing and stopped moving...

Hah. Fat chance. This maniac might be slightly out of your weight class. Even with you getting fat. ]

They're not my masters. They're my...family.

[ Which still sounds weird. And fake. And like a lie. And he hates that he'd made that argument to Lucifer, because he feels like the man will just laugh in his face. So he shakes his head and goes for something a little more cutting: ]

Anyway, giving you my honest opinion of your singing doesn't count as hurting you, right? Just making sure.

Same difference, in my experience.

[ There's no humor or insult in his tone when he responds to that. He's responding with keen and cutting fact. His own family. Hah. Yes, he believed Mark almost as much as Mark believed himself.

But he quirks an eyebrow back toward Mark. ]

That's what Bwitter is for, Mark. In this particular scenario, there's an expectation of people putting up with even the most tone death of songstresses with the understanding that the same will be done for them.

Just like if you were to take to the stage, I would clap even if you just armpit farted your way through the chorus. It's simple decorum.

Yeah, well. The rules are a little different when someone's pretending they have a professional music career.

[ He pushes his hands into his pockets. ]

I don't think novelty sales are going to push you into profitability on that venture.

Please. It's a diversion, not a career. I did it because a dear friend of mine thought that the fact that I'd not made an album was just a damned shame.

[ Lucifer abandons his close proximity to pull himself up on the stool beside the bar. ]

Dear me. I mean, really! Don't you do anything just because you can, or is it a rule for you that you have to be insufferably good at something or not bother at all?

[ Mark relaxes a bit more when Lucifer looks away - enough that he feels comfortable turning a straight-up are you insane look on him after that question. ]

You forced me to work for you. Did I strike you someone who tends to be insufferably good?

[ Screwing up, he reflects, is actually sort of his specialty. Miles' is manic successes despite all the odds. Mark's is just fucking it up all to hell. ]

I hope you're not expecting a drink on the house or anything, by the way.

I was kind of implying you don't do anything of note, on account of fear that you'll fuck up. [ He gestures toward him. ] Case in point. Your self esteem issues haven't improved since you "became a Vorkosigan" either.

[ Okay so those were finger quotation marks as well. If Mark can lay it down then Lucifer isn't going to be shy. He gestures toward the bartender. Two. One for him and one for the owner. ]

So long as you don't expect me to pay for yours. I can handle my own tabs. [ He tapped the counter beside him, a silent instruction to sit, but he was ready with a shrug if Mark chose not to. ]

[ He barks out a laugh, humorless and harsh. ]

Self-esteem issues? Thanks for taking time out of your day to care about that. I guess it would seem unimpressive when compared to the ego of an irrepressible megalomaniac like you.

[ He does climb up into a chair - though not the one Lucifer indicates, a seat one down, leaving a healthy buffer between them. ]

Well, so long as we're not a mystery to each other, I can heartily claim that something came from our misadventures.

[ He accepts his drink when it comes, taking a sip. He'll probably pass it along to a fan at some point. His attention goes back to Mark. ]

I didn't really do anything to you, you know? I mean, other than frightening you and leaving you in the desert. Set a hellhound on you--I could have cut your heart out.

Frankly, this should be one of those 'no hard feelings' moments.

[ All of that...is true. There's some part of him, right in the back of his mind - a voice that sounds rather like Cordelia's, actually - that points out that dropping him in a desert and making him fear for his life and trying to have some animal maul him to death isn't nothing. That even when someone isn't actively hurting you, if they're making you afraid, that's not okay. That all of those are horrible things to do to any person, let alone one who'd committed no worse crime than looking useful. But the greater part of him believes that, yes, Lucifer had been decent to him. Better than most. And that everything that had happened had been his fault, because he was a coward...

So he looks away. Shrugs. ]

Do I seem like I have any hard feelings? I'm talking to you, aren't I? And offering an honest critique of your music. You should be grateful for that.

[ Karaoke with demons. Not technically a first for Laura, though this is a bit less underground than last time (not a hell joke, technically). Her ID seems to get her in just fine, even while her age is a matter of public record.

So what if Lucifer can't croon out divine inspiration to fuck shit up- partying with Satan is partying with Satan, and she's been smiling more in one night than he's probably ever seen her in all their encounters combined. She's on her third pommegranite-juice-and-vodka when she invites herself over to wherever he's schmoozing. ]

Hey, are you gonna do the Rolling Stones song? C'mon you gotta do the Rolling Stones song.

Edited 2016-07-12 23:29 (UTC)

[ It's a good energy, and Lucifer embraces it, humming along to Dean's version of "Eye of the Tiger" even though the demon is tuneless as hell. If he could have been able to get Dean to trade away his soul for anything - while he still had one - curing his tone deafness would have been great.

He rolled his eyes, still half chuckling along to the joke that had been slung at him by this person, he didn't really care who they were, before turning his attention completely to Laura. Immediately his fake pleasure turns into something warmer, and he lays his hand on her shoulder. ]

Hey, if you can get the demon off stage, and keep him there, I'll do it.

He's one of your demons? Oh, I am on it.

[ Part of her can suspect well enough that the warmth is just a part of his schtick, that Lucifer being good and Lucifer being nice were two entirely unrelated phenomenons. But the other 99.8% of her honestly doesn't give the tiniest fraction of a shit.

She drains the drink and sets it down with a clack as this crime against Survivor concludes. Then she just cups her hands and hollers. Like ya do. ]

HEY, GET OFF THE FUCKING STAGE.

Dooku turns a few heads when he enters the karaoke bar. He's easily the oldest person there (who isn't an immortal archangel), he's loomingly tall, and he's wearing a black suit instead of literally any other outfit that an ordinary person might wear to a karaoke night.

Now that Lucifer has joined the imPort community's growing collection of amoral singers, Dooku has tracked him down to suggest possible collaboration. After his election loss, it seemed he would have to continue pursuing his absurd musical career for a little while longer. And there may be other things the Count might like to collaborate with Lucifer on as well... things that just might make it worth Dooku's while for him to subject his ears to the nightmarish 'singing' that assails this place. He really cannot imagine being the kind of person who would actually enjoy this kind of recreation, much less participate in it.

Lucifer is thoroughly enjoying the show. Tonefulness isn't really necessary. It's a kind of torture, and the fact that people are respecting the sanctity of the stage to let Dean sing his demonic little heart out is a simple statement of human self-flagellation. They bring it on themselves, and it's hilarious to watch. Such human weakness.

When Dooku steps into the bar, Lucifer feels the whisper of his presence before he notices the reactions of the people in the bar. Lucifer tips his head to look toward him, inviting him closer by way of stopping talking to the one girl beside him. She didn't hold his attention, but Dooku did.

"How good to see you here."

Dooku forces a smile. His very human weakness of preferring good music to hideous caterwauling is very much in play right now. If he had things his way, he would shut down the stage and even the very establishment as a public nuisance. But for now, he simply nods in greeting to Lucifer as he takes up position beside him. The cast-off girl doesn't even merit eye contact from him.

"It is good to be here," the Count lies baldly. "I thought I should congratulate you in person on your new album. You have found a most creative way to promote your product."

If there had been any doubt remaining in Dooku that Lucifer was the mythological embodiment of a being dedicated to the torment and corruption of humanity, that awful pop-up ad would have erased it.

"I doubt it. But you and I are on good terms, respectful terms, and I think that deserves a little..." He gestured a waving aside gesture at the rest of the bar, and reached out one hand, letting his fingers trail against the shoulder of Dooku's jacket. As he touches, the sound distorts and dissolves, sound stretched out. They world becomes slow and sluggish, broken into single frames of movement and dull sound. It's a bubble of timelessness that they're held in, just for a moment.

He cocks his head to one side, inside the stillness quite at home, his movement natural, an eyebrow raising. This could be better, and then his hand falls away, and everything clicks back into movement again. Nobody has noticed, they carry on about their reveling, and the awful sound continues.

Yes, it's torture, but it's clear that as much as he inflicts it on others, Lucifer himself is miles above it.

"May I buy you a drink?"

What the kriff just happened.

Dooku takes a moment to respond, visibly discomfited by 1. being touched by the Devil and 2. realizing that Lucifer can casually manipulate time- or at least a person's perception of it- at will. All of a sudden, the sound of karaoke isn't the most disturbing thing in the room.

Yet he is Sith, and he will not be intimidated. The Count regains his composure in an instant and gestures toward the bar with a sweeping arm and a grateful expression. "By all means. I rather doubt that an establishment like this would have my preferred cognac, however."

Count Dooku of Serenno is not a Budweiser drinker.

"I didn't say I had to buy it here."

He indicates a table with a group of teenagers sitting about it, and leads Dooku over there, waving them all away. They coo and flit off, and Lucifer slides onto the bench on one side of the table, leaving room for Dooku to sit as well. There's a whisper of feathers, and Lucifer vanishes - just for a moment - before a really confused waiter, still blinking, pours them each a glass of something a little richer...and more expensive.

"Leave the bottle," he instructs, before bidding the waiter an instant farewell with a touch to his arm. He leans back in the chair.

It's all, really, a demonstration of power. He hadn't performed anything like this much the last time they'd met, preferring casual, so this? It's all very much the opposite. If Dooku had had any particular prejudgement regarding his ability, surely it's dissolved by now?

"If you didn't want to be seen together, that first thing really does the trick."

If Lucifer wanted to impress Dooku with his power- and his taste in liquor selection- mission accomplished. Dooku seats himself in the wake of the displaced teenagers and then raises an eyebrow as he raises his glass, toasting the Devil appreciatively.

"To your health, sir- with my thanks." He takes a deep sip, gambling that Lucifer has no reason to slip him anything at this point- gambling as well, that Lucifer is the kind of menace who needs a reason to cause harm to others.

"I shall bear that in mind if I ever have to discuss matters of a sensitive nature with you," Dooku says, as though he hasn't previously talked about the feasibility of rebelling against the government with Lucifer. "For now, however, let us talk of music. We are both successful imPort musicians now, after all. This opens up certain opportunities for us both."

Satan and Sith collaborative metal album. Possibly to benefit charity. It has to happen.

"If we need subtlety, we'll also need a codeword." He raised an eyebrow, ever the pragmatist, and returned the toast. After that, it was a simple thing to settle back and sip the rich liquor, closing his eyes to consider the atoms bouncing around his mouth. It wasn't much fun with a sense of taste like an archangel's, and it would take six thousand bottles to have any impression on his sobriety.

Maybe another time.

He opened his eyes again, looking at Dooku once more.

"So this is all about the other kind of business? I see. Falling back on old career paths? I'm disappointed. Weren't you the one with the grand title and responsibilities? Are you going to balk away from your potential just because you struggled with this path to it? There are other powers in these waters."

Dooku shrugs. He was going to build up to the other kind of business, but if Lucifer wants to take the lead on skipping past 'legitimate' endeavours, the Count is willing to follow that road.

"The people have spoken, as they say. For the time being, I must continue to make the most of my musical career." He eyes the archangel intently. "Although I would not be unwilling to hear more about any other options you have in mind."

Count Dooku will never walk away from his potential... or his ambition. 'Will of the people' be damned.

Sam had two more hours before curfew, and he was making the most of them.

Nothing excessive - he wasn't planning to try and find the Porter drunk - but going through another mandatory session with Chilton deserved at least two fingers of whiskey. Closer to six, if he was honest, and he certainly felt the temptation to be. Sam was worried he'd start seeing that grating, self-satisfied smirk in his dreams if he didn't drown it out first.

Luckily, fate gave him Dean and Lucifer to help that process along.

The last time Sam and Dean shared a bar was... interesting, to say the least, where "interesting" mostly meant "bloody and accompanied by property damage". So the shifter couldn't help but guffaw into his drink to see the demon on the stage instead, apparently only out to punch ear drums instead of faces tonight with terrible, but terribly entertaining covers.

"Holy shit," Sam muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. He shook his head and smiled to himself. "S'like watchin' a goddamn 'Crazy Train' train-wreck. Who lied and told Dean he could sing Ozzy?"

Where the hell was his phone was the real question, because like hell he wasn't going to get a video of this.

Sure, fate is really generous like that, it's true.

Lucifer is giving Dean the stage, and he circles around the bar listening to people. So many complaints, but nobody actually willing to do anything about it. And if they were? They'd get a nasty shock. A bar fight is always the next best thing to Dean Winchester.

So he circles around, and occasionally speaks to people, before finally he finds himself behind Sam, stepping in close toward his shoulder.

"Well it's not really a lie. He can sing it, I just didn't say anything about him being able to sing it well."

"...Hooked 'im on a technicality then. Seems cruel." But Sam says it with a smile, even if it takes a flinching, strained moment for the shifter to send it Lucifer's way, for the hair on his neck to calm and flatten. The power dampener he's been forced to suffer has killed any long-range sense of smell he'd normally have, but with the angel right at his shoulder Sam can't help but breathe in and taste lightning on his tongue.

It doesn't help his nerves that his last memories having to do with the devil involved trying to rob his church. Well - some version of him trying it. Personally, the shifter hopes Lucifer is as content not to bring that up as Sam is.

"So how is it you two know each other?" Sam nods in Dean's direction, taking charge of the conversation. His eyes keep steady on the singing sensation and his increasingly disgruntled crowd, smirking at some of the exaggerated expressions in the audience. Like they aren't that bad themselves, come on, it's karaoke.

"And am I gonna get to look forward to seein' the devil take a crack at it? 'Course, I feel like you're more of a 'War Pigs' or 'Mr. Crowley' guy, if we're stickin' with Ozzy."

[Of course Inanna's paying a visit the same evening Laura is, and it's lucky for him that he is! It would've been a crime for him to miss this..."show" that Dean is putting on for the bar. If that's really what it can be called.]

He's certainly something else, isn't he? Brave to be sure.

That's what I said when he walked into my church the first time. "He's certainly something else, isn't he?" Demons always are.

[ He had his hands in his pockets, but as Inanna approached he reached out an arm, dropping it across his hips. ]

For one night only, The Bald Eagle bar is Hell on Earth. Only--you know, for your ears.

[He brightens up immediately and leans comfortably against him.]

We must be blessed tonight. Is he the only demon of yours here?

[Jesse isn't quite sure what he's doing here. He's got better places to be, after all. He could be at home with his family, curled up on the couch and watching a movie. Or he could at least be taking meetings, doing business, something useful. Instead he's enduring an auditory torture, suffering through a demon's karaoke set without even the comfort of drunkenness.

Three useless drinks into the night and Jesse's had about enough of the show. He's just preparing to get out of here, counting out cash to leave as an overly generous tip to the bartender. She deserves it for having to endure this, too.]

[ It was a dark and stormy night.

Literally. It was dark, it was stormy. The wind whistled in the street outside the club. Not that that stopped people from showing up. Lucifer took their victim from a quiet spot on a street corner. This man, who abducted American girls to sell into the sex trade in Russia, was - just as their other victims had been - quite the worst kind of animal. A young man by monster standards, and startlingly attractive with a smooth jawline and dark hair, he dressed himself up like a highschool jock, and gave them just the attention that they'd always hoped they could get. He snuck them into nightclubs and took them for dinner and then booked that romantic weekend to Paris, telling the girls that they couldn't let their parents know in case they stopped them.

And then the girls were just gone, and he moved a town over and started again.

Lucifer had already told this tale to Dean, of course, which was why their current victim was laid out on top of an overturned jukebox, tied down with electric cable that had been ripped out of its innards for just such a task. Above them, the sounds of the club obscured everything, the shuffling and stomping of feet and the thump of the heavy bass. ]

Well?

[ The ambiance was just about as good as it got.

The man they'd abducted was one Dean could only feel loathing towards. What little he had of the emotion left, at least. Not that it mattered one way or another, but he was sure this man would only be missed by his customers, and they wouldn't be complaining any time soon. He was a heathen, someone who deserved to be floating around in Hell somewhere, and a little bit of torture would do him good. But Dean was still stuck to the remembrance of what Lucifer had said regarding his leftover humanity, that he hadn't let himself go completely yet. That he hadn't found his greater purpose. Words that were left floating around in his head, loud and clear as day.

And so he would be doing his worst. His best. His... something. He wasn't sure yet, but he shot a look over towards Lucifer, looking somewhere between numb and blissed out, his gaze heavy with a surefire kind of darkness, before he looked back, his mind glossing over minutely as he observed his victim. ]

What do we remove first.

[ Because taking something seemed somehow... poignant. ]

Could always go for his insides. See how long he lasts with his intestines inside out.

[ This had become something of a regular thing.

He wasn't entirely sure why it had, maybe it had something to do with sticking it to Lucifer in some fucked up way, but he'd done it once, dragged a chick up to his office and banged her on the edge of his desk and kept her panties as a souvenir, shoved into the depths of one of his drawers. It had left Dean grinning wickedly, feeling as if he damn well owned the place and made him wonder how many times he could get away with it before the reek got to Lucifer or he found his stash first. It had everything to do with the sex and yet nothing to do with it at all, instead by far more twisting the relations he had with the Devil than anything else, trying to step up even higher on the rungs between them and making a point that he truly didn't give a shit.

And so he did it three more times, this one being his fourth conquest, perched on the edge of Lucifer's two-hundred year old desk, moaning girlishly as his tongue slid against the curve of her neck, his palm cupping a breast. Her skirt was already riding high against her thighs and the fingers of Dean's free hand were playing lower, his gaze occasionally flicking over her shoulder towards the door of the office, as if waiting on pins and needles. But he had somehow convinced himself it wouldn't happen now, it wouldn't be in the middle of things.

Lucifer would simply find his secret stash and become enraged; it would be so simple.

Slamming her hips closer to his own, he sighed contentedly against her mouth, oozing lust against her skin as the chick lifted her chin, tried to capture another kiss that he stole away, instead directing his attention to the space between them and the layers of clothing that needed to be removed before they could get where he wanted to go. Finally, he offered her one more kiss before his fingers started to crawl up her skirt, reach for panties, grinning against her neck and looking down over the curve of her breasts to watch his own fingers move.

If only he'd heard the doorknob begin to twist. If only. ]

Edited 2016-07-12 23:56 (UTC)

[ Lucifer knew from the very first time.

Humans truly misunderstood the pungency of their odor. Sure, they covered it up with stale flower smells and chemicals, but underneath it, the stench was still there; it was just accompanying the stale flower smells, punctuated by them.

If Lucifer could be anything, in regard to human scent - or any scent, in fact - he would be a purist, because archangels possessed sharper senses than any human, could pick out the sweet-sharp smell of cancer, or identify a familiar person by their smell. There was no mistaking Dean, of course, because not only did demon have its own decayed scent, Lucifer had grown used to it in the last two months that they'd spent in each other's company.

And the women, of course, and the sex, and the used panties left in his drawer? All of it smelled.

So Lucifer knew, and he hadn't at any point objected because inherently it was the least offensive way that Dean could be challenging his authority. Better he wrestled over an office that was no more important to him, truly, than any other space, than turn himself to trying to usurp him over other things.

But since he knew, and since - presumably - he couldn't let Dean think that he'd kept him successfully in the dark forever, sooner or later he'd just have to point these facts out, illuminate Dean to the truth. Maybe punish him for the insubordination. Lines had been crossed, and he wouldn't be The Boss if he didn't come out and prove it now and again.

He could hear them going at it from the kennels, so there was no question of the timeliness of his arrival. He opened the door carefully, and stepped inside, making no sound. The next time Dean looked up, he'd see him there--but that was assuming he looked up from what he was doing. ]

[ And if he looked up, the question was, would he care enough to stop.

That would be answered in due time, as Dean was fastidiously working towards removing the pair of panties under his fingertips. Even as the door slipped wider, Dean paid no real attention to it, instead encouraging the woman to wriggle her hips, a soft sound slipping from between her lips as she moved, making it by far easier to finally dip the thin slip of fabric down and tug it free from her legs. It was a conquest really, and one Dean wanted to exploit, because only when he was finally done did he look up over the top of the woman's head and grin something fierce, his mouth quirking crookedly.

Lucifer had arrived. Took him long enough. ]

Didn't think you'd ever show up.

[ And at that, the woman - absolutely horrified - whipped her attention around and nearly shrieked. Her hands went every which way to try and cover herself, grabbing clothing and desperately trying to get it back on as quickly as possible while Dean stood, twirling her underwear around a finger, gaze never leaving Lucifer. ]

[ Lucifer stood back, watching the woman collect herself all in a hurry. Unlike some of the girls around here, who might be interested in taking a spin with the devil watching, this one seemed horrified by the idea, and was all about gathering her clothes up and getting out of here as fast as possible. ]

Oh, don't leave on my account...

[ Lucifer stepped out of the way as she went flying past, giving her a deliberately sniff as she rushed down the stairs beyond the door. His attention snapped back toward Dean, a little accusing in his expression. ]

A virgin? Really?

[ He tipped around, pushing the door closed behind him. He stepped forward, watching Dean with sharp, predatory eyes. ]

You know I'm going to have to get a new desk, right?

[ Dean watched the chick go with no small amount of morbid glee, his grin refusing to leave his face as she scattered to the wind, leaving with him with her panties still hooked to his finger. He even cocked his head a bit to check out her ass as she fled, before he was back to attention, offering a shrug at Lucifer's accusation. ]

Guess she lied.

[ Whether or not she had didn't truly matter, nor did it matter to Dean whether or not she was a virgin. A fuck was a fuck was a fuck, it was the fact that he was still here that mattered most. And he was rolling in it, his amusement thick and heavy as his still obvious arousal.

Not that he gave a shit. Lucifer had already seen it, even if they hadn't crossed streams, and Dean didn't really have much to hide anymore. Big deal. He had a hard on. He'd go take care of it eventually. ]

Why, I foul this one a few too many times?

[ He smoothed a hand across his now sweat-slick surface, amused, arching a brow. ]

[ Lucifer was amused. And since he didn't care if people came in - who entered his office without knocking but him, after all - he didn't bother locking the door behind him. He stepped forward, moving right toward the desk, toward Dean standing behind it. ]

No, but when I'm done with you there's going to be no saving it.

[ It was the kind of challenge that was meant to make Dean square off against him, meant to push his buttons so that he had to respond to them; so that he couldn't not, because it was simply a matter of pride.

He raised his eyebrows, finally. Dean could think up that that meant anything he liked--violence, sex, punishment, whatever came to mind first. Maybe all of them. ]

That was always Crowley's problem with you, wasn't it? He failed to discipline you correctly. Not a mistake I'm prone to.

[ Dean arched a brow at that, amusement flickering more than obviously across his features. When he was done with him - the question was, what did that exactly imply and how much blood was he about to lose in the process. Was he soon going to learn just what he could heal from, the way he'd seen Abaddon before him? Or was it going to be a by far more exciting affair than that?

Maybe it didn't truly matter what it meant because Dean stood up straighter and pushed his shoulders back, puffing up in the only way he knew how, preparing himself for just about anything.

But at the mention of Crowley, the veneer cracked just a little and Dean snorted a laugh, his tone turning to one of mocking, as if Lucifer was just as bad as his own King of Hell when it came to Dean's ability to push him around. ]

Crowley wouldn't have even known where to start. [ Dean shrugged, folding his arms over his chest and leaning a hip against the desk as Lucifer loomed closer, moving in for whatever killing blow he was about to pursue. ] Guy really needs to grow a pair, I mean- I don't know how he gets shit done in Hell when he rolls over just for my attention.

[whatever Dean's reasons for visiting the beach this sunny afternoon, they're about to be waylaid.

It doesn't take the Luggage long to find the demon, having noticed him earlier when walking past with its master. Rincewind missed the man completely, but the chest has always been somewhat more observant than the wizard, and the unfathomable gears which constitute what could only be called its mind had churned thoughtfully as they walked down to a deserted,and frankly dilapidated pier so Rincewind could sit in the sandy shade beneath the crumbling wood. The Luggage had certainly felt the urge to chase and/or trample Dean when they passed - its long memory held plenty of room for grudges, and it felt it owed the demon several times over for that trick on the roof - but it hadn't. It had waited. Waited until Rincewind started messing with something which give it an idea.

Rincewind'as used to losing the traveling accessory for one reason or another - he doesn't even look up when the box sets off by itself down the shoreline, frightening a herd of seagulls and sending several crabs scurrying for their holes.

Some people snap pictures of it as it walks by, laughing and recognizing the case from the Heropa tabloids, but most just get out of its way and stare, which also suits the suitcase perfectly. It doesn't pay them mind either way, focused singularly on its self-appointed mission. Its master may not have the stomach for proper vengeance, but the Luggage stands built of sterner, wooden stuff, and helpfully is without a stomach in the first place.

Dean may get some notice that it's heading his way before the Luggage is within range, or he may not. Either way, no matter what he's doing or who he may be with on this beautiful, ocean-breeze-kissed afternoon, he's about to get a veritable wave of sand kicked at him from a multi-legged trunk containing a total absence of chill.]

[ Dean has about a hundred reasons for hitting the beach and near all of them have to do with women. Though, justifiably, he continues to soak in the idea that his life is now one long vacation, no matter how much of a life you can call a twisted demonhood. It's his to exist within, his to abuse and sink his fingers into, sifting through all the things he hasn't had for years upon years. Running maniacally free is simply his prerogative now and there's no reason to sit on his ass and lull the day away when he can use it to meander, to murder, to tear apart the earth beneath his feet in a way he's wished upon for longer than he can count.

He just really isn't expecting to be interrupted.

Granted, he's as much of an asshole as any wanderer can be upon the beach, sidling up to women who want near nothing to do with him and finding others who are seemingly thrilled by the idea of him stripping shirtless. There's a vast array hitting the sunshine and he pays no mind to those that shoo him away, reveling in the attention of others and trying to rope the very few interested enough in entangling further.

It's the sudden wave of sand that gets in more places than he wants that distracts him, like a veritable dirt cloud coating everything he's doing. Immediately, he glowers, sinks pointed annoyance as he looks over to find-- oh. That.... thing. ]

You motherfucker.

[ His voice sours, turns into the depth of a grumble as he immediately begins to storm his way over. Though, it's not terribly intimidating to walk barefoot through the sand, he still attempts it, doesn't care that he might get eaten alive. Perhaps he can punch a hole through the thing if he gets close enough - who the hell cares. But he's going to do something, and he's going to do it without fretting for his own existence. He's just not going to let this interruption stand. ]

[it must look like something out of a cartoon to anyone watching - a chase scene worthy of anvils and painted tunnels. The Luggage jumps in taunting delight, all hundred legs flailing briefly in the air before it lands with a heavy thump in the sand. Dean's menacing approach earns nothing less than the red carpet welcome - that is, the Luggage sticking its tongue out at him. One can hear the 'neener neener' without any sound actually hitting the air.

In the next moment it's running away, lid parted just enough to offer the world a wooden, toothy grin as it flees the sand-monster-formerly-known-as-Dean down the stretch of beach, upending picnics and sending several beach umbrellas tumbling dangerously into the wind and surf. One poor child's poor decision to build his sandcastles on the same beach as the Luggage has to witness the utter destruction of a once thriving, hermit-crab-populated metropolis. Crab City will never be the same.

Rincewind, if he could have seen what was happening, would have warned Dean - anyone who knew the Luggage would have. The Luggage doesn't run from attackers. That it fled at all should have been a glaring warning of what lay ahead, more obvious than the fact that the further they go, the less people are around, or that its retreat remains an unwavering, straight line to an abandoned pier. A pier with barnacle-coated wooden beams, piled driftwood, and cracked concrete slabs. Slabs which a certain skinny wizard sits huddled idly next to, staring with apparent appreciation down at a chalked circle of runes finally glowing a proper octarine.

Rincewind doesn't notice the Luggage coming before it's already running past him, leaping carefully over the drawn circle and its thick, white lines. He yelps, scrambling backwards like a startled crustacean just in time to be further shocked by the sight of an unfortunately familiar demon.

A demon who should really pay better attention to what he's about to run into.]

[ Dean does not give a flying, fucking rip that he shouldn't be chasing this idiotic mess of a-- a, what? What even is this piece of furniture, he doesn't know. But that's not the point. The point is he's offended and now he's pissed and that's all that matters when it comes to how Dean reacts to anything at all.

And so he runs.

Chasing after the thing is near maniacal, Dean hell bent (hah) on trying to catch up to it, or at the very least 'scare it off.' He couldn't care less about trampling sand castles or shoving into people along the way, string bikinis becoming untied and sweaty backs shoved out of the way as Dean pounds his way through the hot sand, bodies and waves lapping up his unwelcome attention. Everyone is suddenly in the way, and he's just not fast enough to reach out and snag it or do much of anything but chase it down, all but snarling under his breath as he goes. It's ridiculous but who the fuck cares, he's done stupider shit over the course of his lifetime and this is no different.

But he should've been paying attention. Should've opened his eyes and looked, or done something other than hone his attention in one the luggage that wants nothing more than to do him in. He's not sure why this stupid thing has got it out for him but it doesn't matter, he's going for it and he's going hard.

At least until the world seemingly slams up around him.

He's a little bedraggled when he finds himself on the pier, practically running headfirst into an invisible wall. He's never been in one of these and so it catches him off guard but he can feel it in the way that it makes his feet turn to cement, his concrete walk a thing that makes him twice as mad. He was already pissed to begin with but now he's rage fueled, heaving breath between gritted teeth when he truly looks to see that he's found himself in a devil's trap, a thing he's drawn seemingly more times than he can count but never been in before.

When he finally looks up, when recognition is not a thing that he's slowly giving in to, he finds himself staring at a wizard who looks a touch uncomfortable. And Dean fumes. ]

Taking up arts and crafts?

...Oh, shit. [Rincewind breathes the words, his eyes dragging with slow, inexorable, miserable comprehension between Dean and the Devil's Trap he drew. The Devil's Trap he fixed, really, because that's all it was, just a bored little afternoon activity, really. He'd thumbed through his phone and found a picture he only vaguely remembered taking (in his defense, he'd been a child at the time), and decided to replicate the subject. He hadn't been intending anything past that, really, even when he'd noticed one of the runes was wrong and had corrected the error, even when the trap had flared to life with a magical energy only a wizard's eyes could see. He'd never intended to try it out, for gods' sakes - he'd never intended to catch anything.

He should have known better; it was all too tempting a set-up for Fate to just ignore.

Rincewind tugs on the rim of his hat, edging slowly down from the rock he'd retreated to in all the commotion. He's caught between morbid fascination and utter, sinking terror. It's working - part of him really can't believe it's working. Gods, he hasn't drawn a working, magical anything in... in.... had he ever, actually? Good gods.]

Whatever you're thinking - whatever you're thinking, this wasn't intentional. [he says finally, swallowing thickly as he looks up. That... is not the face he's used to seeing on Dean. The smirk is gone - the roguish, teasing good humor absent. Evaporated.

Bugger.]

This is just a complete, ridiculous accident, I swear. I've really no idea how this could have - well, I mean, all right, so it's obvious how it happened, but I didn't plan it, that's what's important to remember here, all right? That I wasn't trying to catch you. I mean, the odds of this happening - they're staggering, frankly.

[less staggering, of course, when the Luggage swaggers back into the picture, marching with a spring in its multitude of heels over to the very rim of the Trap. Its lid snaps open to waggle its huge tongue in an obvious, mocking manner, exuding haughty satisfaction. The last piece of this puzzle clicks into place for Rincewind then, and the wizard whirls on his box in obvious horror.]

You...? You! Are you trying to get me killed? [ohhh there's a moan trapped in Rincewind's chest now, the battle between interest and fear sliding quickly in fear's favor. His gaze cuts guiltily back to his new, and quite unwanted prisoner. He has to let Dean out; abandoning him here would surely mean worse for him later, after the demon's inevitable escape. Dean belongs to Lucifer, for one thing. Dean is also an angry, currently immortal bastard who would probably enjoy causing Rincewind a great deal of pain for this. Probably in creative ways.

The only point in his favor is that if this trap works at all like the sigils Rincewind knows, destroying part of the circle should break the magical current and render the markings useless. So it would be easy to let him out.

...But. But there's one small, yet critically important detail Rincewind needs to work out first.]

Right, um. So. What exactly are the chances that you both believe I didn't intend to do this, and that if I let you out right now you won't attempt to rip my arms off my body?

As the flames climbed high into the night, to light the sacrificial rite--

Karaoke - between 10th and 20th - OPEN

Maurtia Falls, the 14th

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Re: Karaoke - between 10th and 20th - OPEN

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Heropa; 13th

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Heropa - July 12

July 19th - Closed to Dean

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Closed to Lucifer

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Fun With Devil's Traps: Heropa, 7/21

DEAR LORD i am sorry about taking forever to get to this

NO WORRIES July has been a weird month for everyone

SO TRUE and then i got even more behind so do feel free to ignore this if it's too old

NOT A CHANCE