Last night's
hostage situation is still going full swing, and even after over twelve hours of this little song and dance, no one seems to have any idea what precipitated it and most are just chalking it up to the fact that The Coffee Shop is doomed for all time.
The hostages are all huddled in corners while grunts wander aimlessly around to make sure they don't do anything stupid, acting as intimidating as possible and probably overcompensating for a lack of any real talent. Among the hostages are
some very familiar faces.
Less familiar is the man holding them all hostage. Most people have gotten used to the presence of a perfectly reasonable Neqa'el demon who emerged in the wake of Calisto's death and may or may not have forgotten that there are less than reasonable Neqa'el in the world. Luther is, unfortunately, among that great majority.
He's not precisely happy. Hearing that his pet was killed made him a little tetchy, because he doesn't particularly like it when people break his things. That's his job and Natasha still had a few good years on her before she eventually succumbed to her despair and died of grief in her sleep.... Which he wouldn't allow to happen. He'd kill her violently before that, but the anticipation for the moment where she just completely stopped functioning had been building for years now. It's enough to make him pouty, but whatever. He's perfectly fine with taking his frustrations out on helpless bystanders just for the hell of it.
Hey, if Chicago wasn't very welcoming to him, he won't be very welcoming to Chicago, and it should be noted that Luther is not the sanest person in the general universe, so whatever logic should be found in this crisis is pretty much nonexistant.
The good news is, he hasn't started killing people. He's just letting the tension build. If there's one thing to be said of Luther, it's that he has a firm sense of the dramatics, and he likes to break people down slowly. Although given the way he's looking intently at his gun, it might not be long before killing happens.
Sorry, kids.