Stone age love and strange sounds, too

[hexyoutotuesday]

Who: EVERYONE. NEW PEOPLE, OLD PEOPLE, THIS IS THE PERFECT TIME FOR EVERYONE TO MEET. RANDOM CR EVERYWHERE.
When: Friday night! The show starts at 7:30, but the doors have been open since noon. The party ends at 6am, after morning sirens. Tag yourself in whenever!
Where: Purgatory! Gabriel and Jinx's cabaret night club in Sector 5.
Summary: IT'S A

Comments

BARTENDING LIKE A BOSS | open to all~

[paterelohim]

The performances were amazing, the girls entirely too hot to be conducive to a work environment, and the pace and energy of everything was, honestly, fucking fantastic. It was fast-paced work, but high energy and everyone was too happy to make his job difficult. Chuck even had some time between orders, once in a rare while, to take a minute and appreciate the performances.

Just then he was paused in the middle of making a drink, appreciating Joan fucking Jett bending over to pick up a straw. Whoever he was serving would have to wait a minute, because damn, that was definitely a childhood dream come true.

[youllsayit]

"Don't get distracted, Chuck." Lucifer was speaking softly; somehow his voice carried anyway, as if he and Chuck were in a private room.

[paterelohim]

Chuck jumped almost out of his skin, dropping the glass altogether and stepping on the broken glass in his flailing.

"Jesus, don't DO that!" Because, seriously. Being interrupted mid-boner by your son had to be the worst thing in the world.

[youllsayit]

"Don't stand here?"

Lucifer smirks at him, at the broken glass, at the woman.

"Shouldn't you give her your number?"

[paterelohim]

"Yes, Lucifer." So dry. "I'll give the illusion my phone number."

[youllsayit]

He leans closer. "At least you realized the truth. Though a phone number doesn't look as if that's the only thing you wanted to give it. Are you feeling lonely, Chuck?"

He's not here for the drinks, not here for the women (or men), and Gabriel is too busy having sex in the corner to hold a conversation. Erego, trolling the prophet.

[paterelohim]

"Of course I did," Chuck said in the tone of ultimate boredom. He'll just be cleaning a glass now. "I saw Gabriel make her. They kind of look dead eyed when Gabriel's occupied, don't they?"

And now that he's having sex somewhere all the illusions have a slight blush and keep staring at various people's mouths with glazed eyes, basically looking like they're record-skipping mid-sex. "No shit I'm lonely. I haven't had sex since before I got here."

[youllsayit]

Lucifer smirks.

"And sex is the only way to avoid being truly lonely for you humans."

[paterelohim]

"Wow," he mutters into his bar rag. "That's the most-"

Then Chuck cuts himself off abruptly to talk like a normal person. "No. Not even close."

[youllsayit]

"The most...?"

Lucifer is in front of him, and one of the liquor bottles freezes and shatters right next to Chuck's leg.

"Don't start a sentence you can't finish, Chuck."

[paterelohim]

Chuck jumps with a startled yelp, skipping back to avoid the path of shrapnel. There's a minute of cursing at the vodka now staining his jeans before he finally looks up at Lucifer with a the-fuck-is-this-shit look of stress.

"It's the most cynical shit I've ever heard in my life, okay? I can't decide if it's Scrooge or- or- I don't know, it's kind of hard to compare anything to the Devil!" He waves his arms in frustration, as if to indicate the essential puzzle of Lucifer's being, frustrating his writer's yearning for synecdoche.

[youllsayit]

Lucifer just watches him, as if he's witnessing a beetle turning into a rabbit.

"You're such an excitable little thing. How did Raphael deal with you?" Not the important question here, of course, and he waves away any reaction.

"I'm not cynical, Chuck."

[paterelohim]

"Dude, you just exploded glass near my flesh, how can-"

Record scratch.

"-You're not?" Chuck gives Lucifer a deeply incredulous sell-your-shit-somewhere-else look. "Really. Let's do some word and phrase association. Triumph. Maggot. Indomitability of the human spirit. McDonald's. Utopia. Love. Empathy. Art. Adaptation."

[youllsayit]

Lucifer's expression changes through each of the words--he scoffs at two (guess which), smiles at a few. By the end, he's not-quite-smiling pityingly at Chuck.

Because then he grabs him by the hair and slams his head down onto the counter, hard.

"Just because I'm caring for you doesn't mean I'll tolerate disrespect, Chuck."

[paterelohim]

While still seeing stars and resisting the urge to throw up, Chuck reaches out blindly to wrap his hand roughly around a shard of glass embedded in the bar, then hovers his bloody hand under the underside of the bar, breathing hard and looking at Lucifer with slightly wild eyes and talking extremely fast.

"Okay, I've been drinking all friggin' night and you just showed up and started making comments about everything I want to stick in Joan Jett, okay?! Sometimes I'm a smartass. I'm already regretting ever talking to you, okay? I don't like regretting things and I really don't like feeling like I need to do weird shit like this to protect myself where I work." Like painting a new banishing sigil under the bar every night, just in case. As his own personal security button. The look in his eyes is bald fear and panic and something edgier that always surprises people who underestimate the damp hobbit.

[youllsayit]

"And I'm regretting trying to keep you safe." Lucifer goes from 'warning harshly' to 'absolutely dangerous' in two seconds. He forces Chuck's hands up onto the bar where he can see them. And do horrible things to them, one finger at a time, if he wants. Every limb is kept rigid, every muscle flexed tight.

He leans closer, to murmur, "This is my brother's bar; he'll forgive me if I paint over your sigil and carpet the dance floor with your intestines. Just relax and learn from your mistake, Chuck. Don't turn this into a shoving match. You've dealt with Raphael; you can coexist with me."