Embedded in the glossy wood of Nicolas Rosse's desk are several screenpads; currently, every single one is displaying a different news channel. The footage is useless, but they're playing it again and again, as if by sheer dint of repetition they will somehow be able to penetrate the chaotic darkness that engulfs the scene. Linger on the blackout ( Read more... )

Lucifer is fond of balance - action and reaction, action and inaction.

So he's currently exploring the latter, sitting on the floor of a room that doesn't really have a key and playing a slow, not-really-trying game of solitaire.

The door makes a hollow noise as it shuts. Chill air brushes against the skin, old and still. Lucifer steps past the smooth groove just beyond the door, polished to ebony-silver by feet and obeisance and discoloured with reflected light.

And there is light, streaking the darkness; the sun streams in through oddly-placed windows stained with ruby ( Read more... )

Lucifer sits on a table, frowning with the corner of his mouth, looking down at a glass balanced in his linked hands.

Occasionally he sends a sharp glance around the bar.

He's looking for a blind girl with wings.

GIP? Naaaaah.

Lucifer enters from the lake area, the turned-up cuffs of his trousers dripping onto the floor.

He looks wind-battered - hair untidy, his eyes a little too bright - but not at all cold, despite the deplorably short-sleeved red polo shirt he wears.

Not cold. Coffee, nevertheless, is on the agenda.

So yes, some nights he sleeps here or sits in the room or anything, really, because it's quiet.

This could be damaging to his reputation, if he cared much about his reputation.

"Well. I had fun tonight, how about you?"

The tone suggests that he doesn't reallty give a damn what the answer is. Lucifer tilts Thom's chin to the side, inspecting the makeup.

"Expensive face for such a cheap look."

He laughs. The juxtaposition is one that he likes.

Latest bandwagon-jumping in the history of bandwagons.

( 21 things about Lucifer Morningstar )

Of course, no time passes when he slips out to the bar and comes back with a taste of coffee (not Turkish) in his mouth and a considering look in his eyes. So Thom is asleep, sprawled across a few uncomfortable-looking tufts of grass and clashing with his environment. As usual. If Lucifer squints at him, he blurs from ridiculously striking and ( Read more... )

What is he thinking, when they go through the door?

Many things, but on one level there is the simple fact of replay, of fighting and blood and dust and someone screaming. There are many places that would fit, but on this day in this world one of them aligns perfectly ( Read more... )