Chapter Text
Lucifer’s morning was not particularly eventful after the storm had passed outside. For the last few hours, narrowly evading thirteen hours on the dot, was a storm that cracked and sizzled with Lust and Wrath from deep within the realm of Pride’s soil and being. Short of climbing the air itself the cretin sinners were unaffected besides a rise in activity of their own unsightly design, but his dear Charlie and the imps were locked indoors with nausea and discomfort. He would have cursed everything silently within his known knowledge of Hell when he saw Charlie unable to stand from sickness while the sinners in her hotel lamented her boundaries being enforced in her absence by Charlie's girlfriend and that pesky hotelier.
If it wasn't for the denizens bustling about the hotel causing minor fights, escalating relations of varying amounts, and altogether busying the staff with their indecent behavior perhaps Lucifer would've been more tolerant to other suggestions. One moment he can tolerate them as he leaves his daughter's room to wish her a good day, her mission repeating like a mantra as he passes a squabble in the halls and the next he's gnashing his teeth at mayhem in the lobby. If the splashes of liquor from broken glasses sticking and dripping from the bar as a physical altercation takes place between two nobodies for who knows what. Scraps of food, scraps of dignity, or… ah, it matters not. They're rolling around the floor wrestling to strangle each other with that bartender and maid staring with indifference at the mess.
Eventually the maid tries to take out her knife to join with a crazed smile and the bartender too was soon busy holding her back.
Well, if that wasn't a swell sight, he internally sighs.
It was with his first step into the light, scowl souring his face, when a wisp of foreign presence reigned over the air like frost. An unforgiving darkness from the ever burning fireplace in the corner elongates underneath the wrestling duo, hugging the ground and rubber banding itself up the wall. Others wisely stepped away with knowing looks, even the little cyclops girl simply deflated in fluffy arms. The two seemingly unaware soon find out they have someone watching over them once darkened shadows snap across their waist and yank them away. Away and up they go so they are dangling while crying out their own expletives as they are shaken.
Lucifer wanted to roll his eyes as a familiar red suit summons himself into the foyer and steals the breath of all the lower lifeforms, quite a few clearing out with brisk jogs or a te of disappearance unique to them. Golden teeth split into a grin as he phased into the room like an overzealous manager ready to coral the infighting, but shaking the men around was still above justifiable force. He had the men cowering already, and yet he's doing all this.
Displeasure colors his mood as he keeps his eyes trained on the situation as he descends the stairs.
“You, my dear fellows, have caused quite enough of a ruckus in the concierge station. Do you have even the slightest idea of where you stand?" Alastor's voice is stern, cracking at the edge with a humor at something unseen on the outside. “Whose rule your under?"
One whimpers, “I—I, we…”
The other, having gained his composure back, hisses at Alastor. “Y, Your not the princess, and this territory ain't yours to hunt us on!"
“Hunt you? Heaven's no, not to any upstanding guests of the princess! But I am hotelier and acting security," the hissing of static fills in the background as Alastor pulls the men in closer, “I don't need to remind you of the carnage outside in Pentagram, nor remind you of my reputation, yes? The temporary safety of our temporary guests is not above those of our permanent residents and staff."
There was a punctuation of his words with a small cracking noise, the men's groaning and squirming picking up fiercely as metallic-drumming static filled the space. Short of screaming, the mouthier sinner actually starts to plead with kicking feet.
Alastor continues, a finality to his words, "Do you wish to take this outside, or to your rooms?”
“Our rooms!"
“I promise, no more’s fightin’!"
A clap of Alastor's hands and the men are suddenly released from their ghastly shackles to fall on the floor with audible noises of surprise and distress. Seemingly checking themselves over for anything broken or damaged, it gave Alastor just the amount of time to clap his hands together before widening his arms to gesture at the room at large.
"Smart choice! I'll see you for dinner, I presume!” The hotelier is as jovial as if this was a rare engagement.
The men took off like chickens without heads and noises of terror leaving their lips, one darting through the back halls and one climbing the stairs three at a time past Lucifer himself. The altercation lasted as long as a distracted walk down the stairs and the men were already vanished, threatened, and banished to their domiciles like naughty kids. Far be the leniency for a supposed Overlord to be shown when nearly fifty percent of the clientele were shelter seekers, and over ninety percent were burning with Lust. Violence. Passion. Greed. But even an Overlord can get busy it seems, as Lucifer is sure that when Alastor looks around with his grin snapped taut, it wasn't for greeting the King of Hell or any friends.
Finding their games meeting, Alastor's own face slacks just enough as his ears flick the tension away. But only a little as he leans forwards at the hip, hands behind his back in a mockery of refinement.
“Good king, it's good to see you this fine morning. It is still morning, if you needed to know.” The red-haired ‘demon’ releases the bow and gestures towards the dining hall and its heavy doors. “If you're coming for lunch, I suggest you hurry before it's all gone.”
"You really aren't going to kill anyone." Lucifer kept it as a statement, judging the ‘sinner’ with a hooded expression.
In a storm meant to push sinners to their absolute limits with an uncomfortable itch for relief skin-deep, only to come out with heated rages. Of course Alastor would stand as tall as a sunflower in the day, not a breeze bending his posture while others pushed and crowded down below him. It was meant for sinners, after all.
But an Overlord was supposed to be infallible. Right.
Not a soul was in the lobby besides the bartender anymore, the cat scrubbing at the bar with long strokes and a trashcan to catch the spilling glass. If the cat was listening to them he was doing a good job of caring for his wares and looking busy, a fixture not to be disturbed or recognized as a person. Huh, the maid was long gone it seemed.
“Ah, haha! My lord, you say the darndest things! I cannot in good faith kill for petty squabbles on dear Charlotte’s premises.” His genuineness was draped all over the first half, just for the final part to be tacked on like an afterthought. "Redemption is for everyone, after all."
Keep telling yourself that, maybe you'll start to believe it, Lucifer almost snorts through his nose. The man had done nothing wrong yet, so he bit his tongue, and he had a mission to fulfill as he looked towards where the kitchen atrium lies to his right.
Before he can say anything else the host seems to read his mind, in a way. “Speaking of our head manager, have you checked on her today? I have seen our overworked manager, but haven't had the time to check on Miss Charlie.”
Lucifer gives a wag of his staff at him, then gestures to the front door. “Well, with this weather meant to punish sinners and agitate your senses, it's blasting the Hellborn like it's the flu. She's still laid out in bed.”
Alastor’s expression is usually quite expressive for a man who seems to refuse to drop his smile, his upturned lips upholding his visage as a jolly yet knowledgeable joe if you take his reputation away from him. Contracts and years of dwelling amongst the most dangerous gives the kind smiles he tossed in secret a deadly edge when he needs it. This time, alone in the foyer, it's a tad more kind than authoritative. Perhaps it's Charlie, perhaps it's food.
“Still? Oh my, that's quite unfortunate. If you need any sustenance for her, I've set today's stew aside in the staff kitchen area. While it's in a bowl now, I'll be putting it away soon.” Alastor is still as genuine as the sky is red. “It'll have a red lid, with stickers all over it."
"No, I can fetch it.” He waves his hand, and there it was. Minor physical displacement, no biggie. "Just keep the rabble under your boot, Radio Demon. We wouldn't want you here after hours when the storm passes, picking up litter."
That gets him a dry chuckle. “I would hope so, lest I miss my outing once the storm passes. I'm sure the people would be fine.”
He hadn't thought about his wording much after he had already turned around and vanished in a puff of magic for his daughter's room to give her lunch, but who would in a normal sense? People go out, people have lives, people like the Radio Demon have elbows to rub and boots to shine no doubt. While he did see all the staff at one point in the day, he did acquiesce to giving the chef his compliments for Charlie before he found himself tucked away for the remaining hours of this storm.
Even without being Hellborn he still got a bit itchy, so it was for the best. But that wasn't Pride’s fault that spotting those in the heat of passion in the communal space before Baggie’s—Vaggie’s—intervention had his skin crawling.
By the time he resurfaced the next day, the people seeking shelter had been ushered out with Charlie out of bed and clapping and an anthem in promotion for staying. While it wasn't particularly early by any standard, Lucifer hadn't slept but he had lost himself in his constructions, Vaggie and Alastor had retired from their positions to rest.
While his daughter's girlfriend had gone to bed, Alastor seemed to still be up and about. Where? Nobody knew exactly, but some had ideas of where and with who as gossip by the bar.
The spider sinner grumpily sat down with force after he stormed downstairs from his room, gaining a look from Lucifer who had been asked by Charlie to uphold order in Alastor's absence. That's what a concierge does, after all. The cat demon who was comfortably silent before bristles, and he pours a drink like it was requested of him in silence as the spider waves his phone around. Lucifer wants to pay them no mind for the next hour so he can justify leaving, so he turns back towards the door to stand at attention. A drink might have been nice, but it wouldn't do to drink on the job where Charlie could see.
The gossip goes on without him either way.
“—I just can't believe Smiley is out there, and for Vox no less,” says the Spider Sinner with a raised tone, his tone flabbergasted under something more complex, “I told him not to go.”
"You can't stop bleeding hearts, Legs. It never was gonna be easy.” The bartender didn't look up from the pristine glass he was cleaning. Clearly his topic wasn't anything new. "Until he learns his lesson, that nobodies opinion and actions will seem like gold in this big pile of shit. Lies are his specialty.”
"So you see it too? There's no way that charity kitchen the Vee’s have goin’ is what he says it is. I heard the clientele you see goin’ in at night is downright a clown show, for your reputation, I mean." The spider knows quite a lot, for a man who avoids politics. Except pertaining to the deer it seems. "And ain't no way this dinner is just some normal dinner. He’s gotta want something from him.”
The cat demon doesn't say anything for a hot second, and that's when Lucifer found his opening to conjure his own opinion of the matter.
"If you're so worried about an Overlord, your worries are wasted." Lucifer quips without even turning around, how tone matter-of-fact.
“So you're not just a handsome statue, short king?” The spider deflects with a joke.
Lucifer shrugs. “I'm the king of Hell, yes. And I know the hierarchy better than most, if all people here. You shouldn't worry about the deer, he can take care of himself. And if not? Maybe he should just go home, and stay home."
“You speak like you know the guy, or care even." The bartender finally spoke as he raised an eyebrow in a silent question.
He bites his tongue as a memory of a bowing head of dark brown hair over a book that he shouldn't have, acting like the most vile offense was dropping his second skin instead of being where he deserved to be. Above, with the winners who did what they were supposed to do in life, not down here. Maybe he did…
“It's not good to worry about those who've proven themselves independent, is all I'll say." Lucifer puts a shrug to his voice as he turns back towards his post.
“Well," the spider demon sounded even less convinced, “I just know the Vee’s better than that, y’know. I just told him Vox promisin’ anythin’ at this point in time can't be worth the power or soul of any demon. But he's just so smitten it's…”
“Legs."
Angel put his phone down with an audible clack. "Frustratin’! I know Smiley is okay to stand on his own but Vox is definitely usin’ ‘im! That letter and formal reservation dinner, ugh. He's gonna get stood up at best, and—”
The bartender threw down his rag. “Angel."
“—what, Whiskers?!"
Husk points towards the spot behind him where Lucifer once stood, and Angel turns back around to see the station was empty. The foyer was empty besides him, the sound of business happening in far off rooms their only indicator of other life.
The bartender dryly states, “He left as soon as you said soul. If that helps any."
The other demon gave a chuff. “It doesn't, but that's real fascinatin’. If you catch me, hm?"