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Charlie had planted herself in front of Vox and was rambling off an impressive myriad of excuses, from busted pipes to bad Wi-Fi, while he stared at her, hands on his hips, with the utmost expression of forced patience. His black, digital brows were set in a line as straight as the glower at the bottom of his screen. He does a single, slow blink, finger tapping against his hip as he debates on how much money he can reasonably make on a Charlie Morningstar-inspired white-noise machine (and whether the guaranteed customer complaints will be worth the cheap buck) when a movement over her shoulder draws his eyes.
He leans to the side, eyebrow quirking. "What's that?" Then promptly chokes on a surprised noise and shoves Charlie aside. "Holy shit, is that a human?"
Lucifer plays a prank on Alastor.
Everyone else has to deal with the consequences.