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The bar is an eyesore. No, worse than an eyesore, it’s tacky.
So many skulls, so many scratches in the wooden panels—oh, the apple on the front is nice, there could be more of that—so…green. What an ugly color.
It’s also apparently permanent, somehow manifesting in its unholy integrity even after Lucifer had made a perfectly serviceable replacement.
As if to mock him, the architect himself sits at one of the stools, a glass of whiskey in hand. Alastor sips at it leisurely as he watches him, eyebrow raised as if daring him to approach.
Well, joke is on him. Lucifer can list all of the things he’s afraid of on one hand and Alastor doesn’t make the cut.
He makes sure to match Alastor’s mocking smile as he saunters his way to the bar top. “Hey there, bellhop. Where’s the fuzzy bartender?”
“Why, your majesty,” Alastor says, a hand to his chest in false admonishment. “Husker, like any soul partaking in gainful employment, is entitled to a break and reasonable work-life balance.”
Oh, this smug—
“You own his soul.”
Alastor shrugs, dismissive, and takes a sip of his drink.
Lucifer is so prepared for some stinging banter that he stumbles, unsure how to navigate the conversation without it.
“What’s going on here? What’s with this…lack of attitude?” He waves his hand to encompass all of Alastor and his relaxed posture as he rests his chin in his hands.
Alastor hums, half-lidded eyes sparkling with a joke that Lucifer isn’t in on. “I’ve been told I’m much more agreeable after a drink and you happen to have caught me after two.”
There’s not much that Lucifer finds agreeable about this freakish, pointy-toothed philanderer, but he supposes that Alastor’s smile is docile enough for Lucifer to take the seat next to him.
He regrets it nearly immediately.
Although Alastor seems completely comfortable in the silence that falls over them, it claws at Lucifer and his hands itch to move. He taps his hands on the bar top, vaguely surprised that it doesn’t even elicit a twitch of Alastor’s eyebrow.
Maybe he was serious about the drinks mellowing him out.
“So…” Lucifer drawls when the silence becomes impossible to ignore.
“As much as it pains me to admit, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Alastor cuts in like he was only waiting to be able to do it. “So as an expression of apology, may I offer you a drink?”
“I don’t actually, um, I don’t drink,” Lucifer says, pulling at his collar self-consciously.
He still hears Lilith’s voice in his head sometimes, and she pops up now. Don’t be a bore. They’ve already exiled you. There are sins that you can actually indulge in now. It had always made him feel small. Pathetic.
Silly of him to care about the opinion of a psychotic sinner though.
Still, he’s not expecting the rush of gratitude that fills him when Alastor nods genially and says, “I can appreciate someone who prefers to keep a clear mind. Some apple juice then? They say it is always better to drink with company.”
“Well, I.” Could there be a downside to this? He takes in Alastor’s smile, seemingly less razor-sharp than usual. “I guess that would be alright.”
“Fantastic!” Alastor quips, conjuring a full glass with a wave of his wrist that he sets in front of him with a flourish.
Lucifer sniffs it, skeptical of anything that doesn’t come from a bottle, but it smells appropriately sweet, and when he takes a sip, feels like nectar on his tongue.
“Thanks,” he says, mildly surprised that Alastor hadn’t tried to slip him alcohol regardless of his preferences. “I’m surprised this dilapidated bar even had something like this.”
“A pleasure to provide,” Alastor responds, voice low. It raises Lucifer’s hackles immediately. He’s heard that tone before, from the early days of Hell when he and Lilith used to attend dinner parties that were filled with sinners trying to curry his favor in any way they could.
And then, as if to prove him correct, Alastor adds, “Perhaps we’ll be able to share a drink in one of our accomodations next time if the current location is so unappealing.”
It suddenly feels very hot.
“Well, I—I’m actually still married.” He flashes the ring that weighs heavy on his finger. “Technically.”
Alastor’s grin spreads, slow and syrupy. Lucifer gets the impression that he’s being laughed at. Prick.
“I’m not interested in anything that would compromise your marriage vows.”
Lucifer scoffs, ignoring the sharp pang of rejection before it turns into blustering embarrassment. He’s temptation incarnate. If Lucifer wanted him, he could have him.
“Oh ho, as if! You sinners are all the same. You get to hell and become even worse than you were up there.”
“I assure you,” Alastor says, leaning across the bar with a level of confidence that makes Lucifer’s cheeks heat. “There is no one quite like me.”
Ugh, get a load of this fucking guy.
Lucifer is the one who was thrown out of heaven for supposedly being guilty of the sin of Pride. He’d use this as an example of his innocence if there was anyone up there who would actually listen.
“Sure, I’ve never heard that one before,” he says, shoving Alastor back into his seat with a hand to his surprisingly sturdy chest.
Alastor accepts the manhandling with unexpected grace. “I wasn’t aware that you interacted with others often. Certainly not since my arrival in Hell.”
It’s definitely been a lot longer than that, but thinking about it doesn’t do wonders for his mood on the best of days. “You meet one sinner, you meet them all.”
Alastor cocks his head curiously at that. “Surely you don’t mean to say that you’ve only interacted with your daughter in years?”
Something in him rankles at having the most isolated person in this hotel imply that his social life is lacking. Even if he’s not as incorrect as Lucifer wishes he was.
“I have friends!”
All Alastor does is raise an eyebrow in response, his infuriating smile sitting smug on his face.
“Just because they don’t live in Pentagram City doesn’t mean they’re not real. What? I’m supposed to be friends with the guy who has a TV for a head? That guy fucking sucks!”
Alastor laughs, a real one, nothing like his mocking cackle and more like he thinks that Lucifer made a joke that he actually enjoyed. It’s…nice.
“Well that, my good sir, is something that we can agree on,” Alastor says, clinking their glasses together. “I‘ll admit that I was quite pleased there was no repulsive television in this new hotel.”
Lucifer stares down at his glass in bewilderment. “Not friends I take it?”
Alastor’s smile turns into something resembling a sneer as he finishes the rest of his drink. “I think not.” He refills his own glass and without looking refills Lucifer’s as well. “I’m rather particular about those who I consider a friend.”
“Like that charming woman from that first day?”
“Ah, Mimzy,” Alastor sighs, a reluctant fondness to his voice. “A delightful little troublemaker. An indispensable ally in my activities topside. But no, I don’t believe I would consider her a friend. There is only one person who has earned that title.” His eyes flick up and as he raises his glass for another toast, his smile softens. “But I suppose there’s room for more.”
Lucifer looks between his glass and those ruby red eyes. Somehow, the idea of a truce doesn’t sound as bad as it would have ten minutes ago. He lifts his glass and knocks it against Alastor’s with a clink.
A screech makes him jump and he clutches at his chest as he turns to see Charlie run up to him.
“Dad? Are you and Alastor…” She gasps, hands raising to her face in cute little fists of joy. “Getting along?”
“Whoah, hold on a second there, sweetie.” But then he pauses, looking at where they’ve just cheered to friendship. Huh. “I—I guess we are.”
“Oh my gosh! This is so great!” She squeals, pulling them both into a hug. “You’re going to be best friends in no time!”
He meets Alastor’s pleased gaze over Charlie’s shoulder and, for once, doesn’t feel like there is a joke hidden in his eyes.