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“He did what he needed to do." Mark Pellegrino notices the glint of protest in the questioning fan's eyes.
"He was betrayed by everyone he ever loved. Michael, Raphael, Gabriel. God himself who he adored. Who he idolized beyond words. And because he opened his eyes to the truth, they cast him out. I think that’s a pretty good reason to hate the product who made that happen.” Mark countered to a fan who was currently holding her ground about Lucifer being a true villain.
“But like all villains with tragic backstories, he’s misdirecting his hatred and anger to the wrong source. Humans didn’t personally do anything to him. All they ever did was be created. They didn’t ask to be created or to be so imperfect. If Lucifer refused to bow down to humanity even when God commanded it and was cast out of heaven as a result, isn’t that his Father’s fault?” The girl rose her eyebrow.
The audience’s attention is back again to Mark, their wide eyes and tittering lips displaying their excitement at this tiff.
“I have to disagree with you on the ‘humans didn’t do anything’ point. Not only did they always blame Lucifer as the cause of all of their downfalls for everything, but they never learned from their mistakes. They murder, and lie. Steal and cheat. They torture and delight in it. Humans are God’s worst creation, so why should an archangel bow to them?”
“I could say the same thing regarding the angels.” The fan shot back sassily. A couple of fans laughed at that, becuause it is so true. Mark tilts his head downward slightly with a smile on his face, as if to say touché.
“Even then. The human are killing off little by little everything God has ever created. At least the angels respect everything He’s made else so far, with maybe the exception of humans. They say they worship God but then do everything that demonstrates the opposite with their actions. Destroying it all. Wondrous nature, strong and majestic animals, and the same air we breathe in every day. Poisoned. Polluted. By humans. And they have the outright gall to act like nothing is their fault. Everything is.”
“Damn, Mark. Are you playing the role of the Devil, or are you actually him?” She laughs good-naturedly. Half the room also starts to giggle while some others gasp. They probably thought that was going too far.
Mark laughs in response, eyes crinkling in amusement. Even if some people thought he was actually arguing with the fans whenever this topic came up, he does enjoy the interesting back-and-forth debates. It’s fun to hear the other point of view, to learn from another perspective and take in to either reject his initial opinion or strengthen it. “I’ve been told that before, yes.” He winks at her.
More than a fair share of fans have confided to him or to other actors (mostly Richard because damn, the trickster role fits him to a tee) that he does have a certain…quality to him. An intense, soul-bearing quality that makes him a perfect fit for Satan, apparently. He doesn’t know if these comments are sometimes intended to be offensive, but he never takes it as such. They’re more like strange compliments to him, if he was being completely honest with himself. Unless ‘intense’ gets swapped out by ‘scary’. Then he does have to disagree. He might be many things but one of them is definitely not scary.
If only they knew I’m such a big soft-hearted dork. He chuckles internally.
“Thank you, dear. “ He tips his head down in gratitude and is about to address the next fan in line, a teenage boy, when the double doors at the entrance of the large panel room suddenly slam open and hit the walls with force.
More than half of the audience jumps up in surprise. Mark purses his lips in distaste. If someone arrived late, the least they could do is not disturb those fans who did come on time. More than 150 people look back in the same disapproval, attempting to see the person who didn’t have any consideration for the audience, or even worse, for the actor currently hosting his personal panel. He can almost bet money that door slamming wasn't accidental.
Someone from the front row didn’t care of hiding her disdain, as he could have sworn he heard a girl muttering “dick” underneath her breath. He snorts. Isn’t that right…
Complete and utter silence. A tense, dreadful one.
Sure, there’s been rude fans before, but he’s never felt the atmosphere turn this icy before. He looks up at the entrance and sees a young woman walking lithely down the middle passageway of the room, among all of the seated fans as if she was some sort of a runway model. She definitely had the arrogance for it, as she wore a tiny smile on her lips which demanded all attention to be kept on her, and she definitely didn't look sorry for disturbing the panel. Mark fought the urge to roll his eyes.
Great. A wannabe prima-donna. She sure had the look too.
The young lady wore an off-white dress that trailed the floor only slightly, with a tight bodice and then flowed at the waist to form an A-line long skirt. The edges of the bottom material had small delicate patterns sewn over them, along with lace intertwined. The shoulder straps were thin, not even a centimeter thick, and the sweetheart neckline showed off plenty of her cleavage. Straps crisscrossed her backside, like a mockery of a silk corset, except smooth tan skin was visible until it stopped right at the small of her back. Her hair was as black as the midnight sky, long raven tresses tousled out in cascading waves that caressed the swell of her bottom. Her face was radiant and practically glowing. Large doe eyes were fringed with exceptionally thick dark eyelashes. Her cheekbones gave off a subtle shimmer at the right angle, and her thick lips were a rubbery nude. The only sound in the entire room is the click-clacking of her heels, which hide beneath the length of her dress.
She looks like she got lost on her way to Coachella, only without all of the typical flowery bullshit and boho crap. Mark refrains from scoffing, just barely. She made her way to the line of fans who were waiting to ask Mark a question, and as she neared the back of the line (which the fans standing still stared at her unabashed), she puts her delicate small hands on her hips as if waiting for something. Her smile vanishes. For some inexplicable reason, the fans start to actually disperse. Mark cannot believe his eyes. Are they really just getting out of her way?
Sure, she’s a beautiful gorgeous girl, but that shouldn’t excuse her diva attitude, nor should the fans permit it. It’s baffling. He’s been a part of quite a few fandoms, but he’s never seen one as vocal and loud as the SPN fandom when it comes to witnessing rude or obnoxious behavior. And yet, no one does anything. Not on his watch.
“Excuse me, Miss. These people were making line way before you were. If you’d please be so kind to step to the back of the line and wait your turn like everyone else, that’d be great.” His tone is sickly sweet, sugary yet acidic. Just the way he does it when someone is pissing him off but he can’t afford to chew them out.
She reaches the front, where that same teenage boy, the one who was about to ask a question before she came in, has his palms wrapped around the microphone stand. She gives a wide Cherise smile at him, teeth lined up like white chiclets. Immediately he moves away and scatters to his seat. Meanwhile, Mark’s expression is a combination of irritation, bewilderment, and just WTF in general. Why do they run from her? She’s just a girl!
“Wow, we got a badass over here.” He can’t help himself from saying sarcastically. He really shouldn’t say anything at all but he just can’t believe the audacity.
One of the young lady’s hands goes up to grip the upper portion of the stand, while the other nestles itself on top of the microphone, leaning into it slightly. She closes her eyes briefly, and slowly moves her head from side to side as if trying to get rid of a crick on her neck. Left…and then right…A small pop and she sighs contently. The smile fails to leave her, perfect lips stretched out.
Finally her eyes pop open, staring right at the actor on the stage. Suddenly, the chair felt uncomfortable. Marks shifts uneasily, noticing the girl’s eyes are impossibly dark. But they didn’t look brown, nor black. In fact, it seemed like a deep burgundy wine. That’s…not a natural eye color. Okay, so she has contacts. No big deal.
“….Hello, Mr. Pellegrino.” She coos, her smile widening impossibly so.
Marks sucks on his teeth and rises the microphone to his mouth. “Well, it seems like you scared everyone off. So, tell me. What’s your question?”
“I only have one, really.” She replies back softly. “Do you believe in the Devil?”
He can feel the tension radiate from the audience, soft gasps arising here and there. Everyone knows question etiquette. Even the con newbies. You don’t ask about the actor’s personal religious beliefs. Even so, he feels compelled to clarify it with her.
“I am assuming you mean the real Devil, right? Not relating to Supernatural?” She nods, smiling.
He sighs. What is he supposed to say to that?
“It’s….complicated.” He attempts. “Sometimes I do. Then again, other times I don’t.”
“I am surprised.” She states simply, but her facial expression is calm. “Your passion for your character is so true, so genuine. Your attempts to defend the Devil in a universe who screams Adversary… It’s beautiful. Almost like if you were basing it on your own personal beliefs. It’s why I ask.”
“…” Mark bites his lips slightly, not sure what to respond to that.
“I lied. I have another question.” The girl tilts her head. “If you had Satan right in front of you, what would you ask?”
Okay, now he can hear the audience gasp.
“I’d like to get his side of the story. I would like to know why he fell.” He says truthfully. Why not engage her a bit. Even if she is rude, she's definitely brave for asking these types of questions Mark can bet more than half of the audience would love to know as well.
“And if you didn’t like the answer? Would you call Lucifer a villain like everyone else?” She presses on, her eyes flashing like maroon moons.
“It depends on why I didn’t like his answer.” Mark asserts himself, half-hoping she would stop with these type of questions. They were too dark, too heavy for a typically light-hearted panel. Her eyes soften, and she looks at him almost fondly. Her posture relaxes just slightly, fingernails tapping along the shaft of the microphone stand.
“You did it perfectly, you know. Your portrayal of me was a Masterpiece.”
Immediately, all audience heads turned to look at her in bewilderment.
What?
And Mark instantly gets it. “I see. You’re Lucifer in Sam Winchester’s body. Gender-bent.”
She shakes her head softly. “I am neither in Sam Winchester’s body nor am I gender-bent. I wonder why you lot always categorize me as Male. I am neither gender. But if you’d really like to pigeon-hole me, then call me female. I usually appear in female form. I like the physique much more than the male one. “
Everything makes sense. All of this, from her rude entrance, to her slow infuriating walk, to her arrogant sly smirk. All an act. She’s doing the best impersonation of Lucifer possible.
He stands up from his seat, and begins to clap. Really, the entire performance was stellar. She should be an actor. Slowly, the audience follow Mark’s lead and soon the entire room is filled with roaring applause.
The girl, or…Lucifer does not move a single centimeter. She is stone-still like a marble statue, and her eyes are burning a hole into Mark’s skull. There’s an intensity there which Mark realizes seems to chill him and at the same time, scald his sight. Is this what people describe when they say they feel an intensity from him?
Wow, then I am kind of terrifying.
“Mr. Pellegrino. Have you ever asked yourself why it seemed so easy for you to play me?”
“Do tell.” He replies smoothly, going along with her act, a small smirk playing on his lips. She stays silent for a while, but walks right up to the front of the stage, the platform slicing her image in half, a long stare heading his way. He nears the edge of the stage and extends out his hand.
She smiles and takes his hand, gracefully leaping to the stage floor as if it was effortless. Her back is to the audience and she looks up at him, her eyes shining blood red and violet at the same time. She was a small thing, even with the heels. But then again, at 6’1, Mark is sort of on the tall side.
She takes tiny steps forward, until she is practically touching his torso and Mark’s goodhearted smile falls off because um, no fan girl should be this close. She looks up at him, head tilting to show her slender neck.
“Because we’re connected, you and I.” A purring whisper rolls out of her lips, and vibrates in her throat. Okay, this is turning out to be kinda inappropriate and uncomfortable.
“You portray me how I want you to, because I guide you in your process of acting me out. “ She shouldn’t be whispering. It’s almost sensual and gah, nope. Not going there. And to be honest, it makes Mark want to take a step back (or several, actually). Even though he’s not the one doing anything wrong, her closeness makes him feel like some type of creepy old pervert. Not to mention, the way this young lady is looking at him screams out something that shouldn’t be privy to the public eye. It makes him a little sick to his stomach. He’s old enough to be his father, for Christ’s sakes.
And it obviously doesn’t look any better from the audience’s perspective, he’s sure.
He does end up taking a few steps back, trying to make it as casual and nonchalant as possible. The last thing he needs to people getting the wrong idea. He brings up his left hand to everyone’s eye level and starts playing with his ring finger, haphazardly twisting around his wedding band. It looks innocent enough, But in reality:
Back off.
I’m a married man.
“Get off the stage!” Someone brave finally hollers, apparently noticing Mark’s discomfort with the situation. Oh thank God. Someone is coming to his rescue, because JESUS, this shit was getting akward.
“YEAH!” Some other fans join in angrily. How dare she attempt to invade his personal space?
The girl ignores them and closes the distance between her and the actor once more. “Oh, don’t be coy.” She coos, irises filled with mirth. “I can have you whenever I want, sweetheart.” Honey drips from her lips.
His eyes harden to cool ice. “I would prefer you leaving the stage now please. I’d rather not call security to escort you out.”
She raises her hands up in mock surrender, taking a step back. “Okay, okay. Fine. You win. But first…Wouldn’t you like to know how an archangel’s wings look like?”
And like a goddamn light explosion, feathery white appendages burst from her back like if they were bombs waiting to be detonated.
Screaming.
“OH MY GOD.”
Crying.
“OH MY GOOOOD!”
Sobbing hysterically.
Frantic prayers are heard in a delirious frenzy.
Shrieks bombard his ears. Chaos. People running to the entrance, desperate to escape while Mark is frozen in shock. His eyes trained onto the larger-than-life beautiful white angel wings which glittered as if they were made of diamonds, which shone like a light beacon, as if a white flame burned beneath them and made them glow. They were magnificent, resplendent. So huge they could probably cover the entire stage with their full wing-span.
“Our father who art in heaven,-”
And her eyes. They are no longer burgundy.
"HOLLOW BE THY NAME! THY KINGDOM COME-!"
They are bright fluorescent blood-red, and they boil over.
Now Mark was the one looking up at her wings. Tears start to drip down his cheeks. The Devil actually took an interest in him. She looked at him and was curious to know more about what he thought of her.
"Please, God. Deliver us from Evil-"
“You’re not real.” He whispers, more for himself than anything. This can’t be happening. She cannot exist. Because this shit doesn't happen in real life. This only happens in shitty fanfiction. Satan has always been a scary story to tell children (and adults), so they behave. Satan is a fairy tale.
Satan…is right in fucking front of him.
Lucifer grins toothily, and smoothly brings her slender finger up to his lips, caressing them as if they were made out of rose petals. Her touch is soft and revolting, because it feels so beautiful.
“Unfortunately, my wings are not pink. But, you were right about one thing. They are sparkly. ”
His breath and soul is siphoned away by her lips.