The moral outrage just leaking off of the good doctor over there was almost hilarious in its intensity. And Lucifer hasn't done anything worse in his presence than move a few objects around and freeze a glass of liquor; he hasn't even been destructive. The Devil has been practically pleasant, and Daniel keeps on insisting on giving the gift horse a dental exam.

Someone has the bad habit of poking sleeping dragons.

He taps the glass and the liquor goes from frozen solid to liquid again, back to room temperature like it had never been cold to begin with. Instant thermodynamic equilibrium, because the laws of physics are for saps.

"She isn't wrong, you realize," he says, and puts a finger on the rim of his empty glass, rocking it back and forth. "There isn't much difference between your insides and that glass of liquor. And just because I haven't done anything greater than a few minor tricks around you doesn't mean that I can't. It just means that I haven't."

Though, at the moment, he's capable of considerably less than he normally would be; someone around here-- the 'Rift', he'd bet-- must not be particularly happy about his grand entrance in Central Park. Probably had to do with the body count.