bigapplesauce | Don't Panic [open]

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Don't Panic [open]

Iman practically drags her new friend to the East Village, wandering with intense focus until she finally comes across the bar Jodie had recommended to her, which looks just like it sounds, a proper English pub. It's been ages since she went to an English pub. She's looking forward to it. A little hysterically, actually. No wait. Scratch that. She does not get hysterical. She's a scientist.

"Here we are!" she says brightly, drawing Daniel in. Oh wow would you get a load of this place. The lady behind the bar is in costume. Adorable.

"Wow you can kinda tell it's for people from an alternate universe, can't you?" She snorts and takes stock of the people, looking for someone to talk to, or someone whose brain she (they) can pick. It's pretty early for anyone to be drinking, so there's not too many people there, except one guy who is drunk, slumped over the bar. Looking exactly like she feels, or rather how she wants to feel in an hour's time.

"That one," she says decisively, not bothering to check if Daniel's with her on the idea of approaching a drunk stranger and asking him questions about their mutual cosmic misfortune. He's probably not. She doesn't actually care.

She goes straight to the bar, assuming Daniel will follow, sits herself on the stool next to the guy, and nods to the tender. "I'll have what he's having."

[[ooc: Daniel's just gonna be here for the initial thread, but Iman will be here all day! Say hi if you wanna.]]

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Things about humans that angels like? Lucifer actually does laugh at that, short and sharp.

"Angels don't like humans, Iman."

Castiel was a fluke, not the norm, and Gabriel had gone native. They aren't exactly representative of the whole of Heaven.

"Angels look at humans like collateral damage. That's all you are to them-- souls in Heaven or demons in Hell, and they'll kill you all just the same and, as they say, let God sort it out."

He doesn't even want to break everything. The Earth itself is so beautiful, the last true handiwork of their Father, and he just wants to purify it. Purge it of the human corruption that threatens to destroy it.

Iman startles slightly at the laugh, oh jeez, what can she do to make that never happen again; and rolls her eyes at his response.

"Ooh, what, is that supposed to make me sad or something?" She shakes her head. Angels. Who cares about angels? She's never had to deal with them her whole life, she's not gonna change her massively indifferent mood about it now. "Then be a big damn misanthrope, see if I care. I'm just saying you don't have to do whatever it is you had to do back home. Because this is a different place, see. Old results aren't gonna come of following old rules here. We gotta make up new ones."

This is probably about as wise as she's going to get, the way she's putting her drinks away. She hopes they can change the subject soon. This is getting ridiculous.

Sorry that the issues that tore Lucifer's family apart aren't interesting enough for you.

"Am I supposed to be pleased that I've been dragged from home and shoved into a cage with clipped wings? I have done terrible things to be free, Iman. I will do many more if it means I might be able to be free again."

He has fought wars against his brothers, he has killed and tortured and schemed, he has made evil his good because the Lord declared that he could not be both good and free. He said his farewells to hope and fear and remorse a long time ago.

"Or as free as I can ever be."

This line of conversation is driving the Devil to drink-- or, at least, it's driving him to drink right now, because he's going to fill that glass right up again and drain it down. He could almost envy humans for their ability to get plastered without having to devote so much time and effort to it.

"Well, hold your damn horses," she says. "There might be a better way out than the 'terrible things' route."

She polishes off her latest drink and takes a moment to take stock. She's already lost count.

"I'm gonna change to wine," she says abruptly. To the bartender, "Hey, gimme the cheapest red you got. Whole bottle please. You," to Lucifer, "drink more. You need it."

Lucifer watches her order a terrible life decision in a bottle with an expression of mild disgust.

"I've drank more than one bar from top shelf to bottom, and cheap red wine has to be the worst thing I've put in my mouth all night."

Which is seriously saying something. The Devil has been fairly indiscriminate about what kind of alcoholic beverage he puts down his throat, and it's quite possible that he's drank things that really aren't fit for human consumption. Like rubbing alcohol, or kerosene.

"You should really see someone about your latent masochism."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you think I was offering this to you?" Iman gives him a seriously unimpressed look. "This is for me. Get your own. I'm not magic so I gotta budget my shit. Trust me if I could afford it I'd drink fancy fuckin sangiovese every goddamn day."

She's offered a glass, but she swigs from the bottle. Fuck it.

"You should really see someone about your everything," she counters, "though there isn't enough money in the world for that potential therapist."

"I've got plenty of my own. I just want to know why you insist on alcoholic self-flagellation right in front of me."

Because willingly putting cheap red wine in your mouth is approximately the same as beating yourself, except for your liver.

Lucifer quite pointedly pours his actually kind of disgustingly flavored vodka into a glass before drinking it, because he's still got his dignity. Or, he does for now, anyway.

"I don't think health insurance covers acts of God."

Which, y'know, is the cause of his problems. And also possibly what would happen to the therapist after they annoyed Lucifer sufficiently.

"Because I'm on a budget, as I just explained." Iman takes another swig. The wine is thin and vinegary as hell, but whatfuckingever, in a few more sips she'll be way too drunk to know the difference anyway. "If it bothers you that much you can always extend some generosity and upgrade me."

She's not really fishing. Mostly because she doesn't think he'll do it, and mildly because she doesn't think she wants favors from Satan.

She eyes his vodka suspiciously. "Are you trying to tell me that's any better?"

"No, but I have a good reason for my alcoholic self-flagellation."

He's fairly certain that being informed of a terrible personal tragedy gave you the inalienable right to attempt to destroy your liver with an organic poison for a while. It's like an unwritten rule of the universe or something-- you are exempt from making good decisions for one night while you postpone getting your shit together.

Lucifer looks at her bottle of wine, then across the bar at the better vintages of wine, and thinks about it for a second. He seems to be having a sort of inner debate for a few moments, which apparently ends with both sides of the argument saying 'eh, fuck it'. He snaps his fingers.

The wine in her bottle is suddenly not the wine that she had been drinking, but is, in fact, wine from a better bottle. Some time, some day, someone is going to order a bottle of what they think is good wine and will end up with a mouthful of crap, but that day is not today.

Oh, like her reasons aren't legit. Whatever. She rolls her eyes and takes another swig from her bottle, then almost chokes on it when the flavor changes mid-drink.

"Holy-" She pulls it away, staring at it, then looks back at him. "Holy shit."

Well. That was... nice of him. A material alchemist probably could have pulled it off just as easily, but that's not her line of work, and of course he did it without contact, which is pretty impressive. Or would be if he weren't literally Satan.

"Uh, thanks." She takes another drink. "Much improved."

"Even if you're acting like a homeless lush, you shouldn't drink like one."

Satan has standards, he's just not living up to his own right now.

He starts to pour himself another glass, but stops short and considers the glass and the bottle and the whole process of using a middleman between himself and liquid liver destruction. Sure, there's more dignity to using the glass, but he a.) is an archangel, therefore by default more dignified than humans, b.) doesn't care about the opinions of others, and mostly importantly, c.) is drunk.

He shrugs and throws back a good third of the bottle in one long pull.

And makes a face.

"That really is hideous."

And that is still not going to stop him from drinking it. It's almost fascinating in its horribleness-- like a twenty-car pile-up in his mouth.

Wow, fuck you, you classist dick. Iman is debating going off on him for that, but is conveniently distracted by the sight of him going down on the goddamn vodka bottle.

"I'm fucking shocked," she says at his assessment, arching an eyebrow as she enjoys more of her nice wine. "That's disgusting. But hey, whatever, don't let me judge you or anything. You do you, trashking." She lifts her bottle, a bit unsteadily, but manages not to spill any on the way back down to her mouth. Wine is good. Wine is so good.

"If you use the word trash in relation to me again," he says conversationally, "you're going to find out what it's like to have all the blood in your veins switched out for the cheap wine you aren't drinking right now."

Protip: it wouldn't be pleasant.

Not pleasant, just like the vodka that he's going to pour down his gullet right about now, not really doing anything to disprove that whole trashking thing, but because fuck you, that's why. Once it's empty, he sets the bottle down on the bar top and just sort of sits there for a moment. It looks like he's either concentrating very hard on something, or possibly is just drunk.

"I think I'm starting to feel something."

So... just drunk.

Oh delightful. Iman shoots him a sulky glare, as though personally affronted that he would threaten her with that bullshit when she's done nothing but support him! You know, with a lot of judgment. And mild verbal abuse.

She doesn't say anything, however, not feeling quite bold enough to give that a sarcastic response. She drinks her wine as grumpily as possible, and then eyes him while he concentrates on discovering his own drunkenness.

"Congratulations," she says coolly. "Where angels dare to tread." She's so funny.

"Sarcasm doesn't become you."

Or, Lucifer doesn't like being made fun of. Take your pick, really.

He takes stock of his current situation: currently out of liquor, with really only more of that kind of awful flavored vodka left, in a bar, with a slightly annoying human who happens to be the one person here who actually meant to get into this universe. This bar is tapped out. It's time to move on to the next place, where hopefully the liquor will be better.

"I think I'm through here," he says, just a little slower than usual because he tongue feels like it's slightly numb. "Have you ever flown before?"

"It does, actually," she says, unconcerned. "But I'll defer to your pleasures."

Or utter lack thereof.

She glances over at him, eyebrows raised, as he suddenly decides to move on with his life. Well okay then.

"I have flown several times," she says. "In airplanes. And I can levitate under certain circumstances. Oh and once my roommate at university let me have a go at her zero-G simulator but I don't know if that counts."

She leans in, dropping her chin into her palm of her hand. He's an absolute dickbag, but that doesn't stop her being immensely curious about him. "Somehow I don't think any of that is what you mean."

He makes a face whens he mentions these machines and contraptions used for flying-- that's not real flying. That's not the same, not what he meant at all.

"No, it isn't. I mean flying, by your own power and volition."

There is nothing in the universe quite like flying. Sure, it tended to make any human passengers a little ill, but they simply can't appreciate it like an angel can. He doesn't fly as well as he used to-- not since the Fall and the years in Hell-- but he still can, and does, to what limited extent he's allowed to here.

"I could take you with me. It's a simple enough thing."

Edited 2014-10-17 19:57 (UTC)

Yes, yes, everything I can do you can do better. What a surprise.

"How romantic." Iman leans back and gives him a lazy wave, a sort of go on, then. "I think I'm too drunk for it at the moment. You go ahead. Knock yourself out."

"Suit yourself."

Being offered a ride from an archangel is really nothing to stick your nose up at, but if she doesn't want to come along, that's her deal. She can keep drinking mid-shelf wine and not get anymore Satan discounts.

There is the sound of heavy wing beats and Lucifer is gone, the bar stool empty as though he'd never been there at all.

Outside, there is a loud crash and the sound of bricks smashing, which is pretty impressive considering that there's no high explosives involved. Across the street, a building that once had four whole, standing walls now only has three intact ones and one with a great big hole in it. There is a lot of dust and rubble and barely any wall left, and no real sign of what massive object could've caused all that destruction.

Iman almost has a heart attack at the sudden immense sound of wing beats, the subsequent disappearance, and most of all the crash. Holy fuck. At the back of her mind she sends Daniel a flood of texts while she slides off the stool and wanders toward the door. She steps out into the street and stares, momentarily dumbfounded, at the hole in the wall across the way. Holy fuck did that really just happen.

She walks over, ignoring all the stunned and concerned passers-by, and steps right through the hole.

"Nick?" she says. "Er, Satan? Hellooo?"

There's a massive pile of rubble, mostly.

Satan, in the meanwhile, is starting to think that he might just be a touch more drunk than he expected. Which, from any other being that had dealings with alcohol before, might have sort of been an obvious conclusion, considering that he literally drank most of the alcohol in Manhattan.

Satan contemplates his life and his existence for a moment, half buried in drywall and bits of brick and mortar.

He hears someone call for him.

"Polo."

Iman snorts loudly and gropes her way over to the source of the call, toeing bits of brick aside as she goes.

"Hey there, buddy," she says, once she gets a glimpse of his face. She starts giggling, unable to help herself. "Damn, you smashed right through there. That was amazing. Good demonstration."

"I try," he says, like barrelling his dumb ass through a brick wall is a piece of performance art that he's been working hard on and not just him being too drunk to fly.

There's something that's appropriate for this situation, he just has to remember what the words are.

Oh, right.

"I came in like a wrecking ball," he sort of half says, half drunkenly croons, and it's... within the realm of on-key. And let's be honest, the song doesn't exactly have a high bar to pass as far as good singing goes anyway, so having Satan stumble his way through an alcohol-manged rendition is probably an improvement.

Okay what is happening here. It takes Iman a few moments to understand what she's witnessing, and when she finally does, it's all she can do to raise her arm and switch on the embedded camera. It's not really for this purpose, but fuck if she's not gonna save this moment for all time.

She also can't stop giggling, pressing a hand to her mouth. This is too fucking good.

"Holy shit," she says shrilly, before giving way to full hysterical laughter

What's probably best is that Lucifer, the Prince of Darkness, Angel of the Deepest Pit, He Who Is Called Dragon, knows every. Single. Word. Of an ex-Disney channel-turned-pop starlet's hit single that's music video involved construction equipment and nudity.

Seven more years until they got to collect on that crossroads deal.

Once the impromptu concert is over, Lucifer lays there in the sad remains of the wall, looking up at the very boring ceiling, and tries to make himself sober. He tries just moving all the alcohol in his blood to somewhere else, or to get rid of it completely, or any of the other little tricks he has, and it's all a no go.

"...I think I'm done being drunk now. I'd like to stop." He lifts his head slightly to look at the woman who's still probably laughing at him. "How do humans stop being drunk?"

Don't Panic [open]

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