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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"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?"

"Pfffft." Iman finally settles, stopping the recording, wiping tears from her eyes. "You should consider a career in comedy. Holy shit." She puts her hands on her hips, looking down at him.

"Well," she says. "It's called time. Also lots and lots of water. Everyone has her own method. You gotta take time to discover what's right for you."

She grins. She is definitely enjoying this. "This your first time? How exciting. I'd take notes, but at some point I gotta get going."

He pulls a face again.

"That sounds like a terrible way to do it."

It sounds slow and messy and human. Getting rid of alcohol by actual liver function, by biochemical processes and natural metabolism and all those other things that living creatures did to keep their bodies running properly. Lucifer didn't do natural biochemical processes. He's an angel, a wavelength of celestial intent, he doesn't need liver enzymes.

"How do you stand it? Being constantly reminded of your limitations and deficiencies."

He has to articulate that last word very carefully, because it sort of feels like his whole face has gone numbish.

"Baby I was born this way," she deadpans, folding her arms across her chest. "Limitation is what makes humanity exciting, man. My entire career has been about surpassing limitations. They call me a Starfucker where I'm from. As in fuck you, destiny." She flips off the middle distance with both hands, then smiles back down at him.

"Give me one good reason to stick around with your in your alcoholic refractory period, buddy. Or I'm gonna jet. Because, and here is the thing about you being Satan." She leans down. "You're not super fun to hang out with."

Lucifer sits up, ignoring the debris on him as though it weighs nothing more than bedclothes. A particularly large piece of plaster slides off of his torso and hits the floor with a thud.

"At what point," he says, brushing brick dust off of his lap, "between threatening to freeze your doctor friend's insides and finding out that I'm Satan did you think this was going to be fun?"

He rises, still drunk as balls but graceful as only someone very concerned with their appearance of dignity could be. That, and he probably abuses his powers a little along the way, because he can and that whole concerned about dignity thing.

"And let's be honest: you'll hang around because, aside from the rift itself, I'm the most interesting thing here for a dimensional physicist. And the rift is even worse at conversation than I am."

Oho, someone's getting cranky. Iman purses her lips, dropping her hands to rest on her hips.

"I'm not surprised, I'm just sayin," he informs him. She smirks at the rest of it. "Aren't you sure of yourself. How do you know what makes you most interesting to me?"

Yes, he is interesting, but he is also arrogant as balls, and Iman has a little too much self-respect to stick around after a comment like that. She brushes the dust off her skirt and inches back.

"It's not like you're goin anywhere," she points out. "Remember?"

Smiling serenely, she steps back out through the hole in the wall. "See ya," she says with a little wave.

It does not escape his notice that she's essentially confirmed what he said: he is the most interesting thing in this city. Which, of course, is obvious, because he's ~~got an ego the size of this entire planet~~ the Morningstar, one of the most powerful beings in his universe.

And he is also not going anywhere. She might be right about that, but he's right about her.

He watches her go, and his lips twitch in a secretive half-smile, the visual equivalent of a sing-song voice saying I know something you don't know--

"Yes," he says, like a promise.

There is the sound of heavy wing beats that doesn't stir a single iota of dust, and he is gone.

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