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Who: Lucifer and OPEN
What: Exploring the town
When: Day 48, all day
Where: Anywhere

If he ever intends to find the source of his vessel’s stability, Lucifer knows that he must thoroughly search the town and its surrounding environs. Not so long ago, he had demons to handle the tedious tasks with which he had neither the time nor the inclination to occupy himself. But the few that are here are unreliable, uppity, and he hasn’t the patience to deal with them. Now, like ever, he has only himself upon whom to rely, and so it is he who searches through the abandoned buildings for signs that might lead him to the answers he seeks.

The town proper. The beach beyond it. The lighthouse. The forest. This world is open to him, and he goes where he wills.

There are, of course, a few points of special interest, and before the day is done, he will have sought them out. But he has time to spare, and fully intends to go wherever whim and curiosity take him.

[ OOC: So Lucifer’s exploring. He’s not going to be walking into anyone’s house uninvited, but he will be going into all of the other buildings and snooping around at various locations throughout the town. Feel free to run into him somewhere! ]

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Bruce is in the clinic updating his records, and it's so glamorous. He's separating out the people who've disappeared from the people who are still here, and then he thinks he's going to have to ask for another roll call or something. Really there needs to be someone officially in charge of that. Maybe he should talk to Stane, only he's probably an evil patsy and Bruce should punch him in the gut instead, except Bruce doesn't punch people. So it's better if he just doesn't talk to Stane, probably.

And this kind of circular thinking is how Bruce keeps himself entertained as he sorts files, or at least how he does it when Tony's not around. He probably could pass this off on some of his proteges, but there's definitely some naughty Latin on some of these files in his and Tony's handwriting. Bruce figures he'd better do it himself.

While some decisions are made at random, the one Lucifer makes to visit the clinic is deliberate. In this place, he knows, the man who turns into a large, green version of himself spends a great deal of time and he means to speak with him. Initially, he’d thought him nothing but an ordinary human. Now that he’s seen him as something else, some manner of creature he’s never encountered – and what has he, the greatest of his father’s angels, never before seen? – he wants to know more.

He will know more. One way or another.

Despite his feelings about the race in general, it’s with an expression of polite amiability that he enters the clinic, walking as would any pathetic human. He even gives the man a smile when he sees him, as though he was simply another one of his fellows.

“The owner of this establishment, I presume?” is Lucifer’s version of a greeting, vaguely friendly and almost warm. Much, he imagines, as anyone would sound when greeting a stranger for whom they hold no malice.

As was her wont, Mina gravitated to the docks at night. She'd long ago given up on trying to burn off the Fae and she'd lost her desire to go swimming. But there was still something about the water that calming. It was home.

Not that Mina had ever had much of a home. Perhaps she was simply getting sentimental in her old age.

That evening, she sat on the edge of the dock, her shoes and blazer neatly tucked away beside her. She'd rolled her shirt sleeves up, revealing the P-shaped scar on her left arm. One leg lazily dangled over the water, the tips of her toes just brushing against the surface as she swung her leg.

It happened that she peered out from under the brim of her fedora, spotting a figure. Oh. The one that had Pendragon twitchy. Not that she could blame him. He was a bloody liar, but he wasn't stupid.

Still. She couldn't help but wonder a little.

Brigid finds herself gravitating toward the church again. Her fingers run over the uneven knots of the make-shift rosary that she'd made. It isn't perfect, and it isn't even close to being right, but having it is comforting.

She walks in, curtsies and then slides into a pew. Her head bows and she begins the rosary.

Her recitation is interrupted when a certain smell wafts in her direction. Brigid raises her head, looking around. It's the smell of otherness that she remembers from St. Raphael.

"St. Raphael?" She whispers the name cautiously, hoping she hasn't disturbed him.

Unlike the towns and cities of the Earth he knew, the activity in this place seemed to ebb and flow with the cycle of the sun. The town was so much more active during the day, as if the townspeople expected that what horrors existed in the forests and surrounding waters would only come out at night. He certainly chose to be active once the sun had gone down, but that was both because he preferred the decrease in obvious human activity and because he simply didn’t sleep.

It was as his path took him down near the sea that Lucifer spotted the woman sitting so calmly on the dock, and it was the novelty of the sight that drew him closer. Some, it seemed, weren’t so afraid of the dark after all.

“This is the part where I remark on the pleasantness of the evening, isn’t it?” His voice was cool, the tone mildly friendly, as he stopped a short distance away. Far enough to speak at a conversational level, not so close as to breach the boundaries of her personal space. “I think that’s how the little ritual goes.”

There’s something about churches that both amuse and infuriate him: humans build them to worship his father, like God is so short-sighted that he can only be found in a construct of human design. Of course now, Lucifer wonders if perhaps he is as short-sighted and foolish as the humans seem to believe him to be. But then, there’s so much bad blood under the bridge that it’s hard to think of his creator in anything approaching neutrality.

The girl’s voice reaches him without difficulty as he steps forward into the church, and Lucifer smiles, amused instead of offended, though of course it might go either way.

“Right family, wrong archangel,” he corrects her, moving forward so that she can see him from the periphery of her vision. “He is my younger brother. My name is Lucifer.”

She twists so that she can see him more fully. There's respect and awe in her posture, but not fear and terror. She lowers her eyes in respect and goes to her knees.

"St. Lucifer." Brigid murmurs. It's the only title that seems appropriate for him. "I didn't mean to disturb you, my apologies."

Her fingers still run over the homemade rosary in her hands in a steady cadence. Red hair falls out of it's clip and brushes her face, but she doesn't move.

With two fingers, she flicked up the brim of her fedora. Courtesy certainly dictated that much. Yet, at the same time, she shook her head a little bit. "I don't thinks so," she replied. "As this isn't a speakeasy and I rather doubt you're trying to...what was the phrase? 'Pick me up.'"

Although the irony of it was a bit laughable. After all, Mina had been called a 'devil worshiper' far too many times throughout the course of her unlife. Nothing could be further from the truth, of course. But the clerics of the Lancae Sanctum were not exactly known for being truthful. It was much more convenient to tell stories.

"You know," she said, leaning back against one of the pilings, "I've been told you're rather dangerous." She didn't sound particularly concerned. Conversational, really. Because she saw an immense opportunity at the moment. A dangerous gambit, perhaps. But really, what did Mina have to lose at this point?

Raphael was walking a slow path around the the porch around the lantern room, his fingertips trailing over the railing. He almost gives off an air of boredom, he head ducked slightly as he walks, but his feet are too deliberately placed, movements too purposeful, both relaxed and controlled.

He wonders how long it will take The Lightbringer to show up at the lighthouse, assuming it will only be a matter of time. It's almost a dare to come find him, a challenge to what they will each claim as theirs - and he doesn't, after all this time know Lucifer well enough to guess. But it's a big tower of light, so surely as some point, he thinks, Lucifer will show up.

And yet - he's not actually in the mood for a fight. Perhaps he is simply bored.

Speakeasy sounded like an nonsensical term, but he could glean its meaning from what was left of Nick's mind well enough. The man had never been in one before, so Lucifer had no experience against which to judge, but he felt confident in silently agreeing with her assessment. He'd made no secret of his identity since his arrival, though he certainly had done nothing to draw attention to himself, so he believed it perfectly possible that she had no idea what he was.

That belief was dashed almost immediately by what she said afterward, and one of Lucifer's eyebrows quirked upward in amusement. She knew him, or least knew of him, had even been warned against him by one whose identity he felt he could guess, and yet here she still remained. Bravado? Courage? Stupidity? He couldn't decide.

"Quite dangerous," he agreed with a tiny nod of his head. "But then, so is everyone with the will and strength to act should they deem it necessary." It wasn't a threat, merely the statement of opinion. "At the moment, I don't feel the inclination. Do you feel threatened by my presence?"

The title pulls a short, quiet bark of laughter from him. Saint? He doesn't think he's ever heard that one. Certainly not from a human who knows of him.

"I think you were here first," he says, lips pulling into a mild grin. "Save your apologies for one who requires them. I certainly don't."

His gaze drops to the rosary and the way she still touches it. "That won't help, you know." His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, as though he's sharing arcane secrets none should ever learn. "There's no one listening. Angels don't care and God is gone. Heaven stands empty of anyone willing to answer the prayers of your kind. But, hey, who am I to tell anyone what to do?"

"That's a little trite even for you, little brother."

He makes no production of his arrival, simply settling into a corner as though he's been there all along. Arms folded over his chest, expression set into cool neutrality, he looks at Raphael with more patience than perhaps he should, considering the long eons of bad blood that stretch between them. Of course Raphael would seek him again. This isn't Earth or Heaven. All bets, as the humans say, are off.

Glancing away, he gestures to the room with a quick flick of his eyes. "What do you want? I assume it's something, else you wouldn't have bothered with this."

"Not especially," Mina said, pulling her leg on the dock closer to her chest, indicating that he was welcome to sit, if he so desired. "Actually, I'm rather fascinated. It's not every day I see someone putting Pendragon on his guard."

She wrapped her fingers around her knee. Even when she knew she was vastly inferior, even when she knew she didn't stand a chance in any real sort of confrontation, Mina still fell back onto old habits. And it was in her nature as an old pirate to make sure that he could see all of her rings. A psychological trick, they said. Trying to display one's wealth and status.

Of course, a small voice told her, if she really wanted to display her power, all she had to do was let the Queen out. Mina herself was no match for any sort of angel. But the Queen? The Queen was far older than time.

But no. Mina would not let that...thing...control her.

"Trite but to the point." Once Lucifer is there, Raphael continues his pacing just long enough to put him a polite distance from his brother, hands folded loosely behind his back - he wasn't hiding anything, it was simply what he found comfortable.

"I wasn't aware a cease fire meant ignoring each other's existence." Gabriel may have chose to leave, and he assumes Lucifer has grown used to being without his brothers, but Raphael isn't. And of the two archangels, the sting of Gabriel's abandonment is more fresh. Not that Raphael didn't have his own agenda, but he still wasn't used to being on his own.

If he allowed himself to examine the emotion he so ruthlessly suppressed, he was frightened by it. And what little brother doesn't seek out an elder one when they are frightened?

"Have you found anything interesting?"

She's not scared of him. In awe of him, certainly, but he is still an Angel of God, and she will accept his judgment. If anyone has the right....

"Faith isn't about expecting an answer, St. Lucifer. It's about screaming into the void and believing the possibility that someone will hear." She shrugs. Her faith is personal to her, and she doesn't presume to think there is anyone listening. She believes that her hardship spares someone else and that's worth doing.

"And St. Raphael heard me." She hopes that Lucifer doesn't take that badly. But he had. And Raphael was one of her favorites - the gentle one who understood the need for pain.

Human wealth and status meant nothing to him, though of course, it could be said that the wealth and status of none were of note to him. Neither mortals nor gods nor all of the little lives that scurried between the two extremes mattered to him. Little did, these days.

He didn't chose to sit, but he did drift a few steps closer, hands casually tucked in his ratty old jeans. It wasn't his body, but he was as at ease in the borrowed form as he could be. Even if, occasionally, he was possessed of the desire to stretch his wings.

"Pendragon?" Lucifer laughed, the sound one of true mirth. "Is that what he calls himself these days?" He clicked his tongue, the very picture of disappointed disapproval, but oh, did he sound amused as he added, "My, how the mighty have fallen."

"No," Mina replied absently, "I chose it for him. 'Loki' felt inappropriate somehow." And Pendragon was a very famous name in Kindred circles. Mina only knew of him third hand, but his exploits were so legendary that almost every Kindred who had heard of him referred to him by the loveable epitaph, 'Mother Fucking Pendragon.'

That felt appropriate, somehow.

She tilted her head to one side. "What should I call him?"

And never has a truer description of Heaven been uttered. If only she knew, he thinks, and cannot quite suppress his smile. That's all the angels do now. And they'll scream themselves hoarse before his bastard of a father shows his face again.

He's tempted to roll his eyes when she mentions Raphael, but after a brief struggle with himself, he manages not to do so. "Raphael would. He's always been so eager to please. And now that he has no father to bow to, of course he would heed the call of his creations. What else has he to do?"

Rolling his shoulders, Lucifer shrugs, not offended in the least. "Be careful who you give your loyalty to, girl. Angels have a habit of disappointing those who believe too deeply in them."

There's a moment, just a few heartbeats' worth of time, in which Lucifer simply looks at Raphael, as though he's just ripped out his grace in the hopes of living out the rest of his existence as a mortal. Like he can't believe he's serious. And he's not. He's waiting for the punchline, but when it fails to come, he has to consider the possibility that Raphael is serious.

And that makes him laugh. Laugh until he has to pass a hand over his face to sober himself.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you properly." Pointing between them, he tips his head to the side, frowning. "Did you just ask me to share information with you? Me? With you?"

"Loki?" Lucifer's brow wrinkled, suspicion confirmed. Not that he'd thought Castiel intelligent enough to maintain the ruse of an alternate identity, but there had been the possibility, however slim. But since that had been the name Gabriel had been pedalling as his own when he'd killed him, he knew it wasn't the Winchesters' lapdog.

"I almost want to apologize for him. Of all the options available, to pick a Norse god. It's shameful. And lame, considering I killed most of them. But, what's the phrase, to each his own?"

Looking out over the water, Lucifer fell silent for a moment. It was only when he remembered that she'd asked him a question that he responded. "Call him whatever you like. I'm sure he'll answer."

"Like a dog," Mina replied dryly.

She followed his gaze, mostly to hide her look of disgust. This was, in its purest form, nothing more than the same peacocking she'd dealt with her entire life. And unlife. He wanted to take his cock out and measure it and declare it the finest and, for an agonizing moment, the Queen was banging on the forefront of her consciousness, begging to be let out so that She could knock him down a peg or two.

But Mina fought it. She would not be controlled by the Fae. Not in Chicago and certainly not here.

And, as much as it pained her to admit it, Pendragon's concern was...difficult to dismiss. So she bit back any remarks and she locked the Queen deep down in her consciousness as best she could.

In the hullabaloo surrounding the hallucinogens and everything, he'd missed the PSA about how Lucifer is... Lucifer. With all the recent arrivals that Bruce has been trying to place, he isn't too bothered by not recognizing him either. He seems nice enough, a little formal but maybe he's just being silly. Nothing wrong with that. Bruce smiles and puts the folder in his hand down, making some room in front of him on the table.

"I don't think anyone really owns anything in this place, but I am a doctor. I live here part-time." He leans back in his seat and waves Lucifer in.

"Can I help you?"

The cock was a new addition, received when he'd put on Nick and decided to keep him. Like the rest of the meatsuit, it was what it was, and provided the whole thing didn't fall apart on him again, he was content with it. The size of its reproductive organ was as irrelevant to him as the opinions of others. He certainly wasn't going to be using it.

"Something like that, yes," he agreed easily enough. "From what I hear, he's spent his time flitting about from woman to woman, rather like dogs tend to do with the females of their species."

But talking about Gabriel's sex life was as dull as the act itself, and he was quick to leave it behind. "Why such interest in him?"

Or horses, she thought wryly.

"There are few people around here worth the trouble of conversation," she replied aloud. "At least he has interesting things to say." And very interesting blood. And her method of draining him was not, all together, unpleasant. "And I must admit a certain affinity for the Loki character. It doesn't suit Pendragon much, mind you, but it is a fascinating character study."

She turned to look up at him again. "Of course, my question is really why he has such an interest in you."

"Possibly."

Before he continues, Lucifer looks him over, a slow, appraising stare that searches for, and fails to find, the great hulking green giant from the other evening. He considers simply taking the information from his mind, but when he extends his senses to sift through the uppermost layers of the man's thoughts, he finds himself blocked. Not at all a common experience for an archangel, and that rather quickly cements his suspicion that he isn't human.

"What are you?" Courtesy is for people who care about the feelings of others. "You aren't an ordinary human, none that I know transform into large green monstrosities. And now I question whether you're human at all, given your mind is closed to me, and no mortal's mind is closed to an archangel. Especially not to me. So what, I wonder, are you? One of Eve's ilk?"

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Church?

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you bet!

Awesome

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