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Lucifer (ungelic) wrote in entrywaythreads,

"Johnny Constan-tyne," Lucifer never sounded pleased to see him. There was always some crisis at hand, a favor to ask, it was never hello, hi, how are you?. His voice held a certain tone that suggested he was about at his limit for niceties, his fingers hit the keys of the song a little hard. Habits by Tove Lo playing over the noise of the bar. Most people stopped to listen, but more stopped to ask him for a helping hand. He was stuck here. Just like everyone else. "One no was not enough, eh? What's brought you to me this time?"

Everyone wanted something from the Devil. Purgatory was supposed to be his charge. Michael looked like a tax accountant that couldn't get his tie on straight. He'd have preferred to see his own hunchbacked brother, but this one was less bent on revenge. Or so it seemed. Lucifer wouldn't be totally surprised if there was an all out brawl at some point. It was inevitable.

He took up his drink, eyes flashing red before settling into those dark, soulless things that left you feeling on the edge of something. Maybe Connie was here to simply converse. Lucifer didn't make room for him on the piano bench. There was plenty of space around him, he was counting on the man to lean against his piano. Which was totally his now, Lucifer claimed it. Thank you and shove off. "Fancy meeting me anywhere. A lot of people would relish the opportunity."