[The piano bar: Misha & Lucifer.]
He didn't bother dressing up, and he wasn't inclined to make an impression, so he arrived at the piano bar looking plenty young, and some like disenchanted youth in clothing that fit too loose. He'd left Damian a note on the kitchen table, so the boy didn't fuss if he came on home from working to find him gone, and he'd brung himself out here, to this piano bar that wasn't one of his usual haunts. The place, it was too snazzy for Misha's tastes, but it was a night for old music, and he reckoned that could be suited this meeting.
He sat himself at a table, a Coke sweating 'tween his fingers, and he waited. He took after his momma, or so everyone had always said, but she'd been blonder than him, paler, something unearthly and fragile. He looked like nothing special, really, sitting there. He was a teenager, sullen, with eyes too blue for normal folk, but that was all he was. And he was angry, and it pulsed off him like something tangible, real evident to anyone knowing 'bout Heaven or Hell or anything similar. Every single time he moved, the sound of wings chased quiet through the bar, and his feet were burning scars into the wood 'neath him, even with his sneakers on. The music playing was slow, and it was being played by an amateur, their name on the list Misha had added his own name to upon arriving. But there were a whole lot of folk waiting, and Misha just tried to focus on being calm, least some little bit.