Re: Down: Lucifer / Misha
Lucifer was able to glean bits of history and emotions from what Misha dropped into their still-few conversations. He knew that there was far more that wasn't being said, but he wasn't pushing to discover those things yet. It would be easy enough with others, to give a little nudge that would unlock the flood, but there was something keeping him from doing it. Instead, he offered things like the hot chocolate, the very threadiest starts to a possible foundation between the two of them.
It wasn't hard to see the thought that Misha was putting into listening, and Lucifer was doing his best to put in an equal amount of effort when it was his turn to hear what was being said. And at least some of those words were evidence of the goodness that was part of the boy's lineage. "If you feel those calls to do good things, I wouldn't ignore them." He started with that, and continued to give the rest of it some thought. "I think, and I know that no young person likes to hear this, but I think it's related to age and experience. And being caught Above, which I know doesn't give a realistic view of many things. It puts you at a disadvantage, one that is never going to seem fair, and it means that you have to work harder to put yourself on a more level gameboard." He reached down yet again, this time coming up with a more delicate looking cup, this one steaming with the scent of a spicy black tea. He kept a hold of it this time, sipping at it occasionally. "The cure for feeling dumb is twofold: first, being confident that you have a type of knowledge all your own, and second, learning. Reading, experience. Being around other people and talking with them. Different people, not just those you're around most of the time. And listening. It takes time."
The laugh that came from his throat was a bark of amusement, and his eyes were bright for a moment. "If that's true, it's great karma for trying to puppet the rest of us this whole time." He slouched more in his chair so that his head could rest easier against the back cushion, and a smile lingered as a curve of his lips. He was rolling the thought around in his head like he was tasting a fine wine, letting it sparkle along his palate. "No control. ...that has to be killing Him." There was not even a trace of sympathy in his voice.