Michael Astor ☆ Lucifer Morningstar (oncelost) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2017-10-20 22:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | galen dyer, michael astor |
Who: Michael Astor & Galen Dyer
What: Two angels walk into a bar
Where: Lux, a piano bar in Los Angeles, CA
When: Friday night, October 20th 2017
Warnings: Probably none, but TBD
Los Angeles. The City of Angels. Ironic, really.
Irony was his entire life, right down to the fact that his parents had decided to name him Michael. A fact that amused him much more than it did the devil in his head, but that was neither here nor there. Michael may not have been born with a pair of wings and to a father that was ultimately an utter disappointment to him, but from the very second he'd become the reincarnation of Lucifer Morningstar himself, Michael had transformed. There were still parts of him that were just Michael, sure, but so much of him now was amplified by the sheer, raw power of what he held inside of him. The eroding inner conflict, the over confidence and outright defiance, the irritatingly constant introspection and casual air of superiority. A stark contrast from the gentle, mild mannered Michael Astor he had been as a young man, before the devil took hold while he was still in his youth. He had only been eighteen years old when Lucifer came. He was more, now. He hadn't been just Michael in a long time.
There were many who argued that once you became a reincarnate, your fate was no longer your own. It was tied to the other person who now inhabited your conscience. It was those people who would most likely argue that he was destined to take up the helm of Lucifer — and to some degree, Michael had agreed. There were some roles that he'd had to fulfill, for the sake of balance, but even those 'responsibilities' he'd eventually found a way around. He'd tried the whole 'ruling Hell' thing for a few decades, but honestly, it was dreadfully boring. He'd gotten restless, just like his predecessor, so of course he'd eventually abandoned ship. Unlike his predecessor, he'd at least been responsible enough to leave someone in charge before the decision was made for him. It was unfortunate that she turned out to be such a disappointment, even by his standards.
He would have to deal with that, eventually. But he wasn't ready to give up his freedom quite yet. Not when he'd worked so very hard to maintain this life of luxury. A life that he much preferred to the mind numbingly monotonous day to day life of living in Hell. Lucifer might have been banished there, he might have made Hell his kingdom after the one in Heaven had been so cruelly denied to him, but that didn't mean he'd ever had any love for the place. It hadn't taken Michael very long to feel the same way about it, and he'd worked very hard to shed all responsibility of it over the years. They were the devil, after all. No longer one of God's shining angels who did what they were told and followed orders without question. Lucifer had fallen. All he ever did was question and challenge authority, a trait passed down swiftly to Michael. Heavy was the head that wore the crown, some said, but they had never wanted this crown, and the halo atop Lucifer's head had never quite fit right.
But this evening was not about dwelling on wings and halos. It was a time for indulgence and relaxation while he went about gathering his bearings. Michael's fingers danced over the keys effortlessly as he played, the sounds of Beethoven pouring throughout the freshly painted walls of Lux and gently washed over its inhabitants with the composer's smooth but abrasive tones. Some people in the bar were familiar on sight, the usual regulars who tended to spend almost as much time in this place as Michael did, while some were brand new. Lux attracted a delightfully bizarre crowd, but that was how Michael wanted it. He embraced them as anyone else might choose not to. Lux welcomed the weird and unwanted, it was a home for those, not unlike Lucifer himself, who had perhaps been cast out of their rightful places. Michael felt pretty at home here too.
Not everyone in here was aware of who Michael truly was, of course, but some did. Some had words to exchange with him while he sat comfortably at the piano and played on, a cigarette permanently dangling from his mouth, while others hadn't the faintest idea who he truly was. Some didn't even know he was the owner of this establishment, simply assuming he was just another one of the permanent regulars here who was sometimes presumptuous enough to play the piano without being on the already slotted schedule of performers for that night. At some point, one man brought him over another drink, a whiskey on the rocks, but Michael didn't take a sip of it until he had finished playing.
As his piece came to a close, the usual applause was given and he took a deep bow. Rather than say anything, Michael instead left the piano and acknowledged no one in particular as he settled down again at the bar to finish his drink in peace, after a moment waving two fingers at the man behind the counter. He figured there was about to be someone taking up the seat next to his who might like a drink, after coming all this way.