Who: Damon Salvatore, Lucifer Morningstar & Samandriel What: Drinks When: 1/28 Where: Lux Rating: Mild language only Status: Complete
In the fallout, Damon needed something to do with his time. He really didn’t want to stay home, and he didn’t need the lectures that he was sure would come. Honestly, his head was a mess, and the answers that seemed clear one minute, were not as clear the next minute. The canvas had been changing all day, and while things were falling down, he wasn’t doing as badly as he should have been. He wasn’t entirely sure why that was. What he did know was that he had an interesting drink invitation on the table, and it was more than time to meet the devil himself.
He walked into the Lux, dressed like one of the usual patrons, in black slacks and a jacket, a Varvatos shirt underneath. He was striking, abnormally handsome in a room full of the beautiful people. He nodded to those that turned their heads, cool and confident in spite of whatever internal turmoil went on in his head. He took a seat at the bar, turning his attention to the violinist, while the bartender brought him Bourbon straight.
"He doesn't normally work Tuesdays, you know." Lucifer stepped up to the bar -- slotting himself easily between the free high backed chair and Damon before gesturing for his signature martini to the bartender with a half smile.
"I asked him to tonight. It seemed only fair he's kept busy while we talk." He had, of course, never spoken with Damon before - but that didn't mean that he didn't know the man on sight. Lucifer knew most everyone who walked into Lux in one way or another. More so, he knew everyone that Samandriel made himself close to.
Damon’s eyes drifted upward, taking a look at the man who figured into the mess, if it was even a mess on this end. He had to admit, he liked being away from chaos, and this was far more peaceful. If he was nervous at all, he didn’t show it, no matter that he was a human amid those who could take him out in a single blow. “I know,” he said, a light trace of a smile tugged one side of his mouth up.
He took a drink, unaffected by the burn in his throat. He was used to it. Alcohol had been a sanctuary far too often. “I suppose that talk is long overdue, or at least a meeting, or whatever it is. At least my world is busy blowing up without me there.” He shook his head, taking another drink, that same smile in place, not particularly open for someone that he was just meeting.
Which was fine, really, because while Lucifer was friendly, he couldn't easily be described as warm. He had no opinion of Damon, no tremendous like or dislike of the man and very likely wouldn't until they'd spoken further.
What Lucifer did know was this: The mess that was currently happening wasn't his. He was absolutely no part of it, and it wasn't his job in any way to make amends for or try to fix it. The fun that Samandriel had with Damon or anyone else was only so much Lucifer's business in that he allowed it and whether or not all the i's were dotted and t's were crossed in their planning and details wasn't a problem of Lucifer's.
That didn't mean he was without slight sympathy, though. "It'll die down eventually. People do love their theatrics. Let's talk then, Mr. Salvatore. Normally I'd suggest upstairs, but I wouldn't want for Samandriel to not be able to see or hear at the same time. There's a table across the room that suits."
By this point, Samandriel was more than aware of Lucifer’s particular pleasures. That he’d been asked to work on a school night was unusual, but at least he was in a position where he felt like he could work as opposed to the night Michael walked in when he was still very much sorting through things. He should have known immediately that it would come with a catch, that Lucifer wouldn’t request for him to play on a school night without having his own particular brand of torture in mind.
Not that Lucifer saw it as torture, of course. It was more testing the bounds of Samandriel’s obedience, a very obvious reminder to the young angel that he belonged to Lucifer and the drama he’d started was something he should have been above in the first place. He was allowed to watch the conversation unfold, but not to listen in. He didn’t know for certain if there would be a reward for him at the end of this or if this happened to actually just be his punishment for his poor planning when it came to who he took to bed. He hoped that there would be, but the odds didn’t seem to be in his favor lately.
Part of not listening meant that Samandriel had to play. He had to keep himself completely focused on his music and not let it lull off into more delicate sounds. He might hear over those and he wasn’t taking the risk. So while Lux was normally a very calm sort of bar, the minute Damon walked in, Samandriel had to get creative. His song shifted from something easy and soft to save his energy for however long this conversation lasted into something far more intense. It was too easy to channel his feelings into his music, to fill the room with the intense sounds of his own frustration, his anger and his pain at nearly everything that went on the past few weeks. The only thing that kept the music actually musical and not Wagner on crack was that he could orient himself to Lucifer’s light. Wings drawn up high and tight at his back, he kept his eyes closed, seeing without looking as he played.
Damon had paid attention to the music, felt the shift in the air when he walked in. Now when he followed Lucifer, he cast him a quick glance, not entirely sure of the position he held now. It was probably a bit lower than it had been, or maybe he was just the passing fancy. He pushed the doubt back for the moment. It was odd that when he stepped into this place, whatever was going on between himself and Elena faded to the background. Maybe she was right in that he did have two separate lives.
“I’m not too worried about it. They do love the drama,” Damon replied as they sat, sugar-coating it a bit. In truth, he would survive, no matter how those chips fell. He looked up at the other angel with a thousand questions. He might only ask five, but he wasn’t sure which of those would enter the picture. “I suppose discussion of the weather is out, and I’m really no good with local sports teams, as I really don’t give much of a fuck.” He took a drink keeping bold eyes on the man. “So that kind of leaves us with a violinist.”
The music, although a bit on the wild side for Lux standards, went more or less ignored by Lucifer. It was more than a specialty for him to make Samandriel wait for anything, including response, and that wasn't changing any time soon. It was a slow weeknight, and Sam could play however he chose. Regular patrons were used to his oddities by now, anyway.
He sipped his own martini, looking straight back at Damon. It wasn't so much about appearances or trying to keep some sort of upper hand (Lucifer had that. Lucifer always had that), so much as the devil just being curiously polite. "I'd be disappointed if you came here, knowing what you know, looking to talk about something so banal as the weather or sports."
Nodding, he finally did take a glance at the violinist in question. "He's hardly the last conversational option, I should think. But yes. The violinist." It was a prompt. Ask or say what you like.
Damon cast a glance at Samandriel, then back at Lucifer. His eyes were perfectly cool, clear and focused. He had a good deal of control when it came to emotions, which was a practiced trait over the years. “My fiance is not as amused by that little violinist,” he said, but Elena wasn’t the first issue that had popped into his head. “Is he okay? A few weeks ago, it was rough on him?” Damon had helped in his own way, but issues like that tended to leave lasting impressions.
His eyes shifted back to the angel, the stronger one in the room. “I know I’m probably an afterthought here, not much more than that.” His voice remained calm throughout, taking on no particular inflection upon any word. His fingers drummed occasionally on the table, but even that was a vague sign. “The others would take my place quickly enough. The two of you will get married, and avoid the Apocalypse.” Even though he spoke of it, he had no intentions of leaving, not yet.
Lucifer didn't care much about the unamused fiancé, considering she was part of the situation that wasn't any fault or problem of his. So he ignored the topic completely and let Damon go on without any comment. He rather assumed that Damon wouldn't mind, either.
"He's fine now," Lucifer assured, frowning slightly -- not over the question, but over the reasoning for it to even have to be asked. That would never not be something that made him feel a bit guilty, even when logically, it hadn't been his fault. "I fixed that problem. And you helped in your own way, didn't you?" Never mind the fact that there shouldn't have been anything to have to fix in the first place.
Running his finger over the lip of his glass, Lucifer couldn't help but offer a huff of amusement. "Is there an Apocalypse scheduled again? I always seem to miss those." He shook his head though, didn't quite shrug (because frankly, he was above that sort of lazy gesture), but somehow gave the impression of it anyway. "We will get married, there's no question about that. Whether or not you're an afterthought is up to you. Sam and I know what we have and want from each other. Forever is infinite and impossible to describe properly, but it's there and ours." Lucifer looked at Damon then, really looked -- like maybe he was just staring right down inside him until there were no more secrets. "You have a long time ahead of you, too. Samandriel loves easily, but he isn't fickle."
Damon didn’t really mind the pass over when it came to his fiance. She was not the reason that he was here, and as he did tend to compartmentalize most things, she was safely in her box. None of his friends of family outside the Lux ever followed him here. It may not have been intentional at first, but it was now.
He watched Samandriel play for a minute, careful to mask his face. “Are you sure about that? I’m not so sure that those events are completely fixable. He showed me, but you are probably already aware of what I know.” It wasn’t intended as a guilt trip. Damon didn’t operate that way. He didn’t think something like that could just go away. Wounds could be patched, but scars would remain. Damon had left plenty of those on others.
“You’ve seen Doomsday Preppers, right? It’s fucking ridiculous.” Damon smiled, chuckling softly at the thought of people practicing eating bugs so they could survive the coming Apocalypse. “I don’t know when it’s scheduled, but it’s supposed to be a big one.”
The big issue was not the Apocalypse, but it was a nice bit of comic relief. He felt the piercing gaze, and didn’t try to hide from it. He wasn’t looking for a reason that he should leave, just walk away if that was even possible. He was looking for a reason to stay. His lips pursed, and fingers drummed. “How do you see that long time? As one of many others? A token vampire amid angels and other immortals?”
"I'm sure. I fixed it." There was no taking away the memories of the hurt, but Lucifer fixed the rest - fill in those cracks until they weren't there anymore and disassociated pain and terrible acts with the memories until they were nothing more than moments that Samandriel knew were bad, but no more than that. "It wasn't hard." Nothing was difficult for him, not anymore.
He tapped his finger on his own martini glass idly, and it was full again with less than a real thought on the matter -- and then did likewise with Damon's glass without touch or comment. Drinks were on the house tonight, after all. "There's always some rapture or apocalypse coming according to some nut job." He didn't believe it. His faith had never been much to speak on.
"I'm not certain what you're asking, Damon," Lucifer said, not without some patience. "It's always going to be me first. Just like Samandriel is first for me. But I don't think order is necessarily important in arrangements like ours." He paused, considered for a moment even as he lifted his martini, but did not bother drinking. "You seem intelligent and at least self aware enough to realize you just aren't part of some eye-spy supernatural checklist. Do you want to be here?"
Damon found he wasn’t particularly happy with erasing memories period, especially when Samandriel had offered to take his. This was a bit of a different situation. Those memories were extreme, and Damon had those that Samandriel had shown him. Damon would keep them to himself, and he suspected that Lucifer knew that. He just didn’t feel it was the best way to deal with those memories. In the end, those memories would have left many cracks.
He watched the glass fill, moving blue eyes from the man to the glass and back. “I know that. Everyone else is second, and playing for second may never be enough. I’m not sure that it is fair for anyone to ask. Then again, I’m not sure that the ability to love more than one always works for the same reason. And there is that other little bit. You love who you love.” With that, he took another drink.
For a moment, he looked at his hands, and then back to Sammy, playing something to keep him distracted. “Do I want to be one of the many of his loves, having my own life on the outside? Would I stay, and for how long? In truth, I don’t know. Eventually I might want more and eventually - .” He stopped before he said the rest, leaving it hanging. He might have to let it play out, see where it went, because there was no way for him to really be sure of that future. “If I left, there would be enough to replace me.” Or would there? That was the real question.
"I don't think it works that way," Lucifer said, eyeing Samandriel across the room in a way that was nearly critical, like he might find answers in the music about why the little angel might have chosen this other man over any other number. The same way he'd chosen the Winchesters, really.
Lucifer was very fond of the Winchesters though -- had gotten to know them since then and now considered them family of the closest variety. He loved Dean, although the man was headstrong and difficult to be around on occasion. Even Castiel, who openly distrusted him, was endearing in his own way. Would that happen with Damon also, if Lucifer cared to make the effort?
"Damon," he said after a beat, turning his attention away from Sam. "You want me to tell you you're important. Irreplaceable. A needed component that would be well missed if you were to ever change your mind and want something else." Lucifer did shrug then, offered a quirk of a smile. "I can't. Because you aren't."
He might have been the Devil, but he wasn't quite cruel enough to leave it at that. "Unless you make an effort. Straddling fences in situations like these is unfavorable at best."
Damon sat back, keeping his eyes on the devil. He was not the most earnest or honest of young men. He never had been that, and he wasn’t going to start pretending to be now. “Good, because I was going to call you on that bullshit,” he said. “You might say that, but he says something that is quite different.” He didn’t know how honest or dishonest Lucifer could be, but he trusted Sammy, especially that night.
His fingers steepled in front of his lips, tapping together. “I’m here though. Oh, he made the grandstand offer to remove himself, erase Elena’s memory, and even mine, of which I said no. I’m here.” He moved his hands, taking up his glass again. He kept thoughts to himself, covering the deeper issues with thoughts that were random. “I would think you would find me intrusive, not really welcome in this little circle, being from a world that isn’t yours. I’m not particularly governed the same way he is.” He wasn’t going to be used, he wasn’t going to be a yes man, and he wasn’t going to follow anyone’s directions but his own. Damon was Damon after all.
Lucifer was only honest. It was sort of his thing. There wasn't much bullshit he needed to be called on, because he didn't care to spout it. He told the truth, and Damon could take it, or he could leave it. In the end, everyone found and chose their own way. Lucifer liked that.
The archangel only rose an eyebrow and sipped at his drink for a moment, picking apart Damon's words until he felt comfortable responding. "So you are. Here. Now, anyway. And that could be anywhere between a start in the right direction, or a general interest in free drinks and conversing with someone possibly darker than yourself." Not that he was, Lucifer was the Morningstar as much as he was the the Devil. He thought it a very poetic balance, personally.
"Believe me when I tell you I'm not interested in governing you. Alternately, I doubt highly I'd find you intrusive. I do not have a particular clique when it comes to who is allowed into my life - dream status or otherwise." Lucifer, in fact, was the odd one out of their general group of four where dreams were concerned.
Plucking the green olive from his drink, he let it drip off the excess gin and vermouth. "The only thing that would make you unwelcome would be hurting him." Lucifer didn't even need to look at Samandriel. "You being here currently doesn't mean you aren't just playing both sides without actually making a decision. That'll be what hurts him in the end. I get the feeling neither of us really wants that."
Damon chuckled, taking another drink. Lucifer didn’t know him that well, hadn’t read anything that deeply. He found that he enjoyed that. “The hair and my love of black are about the extent of my darkness, well, and the little vampire issue.” Damon’s snarky sense of humor rarely failed him, and it was going it’s job now. “Why do you keep insisting in the right direction though, or referring to it as such?”
He also cast a glance at Sammy, tipping an eyebrow quickly, just to say it was fine in their odd sort of way. “Even the fact that I could hurt him says something entirely different than one who could be so easily replaced. You have opinions on the issue, but they are only opinions, not necessarily correct ones.” He was quiet for a minute, contemplating the different ways it could go. He didn’t know how it was going to go. It was far too soon, but walking away was not an option.
Wrong reading or otherwise, Damon did have a sense of theatrics about him. Maybe dark had been the wrong word, but claiming publicly that the truth didn't set one free and a love of Poe didn't exactly speak volumes of levity.
"I'm never wrong when it comes to Samandriel." It wasn't opinion, it was only fact. Samandriel was his, absolutely, in every sense of the word and claim. He knew that angel in and out down to molecule and grace and everything in-between. "Outside factors?" He spread his fingers wide, as if to imply that yes, that was guess work and some opinion. That was just how things went.
"So when I mention a right direction - once, mind you; it's hardly repetition -- it's only because my concerns and interests are for him alone." Lucifer ate his olive and then sat back in his chair, posture still straight and entirely too refined.
"It's not a large concern at the moment. I understand the need to sort what's currently out of place. What else, then? You implied our conversation was a long time coming." Lucifer hadn't necessarily felt similarly, apparently.
Samandriel was working more than he thought any one angel should have to on not paying attention. It wasn’t quite seriously frustrating yet, but it was definitely a test of his focus and patience. One that only broke once while he eased out of what was almost devastatingly passionate into something else. It was only long enough to pick out one sentence. I’m never wrong when it comes to Samandriel. The younger angel didn’t know what was going on, if Damon had perhaps simply suggested that Lucifer might not know something or if he’d outright declared it.
He wasn’t going to stay listening long enough to find out. Lucifer was paying more attention than he was letting on. Lifting his gaze to his fiancé, able to see the wings no one else could and pick out the exact hue of gold in his eyes at the distance he was at, he smirked. The pull of bow across strings and the skilled way his fingers moved went into something far more sensual than one instrument had any right to sound on its own. Samandriel played his violin like it’d been crafted by Desire and handed directly to him. Not being able to listen didn’t mean that he couldn’t make himself known or influence whatever the conversation was in his own way.
Damon simply arched a brow. “You want me to stay in a direction that doesn’t hurt him, or maybe you don’t want me, but that is his choice. You also say that I’m not important, which directly contradicts what he said.” He wasn’t going to offer them aloud, but he had memorized them. There's no part of me that will forget you. Any bit of you. Not now. Not ever.
“Neither one of us wants him hurt,” Damon said honestly. It was too late to just walk away. He wasn’t sure that Elena was ever going to understand. He was looking for a way though, and that was something he was going to have to work out. “I don’t plan on hurting him. I know by telling Elena, it seemed like I was saying goodbye, but that really wasn’t quite it. If it changes what is going on for awhile, I’ll work with it, but telling Elena after this got bigger than it is would have been a much bigger disaster.”
He raised the glass to his lips, “And all things considered, I do think it’s time for a drink.”
"You misunderstand me," Lucifer murmured, glancing at Samandriel once the music had gone off in a different direction completely and his angel's violin was singing in only sensual tones. He sniffed out an amused noise and shook his head. He'd heard something, then. "I didn't say Samandriel doesn't think you important. I'm sure he does, or else he wouldn't bother. You wanted to know where you fit into the equation of the future, and that was my answer. Nowhere without effort. But I think that can be said of any relationship."
He paused, glancing at their glasses to make them full again and then leaned forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. "I'm not generally one for being argumentative, understand. I don't have the patience for it some days. I guess that comes with a few billion years of ruling in Hell. However, I don't think you completely understand mine and his relationship when you say that's his choice. It's not. It's mine." Whether or not Lucifer was a soft touch when it came to Samandriel was neither here nor there, not really. Just because he didn't give many rules didn't mean he couldn't change his mind.
"You're right though. Heavy conversation lends better to heavy drinking and it's possible you're behind."
So Lucifer didn’t know everything. The details were missing. Damon took pleasure in that. “Every relationship takes work, and none are without their faults. I would definitely know that.” The word was definitely fucked, but that was between he and Samandriel.
Damon’s head tipped, and a brow arched, still casual. “A debate isn’t necessarily an argument. I have heard though. You allow it so he can do it. I’m not into running any relationship as a dictatorship. It’s always about choice, but that is just my opinion.” He knew there was a veiled warning in it, or at least it was his perception. If he told Samandriel to walk away, Samandriel would do it. It would hurt him, but Lucifer could always adjust the memory the same way he took some of that pain that he caused away.
“I better catch up then.” He tipped up his glass, taking another healthy gulp.
Fucked was about right.
Lucifer went back to tracing the lip of his glass again and smiled, more amused than fond. "I agree heartily with you actually. Everything is a matter of choice and I'd have it no other way. I believe very much in free will." He was the Devil. Cast down for making a choice and having an opinion. If anything, Lucifer Morningstar had the first and the last word on how important those things were.
"And Samandriel already made a choice. Just as he's free to change his mind if he wants. Nothing is making him stand up there right now playing his music other than himself. He wants to be there. That I asked him to is only a small portion of what there is to see here. The same goes with any other decision him or I make about nearly anything."
There were rules about these things, it wasn't just some free for all of power, and it never would be. Lucifer did what he did only for Samandriel's benefit, and never consciously would make a decision that would hurt the younger angel needlessly. In turn, he was offered trust. It was fair.
Damon understood the implications. He and Samandriel had discussed that at some point during the first meeting, about choices among angels, and choice when it came to Lucifer. He still wasn’t sure how much he believed in God, or even Heaven being a nice, sunny place filled with love. It was bullshit in his opinion. Purgatory was another matter, but that was dependant upon his transformation.
He watched the young angel play while he drank. Damon wasn’t one for obedience. He had never been good at that. He really couldn’t treat anyone like that either. Although what really bothered him was that Samandriel had been there, asked to play. Was that a show for Damon’s visit? Was it a demonstration of such loyalty, or whatever it was? He and Lucifer were two very different men.
“I’m not saying that he should change his mind. If he isn’t hurt, then he should do what he wants.” His tongue rolled over a question before he actually asked it, “What about you though? How were the two of you drawn together, so to speak?”
The reasoning for Samandriel standing up there playing was the simplest option really: because Lucifer had asked him to. If there was anything plotted or devious about it, it was more for the sake of himself and Samandriel than it was for Damon. The Morningstar wasn't really the sort of man who needed to show off.
Lucifer actually laughed at that question -- not because it was bad, but just because the truth of the matter was so oddly banal and normal that it seemed almost like the wrong story to tell when it came to the Devil and Imagination. Still, it was the only story there was. "I flirted with him when I saw him working at a Jamba Juice," he said, honestly. "His smile was bright enough to blind. I had to know if it was real." He spread his fingers wide. "Strange how things work, isn't it?"
“Jamba Juice?” Damon shook his head and laughed. “I’ve never picked up anyone at a Jamba Juice. Then again, Elena was one of my students, and I had already slept with her twin sister.” He shrugged, taking another healthy gulp. “Sammy does have that kind of smile though. Of course, he came by way of a discussion on theology in general. He decided what he liked, and then has this pure tenacity.”
Damon didn’t know if he trusted Lucifer, at least not completely. He didn’t trust many, and could count them on one hand. Samandriel was one of those very few. It took time to earn that trust, and Damon never gave it freely. Samandriel had broken through walls, and that much openness meant a lot. Damon showed him things that not even Elena had seen. That was not a topic that was up for discussion in anyway. It was simply there.
"Each to their own, I expect." Lucifer certainly had no interest in judging things like sleeping with twin sisters or students. However: "Samandriel," he corrected without a second's hesitation. "He hates being called anything but." How Damon had managed without a tiny tongue lashing was beyond Lucifer, really. Poor Dean had heard it from three different people. That Lucifer got away with calling him Sam was an exception to a rule.
"And yes, he is fairly persuasive. There's little he couldn't have if he put his mind to it." If Lucifer sounded a little proud over that, no one should have been surprised.
Damon had been called out enough for dating a younger woman on more occasions than he could care to count. He imagined that it was the same for Lucifer, being much older than Samandriel. It did make him laugh just a little. He was also relaxing, no longer insecure in his own position. It was definitely unique.
He simply smiled, “That’s between he and I.” He knew that when he called Samandriel Sam, or Sammy, it got under his skin a little, but he also knew that it was something that was just Damon, a little rebellious at all times. What he wasn’t going to do was try to force himself into something that he wasn’t, which he had tried to do with Elena.
“I won’t doubt his talents in persuasion, obviously, but restraint has it’s benefits as well.” His dream self, or future self, didn’t seem to believe much in that restraint. Their lives were certainly going to be interesting.
Lucifer only offered a quirk of an eyebrow before dropping the name issue. Samandriel was grown enough to deal with any dislike over childish names, and Lucifer was not that kind of white knight. He never had been and he never would be.
"I'd say he's decent enough at restraint," the elder angel said, and rather pointedly looked over at the boy who played on. "Although I suspect he could use a break soon. He has been mostly well behaved." Mostly - only because that earlier change in tone had been for a reason.
Damon quirked a brow at Samandriel. He didn’t play the game of obedience. He didn’t want that. He liked to be challenged, tested, pushed to his limits and beyond. Obedience wasn’t interesting to him. “Then let him have a break, and I’ll finish this and get out of here.” He really wasn’t there for the Samandriel and Lucifer show for his benefit. It was too awkward for his liking, although it was what it was. He would talk to him for a few minutes, then grab a bottle at the store for the rest of the night.
"There's no rush, of course." There wasn't really ever a rush, not when he'd been talking forever not long before. Still, he felt more or less done with this current conversation, and would allow Samandriel some reprieve as well. It was no offense to anyone - the archangel just had little patience for when conversations turned into anything close to small talk.
"Damon." Lucifer nodded to the not-quite vampire, standing up and taking his drink with him before offering the vaguest of gestures for Samandriel to finish off where he liked and be done for the night. Until then, Lucifer would likely be in his office.
Samandriel caught Lucifer’s gesture and found a natural stopping point in his song, finishing off smoothly so that the pianist could come back. She’d probably enjoyed the break. At least she’d finally figured out that when Samandriel got in a mood like that, there was no way she was going to be able to keep up with him. He took the glass of juice she brought him with a genuine smile of thanks and walked over to Damon. He glanced over at Lucifer’s retreating form, studying him carefully. “He’s not impressed with you,” the angel said, reading it easily in the way his archangel carried himself.
“That feeling would be mutual,” Damon said, looking down at Samandriel. “You didn’t tell him everything, which I consider a good thing.” Damon was a little tense, and it did show in ways that Samandriel would see easily. “I get this feeling he would rather see my head on a pole than someone that you choose to spend time with, or perhaps he doesn’t care. I don’t know. I would care. Don’t ask me to quite get this arrangement that you have.” He took another drink, showing the general fatigue over this whole night, right along with the last night.
“You’re wrong,” Samandriel said, arching a brow. “He knows everything. Just because he chooses not to let on doesn’t mean he doesn’t know.” He sighed heavily. “Shame. I’d hoped you two would get on.” There was something in his posture that said there really was nothing for it. First impressions tended to be only impressions when it came to Lucifer, particularly when they weren’t favorable. He met Damon’s eyes, slightly disappointed. He didn’t know what had been said between them, but if one of them was going to force him to make a decision, he was pretty sure everyone knew where his loyalties lay.
“Go home and get some rest, Damon,” he said, finding a kind smile in him somewhere. “You’ll see me in your dreams.” With that, he took his juice and his instrument and went to go have a few very choice words with Lucifer.
“Sam,” Damon said, giving him a small smile, “You read the last text, didn’t you. Not just dreams.” He finished off his glass. He would never make him choose. That would be foolish to think he held that kind of weight. He wasn’t going to be reverent towards the man, and obedience was not going to happen either. “Believe me, I know how unimportant I am.”