Who: Lucifer Morningstar & Yondu What: An unlikely meeting When: July 24 Where: Hood-ish Rating/Warnings: Language Status: Complete
It wasn’t exactly a rare sight to see Lucifer while the sun was still in the sky, even if it was creeping toward dusk, but it wasn’t a regular happening either. There was some trouble with a recent dry goods order for Lux. The delivery service needed him to personally appear at the office to sign a few papers. Bloody imports. It wasn’t as if he were smuggling opium from the Far East. That would be too obvious. Only amateurs made that mistake. So he was on the street in an area of town he wouldn’t choose to be in and wearing clothing that was definitely out of place. This was not a Christian Dior section.
He was pretty certain he made an inviting target. Everything about him cried money. It annoyed him. He just wanted to get this done and get back to Lux. He was walking. It was bad enough he was here. There was no way he was going to risk the Benz.
Lucifer had been keeping his attention on a ground of young thug looking boys so he wasn’t watching where he was going as he rounded the corner.
Yondu had been having a good week. It had started off on Monday when after a whole week of avoiding him, Peter had finally stayed home long enough to do something, and that something had been cleaning the house and even taking care of the yardwork. It had been so unexpected, especially when Yondu had come home to it after two days of brooding in space on the Quadrant. It had really touched him; he'd damned near cried. Not that he needed to again after the emotional moment he'd already had with Peter the previous week.
He'd called him dad. And then they'd settled on 'Old Man' for now.
With that celebratory mindset he was set on finding a strip joint to rejoice a little more with some singles. But first he was paying a visit to the local watering hole; he knew better than to buy more than the one customary drink at a strip joint. It would have been more fun with Peter but Yondu had an inkling that inviting him might mess up whatever thing he had going with Wanda and Yondu wasn't about to break that up now that he knew she was a good influence on the kid.
This part of town had a particularly seedy bar Yondu liked to visit on the good days and he was mulling over what he'd order first when he rounded the corner and smacked right into someone.
"What the-!" He blurted, and stumbled back a step. "Hey, watch where you're goin'!" He barked roughly. He checked quickly with a glance to make sure his image inducer was still working and then looked up at the offending pedestrian.
Slick looking. Money. Too handsome (by most standards) which meant he was probably a preening a-hole. Yondu scowled a bit.
"You lost, moneybags?" He drawled. He frequented this neighborhood enough to know who belonged and who didn't.
“Bloody hell!” The first thing Damian worried about what his clothing. He swiped a hand down his jacket as he inspected his shirt and pants for stains. “Are you positively incapable of recognizing Dior and avoiding mucking it up?” Then he remembered his manners as he looked to the man who bumped into him and sighed. “I mean, my apologies.” He reached out to straighten the wrinkles from the man’s shirt. “No harm done, then. Hmm?”
Damian pushed his hands into his pants pockets as he looked around. “Apparently so. Is there a Discount Imports nearby?” He was getting the impression that he’d been had.
Yondu looked him up and down, practically snarling when this guy reached out and straightened his shirt for him. It was so unexpected he forgot to swat the man away or better, grab his hand and shove him.
Then again he was still in a pretty good mood versus most days. So he was feeling merciful.
"English, huh?" Yondu said, brow still furrowed. The accent he heard was oozing with it. Like some fancy aristocrat from one of those PBS shows. He then took a breath and said, "Discount Imports? Hm...doesn't ring a bell. Sorry." And he patted the guy on the shoulder as he resumed his path (ok it was more like a light shove. Dior his ass.).
It figured. Damian should never have ordered those linens from a website that ended in dot net instead of dot com. Now he was out three grand. Bugger. Ah well, at least he would make it back in only a couple of hours of business.
He recognized the push for what it was. Damian smirked as he turned around. “Sorry. I’m afraid I don’t recognize your charming accent. American hick, perhaps?”
Yondu stopped mid-stride. He felt his hackles raise at the word 'hick'. He set his jaw and turned slowly around. You're having a good day, Yondu. Just remember that. he said to himself. You're having a good-
"The hell you call me, jeeves?" He hurled back, quickly stepping into the man's face. "You wanna run that one by me again?"
Damian smirked without flinching away from the less than dignified man that was a hard breath away from him. “I didn’t call you anything,” he said. “I suggested that your accent was provincial. Not that there is anything wrong with that.” One brow lifted. “Unless you don’t like it in which case I might suggest you find a diction educator.”
In any other circumstance the smile on Damian’s face could be seen as friendly. In this situation he was going for disarming. “Tell you what. Since it seems that you are a sensitive fellow I’ll offer my sincere apologies by buying you a drink. Surely there is some quaint little watering hole nearby.”
The perceived condescension was nearly unbearable. Any other day Yondu would have punched the guy into next Tuesday. But he was supposed to be having a good day, plus the whiplash from insult to apology left him side-eyeing the man instead. Was this guy still being a tool? Or did he mean it?
"A drink." He repeated. If moneybags was offering to pay for his celebratory alcohol, why refuse? Best to take advantage and order the most expensive damned thing he could lay eyes on. The Ravager in him came out and Yondu suddenly grinned, all pearly whites and charm. "Hell, why not?" He patted the Brit on the back, then draping an arm around his shoulder and said, "Bygones and all that. Ain't nothin' that can't be set right over a drink." And he led the way to the little seedy bar, The Oasis, that sat like it had been forgotten by time: a nearly derelict, tiny, wood shingled hole in the wall amongst the mostly industrial buildings in the area. "What's your name?"
Was he being sincere? Actually, yes. But Damian was still a tool. That side of his personality could never be repressed. Just simply enjoyed keeping people guessing, and he had this type on his payroll as bodyguards and bouncers. He knew how easily they could snap bones. Damian was too fond of his to risk it.
The thump to his back drew an undignified unf from him while the arm around the shoulder coaxed out a wry grimace. Really. His Dior was never going to recover from this little adventure.
“Truly,” he agreed with a note of oh dear lord in his voice.
“Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar.” It was always so much easier to give his chosen name. He still didn’t want to risk anyone recognizing the name Damian Spencer.
He looked at the exterior of their destination as if eyeing up a large, hideous bug. The inside was just as uncomely as the outside, right down to the girls on a stage, swaying to a beat that had nothing to do with the music wrinkling through the speakers.
“Oh, I say.” Damian grinned. “They’ve been kind enough to give the crack whores honest employment.” The grin became a smirk which was turned to his new friend. “Such a charitable establishment you’ve brought me to. My conscience will be clean of dropping some cash here.” Damian shrugged. “If I had a conscience.”
Yondu’s face had scrunched up at the name, and he then said with immense incredulity, “Lucifer, as in Satan? I’m gettin’ drinks with the Devil himself?” And he almost made the joke that maybe he shouldn’t let him buy him a drink in case it cost him his soul, but clearly he wasn’t about to lose out on that free drink. Instead, he let out a huge guffaw. “You are a strange one!”
Inside the dive Yondu ignored the ladies, but managed to scowl at Lucifer on their behalf. “Don’t call ‘em that. They ain’t drug addicts.” Least he hoped not. He’d seen his fair share of opioid addicts in the midwest when he’d been a cop and thankfully these ladies didn’t seem that high. Maybe it was marijuana. This crazy state loved that stuff.
The bartender, a stern faced middle aged man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere than there, recognized Yondu with a nod of the chin and started to wordlessly get him a drink when Yondu spoke up. “Hold up, Carl. This fella here was kind enough to pay for my drink. Gimme a glass of that Macallan you got there.” He then turned to Lucifer, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Clapping him on the back he said, “Thanks, buddy.” When the bartender brought him the glass of whisky, Yondu took a moment to savor the aroma before sipping it. “Damn that’s fine. Mm. Thanks, Satan.” And he grinned behind the glass as he toasted the air between them. “So what the hell are you doin’ all the ways over here on the wrong side of the tracks?”
There was a reason Damian had chosen to use the name Lucifer. It was a shocking or unbelievable enough name that no one would even think to ask him his real name. People were just too amused by the idea of talking to the Devil himself. Anything less would burst their naughty little bubble. So when his new friend commented on it Damian just smirked and bobbed his eyebrows.
“Touchy,” Damian said with amusement. “The ladies have a knight to defend what honor they have left.” He nodded. “Admirable. Truly. No sarcasm. I approve.” Damian did like the ladies, and if this fellow stood up for even the weakest of them then Damian was one step closer to liking the man.
Damian gave the disgruntled bartender his most charming smile. When the glass of very good scotch was delivered he peeled a couple of hundreds from a roll he had in his suit coat then placed them on the bar. “Leave the bottle, my dear man.” He winked as he snitched a glass from the bar, picked up the bottle then rejoined his new friend.
“A shipment I had been expecting went awry.” He sighed. “Unwisely I had used a new import company. It seems I’ve been ripped off.” He smiled as he held up the bottle. “Refill?”
"Please." Yondu grinned, holding out the nearly empty glass. "What sorta business you got? Must be good considerin' you didn't think twice about buyin' the bottle." Yondu sipped the Scotch and was in heaven - no pun intended. It had simply been a bucket list thing of his to one day order the most expensive whiskey in a bar. Now he could check that off.
“This?” Damian smirked as he filled his own glass. “I have three cases of this.” At least one of which he’d brought with him from the UK all those years ago. The memory soured his mood as he took a drink, but moving along with the conversation allowed him to shove that unpleasantness into the back of his mind where it belonged.
“Oh. I own a nightclub in Newport Beach. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. Lux.” Almost everyone would have heard of it since it made the tabloid papers every time a famous face walked through the doors.
After they sat down Damian’s eyes scanned over the girls for the least potentially diseased among them, smiled then beckoned her over with the wiggle of two fingers.
Yondu's eyebrows raised up. Three cases? He knew at the least a single bottle ran a couple hundred bucks. But to own three cases? Damn. He needed to be friends with this guy.
At the mention of the Lux, Yondu gave him a blank look lacking recognition. He shrugged. Sipping the whiskey he said, "I'm bettin' it's real fancy like. Celebs an' all that?" He knew Newport Beach was a more exclusive area. When he saw Lucifer calling one of the girls over he added, "Girls too?"
“Well,” Damian began blandly. “Celebrities and the like are what I market toward, yes. They have the most money after all.” He lifted his glass in silent toast as he winked at his new drinking pal. After an appreciative drink of the good stuff he continued. “You might call it fancy. I call it home.”
He chuckled for the last question, an entirely devilish smile on his face. “When in Rome,” he said. “We’re here. We might as well enjoy the establishment as it was meant.”
Yondu chuckled and raised his own glass in return. He knew from the dreams what it was like to take advantage of their deep pockets. Kind of like what he was doing now.
Yondu shook his head. "No, I meant at your place. Do you got ladies? Y'know, a show an' all." He sipped at his drink and said, watching the rather average looking woman sidle up to Lucifer, "Cuz I was plannin' on going to Silk after this. A real tittie bar." The woman scowled at that and flipped Yondu the bird.
He rolled his eyes. "C'mon now Candice. You know I didn' mean you." And he offered her his glass as an apology. She took it and drained what was left before handing it back with a smile. Apology accepted.
Damian refilled the man’s glass. “I have some of the best girls L.A. has to offer.” Because he paid really, really well. “Of course, I’m not open tonight. Fridays and Saturdays are the best nights to be there. You should come by.” A tittie bar. Quaint. Vulgar. Damian liked it. He couldn’t help but imagine what his clientele would make of him.
Yondu mulled this over. A place like Damian's probably would cost him at least twenty bucks for just a drink. Nevermind an entrance fee.
He leaned back into his chair, eyes narrowing a little with a look, as if about to negotiate some sort of a deal. "An' how exactly will I get in? I'm bettin' this place of yours is pretty exclusive." He rolled the whiskey around in his glass.
“Exclusive?” Damian chuckled. “You have no idea.” The list of acceptable people that were let into Lux was short and changed regularly. If you weren’t on the list you were at the mercy of the doorman, and he was very difficult to impress. Damian was fairly certain that he himself didn’t impress the man, and if he didn’t already own the club Damian wouldn’t be allowed in.
“Fortunately for you-”
He was interrupted by a commotion just inside the entrance. The punks that had eyed Damian up while he was on the street apparently followed him here. The bartender...Carl, apparently...was growling at them, reminding them they’d been warned about coming in here. A quick glance at the girls revealed that they knew the ruffians and were frightened of them. Damian sighed before he stood up, straightened his suit coat then walked toward the bangers.
“I believe the young men would like an appointment with me,” he said as he reached into the inner pocket of his coat. It was mistaken for reaching for a weapon. The bangers instantly drew their guns.
"Shit." Yondu hissed to himself as he watched it all go down from his seat. And he had just started liking this dive too. With a weary sigh he took another sip of his whiskey, stood, then brushing back his jacket edge, he pursed his lips together and whistled. The Yaka arrow zipped out from its holster in the blink of an eye and across the distance of the bar, leaving an ethereal wisp of red in its wake. His whistles came in short, single notes, each one a command. The arrow zipped across the hand of one of the young gang members, cutting a deep enough wound he dropped his weapon with a yell. Before the others could react the arrow had already cut across another's arm, nicked the face of a third and then abruptly came to a halt hovering a millimeter in front of the face of the last. Yondu took his time sauntering across the stunned and hushed bar. No one save one millenial had a smartphone out - which Yondu's arrow promptly skewered before it returned to its master. Gripping the arrow mid-flight he slid it back into its holster like a victorious cowboy.
He got up into the face of the leader and snarled down at him. "Boy. I know you. You're Miguel's baby brother. I know his parole officer. See, I'm a bounty hunter and you don't get to just roll up in my place disrepectin' folks and actin' like you're men cuz you got a piece. I see your cholo ass in here again with your crew - hell if I see you five blocks within this joint - your junk's gonna know what a shish-ka-bob feels like. Comprende?"
All the boys looked ashen and stood stock still.
"DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?" He suddenly bellowed, his voice booming in his best impersonation of a drill instructor.
All the young men nodded wordlessly and scrambled out, leaving the guns behind. Yondu grabbed a nearby napkin and picked each one up and set them on the bar. "Carl, call the cops and hand 'em over. Don't touch em with your bare hands. Dunno what crimes they could be traced back to." Once a cop, always a cop.
Looking to Lucifer he said, "You okay, Lucy?" He smirked, pleased with the joke.
Damian had been reaching for his wallet with the intention of paying the young thugs off. He stopped when the arrow thing started happening. It was so astounding that Damian blinked as he backed up a pace. This was very interesting. He had no idea how it was done, but bloody hell! It was done well!
His mind began racing on the potential for this. Oh, sure his drinking mate had pretty much just saved his arse, but Damian had other things in mind. After all, members of his security were always telling him he should have a personal guard. It seems he just found the perfect man for the job!
When it was all over and he turned around, he grinned as he applauded. “Marvelous! Well done, indeed.” Damian walked back toward his new friend. “I have no idea how you did that, but it was bloody marvelous.” He lifted a finger. “I have a proposition for you ah…” his brows came down, “...what is your name anyway?”
"Yondu." And he left it at that. He'd already showed his hand to the bar more than he'd liked, he wasn't about to give his full name. He would have to avoid this place now for a few months until people forgot about him and the flying arrow. He wasn't happy about that.
Until the word 'proposition' came tumbling out of the Brit's mouth and it really sunk in. He raised an eyebrow, all ears.
“Yondu,” Damian said as if trying the name on for size. Odd name, but he wasn’t one to judge. Instead he smiled as he reached out to put his hand on Yondu’s shoulder. “How would you like to be paid an obscene amount of money to be my personal bodyguard?” Damian patted the man’s chest. “Free entrance to the club, an open bar tab and an upgrade in clothing will of course be standard.”
If Yondu hadn’t been so used to keeping up a badass front, his jaw would have dropped through the floor. Instead, both eyebrows raised. This guy was offering him a job.
He’d used the word obscene in front of the word money. Free entrance to an insanely exclusive club. Open bar tab!
Of course, being a seasoned veteran of the police force, a former Marine, and a space pirate (in the dreams), Yondu was wise enough not to just jump into anything blindly (okay maybe as a young Marine he would have). Agreeing to Lucifer’s offer meant abandoning his casual set-my-own-hours schedule of being a bounty hunter. He would be beholden to someone, shadowing mister ‘Dior’ day after day. A glorified babysitter to big money.
But it also meant more money for himself. A stupid amount of it. And well, he’d be able to get into this exclusive club with the high quality ladies on show, and dammit there was the open damn bar tab and why the hell was he even hesitating? He was an old man tired of chasing after young punks skipping on bail hearings and dodging their parole officers. If Peter could get a job working for mister fancy pants Tony Stark, why the hell shouldn’t he take this opportunity?
Yondu grinned widely, all pearly whites. “Hell, why not?” Pun intended.
“Fantastic!” Damian reached out to shake Yondu’s hand to seal the deal. “This will be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.” He chuckled before he released Yondu’s hand. A business card was pulled from his inside coat pocket then held out to his new employee. “Come to this address tomorrow after 7PM. We’ll work out the details then. Now.” Damian smiled. “About this ah...tittie bar?”