broomballade
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Lucifer has once again tried to drown his sorrows in booze, only to be unsurprisingly failed by the alcohol. He misses Lilith, and even after nearly a decade he still mourns for her, feeling her absence as sharply as when she first disappeared.
As Lucifer weeps, a very unwanted Alastor makes himself comfortable at the bar with him and refuses to leave. Lucky him.
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"Oh please, Vox, don't kid yourself. What, you're not planning on using that on me, are you?"
"Um. . ."
Cold dread washed over Alastor.
"Why are you holding that knife, Vox?"
"I-I don't know." His eyes glowed brighter, incandescent red irises pulsing with a baleful energy.
"You need to drop the knife, Vox." Vox ignored him, taking another menacing step closer to Alastor. "Vox! Drop. The knife."
When he didn't, instead advancing another step, a bolt of fear lanced through him and settled deep in his gut.
"Do you intend to harm me with that?"
"What?" Vox seemed genuinely confused, as though he couldn't fathom what it was Alastor was asking of him.
"Do you intend to cause me harm?" He spoke softly, slowly, enunciating every word so as not to startle the wild animal that stalked ever closer.
"N-no. . . ." The crimson flare of his eyes grew brighter still as the lids stretched wide. Another step forward brought Vox almost within arm's length of Alastor. As he made to take a step back a chilling realization hit him with all the force of a freight train.
He couldn't move.