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Charlie is happy. No, thrilled. No no, elated beyond all reason. No one, and Lucifer means no one, who has to live in Hell should be bursting with as much joy and projecting a 10,000 gigawatt smile as bright as his daughter is. Even on her bad days, her positivity is terribly misplaced given the realm Lucifer and Lilith brought her into. But the energy coming off of her in nauseating waves since her mother’s return three days ago is a lot even for her. Even Vaggie is shying away from his daughter's luminescent intensity.
Lucifer knows from experience this won’t last forever. Charlie had been thrilled with him, too, when he swept her into his arms and sang his corny little song to her. There was even a stint of time during the rebuilding when she couldn’t look at him without tearing up, eyes and smile so warm and soft and forgiving. But the relief of having at least one parent back in her life wore off eventually, unable to silence the still present heartbreak underneath. That’s when the questions came, timid at first, then frustrated and demanding when Lucifer had no satisfying answers for her.
‘I didn’t want to see anyone.’
‘I just didn’t.’
‘I was scared.’
‘I felt worthless.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I would have made things worse.’
‘I didn’t want to risk rejection.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know. I’m so sorry, Charlie.’
Appeased by none of that, and neither was he, the only thing he had to offer her was a promise he’d do better now. He would stay here at the hotel and help her realize her dream every step of the way (and attend one family dinner per week, participate in board game night, and try at least one of the new group therapy sessions that she had created in preparation for new guests. Lucifer went with music therapy.) It’s only a matter of time before Charlie asks Lilith those same questions, and he can’t imagine Lilith’s answers will be any more satisfying than his had been. But in the meantime, Charlie is happy.
He takes a deep breath as he smoothes back his hair, holding it a moment before letting it gust past his lips. Charlie is happy. That’s what really matters.
It’s the same mantra he’s been repeating to himself for days now, and he continues to do so as he makes his way down to the laundry room, a place he knows Lilith would never be caught dead in. And okay, yeah, he’s doing it again, hiding away like a fucking coward. But he’s still kept his promises to Charlie! Well. He will. Family dinner night is Friday, board game night is Saturday, and music group is next Monday. So, like, he’s gonna. Unless he suddenly succumbs to a mysterious illness for the first time in his over 10,000 years of immortal life. It could happen. Stranger things have.
Speaking of strange things and their probability of happening, when he finishes his descent down the rickety old steps to the laundry room (the basement wasn’t destroyed during Adam’s attack, and is largely the same as it was when Lucifer first built this place years ago), instead of being greeted with the solitude he was hoping for, he runs into goddamn Alastor of all fucking people.
A beat of silence passes between them, Lucifer standing stiff in the doorway and Alastor perched atop one of the not-in-use machines, book open but currently ignored as he glares at Lucifer.
“What are you doing here?”
Lucifer winces at his accusing tone and accompanying static, suddenly feeling like he’s been caught sneaking out of class.
“Nothing. Wait… what are you doing here?” he injects that same accusatory tone into his own voice once he realizes Alastor has been caught in just as odd a position as Lucifer has been.
And my my, was that a flinch he detected from the mighty Radio Demon? Whatever it was, it’s over in an instant, Alastor’s expression smooths over as he glances away to stare at the wall instead.
“Nothing at all.” He claims primly.
“Uh-huh.” Yeah right. Unless Filthy has put him on laundry duty, which is highly unlikely, Lucifer can’t imagine anyone coming down here for any reason other than his own current one. He keeps his urge to needle Alastor to himself for the whole five seconds it takes him to walk over and boost himself up onto one of the other machines.
“So, who are you hiding from?”
Now that’s an impressive sneer, his disgust at such a question plain in the scrunch of his nose and brows despite the wide smile still plastered to his face.
“I don’t hide. ” He hisses through grinding fangs before relaxing his jaw. “I simply stay out of the way of people I have no desire to deal with.”
Yeah, Alastor’s flippant little hand waving gesture isn’t going to fool him. But before he can question him further, Alastor turns that smile back towards Lucifer, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
“And who is it that our great and mighty King is hiding from?”
Bastard. “I fucking know that you know who, Mr. Perceptive.”
“Just checking.” His smile widens even further, becoming Cheshire in both appearance and creepiness levels as canned laughter plays in the air. “It has been quite the tidal wave, the reappearance of our dear Charlie’s mother. I sense big changes are coming, both to the Hotel and to Charlie’s inner circle.”
Lucifer bristles at the implication and Alastor’s love of reminding him how replaceable he is. He can feel the vitriol rising in his throat, head sore where his horns would poke out, mind searching for the most scathing thing he could say in retaliation. But before the words come to him, the fire burns out, a wisp of dying embers barely visible on his breath as he swallows down the taste of charcoal.
“Can I ask you a favor?”
Alastor blinks twice, eyes wide and expression frozen, his ever present static suddenly going quiet.
“Of moi?” He asks in a tone Lucifer can’t quite decipher, his hand raising to his chest as Alastor gestures towards himself.
“Well I don’t see anyone else here.” Lucifer gives a tired sigh, bending over and resting his elbows on his knees as he rubs at his eyes. “Can we just… truce? Laundry room truce? I’m so not in the fucking mood.”
A silence stretches out after that, which Lucifer hopes means that Alastor is showing his agreement by keeping his mouth shut. When he peeks to check, he sees Alastor making an expression just as unreadable as his previous tone, eyebrows drawn together as his smiling lips press together in a thin line.
“And in exchange?”
“What? Oh, no, no deal, this isn’t a deal. Just— cut me some slack. Cut us both some slack.”
Alastor’s shoulders relax, and what, when had he even tensed up? And he notices, now that he’s taking a closer look, the faint bags under Alastor’s eyes and the stress lines creasing his forehead. Have those always been there? Man, he’s really not the most detailed oriented person. That had always been Lilith’s job; he’s more of a big picture guy.
“I suppose.” He’s snapped out of his thoughts at Alastor’s answer, an out of character, easy acquiescence. “It allows me to get back to my book, at least.”
Which he does, much to Lucifer’s relief. He takes a curious look at the cover, eyes widening in surprise at the title.
“Never took you to be a Virginia Woolf fan.”
A swift twitch of his left ear is the only indication that Alastor heard him. An adorable twitch. Hell must have a sense of humor, giving the likes of Alastor such a fluffy form.
“The Years, huh? I never read that one. I read The Voyage Out and skimmed Mrs Dalloway. I don’t remember there being a whole lot of murder or violence.” He presses on, uncaring if Alastor responds or not. He’s bored, damn it. He’s gonna talk.
“I do have other hobbies,” Alastor says dryly before glancing at him over the book. “You’re also making it difficult to uphold this truce. Perhaps we should have set clearer rules.”
“Just making conversation,” Lucifer mutters petulantly as he swings his legs in front of the glass window of the washing machine.
“Trying to start a book club, are we? Don’t bother, Charlie already tried. There aren’t a lot of literature aficionados amongst the staff or guests.” He sighs, sounding almost resigned.
“I didn’t even know you were one.” Was Alastor… disappointed? Did he want an actual book club? “So. Uh. What’s it about, then?”
The look Alastor gives him is more than a little suspicious, but he must see something in Lucifer’s own look that puts him at ease. “It’s about a family. Multiple generations of a family through several decades in the 19th and 20th centuries.”
“Oh yeah? What do you like about it?” He asks out of morbid curiosity, not at all interested in fulfilling Alastor’s possible book club fantasies. Alastor seems pleased regardless of Lucifer’s motives for continuing the conversation, straightening his posture and humming softly at the attention. Narcissist.
“The same thing I like about many of her works. She was one of the first modernist authors to explore family dynamics under a patriarchal system. I find such subject material interesting and I admire her bravery.”
“Wow. That… is not at all the answer I was suspecting,” Lucifer admits, his mind and perception of Alastor reeling.
Alastor shrugs. “Like I said, I have other hobbies.”
“And people you admire other than yourself, apparently.”
“Ha. Well, I admire aspects of her. She was, and probably still is, wherever her soul ended up, a horrid racist.”
Lucifer pulls a face, features scrunched like he’s smelled something rotten, or perhaps just some dirty laundry.
“Yeah, I never really got that. Seems really fucking pointless to me, that kind of over generalization. Makes no sense, I’m not sure what humans were on when they came up with that.”
When he glances at Alastor next, it’s like leaving a dark room on a sunny winter day, uncaring sunlight bouncing off white snow to burn his eyes and retinas.
“... What?” He finally asks impatiently when Alastor remains silent.
“I just find it interesting, hearing that from someone who classified all sinners as violent psychopaths. Considering the billions of human souls down here, that’s probably the most sweeping generalization any soul has ever made. And one you share with other angels, at that. We humans are certainly not the ones who ‘came up with that,’ as you said.”
“That’s different, I have thousands of years of evidence!” he argues, leaning away from Alastor like a bonfire that’s gotten too hot.
“So do the racists,” Alastor states with a thin smile, giving Lucifer a dead-eyed stare before he looks down to inspect his claws.
Lucifer looks down at the floor, cane appearing in his hands as he wrings the smooth metal. The dry disapproval in Alastor’s words grates against the walls of his throat like gravel when he swallows guiltily, and damn Alastor for making him squirm like this. The man’s a murder happy cannibal, what right does he have to chide Lucifer as if he’s a child?
Except that he’s right. Damn it, he’s right.
“I’m sorry.” He places his cane down next to himself, braving looking back at Alastor. “That was shitty. I didn’t mean to offend.”
It’s really too bad Charlie isn’t here to witness this. Before coming to the Hotel, there was no way in hell he’d apologize to a sinner, especially not one of Alastor’s caliber. But being around his daughter again has made him soft, damn it, squishy and vulnerable without the hard shell of isolation protecting him. She’d be so proud of his growth, even though the apology had to fight its way out of his mouth; his ego is a nasty opponent to face.
Alastor scoffs at him for his efforts, waving him off dismissively. “Please. I don’t get offended,” he lies, like a liar. “Besides, it’s not like I’m all that big a fan of Hell’s populace. I just like to point out when— people— are being hypocrites.”
“People like me?” Lucifer supplies helpfully.
“I was trying to respect the ill defined terms of our truce,” Alastor replies with a shrug. “But yes.”
“Bastard.” He tosses the insult out without its usual barbs. In interest of the truce, of course.
Silence falls again after that, and not wanting to push his luck, Lucifer decides not to break it this time. It’s difficult with how used he is to talking, ranting, and raving out loud to himself. Something about the sound of humming machines, tumbling laundry, and page turning is almost soothing, though, the awkward silence slipping into something more comfortable as it stretches on.
It’s the sounds of life, he realizes. Audio proof that he’s not alone in this literal hell of his own making. To think he could ever feel comforted in the presence of Alastor. It’s almost laughable.
His thoughts end up sticking on his least favorite topic. What is Alastor actually doing down here? Is reading in the laundry room just one of his ‘other hobbies?’ Doubtful. But if he really is hiding— sorry, staying out of the way of — just like Lucifer is, then from who? Besides himself, Vaggie is usually the most openly hostile towards Alastor. He’s never seen Alastor so much as flinch in her presence, though, even with her angelic spear pointed at his throat. If anything, he seems amused by her fury. There’s no way it’s Duster or Filthy. All of the interactions he’s seen between Alastor and the tiny maid have been positive, and Alastor definitely wears the pants in whatever relationship is between him and the bartender. He’s never seen him interact with Sherry, period. Charlie, then? She is technically kind of his boss since she’s the one who assigns his workload. The signs of weariness that are becoming more and more apparent the more Lucifer studies his face could be from getting overworked. But Charlie’s no slave driver, and Alastor must have some sort of Charlie radar installed the way he always shows up at the worst times to rub his friendly relationship with Charlie in his face. That leaves Bangle. Yeah… yeah, he can see that. He’s not a fan of the spider’s sexual harassment himself, but Alastor takes particular offence to it, patience visibly running thin as water once Bangle’s flirting starts up. Maybe Bangle has been especially forward recently. Lucifer wouldn’t know, since he’s been avoiding most everyone since Lilith arrived. It’s the most plausible explanation he can think of.
Unless… Oh, no. No way. That’d just be too fucking good. Alastor wouldn’t— he couldn't—
‘ Is he hiding from me?’
It makes sense, more sense than him hiding from any of the others. He’s far more hostile towards Alastor than Vaggie is, and far, far , more powerful. Maybe Alastor is scared he’ll push too far and get his shit rocked, a rerun of his fight with Adam but infinitely worse. And oh how sweet, how delicious, that Lucifer would happen upon him in his little hidey-hole with no way to flee that wouldn’t alert Lucifer to why he’s down here in the first place. The Radio Demon, a rat caught in a trap.
“Cease at once!”
Lucifer nearly falls off the damn washing machine, whipping his head to stare in shock at Alastor. Fucking hell, can he read minds on top of everything else?
“What?” he asks confidently with a manly voice, and not with a squeaky pubescent crack.
“Those infernal noises!” Alastor hisses, ears pinned to the back of his head.
“Noises?”
“Did you forget how to form full sentences? Yes, the noises! You sound like, like, like some old jalopy trying to get started.”
“... OH. Oh. My thinking noises.” he realizes, not having noticed he was making them.
“I don’t care what you call them. Just stop . And especially stop with the giggling, or the truce is off,” Alastor seethes, ears returning to their usual upright position.
That makes Lucifer's smile come back in full force. Perhaps he should end the truce himself, tell Alastor just why he was laughing so gleefully. The look on his face would be so priceless. The temptation is overwhelming. He has to—
His mouth snaps shut when he hears something large skittering down the stairs, preparing himself to come face to face with some horrible bug Filthy has yet to get to.
Except it is Filthy who comes into view, tiny, pointed legs rapidly tapping against each step as she runs down to them.
“Niffty, my dear.”
Oh. Or Niffty. That makes more sense, actually, Filthy would be a terrible name for a maid.
Niffty comes to a stop at the bottom step, clinging to the railing and jumping up and down excitedly as she registers that Lucifer is here, too, wide eye scanning him up and down before swiveling towards Alastor.
“She’s looking for you.”
She. Uh-huh. Right. She.
Wait, she?
“Who?!” Lucifer blurts out at the same time Alastor starts to say Niffty’s name again. But before he can shush her, she blurts right back at Lucifer.
“The tall, scary lady.”
That’s… okay. That could still apply to Bangle.
But no, it’s far more likely that Alastor is hiding from the exact same fucking person he is. And he was about to try and give him shit for it. Man, that would have been some serious egg on his face.
“Niffty,” Alastor calls, the little maid’s gaze turning back to him. With a (slightly) strained smile, Alastor lifts his finger to his lips in the universal gesture of secret keeping. Niffty returns a gesture in kind, miming zipping her lips shut (the effect is largely lost due to Niffty’s lips staying split in a wide grin) before scuttling back up the stairs.
“Not a word,” Alastor commands at the exact same time Lucifer whips back around to question him.
“You’re hiding from Lilith, too?”
“I don't—!” He stops himself, grunting in frustration as he lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He seems to give up on calming himself, however, flinging his hand to the side in exasperation as he bears his fangs. “That bossy, shrill harpy has been riding me raw since she got here!”
Lucifer should be angry. He can feel the shadows of rage starting to coil in his gut. They may be separated, sure, but Lilith was the love of his life for almost 10,000 years. She’s the most amazing soul he’s ever known. He still wears his damn wedding ring. And this sinner is sitting here and insulting her to his face. He should be angry. Furious. He should. He really should.
And yet.
The laugh that bursts out of him brings all his breath with it, and yet he feels relief as if he’s breaking the surface of a lake after staying under for too long. The relief fills him like a breath of fresh air, relief and glee, Alastor’s words shattering the pedestal beneath Lilith that he’s been keeping together with duct tape and chicken wire for years now. The laugh only starts to calm once he notices the room growing darker, an eerie green glow emanating from one severely pissed off looking deer man, smile combined with a snarl as his ear pin backwards once more.
“No— no. I’m not laughing at you. It’s just…” He has to take a breath, struggling to get the words out around his laughter. “It’s just that I know she can be a lot,” he sympathizes, wiping at the tears in the corner of his eyes.
Out of said corner, he sees Alastor unclenching only slightly, shadows and green light starting to recede back to their point of origin. “Yes, a lot. A whole lot of bitch.”
Lucifer guffaws, snorting and hissing more laughter as Alastor and the room fully return to normal. “You’re telling me. I, uh, know what it’s like to be ridden by her. Ha, in more ways than one.”
“I don’t see why. I doubt the literal cunt was worth the proverbial one,” Alastor replies, eyes now glued on Lucifer.
“Fucking hell.” He lets out a shorter, huffed laugh. “You don’t even talk like this when we’re fighting.”
“Yes, well. Let’s just say I have a special place in my heart for your ex-wife. A cold, dark place.”
“Isn’t that your whole heart?”
“Hm. Touché.”
Lucifer shakes his head, running a hand through his hair as he stares down at his feet with a wistful smile. “She didn’t even tell me, ya know. That she was leaving. I mean, I know why she did, and I don't begrudge her for that, not at all. But to say nothing… not just to me, but to Charlie as well…”
“Horrendous,” Alastor agrees with a head nod. “You’re deserving of scathing criticism of all your many faults and flaws before being left. Written, at least, if not spoken.”
“Ha. Honestly, I would have preferred getting scalped by a Dear John instead of the goose egg I got.” And what the hell is wrong with him? Well, a lot of shit, but what’s wrong with him right now, specifically? Are the detergent fumes messing up his brain and causing diarrhea of the mouth? There’s no way telling Alastor all this, Christ, more than that, bearing his damn (and damned) soul to Alastor won’t result in something awful.
But whether it’s the fumes or the release of pressure from the bottle he’s kept his feelings in for so long, the desire to share more is heady. And actually, now that he thinks about it, why not Alastor? Alastor already thinks he’s a pathetic waste. It’s not like he’s going to lower his opinion of him any further. And Lucifer hates his guts, so who cares what he thinks, anyway? And Alastor can sympathize, as much as he’s able to, anyway. Which probably isn’t much at all, but at least Alastor can get a laugh out of him. No one’s done that in a long time.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” And there he goes again, mouth charging on ahead without his brain’s input. Not that his brain has ever been much help.
“I suppose I can’t stop you,” Alastor bemoans, crossing his left leg over the right as he lays his open book over his thigh. Good. Lucifer has his full attention.
“Why do you hate me?”
“Beg pardon?”
Lucifer has to resist the urge to laugh at the way both of Alastor’s ears twitch in unison. “I wouldn’t normally ask. Everyone down here— well, everyone everywhere, has plenty of reason to hate me. But you actually seem to like Hell. So… why all the provocation? Why the hate?”
Alastor pauses, blinking impossibly wide and red eyes at him as he mulls over Lucifer’s question. At least, that’s what Lucifer thinks he’s doing. He could have decided to just not answer him and stare while making radio station flipping noises at him until he feels uncomfortable enough to leave. If that’s the case, well, it might just work.
“I never said I hate you,” he finally answers, some of the radio static clearing from his voice.
“Yeah, you didn’t really have to,” he grouses.
More static and station flipping, eyes narrowed and glancing to the side until he’s ready to answer.
“Hm… but I don’t.”
“Oh. Then… what the fuck???” He gives Alastor a slack jawed expression, a deep crevice forming between his eyebrows as he stares at him.
“I find you annoying.”
Lucifer scoffs. “Yeah, okay. That’s the reason you keep trying to hijack my relationship with my daughter, constantly mock and humiliate me in front of everyone, replace the sugar I use for my coffee with salt, and leave severed goat heads and snake skins outside of my suite like some kind of demented cat.”
“I find you very annoying.” Alastor supplements unhelpfully.
Lucifer spreads his arms out to his sides, palms facing heavenward. “But why ?”
Alastor huffs, rubbing his temples with his pointer and middle fingers. “You asked if you could ask me A question. As in one.” He closes his eyes and sighs through his nose. “You’re… disruptive.”
“Of what?!” He’s getting exasperated, now, voice rising in pitch in volume.
Alastor just sniffs haughtily in response, recrossing his legs and repositioning his book as he looks at the wall behind Lucifer. “I had everything perfectly under control before you got here.”
Oh. Whoa whoa whoa, hold on. Hold up. Hold the phone. Hold the door. Fucking seriously? That’s what this has all been about? This is what Alastor has been giving him daily headaches over? He feels threatened, not by Lucifer’s power to destroy him, but by his power to help Charlie and the Hotel?
“You’re afraid you’ll lose your fucking job to me.”
With the screeching burst of radio static ringing in his ears, you’d think he just told Alastor to go fuck himself and the horse he rode in on. Oh, okay, fuck this guy, did he really not think Lucifer could make it from point A to point B? He’s not that stupid.
“I don’t fear .” Alastor growls the words at him, garbled by fluctuating static.
“Fine, fine. Worried. Weary. Cautious. Whatever, take your fucking pick. And relax already because A, I’m not gonna bite you, and B, you’ve got job security up the ass. Charlie…” He pauses, clasping his hands together in his lap. “Charlie adores you. She’s not sending you off any time soon.”
Why hide it? It’s the truth. He knows it, Alastor knows it. Refusing to admit it won’t make a difference. Alastor filled some kind of role for Charlie in Lucifer’s absence, even if it wasn’t actually fatherly.
He hears the radio static start to die down, hears Alastor start to speak, but still doesn’t look his way, watching the way the overhead lights glint in his wedding band instead.
“If it’s any consolation, I have absolutely zero interest in being anyone’s father, nevermind Charlie’s.”
“Hah… how merciful of you to say. Who are you and what have you done with the real Alastor?”
“I’ll never tell.”
He laughs again, wow, must be some kind of record, and looks back at Alastor— only to immediately recoil upon what he finds. Alastor’s staring at him, studying him, analyzing him, crimson red gaze boring through flesh and bone and straight into his soul. He’s smiling on top of that, wide and impossibly fucking toothy, seriously, how many teeth does this fucker have? And why is he looking at him like he wants to dissect him and then pass him around as an afternoon snack?
“Do you have any idea how creepy you look when you do that?” Lucifer implores, words muffled by the intense frown his lips have been pulled down into, his face the surface of a lake reflecting the crescent moon of Alastor’s smile.
Alastor’s smile just widens further, exposing even more goddamn teeth. “ Yes .”
To Lucifer’s immense relief, Alastor’s smile and glare ease up. To his immense chagrin, Alastor opens his mouth to speak again.
“Besides all that, the provocation was rarely about anger or annoyance. It’s just amusing to get a rise out of you, especially since it’s so hard to see you all the way down there.”
“Hey!” Lucifer shouts, hands on his hips as he addresses Alastor with all the authority he can muster. “The truce!”
“I didn’t break it. That was friendly teasing, not cruel mockery. There’s a difference.”
“Oh, so we’re friends now?” Lucifer asks with an eye roll.
“Lucifer, please. Everyone is friends under the laundry room truce.”
He snorts, scooting back further on the machine so he can lean his back against the wall. “Yeah, yeah. You know, I just had a horrible thought.”
“Oh? Do share.” The curve of Alastor’s smile is downright predatory. Is that drool?
Lucifer shakes his head. “You’re not gonna like it either. I was just thinking that we kinda have a lot in common.”
Alastor recoils like he’s been burned, making a face as if he’s tasted something burnt as well. “You’re right. I didn’t like that.”
Lucifer flashes him a gleeful grin. “Hey, you said I was right about something.”
“How foolish of me.”
For the briefest moment, Lucifer could have sworn that Alastor returned Lucifer's smile with a genuine one of his own. And then it fades with another burst of static, Alastor jerking forward an inch as his hand comes up to his neck, fingertips pressing lightly into the flesh. Before Lucifer can give into his curiosity and ask what’s wrong, Alastor is standing with a sigh, snapping his book shut with a resounding thwap .
“Well, no rest for the wicked. Lucifer.” He bids him a curt farewell, shadow portal already forming below him.
“Wait!” Wait? Who said that? Him? Oh, uh, yup. He sure did. Came right out of him.
The portal closes back up, Alastor turning to face Lucifer while he waits for further verbal content, left eyebrow rising higher and higher the longer he goes without it. Lucifer blinks and shakes his head free of cobwebs, clearing his throat before gesturing at the room around him.
“As the ruler of Hell and Father of the owner of this hotel, I declare that the laundry room will henceforth be neutral territory.” He drops his arms back to his sides, rubbing his suddenly moist palms against his pants. “This is our Switzerland.”
Alastor's smile rises by an inch, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes before disappearing. “Shall I affix a crudely designed ‘No Girls Allowed’ sign to the door?”
“Hah! That’s the only surefire way to get Lilith into any laundry room.” He smiles enough for it to actually reach his eyes, and yeah, Charlie had to get her dazzling smile from somewhere.
“Shame.” It’s the last thing Alastor says before disappearing through the floor, leaving deafening silence in his wake.
Lucifer sighs, already missing the company. Not Alastor specifically, no, never. Just company in general, which is a strange new phenomenon. Isolation had been his normal for so long, the heavy blanket he had comforted himself in. Since moving in here, being alone with himself for more than a few minutes starts feeling unbearable. He always at least has Keekee or Razzle with him. Sounds of life. Something warm to touch.
He’s about to summon one of them to his side when he notices that Alastor left his book behind. Huh. Does that mean he plans on returning? Curiosity piqued, Lucifer reaches over and grabs at the book, short arms flailing uselessly before he gives up and magics the book over to him. Alastor marked the page he left off on, And Lucifer skims it briefly before turning back to page one. Why not? It’s not like he has anything else to do down here.
And this way, they can talk about the book together next time.