Chapter Text
Lucifer had always liked gardens, ever since the concept of gardens had first been thought up, before Eden even existed, when the idea of a garden was just a wild dream waiting to come true. And even after everything that went down in Eden, he still loved gardens. After all, he had met Lillith in a garden, fell in love with her there, first made love to her there. It wasn’t the garden’s fault everything had gone tits up after that, it was Lucifer’s! So, despite the climate in Hell being less than accommodating, what with the sulphur, and the brimstone, and the acid rain, he had always kept a garden at the palace, and now he was encouraging Charlie to keep one at the Hotel. Somewhere quiet and peaceful for weary sinners to go and contemplate what they had learned during their therapy sessions, somewhere strangers might bump into one another and fall in love, much as he and Lillith had so long ago.
He was supposed to be watching a movie with Charlie and Vaggie, a cherished weekly ritual his daughter had set up to facilitate bonding between them, which he had gladly latched onto much as he had latched on to any opportunity to spend time with her since their reunion. Unfortunately, there were two things getting in the way of that. Firstly, a hotel guest was having a torrid mental breakdown in the therapy room and Charlie felt compelled to console them, and secondly, someone who would remain unnamed because Lucifer didn’t even want to think his name, had blown up all the TVs in a 5-mile radius mid pissy-fit, whilst hissing something about someone spying on them. Fucking diva.
Instead, the three had planned to reschedule for later, when they could have a couple of drinks together at the bar, maybe play some board games, and Lucifer could stay the night in his new suite, ready to make pancakes for breakfast tomorrow. It was going to be perfect. Not even that asshat could possibly take the shine off things.
So here he was, whiling away the afternoon with a little gardening and his own company. Far preferable to trying to make polite small talk with a load of sinners who were too terrified to actually talk to him. Say that for Alastor (fuck he wasn’t gonna mention the dumb bellhop by name, stupid brain!) at least he didn’t simper whenever Lucifer was in proximity. That was kinda refreshing, if also incredibly irritating and rude!
He drew his focus back to the plants. He’d spent a decent hour weeding the beds and speaking sweetly to the roses, (they were delicate, you had to charm them into growing well in hell) and now he was thinking the hanging baskets needed some TLC of their own. He summoned up a ladder because he wasn’t about to just hover there using his wings, not after last time Charlie had scolded him because he nearly knocked someone over with them, and it wasn’t as if he could help it that they took up so much space, thank you very much, but anyway, a ladder was the better option. He scaled the thing and took stock of the situation. These were not the plants he remembered planting. Someone had swapped them out, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say it was someone with a knowledge of old-fashioned flower language. And very mixed feelings.
Yellow carnations, white candytuft, rare white lavender, and orange lilies; disdain, indifference, distrust, hatred. Red geraniums and columbines; folly, foolishness, stupidity. Begonias and yellow rhododendron; caution, beware, a threat… A pretty clear message one would think…
Except alongside those negative messages were nestled daffodils and tendrils of fern; regard, fascination. Yellow tulips and coreopsis; you’re always cheerful, there’s sunshine in your smile. White camellias, coriander, gardenia, and red morning glory; you’re adorable, you have hidden worth, you’re lovely, affection. Red camellias; you’re a flame in my heart… Perhaps the person sending this message had feelings for someone despite themself?
Most tellingly, at the centre of it all, a ring of red hyacinth (sport, a game, play) around a single bulb of brightest red amaryllis; pride. The flower could not have represented Lucifer more if it had taken on his form and popped on his top hat. This message… it was for him?
The implications of such a thought were mind blowing. Whoever did this surely knew that he would return to tend to the hanging basket at some point, which meant that they wanted him to see the message. But did they know that he would understand it? Surely if they knew he was so keen on gardening they must know at least a little about him, so they’d be familiar with his use of symbolism in the other aspects of his life. He didn’t go round slapping apples and serpent motifs on everything just because he could, you know, it was a clear sign of ownership and involvement, and it was mostly calculated. So, it would stand to reason that he would be at least vaguely aware of the symbolism of flowers… perhaps he was supposed to understand the message then.
He reached out to touch the amaryllis at the centre, stroking a petal gently. The message was clear, certainly, but the sender, whoever they were, had also taken great lengths to make the presentation of their message incredibly beautiful. The combinations of reds, yellows, oranges, and whites blended with the soft greens of the leafy varieties, made for a charming tapestry of frustration and adoration in equal measure. And why was that sentiment a little familiar? He’d puzzle it out later.
The message left no clue as to the sender, but the continued existence of the flowers did a little, at least. Most of these varieties would be very hard to come by in hell, and many would be unable to survive without magical intervention protecting them from the climate. A casual display of such power meant that whoever was trying to tell him how they felt in this unorthodox way was probably quite powerful. In fact, if he just leaned in and got a good lungful of that magic, he would probably be able to ascertain who it belonged to…
As he bent forward to breathe in the scent of the flowers and their magical protection, movement to his right startled him. He looked up and immediately recoiled at a shadowy figure too close to him for comfort. Shit he’d been so in his head he’d allowed an assassin to creep up on him. He jumped upright, lurching away from his would-be attacker, and realised too late that it was only Alastor’s shadow, lurid grin in place, looming out of the shadows under the eaves to spy on him.
The realisation did little to help his current predicament. He had veered backwards too sharply, and now he was off balance at the top of a slightly wobbly ladder. He teetered a moment, arms windmilling rapidly, before realisation hit that he was not going to regain his balance. He flailed blindly, reaching for the shadow to try and grasp it for balance, and as his hands slipped through its’ insubstantial form, he thought for a moment he saw its’ grin fall into a look of alarm before he lost sight of it, falling backwards, ladder and all, and landing in a heap in the rose bush below.
On the one hand, the roses had broken his fall, and it was nice not to have a concussion at 2pm on a Thursday. On the other, he could already feel the thorns hooking themselves into his lovely white suit and snagging in his hair and the brim of his hat. He could no longer see the shadow, but he felt like a damn fool for reacting so strongly to it in the first place, and then for trying to grab it, of all things, to steady himself. He was just thankful its’ owner wasn’t here to witness this latest bungle.
Ah, as usual, the universe wasn’t going to be that kind to Lucifer. A blast of static and canned laughter sounded from behind and above him, and as Lucifer looked up, the Radio Demon loomed over him, upside down from his perspective, grinning like the cheshire cat about to eat the proverbial canary.
“Well, well, what have we here? Falling again, sire? And for little old me of all people? Why I’d almost be flattered, if you didn’t make such a pathetic display…”
“Why you!” Lucifer wriggled in place, trying to right himself amongst the roses without destroying them. He managed to lurch to his feet in the middle of the rose bush, just as Alastor turned his back.
“I’d offer you a hand up, but I fear you would simply… slip through my fingers…” He turned back to Lucifer and made a little waving gesture with his right hand, fingers wiggling, and his shadow manifested over his shoulder, mimicking the gesture and grinning at Lucifer ‘s expense. “Perhaps next time, your majesty, remember you have wings, hmm?”
With that, Alastor turned tail again and stalked away, flipping the tails of his coat dramatically and sending a gust of air at Lucifer. As the air hit him, so did the scent; something earthy and rich, not unlike a swamp after the rain, similar to, but not-quite petrichor, and cut through with an acrid note brimstone and iron, like blood. Alastor smelled dangerous and alarming, but not necessarily bad. He smelled of eldritch magic. Specifically, he smelled of the same eldritch magic being used to curate that flower arrangement.
Lucifer fell over into the roses again. This time several thorns tore through the material of his shirt and scratched the flesh of his lower back and side. He barely felt it. He stared mutely after Alastor, reeling from the revelation of his hidden affections. A flower from above followed the air movement to fall, slow as a feather, down onto the outstretched palm he held up to meet it. A single bloom of red hyacinth. How fitting. It was definitely time to play, and in this mysterious game Alastor seemed to have set up for them, it was about to be Lucifer’s turn…