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"A what now?" Alastor asks. It's nothing new that Charlie likes to use the forced proximity of the hotel staff during dinner time to bring forward terrible ideas, but this has to be the worst one yet.
"A charity auction!" Charlie is beaming with enthusiasm. "You know, let people rent us for an afternoon, collect money for a good cause? It will attract patrons too, and potential guests!"
Lucifer looks like he's about to burst with pride. "Great idea, sweetie."
Charlie squeals, and Alastor sighs.
The King is now a permanent addition to the hotel staff dinners, and as much as Alastor has come to enjoy the verbal sparring at (purely metaphorical) eye level, Lucifer's unconditional support of his daughter's every harebrained scheme is, frankly, a pain in the neck. By now, Alastor has learned that coming between the Morningstars and their current pipe dream is, at best, ill-advised, and at worst, suicidal. But there's a certain entertainment value to watching the events unfold, and to bet on their outcomes with Husk, the old gambler.
Charlie slaps a notebook onto the table and summons a bright red gel pen.
Here goes.
"We'll need a cake stall," Charlie says, "and a champagne fountain, and oh, oh! A shooting gallery!"
"Are you shittin' me?" Husk stares at her. "You wanna rent us to randos from the street?"
"Let's not discuss this on an empty stomach, hm?" Lucifer claps his hands. A row of levitating plates enters the dining room from the kitchen, arrange themselves around the table and then gently land in front of the hungry pack of demons (and ex-angels).
Alastor rolls his eyes. Showoff.
"Ooh, fancy!" Angel picks up his fork. "This looks delish!"
Lucifer winks. "My famous pasta alla diavola."
Angel shovels pasta into his mouth and moans. "Fuck, this is good."
"Haven't you heard what I said?" Husk growls, frowning. "The Princess is literally tryin' to sell us off!"
Charlie gasps. "I would never! It's just one afternoon. We'll do this the classic way: Everyone prepares a picnic basket, and the highest bidder on a basket gets to enjoy a nice picnic with the person who prepared it!"
"Babe, are you sure about this?" Vaggie asks between two mouthfuls of pasta. "Can we really trust demons to… picnic responsibly?"
Charlie's smile wavers. "What's the worst that could happen? It's just a picnic."
Vaggie sits up straight, alarmed by the slight wobble in Charlie's voice. "Uh, forget I said anything. I think I'm being overcautious again." She touches Charlie's arm. "You'll lead the auction, right?"
Charlie nods enthusiastically, and Vaggie visibly relaxes.
"I'll make waffles!" Lucifer proclaims. "And drinks, too! I make one hell of an Appletini."
Alastor sees a big red button, and he'll be damned if he doesn't seize the opportunity to push it. "I didn't take you for a chicken, Your Majesty," he says, his smile razor-sharp. "Worried no one will make a bid on you if you participate in the auction?"
Lucifer grins. "Oh, I'm sure I'd score a hefty sum, but my waffles are positively to die and burn in Hell for. I bet I can collect more money selling waffles than a certain full-of-himself Radio Demon can score with a picnic."
Alastor waves him off, and canned laughter bounces around the dinner table. "Oh, please. I'm celebrity. Who wouldn't want to spend a lovely afternoon with the king of the airwaves?"
"I can hardly stand spending a minute with you," Lucifer retorts, but his eyes twinkle.
Angel Dust facepalms. "And I can't stand all this sexual tension! Jeez, when will you two finally f—"
"Aren't you going to try the pasta?" Lucifer interrupts, twirling his fork at Alastor. "Do I need to come over and feed it to you?"
Alastor blinks. He's not sure who took the wind out of his sails, Angel or Lucifer. But Alastor rallies quickly. "No need, thank you. I'm perfectly able to eat without help." He picks up his cutlery and, under Lucifer's watchful gaze, takes a bite of pasta. The sauce is creamy and spicy and delicious.
"Aaand?" Lucifer asks. There's a hint of eagerness in his voice.
Alastor tilts his head, making him wait. "Acceptable."
Lucifer flashes him a knowing, devilish smile that makes Alastor's stomach twist. Alastor feels hot. He tries to tell himself that it's the chili.
Angel giggles. "Oh I'm dyin' to see how much these desperate demons are willin' to spend on an afternoon with me!"
"Hell no," Husk says. "We're not sellin' you."
"Why not?" Angel asks, propping one elbow up on the table. "We all know I'm the one who's gonna reel in the big bucks!"
"I agree with Husk," Charlie says with an apologetic smile. "Anyone but you, Angel. I mean, I do have trust in people! And I appreciate that you wanna help us out! But if you participate, it could send the wrong message. I really don't want to risk anyone taking advantage of you."
Angel laughs, but without real joy. "Oh, honey, don't ya worry about me! I do this shit every day."
"Because you have no choice," Husk points out. "But this… we'd never ask you to do that. Right, Charlie?"
Charlie nods. "Ab-so-lutely!"
"Okay, okay!" Angel unsuccessfully tries to hide his relief behind an eyeroll. "Message received. I'll man the shootin' gallery."
Vaggie shakes her head. "I don't think weapons in the hotel are a good idea."
"What about fuck dishing?" Lucifer chimes in. His eyes widen. "Duck fishing!" he shouts. "DUCK fishing!"
Angel and Husk break out into laughter, Lucifer buries his face in his hands and Charlie excitedly scribbles the idea down on her notebook. Alastor can't suppress a chuckle.
"What's that?" Niffty asks.
"Which one?" Angel asks with another wheeze.
Now Lucifer is chuckling, too, and a faint golden glow attractively colors his cheeks. "We fill a pool with water, add a bunch of rubber ducks with numbers on their bellies, and people can fish out a duck to see what prize they get." He spins an elegant finger to magically refill his water glass. "I'll supply the duckies."
Alastor smiles widely, shaking his head. How can such childish nonsense come out of the mouth of Hell's most ancient creature?
"I'm team duck fishing," Vaggie says. "No shooting."
"What if we use squirt guns for the shootin' stall?" Angel proposes.
Charlie's pasta is cooling in front of her while she fervently jots down bullet points. Her tongue steals out from between her lips as she adorns her notes with scribbles of ducks and picnic baskets. She conjures a bottle of glittery glue and some sparkly paper stars.
"Water pistols are fine, I guess," Vaggie says. "Alright. Angel, you can take charge of the shooting gallery and the duck fishing. Lucifer will provide drinks and waffles. Charlie will be the moderator of the event and lead the auction."
"I'll prepare the best picnic basket!" Niffty says, stabbing her pasta with a manic giggle. "Oooh, I hope I get a bad boy!"
Husk sighs. "I wouldn't mind a picnic, I guess. And it's for a good cause, so… I'm in."
"Me, too," Vaggie says. "Alastor?"
"I can prepare a picnic basket, easy as pie." Alastor's gaze is fixed on Lucifer. He'll show him just how much an afternoon with the Radio Demon is worth. Certainly more than His Royal Waffles and Appletinis and whatnot! Lucifer nods at him with a cocky smile. Challenge accepted.
"Let me get this straight," Angel says with his mouth full. "We've got the smokin' hot King of Hell, a gorgeous princess and a famous porn star at our hands – and we're rentin' out a drunken barkeep, a cranky ex-exorcist, a homicidal maid and a psychotic cannibal?"
"Hey, watch your mouth!" Vaggie points her fork at him the same way she likes to threaten people with her angelic spear. "I'm not cranky!"
"Sure thing, Vagina," Angel says.
Vaggie grimaces.
"Smoking hot?" Lucifer says, one eyebrow lifted. He dabs his mouth with a napkin. "Why, I'm very flattered, Angel."
Angel suggestively licks the sauce off his fork, then bites his lip. "Just statin' the facts," he purrs. "My King."
"Yes, yes," Alastor interrupts, feeling miffed. "We all know you're desperate for attention, Angel. Charlie, is there anything else we need to discuss?"
"Oh! Yes, of course!" Charlie says. "We have to make a timetable, design the stalls, advertise the event… Gosh, this is so exciting!"
And so, the rest of the dinner is spent planning the charity auction.
In the light of his unspoken bet with the King, Alastor is determined to lead Charlie's event to a full success. No problem, with his hat in the ring. He graciously advertises the event on his broadcast, coerces a couple of demons whose souls he owns to show up to the event, and even helps Charlie prepare and rehearse her opening speech.
When the day finally comes, Alastor is vibrating with excitement. Despite himself, he has properly gotten into the spirit of things. He hasn't had a chance to prepare nice food in a while (for some reason, the hotel staff keeps declining whenever he offers to make something), so he gives it his all. With his picnic basket prepared and covered with a checkered kitchen cloth to conceal its contents, Alastor retreats to his room to get ready.
After a long shower, he paints his claws and hooves with a fresh, shiny coat of red nail polish. He chooses a burgundy shirt and ponders his coat. Does he look more approachable without it? After a few minutes of putting it on and taking it off again, he decides to get a second opinion. So, he lets his shadow scout the hotel until he spots the hotel's fashionista transporting a box overflowing with rubber ducks. Alastor leaves his coat in his room and saunters over to 'randomly' encounter Angel Dust in a hallway.
Angel is wearing a striped vest, a fancy tie and a hat. He whistles as he passes Alastor. "Lookin' dapper, Smiles!"
Alastor's grin widens. "Why, thank you, Angel!"
That's a 'no' to the coat, then. Alastor returns to his room to fetch his basket. What will Lucifer wear today? Will he dress up for a public event like this? The Sin of Pride that he is? Then again, the King is always dressed to the nines, in blinding white, never a hair out of place.
Alastor checks himself in the mirror and decides to tie his hair in a low ponytail.
Showtime!
When Alastor arrives in the auditorium, his picnic basket in one claw and his microphone cane in the other, the first guests are already there. The hotel's few residents are present, but it seems like Alastor's advertisement of the event on his broadcast attracted plenty of new faces.
Lucifer must have taken charge of the decorations, because apple garlands and sparkly fairy lights decorate the stage. The stalls are striped in red and gold, reminding Alastor of circus tents. And, next to the catering table, there's indeed a champagne fountain, the foaming beverage flowing out of the beak of a swan taking flight.
But where's Lucifer?
A whisper makes Alastor's ears twitch and swivel. He picks up a hushed conversation of two nearby demons.
"…wonder what's in that basket?"
"Nothing, that's my guess. Whoever goes on a picnic with him will be his meal!"
Alastor sniffs. Just because he eats people, that doesn't mean he can't enjoy a civilized picnic. For as long as his company doesn't anger him, the chances of them ending up as Alastor's dessert are low. He holds his filled basket closer.
"Hey, Al!" Charlie's voice sounds from behind him.
He turns around and sees her in the hall's entrance, beaming at him like a small sun. Charlie is sporting her usual red suit, but her hair is done up, and she's wearing a black tiara.
Alastor smiles at her. "You look lovely, my dear!"
She chuckles and drifts closer. "Oh, stop it, you! What's in your basket?" She surreptitiously pinches a corner of the kitchen cloth.
Alastor bats her hand away. "Ah-ah-ah! Hey now, don't look at me like that, Princess. It was your own rule to keep the meals a secret, was it not?"
"Well, yes, but…" Charlie's worry is barely concealed behind an uncomfortable smile.
Alastor squints.
"There you are, ducky!" Lucifer whirls through the entrance and toward Charlie. "Have you seen the cocktail shakers?" He arrives next to her, and his gaze falls on Alastor. "Oh! Hey, bellhop."
Alastor stares at him. Lucifer isn't wearing his hat. Instead, a small golden snake with rubies for eyes rests on his blonde curls, forged into a coil. Like a delicate crown. Or a halo? Has his hair always looked this soft?
"They're already at the stall, Dad," Charlie chirps.
"Hm?" Lucifer takes his eyes off Alastor and looks at her.
"The shakers?"
"Oh! Right! Thanks. I better get to feeding the masses, then. Toodeloo!" With that, he whisks away.
"Thanks again for the help with the speech, Al," Charlie says.
"Of course," Alastor says, watching Lucifer's retreating back. "Shall we get started then?" He hands her his microphone, and she accepts it with a gleam in her eyes.
Charlie masters her speech with bravado. She greets the guests, pitches her hotel and confidently sings about imps in need and animal shelters and whatnot, listing all the sad and hopeless establishments she aims to support with this frivolous event of hers.
Alastor strolls over to the waffle stall Lucifer is manning. Demons dash aside at his approach and seek cover behind the champagne fountain, and by the time he arrives, Alastor is the only one at the stall.
Lucifer leans forward on the counter and smiles. "It's cheating if you scare away my customers."
"Why, all I did was walk over here."
"Buzz off, busboy." Lucifer makes a shooing gesture. "Let a chef do his work."
Alastor snickers. "May I remind you that I'm the main course today, Sire?"
Lucifer smirks and raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Alastor lifts up his picnic basket.
"…Oh."
"Now be a good chap and serve me a waffle."
Lucifer huffs. He glances at the waffle iron. Then he looks back at him. "They're not done yet."
"I'll happily wait."
"That'll be six dollars and sixty-six cents," Lucifer says.
Alastor hands over the money, and Lucifer pockets it. They stand in uncomfortable silence.
Alastor's gaze is drawn back to that crown resting on Lucifer's curls. Its rubies are the same color as Lucifer's eyes. "You look…"
Lucifer's eyes widen, and Alastor feels his legs turn to jelly.
"…different," Alastor settles.
Lucifer chuckles. "You, too." He glances at the waffle iron. "Ah! Your waffle is ready." He places it on a napkin and hands it over.
Alastor is about to walk away when Lucifer suddenly grabs his wrist. He freezes at the touch, and he can't quite suppress the crackle in his static atmosphere.
Lucifer wriggles the fingers of his other hand, and powdered sugar rains down onto Alastor's waffle, in the shape of a… That's not a crescent moon, is it? And what are the two dots next to it? They look a bit like radio dials. Lucifer lets go and Alastor turns the waffle, trying to make sense of it. The ghost of Lucifer's touch still is still heating his skin, so it's hard to concentrate.
"Aren't you gonna try it?" Lucifer asks.
"So impatient." Alastor gingerly breaks off a piece and pops it into his mouth. He chews slowly, watching Lucifer's expectant expression. It's… surprisingly good for something this sweet.
"How is it? And don't say 'acceptable' again. I'll know when you lie." Lucifer smirks. "Father of lies here."
"It's sweet," Alastor says, because he can't admit that he likes it.
"Such high praise." Lucifer starts refilling the waffle iron. "Now get lost or I'll drown you in Angel's ducky pool. I've got a bet to win."
Alastor looks over to where Angel Dust is surrounded by a horde of sinners who are clearly more interested in Angel than in his shooting stall or his ducks. One sinner fishes out a duck and squeezes it. The duck promptly does a backflip and spits fire, setting the stall ablaze.
Alastor sighs. "Lovely chatting with you, Your Shortness, as always!" He tips his imaginary hat at Lucifer (Lucifer returns the gesture) and then saunters over to the duck fishing stall. Angel is currently fawning over a burning duck plushy suspended from his stall's ceiling when Alastor snaps his fingers and easily extinguishes the flames with his magic.
"Smiles!" Angel lets out a sigh of relief. "I'm so happy to see ya. Thanks for dealin' with that."
"No hassle at all, my effeminate friend," Alastor says smoothly. He takes another bite of his waffle.
"I better confiscate this," Angel mumbles, gingerly picking up the Magic-Tastical Backflipping Rubber Duck That Spits FireTM with two fingers to stash it in the back of his stall. Then he suspiciously eyes the other ducks in the tub.
Alastor takes a look at all the prizes that are showcased, from random trinkets and junk to differently sized trinkets and junk to the main prize: a yellow duck plushy. He glances over his shoulder and catches a glimpse of Lucifer, smiling brightly and handing out a waffle to Carmilla Carmine of all people. Alastor squints and turns back to Angel.
"I'd like the duck plushy, please," he says.
Angel furrows his brow. "Nuh-uh, honey, that's not how it works."
"How does it work then?"
"You gotta pay five bucks, or more if ya wanna donate more to the cause, then you fish out a duck and see what prize you get."
Alastor deposits his picnic basket and waffle on the counter. "Then I'll play."
Angel holds out his hand, Alastor places a bill in it, and then Angel hands him a net.
"Good luck," Angel sing-songs and steps aside.
Alastor lets his gaze drift over the rubber ducks. Which one to choose? He fishes out one that has some kind of rocket tied to its back and squeezes it.
The duck squeaks, Angel takes cover and… nothing happens. How disappointing. Angel peers over the edge of the counter. "And? Which number did ya get?"
Alastor turns the duck over. "Fourty-seven."
Angel flicks through some kind of catalogue, then grabs a pen with the hotel's logo on it and puts it in Alastor's hand. "Here's your prize, sweetheart!"
"I wanted the duck plushy," Alastor says drily.
"Tough luck." Angel's golden tooth gleams. "But you can always try again?"
One hundred and eighty-five dollars later, Alastor squeezes the main prize under his arm (squeak), carries it over to the waffle stall and then thrusts it against Lucifer's chest (squeak).
Lucifer stares at him. "Why are you giving me this?"
"You like ducks."
"It's singed."
Alastor's smile wavers. "If you don't want it, I can give you a pen instead. I've got at least a dozen of those."
"No take-backs!" Lucifer snatches the duck plushy out of Alastor's claws (squeak) and looks at it with some affection. He strokes the soft fabric with his small, dark fingers. "I, uh… thanks. I guess."
Alastor suddenly feels very awkward. Why did he do this in the first place?
Lucifer clears his throat. "Aren't you supposed to be backstage? The auction will begin shortly."
Alastor takes out his pocket watch and flicks it open. "It appears you're right. Miracles do happen."
Lucifer grumbles and turns around to carefully place his new plushy at the back of his stall.
Alastor waits for him to turn back around, but he never does. Lucifer is grabbing this ingredient and that, aimlessly moving them around. The skin on his neck is tinted golden. It must really be hot in that stall of his.
Well, Alastor has to get going anyway. He sinks into the shadows and reappears behind the stage.
"It's time for today's main attraction: the auction!" Charlie happily announces into Alastor's microphone.
Husk, Niffty, Vaggie and Alastor have lined up on stage, each holding onto their picnic baskets and looking into the faces of more or less bored sinners.
"The highest bidder on a picnic basket gets to, well, go on a lovely picnic with the person who prepared it with their own fair hands! My hotel staff has been cooking away for the entire day, so I bet there's some delicious treats hiding under those kitchen cloths." Charlie wiggles her eyebrows.
Angel Dust whistles loudly.
"Let's start with my girlfriend, Vaggie, shall we?" Charlie throws her angel a radiant smile that reminds Alastor so much of her father. If only Lucifer looked at him like that, he catches himself think, then smothers his wayward thoughts with a stifling blanket of static.
Vaggie goes to Carmilla, Niffty ends up with a small anglerfish demon in a lab coat, and Angel Dust wins his back and forth with a couple of patrons over Husk.
When it's his turn, Alastor puts on his most charming smile and holds his laden basket a little higher.
"Okay, the bidding on Alastor, our lovely facility manager, starts now!" Charlie exclaims and shows Alastor off with a wide swoop of her arm.
Deafening silence descends on the crowd. The sinners avoid Alastor's gaze, looking at their shoes or at invisible stains on their sleeves. Someone coughs.
Alastor squints at a demon whose soul he owns, but instead of taking out their wallet, the offending creature panics and flees the scene. Alastor makes a mental note to feed them to the gators when he finds the time.
"Anyone?" Charlie asks, sounding awfully insecure.
Squeak.
Alastor's ears swivel at the quiet sound, and he sees a rubber duck tumbling down near Lucifer's waffle stall. The King rubs his shoulder and throws an irritated glance over to the shooting gallery, where Angel is frantically waving his arms, repeatedly pointing at the stage and making shooing gestures. Alastor observes their exchange with some interest while Charlie lies through her teeth about how Alastor supposedly cooks delicious meals for the hotel staff all the time.
Angel rubs his fingers together, Lucifer shakes his head.
Angel threatens him with four fists, Lucifer shakes his head harder.
Angel grabs a rubber duck and points a squirt gun at its head.
Lucifer facepalms and holds up a bill, Angel points up.
Lucifer pulls out another bill, Angel facepalms.
Lucifer makes a questioning gesture, Angel grabs a Hazbin Hotel Pen to scribble something onto a rubber duck and tosses it over (squeak).
Lucifer catches and inspects it, and his jaw drops. "Uh," he says eloquently, and the crowd turns toward him. "A hundred and eighty-five dollars?"
Alastor's stomach swoops.
Charlie perks up. "A hundred and eighty-five! Do I hear a hundred and ninety? No? Three, two, one, sold! And Alastor goes tooooo Hell's Greatest Dad!" She beams, and Lucifer looks just as horrified as Alastor feels. "Thank you so much for supporting hellhounds in need. Enjoy your picnic, you two!" She turns to face the crowd. "That's all for the main program of today. Feel free to stick around for another drink and a game of duck fishing. Thank you so much to everyone who attended today's event. And remember: The Hazbin Hotel accepts new guests at any time! There are sign-up forms on every available surface, at every entrance and exit, and in every bathroom stall." She shoos the candidates off the stage, and that's that part of the event.
While Vaggie and Niffty venture out to enjoy their picnics, Husk and Alastor are left behind. They are standing at a high table, Husk sipping on an Appletini and Alastor chewing on another waffle, watching their angels Lucifer and Angel in their respective stalls.
Alastor ponders. Where should they go for their picnic? The King is always surrounded by paparazzi, and Alastor would rather enjoy his meal in peace. Why is it that Alastor, who hates few things more than cameras, feels drawn to the entity with the most media coverage?
"So, you and the Big Boss, huh?" Husk says.
"What are you implying?" Alastor snaps. He runs his claws through his hair, ruining his ponytail. He pulls off the hair tie and puts it into his pocket. Then he changes his mind and fishes it back out to make a new ponytail.
"Nervous?" Husk asks with a bold smirk.
"Shut up!" Alastor hisses.
Husk chortles.
Alastor snarls. "Drink your appletini in silence, if you value your hide."
Husk falls silent, but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"And? How much money did you make with your catering?" Alastor asks as he watches Lucifer unplug his waffle irons.
Lucifer turns to him with a shit-eating grin, and Alastor already knows he's lost. "Five hundred and fifty-two bucks and seventy-eight cents," he says. "That means I win!"
But Alastor is prepared. He grins wider. "You win with what?"
Lucifer furrows his brow. "Our bet?"
"I don't remember ever agreeing to a bet."
"Oh, boo. Sore loser." Lucifer sticks out his tongue.
Alastor would have retorted something super smart, for sure, if he wasn't this distracted by the pink forked tongue sticking out from between Lucifer's lips.
"So, uh… Where do you wanna go?" Lucifer asks.
Alastor snaps out of it. "I'd like to take you to my room."
Lucifer's eyebrows shoot up so high they transcend his hairline. "Doesn't that kind of defeat the whole sense of a picnic, if we're doing it indoors?"
"You'll see," Alastor simply says. "Meet me up there." He saunters off, heart beating in his throat.
Only a couple of fireflies glint in the perpetual night of Alastor's bayou. Alastor decides to light some candles. He places them around the checkered blanket he's spread out on the soft soil between tall black willows. Then he sits on the blanket and waits.
When his ears twitch at a soft knock on his door, Alastor unlocks it with a wisp of magic.
"Show him the way, will you?" he murmurs at the fireflies, and the little bugs set off. He wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers.
After a while, Lucifer appears between the trees, surrounded by a cloud of fireflies. His eyes glow faintly in the dark. He's in his white shirt and striped vest, without his coat, and still wearing that pretty crown.
"There you are." Lucifer smiles and sits on the blanket. He lets his gaze drift over their surroundings. "Wow, this is nice."
Alastor perks up. "You like it?"
Lucifer closes his eyes and inhales the humid air. Crickets and toads serenade them. "Ahh, the long, hot summer of 1924," he says.
Alastor can't quite hide how impressed he is. "Ah, so that's why you constantly forget things. Your head is filled to the brim with weather data."
Lucifer chuckles. "Nah, that's the depression. I can taste the time in the air. Angelic omniscience or something like that." He lifts a hand and watches a firefly land on his finger. "It takes some pretty powerful magic to create a pocket dimension like this."
Alastor preens. "This is where I disposed of my victims in life," he happily explains.
"…Ah. Did you light candles for them, too?"
"Yes, and I also treated them to a nice picnic. No, silly King, I worked with a flashlight."
Lucifer chuckles and shakes his head. "So. What's, uh… what's in the basket?"
"Why don't you take a look?"
Lucifer reaches over and pulls the kitchen cloth off the basket. "Uh…" He produces an entire deer leg.
Alastor grins widely. "There's more. The basket's bigger on the inside."
Lucifer assembles the items on the blanket. "Raw venison, black pudding, a live lobster… Why am I not surprised?"
The lobster scurries off.
Alastor gasps. "Quick! It's getting away!"
"Oh no," Lucifer says, unfazed and without moving a muscle.
The lobster dives into the nearest body of water with a faint splash.
Alastor sighs. "There goes our starter." He plasters on a smile. "Oh well! Can't be helped."
Lucifer gingerly picks up a scone. "Um. Do you have any jam?"
"No."
"Salted butter?"
"Of course not." Alastor shakes his head. "They're best with cheese."
Lucifer eyes the cheese. "Is that Corsican?"
"The best of the best."
"Um, I think I'll pass." Lucifer bites into the scone. Crunch.
Oh no, did he forget the baking soda? Alastor's smile wobbles. Should he have made jam? Lucifer doesn't seem to have much of an appetite for venison. This is a disaster.
"Do you like it?" Alastor asks, suddenly nervous.
"Five stars," Lucifer croaks.
Defeated, Alastor pours him a glass of wine.
Lucifer accepts the glass with a thankful smile and takes a large sip. "What did you think of the charity event?"
"Complete hogwash." Alastor conjures an apple (surely Lucifer likes those!) and pulls out his pocket knife. "But it's fantastic to see how much Charlie has grown."
Pride glints in Lucifer's eyes. "That's my girl."
Alastor starts cutting the apple up.
"You know, I never thanked you," Lucifer says.
"For what?"
"For your guidance. For being a mentor to Charlie." Lucifer worries at a thread in the blanket. "When I was… absent."
Alastor huffs. "Save your thanks. I came here with a clear objective: To watch hopeless souls struggle and fail to achieve their dreams. I never meant to actually help."
"But you did."
Alastor sighs, and a genuine smile tugs at his mask. "But I did," he mumbles. "Must be some kind of irresistible Morningstar charm." He rights his mask and makes sure his radio filters are properly in place. "Apple?" He offers Lucifer the first slice.
A mischievous grin spreads over Lucifer's face. He leans forward and takes the apple with his teeth.
Alastor watches him, stunned.
"Mh." Lucifer chews and swallows. "Pink Lady! Delicious."
Alastor realizes his arm is still outstretched, so he lowers it and wrenches his attention back onto the apple, feeling a strange heat in his belly.
Lucifer chuckles.
"What's so funny?" Alastor asks without looking up.
"Oh, just the irony of it."
"I don't follow."
"You just offered the Devil an apple slice."
"Ah. That." Alastor eyes the small man before him, with his soft hair and sweet smile. "It's easy to forget."
"That I'm the Devil?"
Alastor nods. Hesitantly, he lifts his hand, holding another morsel of apple.
The candlelight glints in Lucifer's eyes. He leans forward on his hands, arms crossed. Horns sprout from his forehead, lifting his snake crown into a halo, and red bleeds into his sclera. His tail swishes behind him.
"How about now?" Lucifer purrs, then closes his lips around the second wedge.
Alastor takes a shaky breath. He feels like he's going to have a stroke. Gone are his radio filters, his smile, his control over what the hell he's thinking and doing, and before he knows it, he's lifted a third apple wedge to hold with his teeth. His heart is pounding a wild rhythm against his ribs.
Lucifer's gaze darts to the apple piece, then back up to Alastor's eyes. His irises are like thick golden coins in seas of blood. With a devilish smile, he slowly leans forward, closer and closer until his breath tickles Alastor's skin.
Heat crawls up Alastor's cheeks. Shit, what the hell is he supposed to do with his hands, his body, his everything? Lucifer is gorgeous and radiating heat and halfway into Alastor's lap. The Devil plucks the apple wedge from Alastor's lips. The contact is fleeting, barely there, but Alastor feels like he's been smitten with angelic power. Dazed, he watches Lucifer chew, and how that pale throat moves as he swallows.
"Lucifer," Alastor breathes. "What are you doing to me?"
Lucifer smiles. "Scared?"
The truth slips out. "Terrified."
"All right then, run, mister, and you keep on running. Buy yourself a bus ticket and disappear. Change your name, dye your hair, get lost – and then maybe, just maybe, you're gonna be safe from me."
Alastor stares at him, blood whooshing in his ears.
"Or don't," Lucifer purrs, "and I'm gonna kiss you."
For a long moment, Alastor is rendered completely speechless. He gulps and wets his lips. "God, yes," he whispers.
Lucifer chuckles darkly. "Quite the opposite." And with that he cups Alastor's face with both hands and moments later, their lips touch.
Oh, my.