Chapter Text
Horns were blaring, and voices were screeching. Lucifer has no idea why he decided to submit a job application at his daughter's 1930s-style jazz club, but he was here, and he was miserable. Lucifer hated jazz. He was more of a rock fan. However, there is no such thing as a rock club in this miserable country. Even if such a club did exist, they'd probably reject him anyway. Lucifer lost his political foothold, and this was the only job that accepted an application after the people found a distaste for him. Now he was stuck working as a bartender in a place where the music he hated was inescapable.
"Lucifer, frowning is my thing," Husk says, noticing Lucifer getting lost in his thoughts.
"Right.... 'You're never dressed without a smile,' as that asshole says." Lucifer grumbles.
Husk laughs at his coworker's misery, and Serpenctious laughs at the joke. "I don't understand how people like Alastor. He's a great musician and all, but holy hell is he a piece of work." Husk complains while illegally pouring himself a drink to chug down.
"You can say that again." Lucifer and Serpentious agree in unison.
At least his coworkers and the guests who frequented the side bar were entertaining to talk to at times. Lucifer never really cared for conversation, always preferring to be alone. However, the conversations he finds himself in help distract him from the painful sting of his failed political career and the grating sound of the jazz music that fills the air. He absolutely hated dealing with Alastor, though. The man always comes to the bar and orders a few whiskeys right after a gig merely to insult him, treat Husk like he owns him, and completely ignore Serpentious. Lucifer hoped Alastor was miserable, just like he was. The thought of it being true brought a smile to his face.
Once a couple more hours had gone by, Lucifer's break started. He went backstage to his favorite spot in the entire building. There is a roomy, quiet closet he goes into whenever his break starts. It muffles the sound of the jazz and keeps him away from the drama that seems to love following him. Being a public figure brought great dread to his everyday life. People recognize him, gossip about him all the time, and quite frankly, he wanted to bash his head against a wall and paint the area in his brain matter every time.
His break was uneventful as always. He snuck in a small bottle of apple-flavored vodka to get him through the rest of his shift. It always helps relax him so he doesn't snap at the slightest inconvenience. Once he finished his mini bottle, he walked down the hallway behind the stage. He was about to go out the door leading to the main area when a hand gripped his shoulder. Lucifer looked back to see a panicked man he didn't recognize.
"You gotta help us! Our lead singer bailed on us at the last minute, and the songs rely heavily on the vocals. Please, just sing for us, and we'll pay you lots!" the man pleads.
Lucifer was startled by this. Him? Sing? Never. "I'm not the singing type..."
His words did not seem to reach the desperate man. He drags Lucifer over to the stairs of the stage despite the fight Lucifer was putting up. The two arrive on the stage where many eyes look up at them expectantly. "This is our singer's replacement," the desperate man introduces.
Lucifer tries to get out of the situation. "Uh, no I'm n-"
"Great! Just improv the lyrics! You'll be fine!" a clarinet player says and shoves Lucifer over to the mic.
"Now, wait a mi-"
"We're starting now! 3... 2... 1... Go!" the drummer counts down.
Music starts, and Lucifer, now feeling pressure comparable to being the governor of Pride, stands there like a radio demon in headlights. He forces himself to listen to the tempo of the music and the patterns played by the alto and treble instruments. He tries to channel his inner violinist and quickly thinks up some stupid lyrics to sing. He was going to kill this band once this was all over.
Lucifer begins to sing. His voice projects nicely in the dim, crowded room. All the chatter dies down, and people stare in awe. The crowd of people can only sit and listen as the ex-politician sings his heart out. The lyrics were meaningless garble, but the people seemed to be eating it up as if it were their last meal. He looked out at the crowd and spotted Alastor sitting at his usual spot at the bar. He saw frustration painted on the man's face. He's only ever seen that smug, 'I'm better than you' look on his face. Does Lucifer being on stage make him angry? Why?
Lucifer would find the answer to that question after 15 grueling minutes of improv singing. The crowd absolutely adored his vocals. So much that he doesn't think Alastor has ever gotten this much hootin' and hollerin' before—He has never heard the crowd this loud before. A smug smirk falls upon Lucifer's lips as he realizes he can one-up that asshole. He gives the pissed-off man a wink and can basically see steam coming out of his ears. The smile Alastor forces himself to wear falters slightly.
The band goes backstage, and Lucifer follows them. The guy who initially forced him on the stage grabs Lucifer's shoulders and begs him to join their band permanently. Lucifer thinks about it for a moment. He already had a job, and he hated every minute on the stage; however, he finally had a way to compete with Alastor. He never thought it was possible. The man was spectacular at what he does. A smirk grows on Lucifer's face. He'll dethrone the prick and put an end to his little god complex. Lucifer takes the deal, and now it's his band vs Alastor's band—The Fallen Angels vs Alastor and the Hellspawns.
A warm feeling fills Lucifer's chest. He hasn't felt so... alive in a long time. He finally has something to entertain himself with. Something that isn't stuffy politics and something that isn't balancing family drama. He can finally redeem himself and rise back to the top, crushing the man he detests most in life in the process. He can almost taste the sweetness of Alastor's tears.
Lucifer gleefully skips back to the bar after getting the band's contact information and leans against the counter. Alastor was gone by the time he exited the backstage area. That disappointed Lucifer because he wanted to push the younger man's buttons. He wanted to shove his new side job in Alastor's face.
Husk raised his eyebrow at the beaming bartender. "I thought you hated jazz," Husk comments while making a drink for a patron.
"I do. I just found something... fun to do." Lucifer replies.
"You were amazing! Your voice was utterly divine!" Serpentious compliments, beaming at the older man.
"Thank you. I can't wait to beat that old-timey fuckwit at his own game." Lucifer says as he begins cleaning dirty glasses. His future is finally starting to look bright, and this time, he'll fight for it. Lucifer's life was full of mistakes, but maybe this will change that. Maybe things can be different. Maybe he can finally be happy.