The First Of The Fallen

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[Uriel]
Are you tired yet?

Yahweh's assassin angels stay at Lux awhile, and because Lord Lightbringer is a gracious host (as opposed to Host), he spends some time sitting and speaking with them. They're mere shadows of what they used to be, just two when once they were numberless winged housekeepers, ruthless in their efficiency. Lucifer watches unblinking when the Memitim take their leave. Something which is not a smile curves the corner of his mouth; he's thought about taking the same exit for ages now. And why hasn't he? Because it wouldn't work. Not for him. Not with Yahweh so comfortably ensconced and adamant about His Plan.

Heaven would need to be stormed for escape to be a possibility as opposed to a fancy. Their Father's attention would have to be diverted away from His favored children and that great ineffable cycle would require breaking.

Of course, that's what impetuous renegade Kings are for, are they not? Lucifer touches Mazikeen's cheek before he sends her away on business. Pride may be his greatest sin, but patience is his strong suit. His time will yet come.

Here is the stark reality: Lucifer doesn't care.

Not about Heaven, not about Hell, certainly not about restless Horsemen or reincarnated saints. The Morningstar's apathy for God and His creations is near-absolute. Sins and Virtues are merely tools made flesh; Horsemen, too. The Host are automatons parroting The Word -- even those that have Fallen from Grace. With Satan he has built a perpetual motion machine called Hell, and has ensured that it is capable of running under its own power long after Satan leaves to constantly test God's favored children and Lucifer himself decides "No more."

He watches Christianity's going-ons -- and more than that, the pantheons as well, though from a thoughtful distance -- not because he is a schemer, but because he is a curious opportunist. And at the back of Lord Lightbringer's mind, there is always a plan.

No torch songs tonight. There will be new music.

There's a tiny silver bell left with Soledad's belongings, and once rung it chimes with sweet, sharp music which reminds her of children (the ones she'll never have). Lucifer's mortal familiar doesn't ask questions of his consort -- she accepts the "gift" in silence, sitting alone for some time with the bell cradled between her laced hands.

There are no tears while Soledad stares down at it. That wellspring dried up ages ago, and all she has left for Lucifer, Mazikeen and the others is dust.

Lucifer acknowledges Duke Zepar's gala invitation only because two of the demon's legionnaires appear at his door and insist upon a response. Their fate is as unfortunate as their timing; the Morningstar had intentions of a productive afternoon with Mazikeen by his side, and Zepar's underlings interrupted.

When they return to their master, both are shaken and leaking from the eyes. They're not entirely sure if they've escaped or not, and can't stop looking over their numerous shoulders. Zepar rubs his chin contemplatively at the vague not-answer, sure that the other shoe has yet to drop. He's right. Topside, Lucifer makes a point of recovering a spoiled afternoon.

( Though it seems convention we've been scorning. )

Last night's closing song was "Aren't You Kind Of Glad We Did?" There was no encore.

Waiting for Mazikeen when she next visits Lux: A single penny sitting at the edge of Lucifer's preferred table. Copper like Mazikeen's hair, bright as the Morningstar himself, it's the only sign of Hell's disaffected Emperor; he's taken wing again.

In light of population control issues amidst other dealings, Lux will be relocating. Its doors will be open to all and sundry, as before.

We'll be open for business starting Friday evening. Los Angeles has been notified.

Lux burned to the ground during the Morningstar's most recent absence. If he's deigned to notice, he certainly hasn't said as much. Soledad has tended to everything -- the fire department, the police department, the insurance company, all of it has been addressed by the mortal woman. As unfazed as her master, she's fielded the obvious "Ma'am, your boss is... where, exactly?" suspicions with a deft hand.

In the meantime, real estate negotiations begin elsewhere. The once-Lux is swept clean of all debris until it is once more a bare bones plot of land. And in Texas, Mammon receives a package by courier: a wooden box, knots sanded smooth until it shines brassy and bright. Inside amidst folds of linen are a pair of vivid blue eyes.

The message is as clear as it is unimpressed.

As always, Lord Lightbringer remains largely unaffected by the rest of the world's going-ons. His mortal familiar is tasked with continuing to run Lux as well as other assorted errands, and Lucifer continues to regularly dispatch Mazikeen for a variety of tasks. By and large, they relate to his own interests -- speak with so-and-so, bring me such-and-such, but occasionally she is told to look toward Hell's doings and report back.

As for Heaven, well. Lucifer is more than capable of watching that part of the game board himself.

[Locked to the Host]
Smile.

When Mazikeen next swings by Lux, there will be a rabbit's foot waiting for her at the Morningstar's private table. Pinned beneath it is a note. "Find the Hellmouth," it reads. Lucifer himself is up on the roof, watching the dawn roll in.

Approval does not come through garish displays. Reward, however, may be another thing altogether.

More than 50 churches snatched off the market and desecrated or left to gather dust by the same two men.

Shocking there has not been a great and holy gnashing of teeth.

Fifty-one churches in foreclosure. The same buyer for all of them.

Hm.

Waiting for Mazikeen when she arrives at Lux: One large feather, and a thin piece of leather reminiscent of a bat's wing.

Mind the locks, Soledad. Lux remains open.

Behave yourselves.

( [Metatron] )

Very cute.

The following deliveries are made by courier throughout Monday. The delivery agents are all mortal, all insolent, and all completely untouchable; they cannot be harmed. There aren't any notes, and the items delivered smack less of gifts and more idle thoughts.

( Items are as follows: )

Mr. Lux is currently missing unavailable. I'll be taking his calls and relaying his messages in the meantime.

( [Private] )

An as-yet unclaimed prize. Who knew the denizens of Hell were so abstemious?

"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here."

So it would seem.

[Private]
Hm.

Your sense of humor concerning Halloween costumes could afford some work, Soledad.

Find out which musicians are on the agenda tonight. If you have too much time on your hands, you could have just asked for drudge work.

I need more Mouton-Rothschild, Soledad. Make it 1945, and make the necessary calls.

If I had realized that a secular holiday and a ship were all that was needed to stop constant complaints, there would have been invitations to board a schooner on a lake of fire. Imagine the headaches we would have been spared.

[Locked from Lucifer]
He did not stop playing for very long tonight. But it was strange, the look on his face when he glanced up halfway through the evening. No notes dropped, and no surprise at all. Anticipation, I suppose. Is that what it was?

I should worry, if he is anticipating anything. And yet I think that might be all he does, else he would not be him.

When we had closed and I was running the numbers, he stopped by for a moment. "There is nothing to concern yourself with, Soledad. Just a changing of the guards."

No matter what he says, it is never comforting. I know he doesn't mean for it to be. And still.

Lux will be open as of this Friday evening. The bar is, as I have been informed, ready come Hell or high water. His sense of humor...

There isn't to be any publicity. It opens cold, and whomever shows, shows. Mr. Lux insists that those who have want or need of the place will be able to find it. Knowing him, that is probably as close to an invitation as will ever be sent out.

All orders are in. The electrician has given the all-clear. Most importantly, the piano is in place.

The immediate staff has been hired and trained, but he'll we'll be taking some stragglers' resumes for the hostess and bartender positions. It's not quite right yet. Not quite perfect.

On the plus side, Mr. Lux hasn't asked me to interview for any singers.

And a new day dawns.

( [Private] )

Lux will be operational within a week. The building is charted, the permits have been acquired, and furniture will be delivered after the electrician finishes work.

Now it's just finding the proper place for the piano.