Due South
. I .
As far as religious ruminations went, I figured this was something I couldn't just bring to my local clergyman.
I was sure there was a difference between dealing with metaphorical devils and spending QT with the actual Morning Star himself. I imagined Father Diamante wouldn't be very helpful with my current predicament, so like the good little blasphemer I was becoming, I took my quandary directly to Satan himself.
The nightclub Lucifer owned didn't have a name, as far as I knew. There was no sign on the front door – or any of the other entrances or exits – and when it was mentioned on the news (or, more often, in the tabloids) it was referenced as Lucifer Morningstar's night club off Cahuenga. I guess the owner's notoriety was more than enough.
At five in the afternoon on a Tuesday, the club was quiet, mostly empty, but still spectacular, in it's own right, and the man of the hour was seated at a small table just off to the left of the main floor's bar. Nursing a sweating glass of dark liquor and a subdued smile, he moved to stand, always the gentleman.
“Please,” I held my hands in front of me, “Don't bother.”
In feigned defeat, he settled back into his chair and stared blankly.
I'd hoped for a straight-forward conversation, with straight-forward answers, and so, I went for a straight-forward opening. “What exactly have I gotten myself into?”
Being met by Lucifer's raised eyebrows wasn't encouraging.
“What ever are you referring to?”
“This,” I motioned my hand between the two of us, “I need to know if this is something I can undo or if it's already too late.”
His dark eyes flickered to the right before fixing on me again. “This being...? And 'too late' for what exactly?”
I took the open seat across from him, the tiny table separating us. He sat up straighter, turning his body fully towards me. I could feel the heat emanating from his long legs against my bare knees. Reflexively, I pushed my chair back.
“Have I already damned myself,” I asked, “by just...being in your very presence?”
Lucifer sat forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepling just below his chin, lips pursing. “I would hardly describe our intimacy as you 'merely being in my presence'.”
I huffed out a breath, eyebrows knitting in frustration. “I didn't know you were the devil. Does that count for anything?”
“Can't imagine it does,” he shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Though I do recall an introduction. I specifically said, 'Lucifer, Morning Star,' and you said, 'Yeah, okay.' You do remember that bit, don't you?”
I gritted my teeth. Of course I remembered, but... “I didn't think you were the actual Lucifer. Why would I think you were actually Lucifer? What the hell?”
“Nice choice of words,” Lucifer smiled, “but that isn't really my fault, is it?”
I didn't know. I didn't know anything, but if this was to be my life now, I needed to figure out the rules, didn't I? “Fine. It's my fault. Whatever. What happens now?”
Another impossibly irritating shrug from Satan. “Nothing? I really have no idea what you're on about?”
“Am I going to get smited? Smote? Whatever. Am I on God's shitlist now? I had sex with the devil!” I hissed. “What's gonna happen to me? And what do you want from me?”
“Your company would be a nice start.”
“What?”
“If you insist on coming into my place of business and making demands and silly accusations, it would be nice if you ordered something. A drink perhaps?”
I stared at him, eyes wide with confusion, fingers jittery from a few nights of restless sleep. A drink might do some good, but I didn't want to allow him to distract me with irrelevant asides.
“If you're going to hell, love, you might as well do it thoroughly, yes? And I don't welcome sobriety in my club. Take a moment, have your drink, and then you can resume with your inane questioning and moral quagmire.”
I blinked, sighed, and felt my lips twitch into a resigned, semblance of a smile.
“I suppose you're right.”
I was sure there was a difference between dealing with metaphorical devils and spending QT with the actual Morning Star himself. I imagined Father Diamante wouldn't be very helpful with my current predicament, so like the good little blasphemer I was becoming, I took my quandary directly to Satan himself.
The nightclub Lucifer owned didn't have a name, as far as I knew. There was no sign on the front door – or any of the other entrances or exits – and when it was mentioned on the news (or, more often, in the tabloids) it was referenced as Lucifer Morningstar's night club off Cahuenga. I guess the owner's notoriety was more than enough.
At five in the afternoon on a Tuesday, the club was quiet, mostly empty, but still spectacular, in it's own right, and the man of the hour was seated at a small table just off to the left of the main floor's bar. Nursing a sweating glass of dark liquor and a subdued smile, he moved to stand, always the gentleman.
“Please,” I held my hands in front of me, “Don't bother.”
In feigned defeat, he settled back into his chair and stared blankly.
I'd hoped for a straight-forward conversation, with straight-forward answers, and so, I went for a straight-forward opening. “What exactly have I gotten myself into?”
Being met by Lucifer's raised eyebrows wasn't encouraging.
“What ever are you referring to?”
“This,” I motioned my hand between the two of us, “I need to know if this is something I can undo or if it's already too late.”
His dark eyes flickered to the right before fixing on me again. “This being...? And 'too late' for what exactly?”
I took the open seat across from him, the tiny table separating us. He sat up straighter, turning his body fully towards me. I could feel the heat emanating from his long legs against my bare knees. Reflexively, I pushed my chair back.
“Have I already damned myself,” I asked, “by just...being in your very presence?”
Lucifer sat forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepling just below his chin, lips pursing. “I would hardly describe our intimacy as you 'merely being in my presence'.”
I huffed out a breath, eyebrows knitting in frustration. “I didn't know you were the devil. Does that count for anything?”
“Can't imagine it does,” he shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Though I do recall an introduction. I specifically said, 'Lucifer, Morning Star,' and you said, 'Yeah, okay.' You do remember that bit, don't you?”
I gritted my teeth. Of course I remembered, but... “I didn't think you were the actual Lucifer. Why would I think you were actually Lucifer? What the hell?”
“Nice choice of words,” Lucifer smiled, “but that isn't really my fault, is it?”
I didn't know. I didn't know anything, but if this was to be my life now, I needed to figure out the rules, didn't I? “Fine. It's my fault. Whatever. What happens now?”
Another impossibly irritating shrug from Satan. “Nothing? I really have no idea what you're on about?”
“Am I going to get smited? Smote? Whatever. Am I on God's shitlist now? I had sex with the devil!” I hissed. “What's gonna happen to me? And what do you want from me?”
“Your company would be a nice start.”
“What?”
“If you insist on coming into my place of business and making demands and silly accusations, it would be nice if you ordered something. A drink perhaps?”
I stared at him, eyes wide with confusion, fingers jittery from a few nights of restless sleep. A drink might do some good, but I didn't want to allow him to distract me with irrelevant asides.
“If you're going to hell, love, you might as well do it thoroughly, yes? And I don't welcome sobriety in my club. Take a moment, have your drink, and then you can resume with your inane questioning and moral quagmire.”
I blinked, sighed, and felt my lips twitch into a resigned, semblance of a smile.
“I suppose you're right.”
♠ ♠ ♠
This is a thing.