@ducktastic-dad ⧐ plumes of white feathers rustle leafy vines, breaking the curtain that shields the hollow they stick halfway out of. lucifer's hands remain anything but idle, from plushing up the bedding of moss below the bedsheets to fluffing the pillows, adding some additional cushions to the pile, replacing the thick woolen blanket with a fresh alternative, and then some. his fussing for the details is all in a bit of a rush, but he takes care in knowing alastor will soon be seeing it.
semi-frequently does lucifer turn around and poke his head out, casting an alert gaze over towards the more furnished part of the radio demon's room. they've been in the bath a bit longer than he expected ... but considering the mood alastor is in, he decides against interrupting their alone time. ( while they still have it, anyway. ) though it would not be the first time he has stuck his nose where it was unwanted, and will very likely do so again, this time is different. alastor does not say it, because he does not need to. lucifer can tell well enough on his own.
he does not know the specifics of alastor's day, nor did he outright ask ; plenty enough to see the glowering strain in their smile, and hear the static-laden distress in their voice. the devil is no stranger to the days, rare as they might be, that leave the radio demon looking like a wilting willow deprived of its sunlight.
nothing a little r&r can't fix, right ? ... totally ... yeah, he's never been too good at this. but he drew it with good intent, used up some fancy bath salts ( non-edible, dear, ) and the dried petals of flowers he knows to be native to new orleans ; the distinctive yellow and red of plains coreopsis gently scattered above the water. it is a toss of the coin whether they would notice such a thing, but the gesture is purposeful all the same.
dotted along the path from the bathroom door to the bayou are tiny flowers of a similar shape, lit up like tightly-wound particles of gold itching to burst. should alastor decide to investigate them, their very purpose, they are intent on doing just that, dispersing into tiny shimmering puffs and ceasing to exist. sure it's a bit flashy, but as a trail of breadcrumbs, he figures it'll do.
lucifer runs down his mental checklist with a bite of his lip, some semblance of a physical anchor to keep him on track. fancy bath ? check. cozy nook ? check. snacks ? ... maybe he'll wait until he can ask what they're in the mood for. how about some music ? as far as he's aware, that's totally like ... at least a quarter of their personality ! alastor loves music ! or radios, more specifically, but to lucifer the association goes hand-in-hand.
and it just so happens he's been brushing up on some old favorites. he waits, patiently, fidgeting with a little apple-shaped radio he's conjured to nestle between some pillows. surely by the time alastor has left the bathroom lucifer is done with his restless shuffling among the nest, and the radios throughout the room crackle to life with song. a melody that begins chipper, perhaps a little unfitting for their mood.
he hopes his softened vocals will not make it quite so jarring, when they accompany the antique speakers. if the flowers do not entice alastor to follow, the sound that carries from the bayou will, fingers crossed.
UNPROMPTED ASKS.
Warmth floods his limbs, still hidden beneath the surface of the water that has been quite thoroughly prepared him to settle in for quite some time, his eyes shut as he convalesces after the day he's had. The last several days, in fact, have worn at him exponentially, having spent it in the company of less-than-desirables who had put him both physically and mentally through the wringer. He's yet to express exactly the goings-on to Lucifer... but it seems as though perhaps he need not, his expression and mood enough to communicate that whatever comfort and relaxation the devil can offer will be appreciated.
He has noticed the selection of flowers that still linger within the tub along with him - recognizing them as what he might refer to as golden tickseed. It's a cute detail that he imagines took a bit of research on the other's end... and it further cements that he is being pampered for a reason. Whether Lucifer feels guilty or simply wants to provide a safe harbor... it does not quite matter in the moment. Not with relaxation seeping through his joints as he saps whatever heat remains from the bath.
Though he cannot stay in there all night.
At some point, the sound of music reaches his ears, causing them to flick amid his curled hair as eventually he pushes himself up to his feet. The aches remain, but they are alleviated just a bit as he steps out to dry himself off and at least tug on some lounge pants. A shirt seems uncomfortable at the moment, so Alastor chooses to go bare torso when he finally leaves the confines of the bathroom, the humidity sweeping from it as he steps out, almost trodding on one of the little flowers that has been left to guide his path onward towards the nest in the bayou where the music stems from. There is no doubt Lucifer is inside, having prepared for Alastor's eventual arrival.
He leans to pluck one of those little flowers up into his hands with curiosity, giving it a small pinch with his claws which then sends it scattering into little sparks of gold. The particles dazzle in the air before him and Alastor cannot help but give a small, airy breath of a chuckle.
Of course. Always the showman.
Though the cloud over his head is not entirely dissipated, the lingering essence of Lucifer's magic brightens him just a touch, opting to leave the other flowers to remain where they have been strewn in a path towards the hollow and the evidence of Lucifer's wings which flutter near to the entrance.
He will have to peer around them as he hovers in close, a hand reaching out to gently trail a claw over some of the feathers that flutter here or there in his vision.
"Hard at work, I see," Alastor says in a low acknowledgement of the other's efforts, his ears tuning into the song and melody that sweeps from the little apple-themed (because of course it is) radio that hovers amid the nest he's prepared for they two. It is a bit chipper, yes, but Alastor does recognize the singer and the lyrics, to boot. They are quite the saccharine option, but Lucifer has always been a bit sappy in that way.
For the moment... he does not mind it. Especially knowing that Lucifer seems keen to offer his own melodical talents to the atmosphere; a thing Alastor doubly does not mind, given how rather attached he now is to the devil's voice. Oh, it certainly grates at times. When they banter and rattle each other's attitudes back and forth. But here and now, it is a balm.
Stepping inside the prepared place, Alastor does not wait to be invited in, clambering past those ruffled wings and planting himself directly into the blankets and pillows with a deep inhale and exhale, feeling his limbs begin to gradually succumb to a sort of gentle cataplexy.
He will not want to move for a week.
"Come here. Let me see your feathers," he hums lightly, having noticed at least a few feathers that could use a small bit of preening. Or giving them a gentle tug to pull them free so that new ones can grow in their place. (And so he can, perhaps, hoard the fallen feathers for himself as he likes to do.) But so too is it an excuse to bring the other close in, making it much simpler a task to get arms around him once the wings have been addressed and Alastor finds his energy sweeping low to the point where he only has an interest in shutting his eyes and appreciating the soft expanse of the nest Lucifer has prepared for him.
The closeness between them is an added bonus. A little bright spot on an otherwise dense and clouded day.
A part of him misses the sun - the warm rays of a hot and muggy southern evening back when he'd been alive.
But perhaps Lucifer's warmth can make for a rather effective substitute.
dededos
annaxmalina
areudirty
origamiaround
discoholicmusic
janainaart
