Do you understand the price of a life? of a soul?

Perhaps there was a connection there, yes. But so too did she simply seem to embody the abrasive nature of a violently strummed instrument. If she were not aware of that, then she was severely lacking introspection. Not that he would be especially surprised by that - angels and those born of Heaven (created in Heaven??? Jury was still out on that) all seemed entirely too narrow in their scope of thought. They seemed to function in absolutes, almost never looking inward to their own behavior and actions.

Now, being relegated to Hell and its realities, one could only hope for the environment to broaden their horizons.

"I ask detail because instruments are not one-size-fits-all. What works for you will not work for someone else and vice versa. For example, I am quite practiced at the banjo. But I would not expect you to be familiar with its twang and rhythm."

Disregarding her insult, Alastor found himself to be haughty at the implication that he did not truly list out such options for the love of the craft. Perhaps there were ulterior motives in addition, sure. But he was a musician, too. And he would not permit her to believe otherwise.

In his hands, however, he manifested a bass guitar as mentioned, its structure and overall shape looking as one might expect. The body of it seemed to curl up into more pointed ends than an average guitar, and the colors were prominent swirls of purple, green, and a dark, almost vantablack, giving it an obvious eldritch quality.

But it functioned. And it looked quite shiny, to boot, on the parts that were illuminated with color.

And he did not immediately ask for payment, instead presenting it to her first and foremost.

"It does not require an amplifier," he stated simply, its manifested qualities able to surpass the need for such a thing and emanate the sound directly from the instrument just as it would sound otherwise.

"Give it a try."

#she had actually shed tears when her fake arm cut the strings #she had to replace it with angelic steel wire #but now knows how to play ambidexterously #just in case she wants to let loose #radioiaci #thread: quid pro quo

For the exorcists, at least, they were completely created in just one moment in time with no expectations of making any more. For those like Lute, there had been selection in keeping them rigid, ideal for successfully completing the sole purpose they were created for inspite of their divine nature: to kill without hesitation or mercy. There were exceptions, plenty that still deviated from their purpose and dreamed of a future.

But most of that was pulled out from the roots and quietly removed before it could spread to the rest of the legion. Or trained out of them.

The fraction that remained now in Hell, ironically, were the very dreamers that had been stiffled before, and Lute as the aberration.

Snooty tone aside, the exorcist’s ears perk at the mention of banjo and the underlying challenge laid there. No, she didn’t know what it was. Yes, she wanted to find out and make him eat crow about it. “Try me. I’m a quicker study than you think, big man.” While she was still being abrasive, this was probably the longest exchange the both of them shared, enough to be called a proper conversation, and so long as it remained in the neutral territory of music… It might just continue to set a new record.

The manifested guitar holds her rapt attention the moment it solidifies, catching her breath as her eyes greedily study it. Perhaps for the first time, something softens. Not much. Not unless you had been staring for a change as Alastor had been. But around the eyes and mouth, there’s some on this side of reverance, or maybe nostaglia.

The old one she used to have was a matte black with decorative prongs around the body, and while the coloration and placement were dissimilar, it passed enough to make her covet it. Covet it enough that she was unable to sheild the emotion completely in her distraction. Enough that the moment permission was granted, her hands were already moving to take it.

It slides into her hold with ease, the weight familar as her arms move to cradle it like something precious; a delicacy perhaps not expected from someone primarily sharp and jagged in her behavior. The strings are tested first on their strength, before she changes sides to prevent her metal claws from accidentally snapping the cords before they could be replaced with something sturdier. Lute had learnt the hard way the first time she tried played with after the battle.

This one rumbles like it was made to roar, barely taking a flick to speak its mind and sending frission coursing along Lute’s skin, the vestigial feathers fluffing up. She adjust it, and then plays, for the first time since she came down here, and forgets herself for half a blissful minute.

rurush

#{ visage }#{ adam }

"Specifics, then, is what will help in such cases."

Just to be a bit of a bastard - as though he were not already doing that with the incessant needling of what she wanted. Or needed. But it was not so overt that she could find justification in complaining to the princess, if she were to grow annoyed enough by him. Alastor was well-practiced at toeing the line.

And no, he did not necessarily have to blink, if he did not want to. For some time.

Her stare given to his shadow was a bit funny, and the creature seemed to notice her fixation on it, spiriting away the silhouettes of the other instruments before spawning the requested guitar. The one the shadow seemed to be pantomiming with, however, was an acoustic. Likely not what she was looking for specifically.

"Ah-hah. You do strike me as the type," Alastor said smugly, as though that meant anything at all. It really did not, but the knowing intonation of his words were likely to prickle further.

Such a fun hobby this was.

"More specifics then- What type of guitar do you seek? Acoustic? Six-string? Classical? Archtop? Electric? Twelve-string? Double-neck? Steel? I could go on."

Perhaps it too was the smallest flex of his own musical familiarity and prowess. He was not just a radio host, after all, but a musical connoisseur when it suited him. Even if guitar was not his instrument of choice, one of his preferred options, the banjo, was not far off.

#radioiaci #thread: quid pro quo

‘Because of Adam?’ She thought, though the words never passed her lips, instead pursing them together in a thin dark line. Her arms twitch in an aborted gesture to cross them; no, it’s better to stay still. To not give even the smallest sign — but all the little movements and stiffening, no doubt it gives away all these crumbs to be picked up. Bitterness sharpens her tongue instead.

“Take a guess, genius. Since you can figure me out so well.”

All these names are a bit beyond her — some sound familiar, passingly, as ones mentioned in old conversation long gone in an office she left in ruin. Others sound entirely made up. Maybe they were. Lute isn’t unfamiliar with people that loved to hear the sound of their own voice and weilded it to the long-suffering aggravation of others.

The shadow was given another unsettled glance, before flipping it back to the still unblinking stare levied on her person. She’d rather take her chances back here, honestly, and avoid getting lost in her own head. Dangerous, with the company currently being humored.

“Bass. Six-strings suit me fine. You’re asking a lot of detail for this to be anything casual. There’s a catch to this; someone like you would want to wait and see just how much you can pressure me to pay, I’ll bet. And then act all annoyingly innocent about it. Cut the crap.”

There was also the possibility that he was doing this to get her interested, just to refuse for his own entertainment, having no intention on ever giving her anything. Alastor appeared sadistic enough for such a thing. Lute was betting on his greed being enough for him to think on an offer — if it was good.

Something more precious than a soul she didn’t have.

...His ears are really starting to pin back at this point, emotions swirling within as she talks to him--trying to offer 'advice' on what she thinks is the problem here. He figures she must be speaking from her own experience here. But there's just a fundamental misunderstanding of his actual plight.

--A plight in which he didn't even talk to deeply about even with the two other Cherubs that were here. What...would she get? She wouldn't understand.

ꕥ✧∘* “…I don't have some weird…fantasy about Heaven. Unlike most of the populace, I actually struggled and had to work my butt off just to get by." He scoffs, kicking his hoof out. “…Wasted years of my life putting in the work, only to get discarded like I never meant anything to begin with.” There's a bitter laugh. “Wouldn't surprise me if they got some new mascots for the company at this point.”

#*needles him more*#angelichooves #thread: valentine heart break

Lute clicked her tongue, “I meant the people. Your progress. The things you value that you can’t get here. Your reasons for struggling and working your ass off.” This is out of her element, and there’s some frustration that she’s not able to articulate what she wanted to say, nor knew the cherub well enough to know what was eating at him. This is stupid. But they were getting somewhere, maybe.

“Do you regret it? Obviously not happy how it turned out, no one wants to be down here.” There was little overlap between the exorcists and the cherubs; a private army needed to keep on the downlow after all, and the little suckers were notoriously chatty up there. Some of it was a guise, performative for the job, but then there were ones like this guy. A bit of bite to them if prodded the right way. “Before then, was it worth it? Family, career, friends; Mr. Disenfranchised?”

immortal-jaded-rabbit

A flicker of mild disappointment crossed Lua's face seeing the gummies go untried, but the gruff compliment from testing the lemon cookies quickly erased that feeling. The sight of Lute going from a cautious nibble to full on devouring the rest had Lua beaming with pride. Moments like these always made all the effort worth it. Glad those skills hadn't rusted over her years of being a hermit and doing only the obligated bare minimum. Catering to so many possible tastes in the hotel was a challenge within itself. Gazing at the tables set up just so the sinner could deliver them easier, most did end up having a preference for her brownies and bonbons. That just meant more for those who favored the less popular choices.

Throwing them out was out of the equation.

"You can have a couple more if you'd like~" the smiling white rabbit suggested with ease, "As long as I got the ingredients, I can always make more. Though you'd have to wait till the next day for the tarts. I let'em cherries soak in rum overnight 'fore I cook'em to get that lil spiced kick."

The way she explained to the ex-soldier made her love for baking blatantly obvious. There was just something about getting to share it with others that filled her with joy. Lute should expect a whole pie for her next birthday.

#immortal jaded rabbit #thread: too sweet for me

Disappointment or not, it would take more than the small good will between them to have Lute mess anything apple-related. It was a point of pride beyond simple distaste, to be better meant not falling for the same willful choices as the First and Second traitors did by messing with the fruit. Even if modern day apples were not the same — Lute abstained.

The rest certainly wouldn’t have anything leftover. Give her an hour and all those tarts would vanish, surreptitiously thieved when no one was watching her.

“Rum…” The word is rolled around thoughtfully, vaguely familiar but not anything she was acquainted with enough to know what it was. A drink or sauce of some kind, clearly. Lute hadn’t been much for baking aside from bread, partially because she didn’t have a sweet tooth and neither had Adam, the pair of them preferring more savory dishes to combat the overabundance of sweetness that seemed inescapable. She knew enough to share conversation, however.

“I like it. It doesn’t overpower the fruit, and it isn’t just sugar. Next time you make a batch, fetch me. I’ll assist.” And sample things early, no doubt. Cook’s rights.

Actually, now that she had the moon-rabbit in one place with the rest distracted… the exorcist reachs up to her breast pocket and pulls out a small pullstring baggie with her metal hand, the little fabric loops plucked up between sharp claws. “Put out your hand.”

She was good. Perhaps not at playing along with the Morningstar's overarching plans for her presence, but decent enough at shielding her expression from anything other than vitriol. No disappointment or easy-to-access emotional range upon which he could latch, though Alastor was not foolish enough to believe that it was not present, spoken in the way she said nothing for a good while under his scrutinizing, and challenging, gaze.

Alastor's eyes remained upon her as she seemed to avoid them, acknowledging only the piano instead. An easier thing to focus on, he imagined, while he stared her down with something just shy of malicious intent.

The crumb was in the avoidance. But he would not say as much.

"An instrument shop in a hotel would be a strange addition. But if it's entertainment you beg for -" Or something that would keep her otherwise dangerous hands from being used impulsively, "-I could always oblige."

The radio demon's head tilted in one direction, almost animalistic and off-kilter in the way he maintained his stare. Lacking of light or liveliness though his eyes were, it did not make it any less jarring to be so pinpointed in his deadened sight.

He would not allude to there being a price for his assistance.

Everyone knew that.

"What were you hoping to browse for, exactly? Woodwinds, strings, percussion?" From behind him, as if to illustrate, his shadow peered up from its perch against the wall, forming little silhouettes of each type of instrument as he stated them. It might be comical if the independence of the shadow itself was not a bit alarming in its own right.

#radioiaci #thread: quid pro quo

Well, if it was one thing she hated, it was being made to feel like an idiot.

“I know that,” Lute contested hotly, shoulders growing tense as her back prickled. “I meant outside of this damn place. And I’m not begging for anything.”

She could leave — in a limited sense. Not for long and not without some consequence. Every step away from the property gates was another link on the chain pulling taunt, wearing away at her resolve and tightening around her neck the longer and farther away she was out. So far she could only stand it for an angry and miserable five hours before returning back to her dressed up prison. Begrudging. It’s a limited measure of resistance, but it was all she had.

Being snappish was easier than focusing on her own unease with this weird bastard. The staring was beginning to needle at her. Did he ever fucking blink??

There’s a retort on the tip of her tongue, lips parting to say — something. However, nothing but a soft exhale leaves as the dark shade behind him twitches and starts to move. Just what in these damned seven hells is she supposed to do about that?? It’s too uncanny, worse, it’s some intangible thing that reminds her a bit too much of the very spectre she had been attempting to distract herself from in the first place.

Was it even real? Or were these visions only getting worse the longer she spent here?

Swallowing, throat tight, Lute grits out, “Guitar. Not that I see you getting anything out of it. I don’t do demonstrations.”

Those ears of his starts to go back, lips pressing together as claws dig into his clothes slightly. What the hell did she actually need to be frustrated about here? Sure, he said some rather bold things, but to get /this/ sort of reaction?? And then that whole coward thing too--!

...

Wait.

✥✧∘* "...Hold on." He leans back. "...You were actually serious about bedding me prior." He realizes, clocking that as the most reasonable explanation. "Is this...one of those 'hate fuck' situations? Because otherwise, why would you ever bother saying any of what you did?"

#progress…? maybe WHEEZE #angelichooves #thread: attention whores and moody sluts

“I told you, I don’t lie.” Lute’s eying him now, wary. She thought she had been clear before, but maybe not? It had been some time since the conversation happened… Not the first time signals had been crossed, leaving her confronted with the fact that… communication was not a strong point outside of professionalism or being antagonistic, intentionally or otherwise.

“I don’t particularly hate you, either. Like I mentioned before, I dislike you least of all, and if that opportunity arose, I would. You made it fairly clear you weren’t interested, so I dropped it.” Squint. “If you meant back then, it was because the rest were discussing the topic. If it’s now, it’s because you decided to dig into my preferences. I don’t enjoy being made a fool of.”

...Excuse the hell out of her? It makes him cross his arms, eyes glaring at her now.

✥✧∘* "...I am not a coward. It's not my fault you're getting huffy over me teasing you!" Yes, he doesn't care if that's not completely logical. "This is what I'm saying when I called you moody before...! Things offend you with no rhyme or reason half the time...!"

#angelichooves #thread: attention whores and moody sluts

“You start something, and when you get a real answer you back the fuck out.” Him far less than a lot of people she’s surrounded by, but that only meant that she started to develop expectations. So when certain topics came up where he pushed the line forward, just to backtrack when she met him at the same level, it rankled.

“I’m not offended, I’m frustrated. Enough I want to kick your ass or get put down trying. I was made moody, I’ll give you that. I just thought you could handle your own just fine since you’re same fucking way. I like that, up until you bring up some damn topic where you look at me like I’m beneath you when I answer like I always do.”

Oh. That does give him noticeable pause. He genuinely expected her to get pissy and annoyed at what he was saying, and instead she...did this. It had be bait right? Such a conflicting woman.

✥✧∘* "What was that supposed to be?" His grin tightens, deciding to respond to that instead of ignoring it like his gut told him to do. "Is that you putting your fantasies out on what you wish to do to me? Feels oddly...specific.

#angelichooves #thread: attention whores and moody sluts

The look she shoots him is absolutely withering.

"It's a challenge and a warning, host. I'm not the type to fantasize, I'm the type to act. However, I'm not the desperate slut you seem to think I am despite not knowing a damn thing about me. Don't start shit with me if you can't follow through. I despise cowards."

And unfortunately, she cared enough about his opinions that it actually got under her skin.

✥✧∘* "...This isn't about 'caring' about anything! It's just a mindless little conversation to indulge in--an act we've been doing since you've started to bother me to begin with. Don't act like this is brand new for us."

#she's got a bite to her #angelichooves #thread: attention whores and moody sluts

Oh, was that it? That's the game he was going to play? Fine then. He better not complain when she complies with that and matches his energy.

Mindless, he says, after getting her stirred up. Prick.

Lute steps up, significantly closing the distance between them and tilts her chin in proud defiance. "You're right, it's not. In that case, why don't I humor it, yeah? I don't really care about sex, or how it's done, it's just a tool to let out tension. No need to speculate when I could just tell you that I like it best when it's someone that can keep up and doesn't pussyfoot around about what they want either. Gentle, rough, who gives a fuck? Not you, even if I would do you. You're not on the menu, last I checked, unless you want me to go down on you until your legs buckle."

She holds that stare before releasing the tension with a scoff, easing back with a hand running through her hair as she breaks eye contact. "Anyway, mindless shit, right? Nothing new."

✥✧∘* "Oh please, it's quite clear what you like from looking at you from first glance." He holds up two fingers. "Either you're some freak in the sheets and like only violence and roughness, or you're a secret 'soft girl' who likes gentleness." He snorts. "Though, even if the latter were the case, I doubt you've had much of it, if at all. You girls are a rather aggressive bunch. It's probably all you've ever known."

#she's like “I'm not mad but wtf man”#angelichooves #thread: attention whores and moody sluts

Just... what is she supposed to say to that? Just where was this conversation even going?? Lute is flummoxed, and ironically blinking at him like a deer in the headlights. He still isn't wrong, per se — but why was he so intent? Was it from scenting some blood in the water? The statement before had been a little flustering, now it went back to being some sort of verbal spar.

"....why do you care? It isn't so simple as that. You seem invested for something that doesn't interest you. Or like you've been thinking a lot on what might interest me."

immortal-jaded-rabbit

She'll take it. Progress is progress, after all! Lua gestures to the other platter that had some neatly presented gift bags with what looks like green hearts, boxed up mini red tarts, and some yellowish cookies.

"I've got sour apple gummies, sour cherry tarts, and Italian lemon cookies. Figuring out how to make gummies was harder than I thought but I think I got it down at the end. They're the most sour of the bunch and the cookies are the least but still on the less than sweet side. Oh but the tarts have a lil somethin extra to spice it up. Feel free to try all three~!" she proclaimed proudly. The tarts had a faint scent of rum suggesting the cherries had been soaking in it for a while. Overall, it was blatantly obvious how much thought she put into everything, trying to make enough things that will appeal to a variety of tastes.

Deep down, there was a bit of nervousness in what others would think. Ironic, considering how much she tries not to care and discourage people pleasing. Despite it all, she waited patiently for Lute to make her choice with her hands behind her back. She did greatly appreciate her direct (and often brutal) honest.

#she really really likes cherries #doesn’t seek it out but will always accept when offered them #immortal jaded rabbit #thread: too sweet for me

Lute scopes the selection offered with hawkish eyes, wary of the green hearts once the flavor was revealed. Between the cookies and the tarts, she’s not completely sure which she wants to try more; cherries are preferred but she doesn’t know what’s meant by ‘extra’… and she’s not much a fan of sweets, so the cookies bring some pause. Her eyes flicker up, studying the counselor’s face, before finally making a selection for the cookies first. Poison or malice wouldn’t be a concern here, but she wasn’t about to lie to spare feelings.

It seemed Lua was at least braced for that.

Her teeth sink cleanly through, the cookie giving away like soft sand underfoot. The faint taste of lemons tingle on her tastebuds, present but not overbearing. It’s only a little sweet, barely any when compared to some of the overbearingly sugary desserts from up top. She would give it a solid 8 out of 10 for a score. It makes her want something to drink with it and she prefers hard biscuit-like cookies. However, it tasted good and she wouldn’t turn down a second one. “I’m surprised more of these aren’t taken already. Everyone else like sugar that much?”

The exorcist selects a tart next, examining it. Lute’s no coward, but the word ‘extra’ still hovers in her mind like a forewarning.

She takes a cautious bite, and without any input on her end, her typically impassive face lightens up around the eyes, pleasantly surprised. She’s not outright smiling, but the subtle change was as good as one. Lute takes another bite, polishing it off and cheeks puffed from chewing…. if she was given the go ahead, there’s no doubt she’d immediately go for another tart.

She was not the first to wish him dead and she would certainly not be the last, the small twitch of that hand drawing his attention but briefly. His expression in return was something akin to a dare - as though he were silently willing her to make a move and see what happens. Neither would benefit from such an encounter, he knew, but that did not stop Alastor from wishing to whet his appetite on a so-called holy being; to sup on that blood and rid the princess of the the burden that was harboring an exorcist, of all things.

He had quite the imagination, pulled from it as she seemed to work the tension from her jaw to ease it enough to speak aloud.

Alastor did not believe her level of sincerity, but he did not interrupt, regardless, the sound of the frequencies which hovered in the background of his presence crackling with amusement as she grit out her statement.

He knew he was not better - not from any moral standpoint.

But he was much better at wearing the guise of wool; a wolf among sheep who had learned to walk in the same cadence of their hooves as the Lieutenant trod clumsily through the herd.

"I created it," the radio demon finally admitted, knowing full well that it was not the answer she likely wanted. A hand raised, he snapped fingers to produce the very same piano, small by most standards and oddly colored, dappled with strange patterns and symbols along the faux wood grain that lined its body.

Alastor's eyes did not leave her. Not now that he knew there was something she wanted.

"A musical sort, are you?" He asked, teeth exposed in that lingering, predatory grin. The answer was an obvious one; but he was setting the stage, as it were.

There never was a true end when it came to living as a deal maker.

#gnawing on his face rn #radioiaci #thread: quid pro quo

Her face doesn’t fall — but it does grow blank, the hot molten gold in her eyes dulling in her disappointment as she studies his manifestation. It meant a dead end, and that faint flicker of anticipation snuffing itself out. Lute doesn’t allow herself to wallow in it, not here where there was most certainly at least one pair of eyes looking for a hint of weakness. It was a tell in itself for her face to smooth over; beyond that, the nature of what she was trying to hide was left for onlooker speculation.

Lute does not know the depths Alastor’s darkness seeps beneath the surface, or his full capabilities beyond short glimpses in a battle from several months past. She does not know how much of a fatal mistake it was not to be wary of him as ‘just another demon’ instead of an individual. It was a matter of when and not if she discovered that.

“…a handsome piece,” she acknowledged, eyes tracing over the wooden and its unrecognizable (to her) carved symbols. The style looks garishly out of place in the swanky ritzy interior of the Hotel; though appreciation can still be spared to a little ruggedness. It’s an excuse to not meet his eyes, though she can feel the weight of his own plenty.

If he was looking for entertainment at her expense, she had no intention of giving him even a crumb.

“Not really. Not enough to use that as a descriptor.” Since, typically, that was something she kept entirely private. The situation forced her hand to make a gamble, and it was a risk lost for nothing at the expense of her pride and sharing a tiny detail much rather kept hidden. Everything down here was a weakness, and like it or not, Lute was starting to wear thin of self control. She diverts, “This was the least annoying option. To all that pushing to ‘do something’ with myself. I figured if there was shop, I could browse. And it would stop the relentless nagging in my ear.”

Not just Charlie or Vaggi, but if that’s who Alastor presumed she meant to drown out, she wasn’t striving to correct him on that front.

There's this laugh--for more than one reason alone here.

✥✧∘* "Oh no, not in the slightest." Of course the truth was more 'embarrassing' than that depending on who you asked. "But you know--I figured you wouldn't get anything. You're more likely to get an egg in the face, or someone trying their luck to attack you..." He rests his face on his hand at this point. "Sooo...here." He spawns in a spiked bracelet, and plops it on her lap.

#HOLLERING #she’s trying to keep it cool before the boogeyman shows up again #angelichooves #thread: couched company

Hm. Interesting. It’s filled away for later examination but not too awfully strange. Perhaps the king wanted a statement piece and Alastor was simply convienent to use as arm candy. How that conversation went down and how Alastor had been convinced would have been fun to know for herself, though.

She wasn’t surprised at the minor dig, that was normal for the two of them and it was true, however, for the man to turn it around and actually give her something… Lute can’t quite compute that, staring down at her lap where it rested innocently.

Using her real hand, touch careful, the braclet is examined with a sharp eye — the exorcist can’t detect it being anything other than what it appeared to be, a simple conjured accessory… freely given on a whim, just because. She’s trying not to think about it too hard, how she felt about it. It wasn’t safe to do so out where there were so many eyes… and she was loathe, in that moment, to disturb the security of their typical dynamic.

Lute originally makes to place it on her metal arm beside a certain halo — just to change a mind last second after a pause, placing it on her real one instead. There’s obviously no feeling in her prosthetic, but it feels as if it’s burning. “….Just full of surprises today. I hadn’t brought anything at all.”

...Uh-oh. Looks like he's amused now. He's switched to being amused.

✥✧∘* "Hoo, did I hit some sort of target there? You seemed to focus so strongly on the last thing I said." Does--he joke? He's going to joke. He's going to do it. "Because from my eyes, being back handed seems like something you'd like. A slutty angel like you seems like she loves pain."