#rep: babylon

[speakof]

Coronet

Location: é by José Andrés Date: 7pm, June 9th, 2017 Availability: @motherofabominations

Lucifer was still feeling the aches and pains from his jaunty outing with Satan, but looked much better than the demoted demon, he’d bet on it. It was harder to heal without wings and Lucifer was still his own highest divinity. All that being said, he still had a badass scar across his eyebrow and his sides still felt pangs of anything but regret. But definitely pain. He was in condition, at this point, to do what needed to be done: give Babylon what she had earned. Especially with Belial becoming War and Abaddon’s turncoat, it was important that he fill the Prince shoes in a timely fashion. Gressil was hellbound—at least someone was on the right plane of existence, thankfully—but that still left Lures open and Chaos eventually impending.

He had invited Babylon to visit him in Vegas on this fine Friday evening. Last time, she had preferred to dine in, but this time, in celebration, he figured they’d go out. Last time, he’d offered to inconvenience Chef José Andrés with a little-notice drop-in which would have undoubtedly usurped some human’s dream meal; this time, he’d made reservations in advance. To the point where they wouldn’t even be dining with 6 other strangers—instead, it would be just them in the intimate setting. They were in a room with a wall that resembled a card catalogue, the light honeying everything a golden hue, with the best innovative Spanish cuisine this side of the border. He did hope she would like it.

Babylon was due to join him any moment; he straightened his tie and stood beside one of the chairs, ready to pull it out for her upon arrival.

[speakof]

Godfather

Location: Mansion Entryway Date: March 25th, 2017 Availability: @abominacion, @catastrophically-aware

After the introduction, people were whisked this way and that by graces who were helping the evening run smoothly; part waitstaff, part actor, they seamlessly shifted revellers to their starting points, from which they’d be free thereafter to explore the grounds. Renee had asked for rooms with morality plays in them—little temptations here and there to have people test their own mettle against their own minds. Each room its own sin, its own temptation—and within each, new curiosities to help open people into their own possibilities, see—if only for a night—what it might be like to be someone other than who they were, other than their current choices. For Renee, it was a celebration of sin; for Lucifer, it was a celebration of freedom, of free will.

Six people were left unattended, for he himself to approach. The dapper host descended the stairs with that magnetic smile, his voice always holding a note of persuasion—not out of artifice, but because that was something it innately held, a gift of divinity. Gods and Devils, two sides of the same coin, both to be bowed to, though for many reasons. He expected no such bowing, of course, in a scene like this: no, in this, his gregarious and warm gestures only meant to show a sort of equal footing—that he, in this, was a host, and they, the throng. In a shining sort of mood, he spoke to the group his own gift, as befitting the memorial of the coming of the most prominent Hell-friendly Church.

His dark eyes were bright as he met the gaze of each in turn, wanting each to feel seen, to feel noticed, to feel appreciated. “My humble welcome to you all,” Lucifer said. “You are free to go where you wish, to begin where you decide the beginning will be. Above are seven rooms, though, admittedly, one is currently locked, until they sort out how to get out of it,” he lightly teased, “and those are your designed curiosities for the evening. However, feel free to also take advantage of the ballroom, the pools, and the sweet night air.” There was a hitch up the right side of his smile, giving away before his voice did that he had more to tell. “And on this, the day of the Centennial, I will not refuse a favour on behalf of this group, if you have a favour to ask of me? No strings, no deals."

The Devil was always as good as his word—he always kept it. It was what was unsaid that often caused the trouble in his dealings; he was not unlike some other myths, where you would get what was asked, but perhaps not in the way it was meant, or through some odd or loophole. However, that wasn’t his design here; he had no test for potential nor morality. This was, in effect, his own sort of offering—a sacrifice to the day itself. He watched the group discuss their options and politely looked away, studying a piece of art so as to give them some privacy. He noticed that Elijah left the group, but the rest remained, until they caught Lucifer’s attention again and he turned around to hear their request. “Is there something I can do for you?” 

[speakof]

Restoration

Location: Lucifer’s Office Date: March 8th, 2017 Availability: @abominacion

Lucifer was expecting Babylon when she came, having sent the private jet as he’d promised, so he knew her approximate arrival time—even if she took her time, as she was wont to do. He waited for Babylon at the front entrance, knowing she would value the attention. He looked sharp, his hair done well, his light beard trimmed, but it was nothing compared to the radiance that stepped out of the shuttle car, bags in hand. He opened his arm to her, allowing a hug that was tight and reassuring. “I’ll have your bags taken to your guest room, cara,” he said warmly, offering his arm to escort her up the stairs to his office. It was a more formal setting, but she was asking formal questions, with the sort of answers that required it. “How was your flight?” he asked, gently lifting her chin to admire her smile. It should have only been an hour, maybe slightly over, and the carriage of the plane was amenable, but still. A flight was a flight.

When they entered his office, the fire place was going and the windows were open, allowing for a comforting smell of wood burning while still keeping the breeze in the air. So as not to underscore formality, Lucifer sat on his desk, across from the seat Babylon selected. “Before we get down to it, I’d love to make us reservations for the evening—did you have a restaurant in mind? I’d have done the honours, but didn’t want to pick for you,” he added with a laugh. While he enjoyed indulging his people when he could, choosing for them was not something he preferred to do, be it a meal or otherwise. “I’m sure we could get into é by José Andrés, if you are feeling up to the strange intimacy of dining entirely with only six other strangers—I don’t know if I could clear him out entirely for the night: given the short timeline, it would be rude of me to ask.” He’d do it, of course, but it wasn’t his preference to be rude.

“Or, if you’re feeling French, we could go to Twist—Pierre Gagnaire is a mad genius: experimental, modern, whimsical." Lucifer shrugged, waiting for Babylon’s feedback and making arrangements accordingly before continuing to the questions she’d asked of him on the phone. He rubbed his chin and looked out the window a moment, unsure where to begin, before her looked back, “The cure given to Belial and Abaddon wasn’t a replica. It was some of the exact cure made by Kiara herself, so no room for error. It worked in humans—so far, yes, it indeed seems to work for us, too. But this is as much as I know, unfortunately.” Lucifer dipped his head, an uptick in his mouth somewhere between frustration and disappointment. As much as could be said for either Prince, they were his people, and his people’s safety came first. That was not something he trifled with. “I am at work reverse-engineering the cure, to make more of it, already. It would be best if we didn’t synthesize, I think, but—” he shrugged. The end of that sentence and the plans that went with it, he wasn’t yet ready to share.

“As for Gabriel, it isn’t your fault.” His face turned darker, again with his frustration at himself, his own inability to see where she was. “If anything, I blame Abaddon for making the mess, not that she could have known when she ripped her wings off last August.” Lucifer sighed and looked at the ceiling, disappointment heavy on his breath. While it might have seemed fun and games to Abaddon—teetering more when God himself was dead—she hadn’t considered the ramifications. And now, Gabriel was needed, and Lucifer didn’t have the omnipotence to find her beyond ‘it seems like Mexico.’ Mexico was plenty large and Babylon’s familiarity had been his best hope. “You did everything you could, and for that, I thank you.” His face brightened then, less darkness hung around the edges of a small smile. “And about the Ascension, on this, we agree. Too much has happened. I prefer a God on the throne to no planet at all and I refuse to set foot back in Heaven. Which is why I sent you out looking for Gabriel. The angels need her—I can’t do an Ascension any longer, with black wings, without a God to let me in. Catch-22.”

Then his eyes seem to draw her in, draw her closer, if only energetically—it was a feeling between being looked at and being looked into; his focused honed on only her, saw only her.  “I hear your disinterest in Belial being your boss. Am I understanding, you’d prefer it the other way around?” It wasn’t something Lucifer would discount, and was pleased to hear the ambition, but didn’t want to lead her: he wanted to hear more, so he left the question open for her.