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.
How, she wondered, was she meant to tell Lucifer that she’d dawdled in the car he’d sent for her because she’d been speaking with his brother? Raziel’s words still buzzed behind her eyes-- don’t let me off the hook with this-- and when she dug the even crescent of her upper teeth into the soft flesh of her lower lip, she tasted Raziel’s tongue there, as if it had been yesterday they’d last kissed.
Babylon set her strong shoulders and carried her own bags up the long set of steps to Lucifer’s door. Panic had nearly set in by the time Lucifer folded her into his embrace; immediately, her misgivings melted away. She pressed her full lips to his scruffy cheek in a gesture that was almost idolatrous, warm and affectionate. To him above all others she was loyal, and she did her best to show it in the way she held him tight. Moments like these, with his fingers holding her chin so tenderly, fooled Babylon into thinking she could do no wrong by him. She offered him little by means of answer but a small smile, both dazzled and dazzling, half the girl he’d plucked from obscurity and half the fledgling terror raised in his shadow.
It had been too long since she’d seen him last. Hunger for his presence had settled into her chest like a stone she couldn’t hope to shake free, chafing with every breath. He had more important things with which to concern himself, of course-- all of Hell flourished or floundered beneath his fingertips-- but it never stopped her from itching for his full attention. He had a way about him that made her blood sing through his veins. With those eyes on her, Babylon often felt as if he’d never bothered to look elsewhere before. She was all that existed when they were alone, and he invited her to pretend the same of him. “I want to eat here,” she told him, decision made before she had bothered to consider it in any great detail. While she loved little more than to be seen at his side, she wasn’t yet ready to give up his currently undivided attention.
She sat forwards as he delved into items of greater importance than politeness and niceties, though she knew him well enough to never rush either. He was both the storm and the calm before; the latter needs must clear the way for what came after. In this gesture the demon rang through beyond the skin of the girl she wore: tight muscles coiled, dark eyes darkened further still, into something not-quite-human but haunting and frightening and terribly beautiful all at once. He’d answered all she needed to know about the cure and Gabriel alike; it was the fate of her Raziel and the demise of Belial that caught her full attention now. She tumbled willingly into what he’d asked of her without words, offering up honesty like black pearls tumbling from open fingers. She bore herself for him the way she did for none other: no games, no disguise, no deception. “Don’t step foot in heaven,” she bid him, not needing to say what she wouldn’t: please don’t go where I can’t follow.
“I’m loyal to you, Lucifer.” Her voice rasped but did not waver, nor did her gaze on his, despite-- because of?-- his intensity. “Belial is loyal only to himself. He long ago decided his purpose is tending to his Ligatus, not serving you, nor Hell. He rules his pet because he can’t take your throne.” The thought made her stomach clench, uncomfortable and hot as an iron jammed between her ribs. Even this betrayal and blasphemy-- if Belial knew the whole of it, who would save her? Not Satan, not Abaddon, not Lucifer-- all had killed for less, hadn’t they? Still, beneath the churning rage she carried, there was suspicion and fear: Belial sought more than his station, and if given enough time-- given a second lease on his cursed life-- he’d destroy them all. “I can do better. I know you’ve called Shibah and Raziel here-- if this Apocalypse is cause enough to unite with Angels, isn’t it important to have Princes that can stand to be in the same room? I care about the fate of the world and the humans within it, about more than hanging their souls from my headboard. I’ve always given my foes and followers to you. I would never keep them for myself. I want more than the scraps he throws me, Lucifer.”