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[meaculpable.livejournal.com]

WHO: meaculpable and grenadeball
WHERE: The Lux
WHEN: May 13th, 12am
WARNINGS: UST. Tank Girl's mouth.
SUMMARY: After their joust above the city, Tank and Lucifer retire to the Lux to divvy up their winnings.
FORMAT: Awkwapara, aka Paragraph.

The day's events, while atypical, had done nothing to raise Lucifer's spirits. While it was true that he did quite enjoy the "Games" he and Tank had devised to try and best each other at, too many things weighed too heavily on his mind for him to sit back, relax, and enjoy them for what they were. As they had been dog-fighting earlier, all the Morningstar could pay heed to was the existence of the Lion of God, on how Desire had retreated into the Threshold without warning or foreseeable cause, and how humankind HAD yet again dealt itself another violent blow without needing to be coerced into doing so.

It was all so very trite and tiring, at this point. There were so many games, so many individuals crowing on and on about heroics and what it meant to be a "hero," when all they did was follow their base, human instinct to quickly forget. To quickly brush away pain and move on to the next tragedy. Their propensity to keep moving forward without ever looking back made it very hard for Lucifer to not resent them, let alone come anywhere near tolerating their antics. They were like gnats to him, each of them buzzing about with their dreary, predictable lives until the entire city became a swarm of sameness, of repetition. That's all this latest tragedy was -- another act in a play whose architect had long since forgotten its point.

At least the bar was quiet.

Outside of Tank cleaning herself up in the bathroom -- he assumed, as he had asked to do so upon entering -- not a soul graced the Lux tonight, leaving the spacious establishment rather desolate. Lucifer sat at the bar in the meanwhile and wondered what she would ask, without an audience to revel in her natural brand of absurdity.

It would be something interesting, at the very least.

Comments

[grenadeball.livejournal.com]

She had mostly been tending to the sweat from the thrill of it all, and the blood. Just because her body healed up by itself didn't mean that it was also a bar of soap. Dried blood stuck around. And it didn't feel right, in the Lux, which was the height of classiness.

Plus, she could get her hair just the way she liked it.

A washing of the face, shaking her body like a dog, drying off everything and popping every joint in her body she could manage, she finally stepped out, taking off the sweat soaked flight jacket she had donned for the gamble, leaving her with just a basic t-shirt and shorts.

Air conditioning made it even better.

She waltzed out and over to her gambling buddy, sitting down right next to him.

"Writing Screwtape letters in your head?" The man did seem to be deep in thought, after all.