[ It was quite the occasion. The lights, the music, the dancing, just the kind of event that Lucifer went out of his way to attend since arriving in this world. Unfortunately, things being what they were, it was impossible for him to attend the Valentine's Day ball in his usual attire, or at least in his own vessel.
She suited him perfectly. A devotee of the church, he'd known that she was suitably spirited for him to use her body. Yes, if he stayed with her for too long, the same fate would await her that had once consumed Nick, but Lucifer didn't need another vessel for permanent use, just the occasional night off.
He took her to his bed as a concubine, but he left his bed as the concubine, and dressed in red heels and dress, a black domino mask, Lucifer slid through the crowd as a new woman. Angelique's body was strong, well muscled, good arches. It drew interesting attention, and Lucifer gravitated toward Jeff, when she noticed him. There were a keen group of admirers surrounding him, but Angel was different to the rest, a dazzling breath of fresh air. She laid her hand on Jeff's forearm in a gesture of familiarity. ]
Darling. You're Jeff Winger. I'm just about your biggest fan.
[The crowds of something as illustrious as a Valentine's Day ball weren't something Jeff would have ever aimed for in his old life, happy as he was to stick to picking up women at bars or staying home and watching crap on television all night. This place was different. This world granted him fame without any of the effort, like a genuine Kardashian, leeching off of other people's desperation for celebrities. He hadn't had to do anything to earn it, beyond existing in a world that had dragged him here. They'd been the ones to give him 'imPort' status (which was celebrity status in itself), and then shove him into starring in a television show, all he had to do was show up, look good and stay entertaining.
Looking good was the easy part, he could do that in his sleep and he was doing it right now, decked in a ridiculously expensive three piece suit (of course he is), red tie to match the festivities and not even bothering with any form of mask because how could he deny the public of this beautiful face? He doesn't mind the admirers for the moment, enjoying the adoration and company they bring and accepting the free drinks when he can get them. He humours them, but that patience is about to wear thin the second a hand settles at his arm and his attention is drawn to the giver of such a familiar touch.
She's stunning. Far too good to be sharing with a gaggle of others that seem more intent on discussing his show than being attractive. The change in his body language is immediate, turning his full attention on her and practically blocking out the others in the same motion, a smile on his lips as he draws himself up, chest out while making the most of his height. Isn't he such a fine specimen of masculinity? All muscled and tall and clearly alpha with that puffed out chest. Adore him.]
[ She is stunning, honestly. Her brassy blonde hair shines in the light, her lips scarlet, eyes darkened with kohl behind the holes of the mask. She bats her eyelashes at him, stepping in closer, body language open and interested. ]
Angelique, [ She answers, the name spoken in its French accent. ] But my friends call me Angel.
[ Her other hand settled on the center of his chest, efficiently bold, eyes flicking up toward Jeff's. Even in heels, she barely reached his height, which was a different way to look at the world. Nick was taller, impressively so, and he strode a height over everyone else. She smiled, brightly, earnestly. ]
So now that you know my name...won't you buy a girl a drink?
[ But her hand was smoothing in wandering circles, as though riveted by his muscular strength and chiseled form. ]
[Oh, he likes her already, even before the close contact and adoring fingers against his chest. This is clearly a woman who knows what she likes and pursues it without hesitation, and that's certainly something Jeff can relate to. Not to mention her taste must be flawless to pick someone like him out of the entirety of this party.]
I'll even buy you more than one, Angel. [The name spoken with the familiarity of someone who'd very much like to get far more familiar with her. Cute name, almost like a pet name and one that's easy enough for him to remember for the night.
He makes a deliberate move away from the others, an arm slipping loosely about her waist as he starts to steer them closer towards the bar.] What can I get you?
Sam had been here a year, he was told, but it felt more like thirty. The days stretched into months, and even a day - one day - felt like longer. Too long. The torture was unending, unbearable, or at least that was what he thought. He endured it, as he'd endured so much in his life. He rose above it. Whatever Lucifer did to him only made him stronger, but as the years passed, as he began to be offered options in order to release the impact on himself, diminish the torture he was exposed to, Sam found himself bending toward them. He was grateful for any let up, no matter what it was.
Torture, it turned out, was easy. It wasn't just something he could do, he was actively good at it. He engaged with his victims, and while at first he cared what they'd done to earn their place in Hell, that quickly dissolved. For the first time, in far too long, Sam wasn't in pain, and he could feel himself beginning to slip, as his empathy was dissolved. He knew what lay at the end of this path, the fact that he would become a demon, but the more people he hurt, the more he almost longed for it. It would be peaceful, wouldn't it, to be so corrupted that he no longer cared?
But he was trying to resist, because--well, because Dean was still alive, but also because he as just that kind of man. He had to resist it. He had to fight it. As peaceful as it would be, it wouldn't be the end. Lucifer would have him murder the people he loved. So he'd obey, he'd do as he was told, because it earned him freedom, and removed him from all but Lucifer's torture chamber, and Lucifer's bed; he'd obey because it meant a kind of acceptance from Lucifer that he was a working intern, pulling his weight, and not something that required extra measures to break.
But this one was different. This one wasn't just a soul to torture; he was intended to be a demon, like Sam, and this was his first real posting. He had to do well, for to fail would only earn him a session at Lucifer's behest. Nothing was off limits.
And Eliot would earn his freedom too, like Sam, but first he had to break. Or at least surrender to it. He'd had other torturers already, all physical, but this--this was meant to be more personal. More intimate. Sam stepped in through the door, and closed it and bolted it behind him. He took off his tie, slowly; black on red.
Eliot had died and went to hell. That much was expected. Given the life he led, the wrong turns, the dark roads traveled... the blood he used to wash his path, there really was no other destination for his soul. He knew that, accepted it. It was almost cathartic when he found himself there. And almost funny when Eliot Spencer couldn't stop punching things even in hell and laid out a good three or four demons before they subdued his soul.
And then there was the torture, which he resisted both physically and mentally. If he broke free, rare as that was, he would fight. Give his torturers as good as he got, or tried, although it was considerably less successful than his first day. Hell was a whole new level of evil, but pain was pain and he managed it the same way as he always had in life. Meditation, breathing exercises -not that he actually needed air anymore, and definitely not the poisonous sulfur they passed for air here-, things to draw his mental focus. He didn't know how often people resisted hell's torture, but there weren't too many people in the world who had honest to god been tortured before in life, and not once, but on 4 different occasions. Or dished it out themselves too, many more times than he could count. As ugly as the world was, he hoped not too many people had that sort of experience.
What he was in right now was a reprieve, a moment between sessions where the demonic grunts has dumped him back in his home in the wall of a cell. Time for his broken skin to knit back together, bones to set again so they could be rebroken by the next blunt force trauma. His arm was mostly healed though, he thought he could move his fingers already and it had been broken in three places earlier.
Eliot was seated propped against the stone wall when a suited demon -they all wore suits- came in. It seemed too early for them to drag him off again, and, really, by now they usually came in twos to collect him. So that didn't seem to be it. Not to mention, this one bolted himself in. With him. Eliot glanced up to see what this one wanted just as the man removed his tie.
Well, that was different. This one wore jewelry, Eliot caught a flash of silver beneath the collar reflecting in the dim flickering light. The demon introduced himself as Sam.
"Huh. What would the king's favorite wan' with me?"
"It's not about what I want," Sam answered. His voice was soft, a little empty, but it didn't lack in any confidence or authority because of that. "It's about what Hell wants. You were contracted down here, that makes you different from the average sinner; it means his influence was on you long before you stepped foot in this cell. It's been corrupting you, like an apple rotting while it's still on the tree."
As the demon blood in his own veins had corrupted him, long before he'd found himself down here. Sam stepped forward, wrapping the tie around and around his fist as he came.
"I know you're violent, and that you've been trained, but you should know that so am I. I've spent my entire life fighting, and I can kill a demon with a look, if I want to." And he had, but he knew that it corrupted him, made his soul blacker than anything else he could possibly do--that and magic. Lucifer kept him high on demon blood, kept the demons around him jealous and bitter, in the hopes that Sam would be forced to defend himself, but only one had ever risked Lucifer's ire to act against him, and since then, none had again.
As Sam approached, the nameplate engraved in his silver collar would be more obvious. It was a tightfitting thing, more elegant than practical, but it wasn't the only jewelery that Sam had been adorned with, since arriving in Hell. Eliot would discover it all, in time.
"I'm just here to make sure you keep rotting. Any old demon can break bones and make you eat your own innards, but I learned what I know from Lucifer himself--and look at me now. The perfect second act; obedient, inventive, and my stamina... Well, don't take my word for it."
That didn't sound too far off from the truth, that Eliot would've been
marked by hell long ago. Ever since he raised his gun and shot down the
thirteen year old holding a knife, he had gone down this path. It didn't
matter that it had been war and that child soldiers were there in
abundance, thirteen was barely a teen and he had taken the boy down with
one perfect head shot.
"Tha' sounds about right," he answered, not too surprised by the news. He
had accepted that too, that he was damned from the start and there was no
going back. He didn't need a high class demon in a suit to confirm what he
already knew.
Again the silver caught his eye, catching and winking in the torchlight,
this time letting Eliot see more clearly. It said 'Sam', like a dog collar,
and made Eliot blink a bit. Either Sam was narcissistic or had a sick sense
of jewelry, otherwise something was going on. He filed that away for
now.
"So, what, you're here to keep corruptin' me? You don't look like you're
here for me t'kill." Eliot looked Sam up and down then leaned his head back
against the wall, almost lazily. He would believe the man could hold his
own in a fight, Sam had the appearance and the build for it, unlike Eliot
who looked compact and was often underestimated both in ability and
intelligence.
"You're right, anyone can break bones." He tilted his head and nodded
slightly in agreement, then glanced back up at Sam. "So I'm guessin' you're
not 'ere to do that. Whatever you're gonna do though, don't think it's
gonna work."
They must have thought that they were so clever putting up all their anti-angel sigils in the bunker, so recently lowered so that Castiel could find their home - but Sam had given Lucifer the answer to that little puzzle, given him the power to break through any angel seal with just a spell. It was too easy - way too easy - to step back into Dean's home as soon as Sam left it.
He appeared at the top of the stairs, just because it gave him the chance to make an impression as he descended them. His hands dropped into the pockets of the black trenchcoat he'd picked up to replace Castiel's. He wore his white shirt, the top buttons undone, with nothing else over it, the shirt tucked into black pants, with a shiny black belt and silver buckle closing them. Even his shoes shone, like the blue of his eyes, seemingly made more "ravish me" blue by the way his hair had been pulled rakishly aside, ruffled with gel. It was a new look, a good look--a Lucifer look.
He trotted down the stairs, and gave a sharp, loud whistle:
Dean was in the library sitting at a table, nose in a book, and a tumbler of Jack Daniel's sitting on the table beside him. Sam had gone out to get away for a bit, Dean didn't expect him back until morning. He couldn't blame him really, after everything the need to just get away and lose himself in a warm soft body was certainly tempting...but all he could think about was the body of one Castiel, Angel of the Lord, and current skin suit to Lucifer. He was almost desperate to find a way to save his friend and that was why he was deep in the lore books instead of out with his brother.
Dean heard boots on the stairs but instead of looking he just called out. "Forget something?" He asked thinking it was Sam. It wasn't until Lucifer spoke that Dean's head shot up quickly and his eyes landed on the vessel of his once best friend.
"How did!?" He was up out of the chair in a moment, book on the floor as he faced off against the archangel. They'd warded the bunker, how had he managed to just stroll in the front door like he owned the place?
"How did I just stroll in? Well you know it's all very well changing the locks on an ex, Dean--not much use if they have the master key, though. You can thank your brother for that."
He folded his arms across his chest. "In fact, you can blame Sam for a lot of things, but let's start with the fact that Castiel here would have never have been in my Cage at all if he hadn't gone against your instructions."
"You know, I even thought he'd go through with it for a second there. Deal with the Devil..."
As he spoke, he descended the stairs still, hands in his pockets, before on the last step he pulled them free and gestured to himself.
Dean was confused by what he meant by master key. He made a mental note to bitch Sam out for forgetting to tell him something so important. I mean if Lucifer say's Sam is to blame then it is most likely true. If Dean knew anything about the fallen archangel it was that he didn't outright lie. He would omit certain things, leave things up to your own imagination, but he wouldn't flat out voice a falsehood.
He also had a point about his gaining access to Cas. If Sam had waited like he'd asked then it might not of happened. Of course it wasn't like Dean had any control of Amara showing up and whisking off like that.
His eyes trailed over the figure descending the stairs because like it or not he did have a thing for Cas and while the one wearing him wasn't his best friend, visually...it was.
"I don't like it. You should leave." Dean said actually proud his voice came out stronger than he felt. He was at a supreme disadvantage and while he was slowly backing up he knew in the blink of an eye, Lucifer could be right in front of him. He tried to avoid jerky movements for now, best to try and keep him calm.
[ Things didn't go so badly over the next few weeks. Sam made an impression on Eliot, little by little, perhaps growing on him through enduring Lucifer's cruel treatment in the bedroom. It was always easier to get Eliot on his side the day after Lucifer abused him, and so once or twice Sam made use of that to ensure that he wouldn't fight back quite so hard.
Sam didn't think he was using some kind of Stockholm syndrome on Eliot, but that was essentially what he was doing. The man pitied him, knew that this was torture for him, and was making it easier in whatever small ways he could, without actually surrendering himself.
But that was going to have to change, sooner or later, if Eliot was ever going to be pushed to the next stage. Both Sam and Eliot were just tools in Lucifer's plans for each of them, after all.
Not yet, though. Sam had filled a bath, and then unlocked Eliot's cage, not bothering to redress from the night before, he reached in to take his hand.
They both had their roles, that was how Eliot was seeing what was happening between himself and Sam. Sam was given the task of breaking him and Eliot was determined to resist against all tortures. It put them at odds but it wasn't personal, neither of them were doing it to spite the other. Which made their interaction strangely friendly despite the situation and Eliot didn't hate the man who broke and raped his body day after day.
But one to two months together in intimate closeness, whether he wanted it or not, Eliot was seeing more of Sam than what the other man was saying. He didn't enjoy what he did to Eliot, which made getting along with him bearable to begin with, and outside what was necessary for his task, he tried to be reasonable or make it less hard on Eliot.
But this though, this was something new altogether. Eliot let Sam help him out of the cage, a place that became regretfully familiar after these weeks, and stretched his legs to work out the stiffness of having them bent the whole night.
He had heard the water running, thought Sam was going to wash himself, or would have commanded Eliot into the water with him as the few times he had in the past, but this time it sounded almost like an invitation. Eliot's eyebrow arched and pulled his hand out of Sam's after he was out. "You don't look like an invalid."
"So I have to have at least two broken limbs for you to worry about me. That's so sweet." His tone was a little teasing, but not unkind.
He stepped back, giving Eliot a little more room to make the decision, a little more room to breathe. Sam only retreated further, moving to stand beside the edge of the sunken bathtub. He'd insisted that Eliot had joined him before, but he wasn't this time. This time it was a choice - his choice.
"Look, join me or don't, it's up to you, but I'm going to enjoy the water while it's still warm."
He stepped down into it without another word. The water was a little too hot, but it was deeply reassuring to feel it scorching away at all the places where Lucifer had touched him. It always felt good. He spoke softly as he went under the water.
"I wasn't allowed to wash for what felt like years. He cut me. He came all over me. I was caked with it. Those first few times didn't go without me working for it, one way or another. I mean--I had to teach myself to blow him under water. Do you have any idea how hard that is when you still need to breathe?"
He sank back lower, dropping his head on the edge of the bath. "I had to suck a lot of cock to get the right to bathe all on my own."
Eliot went quiet at Sam's words, knowing they were the truth of what this
man had gone through and how much easier Eliot had in comparison. And the
delivery of the message, not making a point of it but merely telling him,
as part of conversation, drove it home all the more. It wasn't surprising
to either of them that after a few minutes, the water rippled with Eliot
stepping into the tub. Washing off the gunk was too good an opportunity to
pass for even the fighter to protest, especially without the sort of
restrictions Sam was saying he experienced.
"You're a better man than the Devil," Eliot answered when he sank into the
hot water beside Sam. The tub was large enough for both of them to stretch
out comfortably, and Eliot sighed out audibly in relief when the hot water
soaked into him. Given how Sam was relaxed beside him, Eliot took the
chance that he wouldn't be rushed out of the tub and could afford a few
minutes of the hot water before he scrubbed himself raw.
"And nah, I'd worry 'bout you even with one broken limb," Eliot smirked
slightly with his eyes closed. It was the most relaxed he'd been in weeks.
Well...as dead as anyone would be for very long in this place, at least, but it had hurt, and it had been bloody. Lucifer had dismembered him in front of April, splattering blood in every direction, using just his hands. Then, very carefully, he'd shot her in the head, not killing her, but leaving her in such a state that Will, returning, would wish very much that she was. If the bullet couldn't come out without killing her, then the nanites couldn't possibly heal it up.
That, of course, all paled in comparison to what Lucifer had in store for Jeff Winger. His hounds had been shot, so he needed to replace them.
He waited until Jeff got home, and found the massacre, and then and only then did he drop in and abduct him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. The next step took him to a white room with no doors and windows, where Lucifer released him, all but pushing Jeff away from him as they landed. ]
[Somehow Jeff knows there's something amiss before he even gets through the door, although even that suspicion can't prepare him for the sight. He freezes in the doorway without properly registering anything before him, staring, dead eyed at a clean spot of the floor. It's something he can't even begin to process, his mind still wrestling with whether to walk in or turn tail and run the fuck away as quick as he can. There's almost some relief that the decision is made for him as he feels an arm suddenly around him and a change in scenery. Jeff doesn't even try to get away from the grip.
The release has him stumbling, dropping to his knees heavily and retching, and for once in his life he seriously doesn't care if he's ruining the pants of his nice, expensive suit. Where they are doesn't even matter (he's glad to be away from whatever that was, but if the last visual clue hadn't been enough, the voice he hears solidifies the fact he's well and truly fucked.
He gives himself a second before turning his gaze towards his company, brows lowered as he swipes the back of his hand briefly over his lips.]
[ Lucifer turned his nose up at the vomit, but then this was his magic box, and he could make the environment into anything that he wanted. The vomit was gone with a thought, and Lucifer folded his arms, taking a careful half step back, thoughtful as he looked down at Jeff. ]
Don't act like you don't know what this is, Jeff. You let that little friend of yours shoot my dogs, so I shot his. And I killed his dogs too.
[ Well, that was rude. He'd kind of liked April, when they'd met, but his anger knew no bounds.
He cocked his head, looking Jeffrey over. ] And now I am all out of special pets... Didn't we discuss what would happen to you in such an event? What's wrong, Jeff, did you think that I wouldn't go through with it?
Sam knew today was going to be hard. It could be awful, in fact. Of course what he expected was to find them thrown back into their usual routine, Sam at Eliot's back even after he'd been so gentle with him. His back still ached, but he was healing fast thanks to his usual - secret - diet, and Hell's natural attributes, but he hadn't forgotten--wasn't likely to forget quickly.
Lucifer would surely not join them again, Sam thought--but Sam was wrong. Lucifer came at around midday, well before he'd have considered taking Eliot to bed. To be honest, he was putting it off. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him again.
He came attended by a demon with a clipboard this time, standing in the doorway as Sam looked at him, baffled.
"Are we going somewhere?" he asked, carefully.
Lucifer stepped in, petting his hair, until Sam lowered his head, his gaze, utterly submissive, and told him yes, that both he and Eliot were to come with him. They were even invited to dress with clothes laid out on the bed, which made Sam suspicious. He could guess where they were going, what they would be invited to do, and that Eliot would fail. He knew it already, but he stepped out obediently, following Lucifer and the demon through the long gothic hallways.
He hung back, but didn't say a word to Eliot, already psyching himself up for what was to come ahead.
At last they stepped into a torture room, recognisable by the floor which tapered into the center, where a hole in the floor under the table would drain away anything anything that splashed. The body laying out on it was an older man in an expensive suit, who clearly had no true understanding of where he was, or what had happened to him. When they stepped inside, he parsed some spiel about calling his lawyer, and the police.
A night on the bed didn't leave Eliot as refreshed as he hoped, but it was still better than the cage by several times. For the first time he could stretch out his legs when he slept, even if that meant they hung over the edge a little. While the bed felt too soft and he still had trouble sleeping the night through undisturbed, he woke up without feeling his knees and back aching like an old man for once.
It left him feeling good to start the day, even though he expected things to go back to normal and would probably go downhill. He was realistic about it so he wasn't particularly shocked when the Devil showed up again in the afternoon. After the session yesterday, Eliot had the feeling that he wouldn't be left alone so soon, he expected that. It was still hard to see Sam behave like a broken man immediately in Lucifer's presence though.
The clothes, the demon lackey, they all bode ill although Eliot couldn't figure out what. He tried to guess from Sam, but the man was as silent as he ever was when the Devil was around and Eliot found no help from him. Yet the answer was self evident when after the short trip they reached their destination, a clear place of torture with the victim tied down in the middle. The room wasn't an improvised area with plastic wraps for easy cleaning that Eliot was used to, but with a built in drain in the middle that proved it's permanent status. This was the type of place Hell was, and the routine Eliot suffered before Sam took over.
From the clothes he was given --scratchy, he wasn't used to wearing clothes anymore-- he knew the victim this time wouldn't be him, at least physically. But that didn't make him relax at all. He could guess what the Devil wanted with him and the tension in the room just built that much more.
For the first time since Lucifer walked in today, Eliot spoke, "No, I won't do it."
It was always best to say few words. Lots of words left you exposed, and Sam had learned that very quickly. Lucifer was good at snatching openings, and making any situation become more uncomfortable by turning someone's words against him. Sam had lost a lot of his love for himself and his brother that way, told truths that he couldn't deny, even though they were awful--even though he would never have accepted them from the mouth of another.
Lucifer made him believe them. For example he'd sworn that Dean would come and rescue him for a week, before Lucifer had pointed out that even if he was rescued, Sam was ruined for the world now. He would never go back to being who he was; he'd always be Lucifer's bitch. Sam believed that. He never suggested rescue again. Speaking was just risky, so he only did it when he really had something to say. Eliot was learning quickly too.
Sam felt himself tense as Eliot denied the Devil what he wanted, just like he'd expected. Sure enough, Lucifer stepped up beside Eliot, looking at him intently.
"Are you sure about that? It isn't anything that Robert here doesn't deserve. He's an embezzler, and an adulterer--aren't you Robbie?"
"Go fuck yourself," Robert snarled at Lucifer.
"That wasn't very nice, was it, Eliot? You see? He's not a very nice person."
Sam looked across at Eliot, willing him to do it. God, he'd do it eventually, why not now? Didn't he know what would happen?
[ Once upon a time, there were two archangels, brothers actually, and one of them - the cooler one - kicked the other brother's ass. End of story. Except it really wasn't. Even after the apocalypse, the world just kept ticking on, minute after minute, day after day, and despite all the younger brother's efforts, Dad never showed to set everything right.
He burned the world, killed all but a handful of humans, exterminated all his Father's pets. The angels abandoned Heaven, they abandoned their champion, and Lucifer still didn't get what he wanted.
Unfortunately, that meant Michael needed to keep suffering. He needed to rot. He needed to hurt. He needed... He needed to hurt so badly that their Father came running, so that he could grab him by the arm and slap him on the wrist. Wasn't that how admonishment worked? Lucifer didn't know, he'd been shoved straight into the Cage the first time his Father had gotten truly mad at him.
Poor Michael. The consequences, for his brother, were severe and bitterly dark. Lucifer just wanted to make everyone else hurt the way that he did.
So Michael, bound and helpless on his knees beside Lucifer's throne, a collar sealed with Enochian sigils clasped around his neck. It had been a rough day, rougher than usual, emotionally, and he reached across, dragged his fingers through his brother's hair, then turned to look down at him. ]
[If it was their Father's attention he was after, Lucifer would be pulling feathers from Michael's wings until the day they refused to grow back. The only thing God had demonstrated interest in over the last several millenia was chatting up Heaven's gardener.
Michael hadn't been surprised when God hadn't returned at the conclusion of the Apocalypse. He'd always assumed their Father's return was conditional on fulfilling His Plan as foretold by the prophets. This was not the paradise the angels had been promised, and it was not the victory He had demanded. They had disappointed Him, yet again.
His own failures weren't something Michael liked to dwell on, though, except when attempting to ruffle Lucifer's feathers with loud prayers to their Father.
Most of the time, his thoughts of choice were seething over Dean's refusal to act as his vessel. If he hadn't been forced to improvise, if only he hadn't been stuck with a vessel that threatened to tear apart at the seams when he so much as spread his wings-
Feeling fingers brushing his scalp, Michael lifted his head to glare at Lucifer, seated ever so casually on his throne.]
I'll sit this one out.
[There was no such thing as refusing Lucifer when he was in a mood, of course. Lucifer never had heeded the word 'no', not when he wanted to play, not when he wanted to rebel, and certainly not when he was feeling vengeful. A consequence of being favoured by God and Heaven at large, no doubt, and Michael still cursed himself for being as permissive as he had been with his brother when they were younger.
Michael still made the effort to refuse him whenever possible, even more so than he had before he had lost. It was a matter of principle, and he had always been stubborn, maybe the most obstinate angel God had ever assembled.]
[ It wasn't like Michael had anywhere to go. He was beaten, trounced, and that meant that Lucifer - as the victor - could dictate the world in whatever fashion he wanted. But that wasn't how the world was meant to be. What was the point if Lucifer could just do what he wanted? It made it all seem so...so worthless. All that noise, all this fighting, and God didn't come back for his favored son, for his ape pets, for the entire planet. If Lucifer hadn't begun to realize that burning the world meant he'd have nothing left, he would have done so, but this pitiful Creation was the last thing his Father had made.
It was just so unfair. He was tired and angry, immensely frustrated, and Michael was his best outlet. ]
Well now you're just being unreasonable. Who knew you were such a baby?
[ He tightened his grip suddenly in his brother's hair, his hand tight, and then pulling upward, dragging Michael around toward him. He could resist, of course, but... ]
Remember how you lost, and I won? I mean...
[ He rolled his shoulders, leaning forward, almost putting his face right into Michael's face. ]
Maybe I've been treating you too gently. Maybe you've gotten complacent.
[ It wouldn't surprise him. He'd been cruel to Michael, of course, but a lot of his energy had been spent on reshaping the world, too. Maybe he had been too gentle. Maybe Michael didn't realize how good he had it. If so, it was up to Lucifer to reacquaint his brother with his position. ]
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She suited him perfectly. A devotee of the church, he'd known that she was suitably spirited for him to use her body. Yes, if he stayed with her for too long, the same fate would await her that had once consumed Nick, but Lucifer didn't need another vessel for permanent use, just the occasional night off.
He took her to his bed as a concubine, but he left his bed as the concubine, and dressed in red heels and dress, a black domino mask, Lucifer slid through the crowd as a new woman. Angelique's body was strong, well muscled, good arches. It drew interesting attention, and Lucifer gravitated toward Jeff, when she noticed him. There were a keen group of admirers surrounding him, but Angel was different to the rest, a dazzling breath of fresh air. She laid her hand on Jeff's forearm in a gesture of familiarity. ]
Darling. You're Jeff Winger. I'm just about your biggest fan.
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Looking good was the easy part, he could do that in his sleep and he was doing it right now, decked in a ridiculously expensive three piece suit (of course he is), red tie to match the festivities and not even bothering with any form of mask because how could he deny the public of this beautiful face? He doesn't mind the admirers for the moment, enjoying the adoration and company they bring and accepting the free drinks when he can get them. He humours them, but that patience is about to wear thin the second a hand settles at his arm and his attention is drawn to the giver of such a familiar touch.
She's stunning. Far too good to be sharing with a gaggle of others that seem more intent on discussing his show than being attractive. The change in his body language is immediate, turning his full attention on her and practically blocking out the others in the same motion, a smile on his lips as he draws himself up, chest out while making the most of his height. Isn't he such a fine specimen of masculinity? All muscled and tall and clearly alpha with that puffed out chest. Adore him.]
Does my biggest fan have a name?
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Angelique, [ She answers, the name spoken in its French accent. ] But my friends call me Angel.
[ Her other hand settled on the center of his chest, efficiently bold, eyes flicking up toward Jeff's. Even in heels, she barely reached his height, which was a different way to look at the world. Nick was taller, impressively so, and he strode a height over everyone else. She smiled, brightly, earnestly. ]
So now that you know my name...won't you buy a girl a drink?
[ But her hand was smoothing in wandering circles, as though riveted by his muscular strength and chiseled form. ]
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I'll even buy you more than one, Angel. [The name spoken with the familiarity of someone who'd very much like to get far more familiar with her. Cute name, almost like a pet name and one that's easy enough for him to remember for the night.
He makes a deliberate move away from the others, an arm slipping loosely about her waist as he starts to steer them closer towards the bar.] What can I get you?
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Eliot and Sam
Sam had been here a year, he was told, but it felt more like thirty. The days stretched into months, and even a day - one day - felt like longer. Too long. The torture was unending, unbearable, or at least that was what he thought. He endured it, as he'd endured so much in his life. He rose above it. Whatever Lucifer did to him only made him stronger, but as the years passed, as he began to be offered options in order to release the impact on himself, diminish the torture he was exposed to, Sam found himself bending toward them. He was grateful for any let up, no matter what it was.
Torture, it turned out, was easy. It wasn't just something he could do, he was actively good at it. He engaged with his victims, and while at first he cared what they'd done to earn their place in Hell, that quickly dissolved. For the first time, in far too long, Sam wasn't in pain, and he could feel himself beginning to slip, as his empathy was dissolved. He knew what lay at the end of this path, the fact that he would become a demon, but the more people he hurt, the more he almost longed for it. It would be peaceful, wouldn't it, to be so corrupted that he no longer cared?
But he was trying to resist, because--well, because Dean was still alive, but also because he as just that kind of man. He had to resist it. He had to fight it. As peaceful as it would be, it wouldn't be the end. Lucifer would have him murder the people he loved. So he'd obey, he'd do as he was told, because it earned him freedom, and removed him from all but Lucifer's torture chamber, and Lucifer's bed; he'd obey because it meant a kind of acceptance from Lucifer that he was a working intern, pulling his weight, and not something that required extra measures to break.
But this one was different. This one wasn't just a soul to torture; he was intended to be a demon, like Sam, and this was his first real posting. He had to do well, for to fail would only earn him a session at Lucifer's behest. Nothing was off limits.
And Eliot would earn his freedom too, like Sam, but first he had to break. Or at least surrender to it. He'd had other torturers already, all physical, but this--this was meant to be more personal. More intimate. Sam stepped in through the door, and closed it and bolted it behind him. He took off his tie, slowly; black on red.
"Hello, Eliot," he called. "I'm Sam."
Re: Eliot and Sam
And then there was the torture, which he resisted both physically and mentally. If he broke free, rare as that was, he would fight. Give his torturers as good as he got, or tried, although it was considerably less successful than his first day. Hell was a whole new level of evil, but pain was pain and he managed it the same way as he always had in life. Meditation, breathing exercises -not that he actually needed air anymore, and definitely not the poisonous sulfur they passed for air here-, things to draw his mental focus. He didn't know how often people resisted hell's torture, but there weren't too many people in the world who had honest to god been tortured before in life, and not once, but on 4 different occasions. Or dished it out themselves too, many more times than he could count. As ugly as the world was, he hoped not too many people had that sort of experience.
What he was in right now was a reprieve, a moment between sessions where the demonic grunts has dumped him back in his home in the wall of a cell. Time for his broken skin to knit back together, bones to set again so they could be rebroken by the next blunt force trauma. His arm was mostly healed though, he thought he could move his fingers already and it had been broken in three places earlier.
Eliot was seated propped against the stone wall when a suited demon -they all wore suits- came in. It seemed too early for them to drag him off again, and, really, by now they usually came in twos to collect him. So that didn't seem to be it. Not to mention, this one bolted himself in. With him. Eliot glanced up to see what this one wanted just as the man removed his tie.
Well, that was different. This one wore jewelry, Eliot caught a flash of silver beneath the collar reflecting in the dim flickering light. The demon introduced himself as Sam.
"Huh. What would the king's favorite wan' with me?"
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As the demon blood in his own veins had corrupted him, long before he'd found himself down here. Sam stepped forward, wrapping the tie around and around his fist as he came.
"I know you're violent, and that you've been trained, but you should know that so am I. I've spent my entire life fighting, and I can kill a demon with a look, if I want to." And he had, but he knew that it corrupted him, made his soul blacker than anything else he could possibly do--that and magic. Lucifer kept him high on demon blood, kept the demons around him jealous and bitter, in the hopes that Sam would be forced to defend himself, but only one had ever risked Lucifer's ire to act against him, and since then, none had again.
As Sam approached, the nameplate engraved in his silver collar would be more obvious. It was a tightfitting thing, more elegant than practical, but it wasn't the only jewelery that Sam had been adorned with, since arriving in Hell. Eliot would discover it all, in time.
"I'm just here to make sure you keep rotting. Any old demon can break bones and make you eat your own innards, but I learned what I know from Lucifer himself--and look at me now. The perfect second act; obedient, inventive, and my stamina... Well, don't take my word for it."
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That didn't sound too far off from the truth, that Eliot would've been marked by hell long ago. Ever since he raised his gun and shot down the thirteen year old holding a knife, he had gone down this path. It didn't matter that it had been war and that child soldiers were there in abundance, thirteen was barely a teen and he had taken the boy down with one perfect head shot.
"Tha' sounds about right," he answered, not too surprised by the news. He had accepted that too, that he was damned from the start and there was no going back. He didn't need a high class demon in a suit to confirm what he already knew.
Again the silver caught his eye, catching and winking in the torchlight, this time letting Eliot see more clearly. It said 'Sam', like a dog collar, and made Eliot blink a bit. Either Sam was narcissistic or had a sick sense of jewelry, otherwise something was going on. He filed that away for now.
"So, what, you're here to keep corruptin' me? You don't look like you're here for me t'kill." Eliot looked Sam up and down then leaned his head back against the wall, almost lazily. He would believe the man could hold his own in a fight, Sam had the appearance and the build for it, unlike Eliot who looked compact and was often underestimated both in ability and intelligence.
"You're right, anyone can break bones." He tilted his head and nodded slightly in agreement, then glanced back up at Sam. "So I'm guessin' you're not 'ere to do that. Whatever you're gonna do though, don't think it's gonna work."
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He appeared at the top of the stairs, just because it gave him the chance to make an impression as he descended them. His hands dropped into the pockets of the black trenchcoat he'd picked up to replace Castiel's. He wore his white shirt, the top buttons undone, with nothing else over it, the shirt tucked into black pants, with a shiny black belt and silver buckle closing them. Even his shoes shone, like the blue of his eyes, seemingly made more "ravish me" blue by the way his hair had been pulled rakishly aside, ruffled with gel. It was a new look, a good look--a Lucifer look.
He trotted down the stairs, and gave a sharp, loud whistle:
"Honey, I'm home."
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Dean heard boots on the stairs but instead of looking he just called out. "Forget something?" He asked thinking it was Sam. It wasn't until Lucifer spoke that Dean's head shot up quickly and his eyes landed on the vessel of his once best friend.
"How did!?" He was up out of the chair in a moment, book on the floor as he faced off against the archangel. They'd warded the bunker, how had he managed to just stroll in the front door like he owned the place?
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He folded his arms across his chest. "In fact, you can blame Sam for a lot of things, but let's start with the fact that Castiel here would have never have been in my Cage at all if he hadn't gone against your instructions."
"You know, I even thought he'd go through with it for a second there. Deal with the Devil..."
As he spoke, he descended the stairs still, hands in his pockets, before on the last step he pulled them free and gestured to himself.
"How do you like the new look?"
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He also had a point about his gaining access to Cas. If Sam had waited like he'd asked then it might not of happened. Of course it wasn't like Dean had any control of Amara showing up and whisking off like that.
His eyes trailed over the figure descending the stairs because like it or not he did have a thing for Cas and while the one wearing him wasn't his best friend, visually...it was.
"I don't like it. You should leave." Dean said actually proud his voice came out stronger than he felt. He was at a supreme disadvantage and while he was slowly backing up he knew in the blink of an eye, Lucifer could be right in front of him. He tried to avoid jerky movements for now, best to try and keep him calm.
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Sorry Dean's being all whiplashy with his will and will not...
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Sam didn't think he was using some kind of Stockholm syndrome on Eliot, but that was essentially what he was doing. The man pitied him, knew that this was torture for him, and was making it easier in whatever small ways he could, without actually surrendering himself.
But that was going to have to change, sooner or later, if Eliot was ever going to be pushed to the next stage. Both Sam and Eliot were just tools in Lucifer's plans for each of them, after all.
Not yet, though. Sam had filled a bath, and then unlocked Eliot's cage, not bothering to redress from the night before, he reached in to take his hand.
"Come on. You can help me wash."
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But one to two months together in intimate closeness, whether he wanted it or not, Eliot was seeing more of Sam than what the other man was saying. He didn't enjoy what he did to Eliot, which made getting along with him bearable to begin with, and outside what was necessary for his task, he tried to be reasonable or make it less hard on Eliot.
But this though, this was something new altogether. Eliot let Sam help him out of the cage, a place that became regretfully familiar after these weeks, and stretched his legs to work out the stiffness of having them bent the whole night.
He had heard the water running, thought Sam was going to wash himself, or would have commanded Eliot into the water with him as the few times he had in the past, but this time it sounded almost like an invitation. Eliot's eyebrow arched and pulled his hand out of Sam's after he was out. "You don't look like an invalid."
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He stepped back, giving Eliot a little more room to make the decision, a little more room to breathe. Sam only retreated further, moving to stand beside the edge of the sunken bathtub. He'd insisted that Eliot had joined him before, but he wasn't this time. This time it was a choice - his choice.
"Look, join me or don't, it's up to you, but I'm going to enjoy the water while it's still warm."
He stepped down into it without another word. The water was a little too hot, but it was deeply reassuring to feel it scorching away at all the places where Lucifer had touched him. It always felt good. He spoke softly as he went under the water.
"I wasn't allowed to wash for what felt like years. He cut me. He came all over me. I was caked with it. Those first few times didn't go without me working for it, one way or another. I mean--I had to teach myself to blow him under water. Do you have any idea how hard that is when you still need to breathe?"
He sank back lower, dropping his head on the edge of the bath. "I had to suck a lot of cock to get the right to bathe all on my own."
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Eliot went quiet at Sam's words, knowing they were the truth of what this man had gone through and how much easier Eliot had in comparison. And the delivery of the message, not making a point of it but merely telling him, as part of conversation, drove it home all the more. It wasn't surprising to either of them that after a few minutes, the water rippled with Eliot stepping into the tub. Washing off the gunk was too good an opportunity to pass for even the fighter to protest, especially without the sort of restrictions Sam was saying he experienced.
"You're a better man than the Devil," Eliot answered when he sank into the hot water beside Sam. The tub was large enough for both of them to stretch out comfortably, and Eliot sighed out audibly in relief when the hot water soaked into him. Given how Sam was relaxed beside him, Eliot took the chance that he wouldn't be rushed out of the tub and could afford a few minutes of the hot water before he scrubbed himself raw.
"And nah, I'd worry 'bout you even with one broken limb," Eliot smirked slightly with his eyes closed. It was the most relaxed he'd been in weeks.
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Lucifer and the puppy
Well...as dead as anyone would be for very long in this place, at least, but it had hurt, and it had been bloody. Lucifer had dismembered him in front of April, splattering blood in every direction, using just his hands. Then, very carefully, he'd shot her in the head, not killing her, but leaving her in such a state that Will, returning, would wish very much that she was. If the bullet couldn't come out without killing her, then the nanites couldn't possibly heal it up.
That, of course, all paled in comparison to what Lucifer had in store for Jeff Winger. His hounds had been shot, so he needed to replace them.
He waited until Jeff got home, and found the massacre, and then and only then did he drop in and abduct him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. The next step took him to a white room with no doors and windows, where Lucifer released him, all but pushing Jeff away from him as they landed. ]
Hello, Jeffrey.
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The release has him stumbling, dropping to his knees heavily and retching, and for once in his life he seriously doesn't care if he's ruining the pants of his nice, expensive suit. Where they are doesn't even matter (he's glad to be away from whatever that was, but if the last visual clue hadn't been enough, the voice he hears solidifies the fact he's well and truly fucked.
He gives himself a second before turning his gaze towards his company, brows lowered as he swipes the back of his hand briefly over his lips.]
What the fuck...?
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Don't act like you don't know what this is, Jeff. You let that little friend of yours shoot my dogs, so I shot his. And I killed his dogs too.
[ Well, that was rude. He'd kind of liked April, when they'd met, but his anger knew no bounds.
He cocked his head, looking Jeffrey over. ] And now I am all out of special pets... Didn't we discuss what would happen to you in such an event? What's wrong, Jeff, did you think that I wouldn't go through with it?
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Lucifer would surely not join them again, Sam thought--but Sam was wrong. Lucifer came at around midday, well before he'd have considered taking Eliot to bed. To be honest, he was putting it off. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him again.
He came attended by a demon with a clipboard this time, standing in the doorway as Sam looked at him, baffled.
"Are we going somewhere?" he asked, carefully.
Lucifer stepped in, petting his hair, until Sam lowered his head, his gaze, utterly submissive, and told him yes, that both he and Eliot were to come with him. They were even invited to dress with clothes laid out on the bed, which made Sam suspicious. He could guess where they were going, what they would be invited to do, and that Eliot would fail. He knew it already, but he stepped out obediently, following Lucifer and the demon through the long gothic hallways.
He hung back, but didn't say a word to Eliot, already psyching himself up for what was to come ahead.
At last they stepped into a torture room, recognisable by the floor which tapered into the center, where a hole in the floor under the table would drain away anything anything that splashed. The body laying out on it was an older man in an expensive suit, who clearly had no true understanding of where he was, or what had happened to him. When they stepped inside, he parsed some spiel about calling his lawyer, and the police.
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It left him feeling good to start the day, even though he expected things to go back to normal and would probably go downhill. He was realistic about it so he wasn't particularly shocked when the Devil showed up again in the afternoon. After the session yesterday, Eliot had the feeling that he wouldn't be left alone so soon, he expected that. It was still hard to see Sam behave like a broken man immediately in Lucifer's presence though.
The clothes, the demon lackey, they all bode ill although Eliot couldn't figure out what. He tried to guess from Sam, but the man was as silent as he ever was when the Devil was around and Eliot found no help from him. Yet the answer was self evident when after the short trip they reached their destination, a clear place of torture with the victim tied down in the middle. The room wasn't an improvised area with plastic wraps for easy cleaning that Eliot was used to, but with a built in drain in the middle that proved it's permanent status. This was the type of place Hell was, and the routine Eliot suffered before Sam took over.
From the clothes he was given --scratchy, he wasn't used to wearing clothes anymore-- he knew the victim this time wouldn't be him, at least physically. But that didn't make him relax at all. He could guess what the Devil wanted with him and the tension in the room just built that much more.
For the first time since Lucifer walked in today, Eliot spoke, "No, I won't do it."
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Lucifer made him believe them. For example he'd sworn that Dean would come and rescue him for a week, before Lucifer had pointed out that even if he was rescued, Sam was ruined for the world now. He would never go back to being who he was; he'd always be Lucifer's bitch. Sam believed that. He never suggested rescue again. Speaking was just risky, so he only did it when he really had something to say. Eliot was learning quickly too.
Sam felt himself tense as Eliot denied the Devil what he wanted, just like he'd expected. Sure enough, Lucifer stepped up beside Eliot, looking at him intently.
"Are you sure about that? It isn't anything that Robert here doesn't deserve. He's an embezzler, and an adulterer--aren't you Robbie?"
"Go fuck yourself," Robert snarled at Lucifer.
"That wasn't very nice, was it, Eliot? You see? He's not a very nice person."
Sam looked across at Eliot, willing him to do it. God, he'd do it eventually, why not now? Didn't he know what would happen?
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He burned the world, killed all but a handful of humans, exterminated all his Father's pets. The angels abandoned Heaven, they abandoned their champion, and Lucifer still didn't get what he wanted.
Unfortunately, that meant Michael needed to keep suffering. He needed to rot. He needed to hurt. He needed... He needed to hurt so badly that their Father came running, so that he could grab him by the arm and slap him on the wrist. Wasn't that how admonishment worked? Lucifer didn't know, he'd been shoved straight into the Cage the first time his Father had gotten truly mad at him.
Poor Michael. The consequences, for his brother, were severe and bitterly dark. Lucifer just wanted to make everyone else hurt the way that he did.
So Michael, bound and helpless on his knees beside Lucifer's throne, a collar sealed with Enochian sigils clasped around his neck. It had been a rough day, rougher than usual, emotionally, and he reached across, dragged his fingers through his brother's hair, then turned to look down at him. ]
Feel like making me feel better?
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Michael hadn't been surprised when God hadn't returned at the conclusion of the Apocalypse. He'd always assumed their Father's return was conditional on fulfilling His Plan as foretold by the prophets. This was not the paradise the angels had been promised, and it was not the victory He had demanded. They had disappointed Him, yet again.
His own failures weren't something Michael liked to dwell on, though, except when attempting to ruffle Lucifer's feathers with loud prayers to their Father.
Most of the time, his thoughts of choice were seething over Dean's refusal to act as his vessel. If he hadn't been forced to improvise, if only he hadn't been stuck with a vessel that threatened to tear apart at the seams when he so much as spread his wings-
Feeling fingers brushing his scalp, Michael lifted his head to glare at Lucifer, seated ever so casually on his throne.]
I'll sit this one out.
[There was no such thing as refusing Lucifer when he was in a mood, of course. Lucifer never had heeded the word 'no', not when he wanted to play, not when he wanted to rebel, and certainly not when he was feeling vengeful. A consequence of being favoured by God and Heaven at large, no doubt, and Michael still cursed himself for being as permissive as he had been with his brother when they were younger.
Michael still made the effort to refuse him whenever possible, even more so than he had before he had lost. It was a matter of principle, and he had always been stubborn, maybe the most obstinate angel God had ever assembled.]
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It was just so unfair. He was tired and angry, immensely frustrated, and Michael was his best outlet. ]
Well now you're just being unreasonable. Who knew you were such a baby?
[ He tightened his grip suddenly in his brother's hair, his hand tight, and then pulling upward, dragging Michael around toward him. He could resist, of course, but... ]
Remember how you lost, and I won? I mean...
[ He rolled his shoulders, leaning forward, almost putting his face right into Michael's face. ]
Maybe I've been treating you too gently. Maybe you've gotten complacent.
[ It wouldn't surprise him. He'd been cruel to Michael, of course, but a lot of his energy had been spent on reshaping the world, too. Maybe he had been too gentle. Maybe Michael didn't realize how good he had it. If so, it was up to Lucifer to reacquaint his brother with his position. ]
How should I reeducate you?
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