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Post by Countess on Sept 15, 2024 2:11:46 GMT
It is one am, and Des has found herself in a nightclub... bar... lounge... place in LA called the Lux. It is fine enough, appeals to her sensibilities, though she knows last call is coming soon. The lights will come on, the music will stop, and she will need to get back to whatever the fuck it was she was doing... What was that? Oh, right, Tony... dying... helping him and whatnot. He had been quite the peach sending her a private jet to pick her up in Nashville, especially after the whole... Remy debacle. Nothing quite to crush a lady than to know for a fact she is second fiddle. She knew it from the start, yes, but for a small moment she was actually excited to... forget it.
That's Des, though, wanting something just long enough to feel it for a moment, then throw it away. Surely, given what the tabloids say, she deserves a client like Tony.
They say misery loves company, but the young woman cannot be bothered. The drunker she gets, the more her power leeks out of her. All around her, the party is in full swing, people dancing like they never have before, drinking like there is no tomorrow, music being played on a piano that could bring tears to anyone who listens... The owner must be making a killing, tonight. The party is at Lux, and she is the quiet conductor of this orchestra.
Des finishes off her two fingers of Ardbeg, a drink older than her by at least thirty years, and she signals for another.
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Post by theownleewoncanoebee on Sept 16, 2024 0:44:22 GMT
Lucifer is having a splendid night. Spirits are high, the people are dancing, booze is flowing, and business is booming. And while he would love to credit Lux' popularity, the reach of his own name, or a special event at the bar, but the cause is none of his own influence tonight. No, it's hers. Little Muse.
He's been watching her. The way he watches a lot of people, humans mostly, and he likes what he sees. Her subtle influence, both passive and actively portrayed, works wonders for the guests at the bar, and even his staff who are slinging drinks like they never have. Perhaps he should gift them some advanced bartending courses - they're not inhumanly good even under the influence, so there's room for improvement.
Mazekeen has been leashed, this one is his to experience and explore, and now is the time.
"On the house." His smile is charming as ever and there's an unnatural twinkle in his eye as he slides her drink across the counter, despite not having poured one in the first place.
"How are you finding LA, Darling?"
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Post by Countess on Sept 16, 2024 1:37:56 GMT
On the house. Not surprising. She has money and means of her own, and yet so often such boons are granted onto her. They seldom come without strings attached, a gift is never truly freely given in her estimations. No, a free drink least of all. Especially when last call is just around the corner. Des sighs, swirling the glass when it is given to her. She is not a particularly observant person when inebriated, so she doesn't notice that the man who gave it to her didn't exactly make it for her. A fatal mistake, in some instances. Des still has that little passive understanding of others... their moods... their intentions, so she is a little more lazy than usual in keeping up her guard. This Free Drink Giver, well, he's amused, interested, the lovely feeling of someone who has found someone new to play with. Des lets out another gust of air, letting it wash over her, also finding nothing entertaining in it. It just is, and right now she is in a right sorry state. Just the right amount one would be in at a bar approaching 2am.
"I am not your darling, I am not anyone's darling, I am Desiree Allard, Muse," she says, chastising him slightly in her French accent. There is annoyance on her tongue, perfectly suited to her, but also a hint of weariness. She's tired, but not the physical tired that comes from a night on the town. No, this comes from that lovely spot between rejection and jaded. Not anyone's darling- said so perfectly. She craves to be someone's darling, so much so that she rejects the desperation. Loneliness. Pedestrian, isn't it?
"I have found Los Angeles to be as it always has been. Manufactured," Des says, rolling her eyes a touch. A lot of her more lucrative, though ultimately boring, work is in this city. Hollywood has so many creative types, so many partying types. So many people looking to use others for their own personal gain. She isn't wholly against it- if she was, she would have an utterly different job and outlook on life. That, or she would be a hypocrite. She probably is, regardless.
"It is what it is, don't you think?" she asks, not really looking for an answer. Des finally looks up at him and- nothing lights up in her eyes. She doesn't know who he is, doesn't know his power, doesn't know his place in the grand scheme of things. Des does find him rather fetching, however, he has a curl to his grin that promises terrible things. She isn't sure yet if she wants the sort of debauchery his gaze carries... Tonight was earmarked for wallowing, wasn't it? Anything to get this wretched feeling out of her before she gets back to her regularly scheduled life.
"Ever wish you could just... run away?" Des asks, taking another sip. "Not the "Get away from your problems" run away but... get away from yourself? Your cage of your own making?" she continues.
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Post by theownleewoncanoebee on Oct 12, 2024 1:56:09 GMT
Lucifer takes a sip of his glass of Whiskey which he didn’t have in his hand when he began the interaction with the young woman, humming into it as if in consideration. His amusement at her corrections would surely register to her – not a blip of irritation.
“But you are quite darling, aren’t you?” Somehow, the words don’t sound mocking, despite the too wide smile that follows the rhetorical question – it’s an observation he considers to be neutral. Her attitude, paired with her self-hosted pity party at his very own establishment, and the fact that she’s identified herself as Muse, while seeming utterly devoid of inspiration herself, makes her his entertainment for the night, a puzzle to sort out, a prospective “client”.
He leans forward on the bar top on his forearms, pursing his lips in thought, even touching the rim of his crystal tumbler to the side of his chin to complete the picture.
“That is what L.A. is all about isn’t it? New beginnings, reinventions, forgetting yourself and manufacturing a new one.” He uses her previous wording deliberately. “Where better to make yourself a new shinier cage than the City of Angels? Are we running away from ourselves tonight, then?”
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Post by Countess on Oct 13, 2024 2:48:08 GMT
Entertainment? He seems to be amused with her, maybe even a touch fascinated. There isn't any annoyance at her mannerisms, a bit surprising since she isn't exactly a soft person, but there is ego. Gods, so much ego. What is with her attracting these types? What does she care, she loves it.
"I well and truly am," Des says, brandishing her own ego. She is not one to shy away from compliments, flattery gets everywhere for her.
"I am not exactly planning on staying here," Des says, sighing. "If I had to pick a place, this certainly wouldn't be it," she continues. Des props her head on her hand, using her elbow on the bar to hold herself up. "There is always a cage, isn't there?" she mutters. "So, how do we get out?" she asks, not really to anyone in particular, but Lucifer is really the only one listening.
Des pouts slightly. "I gave my name, what is yours?" she asks, eyes going briefly to his lapel. No nametag- but something else to be noticed. "That is... that is a nice suit," she says, chewing on that for a moment. "Too nice for a bartender," she adds, eyes connecting with his. She can name the exact runway it had been on, the person who designed it, and the year it came out. It is her job to know. Eyes narrow. Now she looks at his cufflinks, also expensive and perfectly paired. Without shame, she stands leaning over the bar, eyes trailing down his body, all the way down to his shoes... Fine make, not suited to being behind a bar lest they get wet, and also expensive. Whoever he is, he knows well and truly how to dress. His clothes and accessories represent the yearly wages of someone she would expect manning the bar.
".... who are you?"
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Post by theownleewoncanoebee on Oct 13, 2024 16:22:14 GMT
"Why, we break it of course. We rant and we roar, rave and rebel, and we accept nothing less than we deserve."If the light seems to both dim and brighten around him as he delivers his speech, it must be Des' imagination or inebriation, but the conviction he exudes isn't.
Lucifer then grins impishly as the Muse takes him in, knowing he looks impeccable - impressive - important."Permettez-moi de me présenter s'il vous plaît," his accent is perfect, and his grin widens at his own joke, despite the numerous times he's used it - The Rolling Stones just never get old. "Lucifer Morningstar, enchanté."
He reaches a perfectly manicured hand across the bar top for hers, not for a handshake, but to offer the back of her hand a kiss.
(( I apologize to any French speakers who might read this, I am not fluent in French |: ))
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Post by Countess on Oct 14, 2024 17:00:15 GMT
Looks like last call has officially been called, judging by the lights. "Then, here is to breaking it. Here is to the struggle, the rage, the effort, the pain, and the screams... all for that sweet, sweet taste of freedom, as brief as it may be," Des says, lifting her glass to him. It is up to him if he clinks his glass against hers, she isn't one to wait for something like that. Gently, she sips, setting down her drink once she is done.
"Enchantée, Monsieur Morningstar," Des says, both flattered and willing to offer the man her hand. Not a French name, but he speaks like a native speaker. "I take it you are the owner of this place?" she asks, casting her eyes about. She does like what she sees. For a place in LA, it isn't tacky or overdone. For a place she didn't help with, there are very, very scant few corrections she might offer. High praise, though few seem to think so. "Your name as weight here. Plus... Lucifer. Lux. All plays on illumination," she tells him as explanation.
"So, do you want to be the devil I know, or the devil I don't?" Des asks, grinning a little at her joke on his name. Strange one, but who is she to judge? He might be named after the ruler of Hell, by his parents or him, she doesn't really care. How can she? Des is named after Desire, or rather, being desired. Oddly prophetic.
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