"Look at this, then." Nudging the dusky beauty beside him. "Who comes to a party, even one so staid as this one, as if called to war?" The amber eyes followed her boss's gaze up toward an elevated entrance landing, at first not noticing the source of his comment. Wait, not that that mousey little figure?
A petite woman, dressed to disappear in tones of grey with hair twisted back in a bun was standing just outside the doors from the upper atrium. Her arms were crossed, head slightly lowered and eyes alert. She seemed to be surveying the room and in a gathering of attention-seekers, her unobtrusiveness actually stood out.
"You can't mean her." Scoffing chuckle. "So much more candy here…" she swept her bangled wrist to indicate the tight dresses and glitzed glamour of the uniform socialite dress code smattered around the room.
"Come on, even you must get bored of saccharine plastique. Same everywhere we go."
"Please. I love processed franchise food. Tasty tacky tidbits never disappoint." She ran her tongue over her teeth in the frame of a slow grin.
He cut an amused glance over to her. "I'll be sure to let our mutual friend know how he rates…"
A scowl darkened the smooth complexion. "He's happy enough."
"I'm certain, he's a simple fellow at heart…oh, wait." His voice trailed off and eyebrows raised in amusement.
On the landing, a 'candy' with one anemic limb wrapped in the crook of an elderly man's elbow and an acrylic claw holding a champagne flute had bumped into the woman in grey, splashing fluid over her bare arm. The plumed pet simpered and tossed what looked like an artificially tittered apology before cuddling back into her aging beau. The quiet woman's expression hadn't even flickered; she simply inclined her head and offered an 'it's all right' palm before the vapid face turned away. Then there was the briefest flash of a narrowed glare as she raked a quick hand down her arm, flinging the droplets off onto the bare back of her baptizer, chameleoning immediately to an innocent 'was there something else?' look as the painted woman glanced over her shoulder. When the unlikely-in-nature pair moved off, a rather violent eye roll blessed them on their way before she subsided into watchfulness again. He found the blend of expression and camouflage entertaining and decided some exploration was in order. Preservative-laden candy tended to have a long shelf life. This person looked ready to bolt.
"Pardon, please…going to stretch my legs a bit"
'Probably not the only thing…' his associate thought.
"Not a joiner then, are we?" The voice coming from far above her head was a melodious tenor, richly saturated with a Welsh accent. Unfortunately the pleasant effect was warped by the amount of smarm in the delivery.
She didn't even bother turning to look. It had been an exhausting day and 'required' social hoop-jumping when she'd been up to her elbows in mess a scant twenty minutes before was low on her priority list. "No, not without a drink we're not." Mildly disparaging. Even, low tone. Plenty of calm ice. Her best code-report-to-frantic-neophyte voice.
The delivery amused him. "Well, come on then, that's easy enough to rectify. Let's." A strong hand dropped to the small of her back and applied gentle pressure forward.
Either this guy didn't know how to take a hint, or she was losing her touch. Both irritating to consider. She glanced up and over her left shoulder, then up some more. Wow, tall. Really tall. Being petite, the height of others had stopped being remarkable a long time ago, but this pushy person had to be over six feet, easy. They must look ridiculous standing together, the stature difference being the least of it. Her resonant entranceway companion was sinuously leaning into the doorframe she was standing just in front of. With his elbow up, head in one hand, the other to her back (still), he looked far more comfortable than she felt. Of course, he wasn't being prodded by a stranger, either. She was positioned as she always was during an assessment, however this time rather than a patient she was critiquing the room full of well-dressed people below the entrance landing upon which she stood with no little trepidation. No, most definitely not a joiner. Her feet apart, arms crossed, back straight, game-face-on guise was generally considered by most not to be an overly approachable affect. Apparently, her new friend was an exception. They probably looked to those below like a ventriloquist performance waiting to begin, and that mental image made her bristle.
"I'm aware, thanks. Just getting the lay of the land, taking it all in, please insert other appropriately dismissive commentary of your choosing." That should shut him down. AND get him off her back, in all applications of the phrase.
"Of course darling, so sorry to disturb. It's just that as host I like to make sure all my guests are having a good time." Another warm serving of smarm, and now with a generous slab of sass for a side dish. She sighed. Well, shit. Wonderful impression for a new employee of a struggling city hospital to make on the one guy willing to throw a fund raising gala for it. Even if he really was the ass she was feeling like now, a reboot on some professionally polite behavior was definitely required on her part. She turned to face him (finally that hand dropped!), then backed up two steps so as not to crane her neck. Might as well not add physical discomfort to her personal raft of poo. She extended her hand.
"My sincere apologies. It's been a long day, but that doesn't excuse the rudeness. New fish, Trauma Prac, Canaan Raene."
"Oooh, a doctor, how interesting. Take people apart all day do you? Lucifer Morningstar, friendly neighborhood philanthropist, by the way." He gave her a sardonic little bow, his offending hand going to his chest. Pointedly ignoring hers. "Lovely to meet you, I'm sure."
"Feedback's usually good, at least the first couple of times. Been overdue for a glitch." Her caustic quip pleased him. His eyebrows flickered as he chuckled, a deep slow roll washing down over her from high in the doorframe. "Not a doc, by the way. NP." He asked for clarification by raising his eyebrows further. "Nurse Practitioner. And in trauma our job is trying to put the puzzle pieces back together, actually. And you said your name was….sorry, what now?"
He finally accepted her proffered hand, deliberately changing the angle and to her surprise, brought it up to his mouth to kiss the back of it. She could swear she felt the tip of his tongue briefly in the soft press. Unnerving. His pull had required her to walk a step closer, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in mischievous delight at her left brow raised in silent objection. He clasped her hand a modicum tighter. "Morningstar, Lucifer. I believe that's the format you medical saviors prefer. " Sarcasm dripped over the word 'saviors', and he slowly smiled a charmingly predacious grin. A very strange combination in what was rapidly becoming a very strange experience and neither of which she found entirely unpleasant, much to her chagrin.
She turned her clinical assessment skills to the person trapping her hand. Quite tall. Trim, but not lanky. More long-distance swimmer build than soccer player. Definitely easy in his own skin, by the way he was positioned. Wearing a black tuxedo, and it was a shame there weren't more fancy events coming up here because he looked great in it. She mentally shook her head; where had THAT errant thought come from? Looking down (up) her arm at him, a piercing pair of brown eyes so dark they were almost black were avidly looking right back at her. Eyelashes most double-X chromosomes would kill to have framed them. Thick eyebrows and wavy dark hair, just long enough to run fingers through (what was WRONG with her?!). Fashionable stubble. Strong planes to his face and body, not the stereotypical vanilla first-casting-of-protagonist-in-a-B-movie type, but attractive. Combined with that voice, irritatingly so. She estimated him in his early forties, but something about those eyes made him seem far older. Primordial, even. Other than that, the most notable aspects of him currently were the small smirk playing over his full mouth and the fact that he still held onto her hand. Boundary issues, clearly. He was attentive to her appraisement of him, and she began to feel like she was mired in the middle of a 'Who's On First' bit regarding who was looking at whom, how. He preened a little, tilting his head and pulling her gently another step closer.
"Like what you see?" Low, sonorous voice. Tinge of thrill.
Canaan generally found that effectively targeted communication cut through a lot of crap, and replied, "You mean someone who has obviously gone to some degree of trouble to help out a place that helps others? Yes. I like it." The words and tone of her answer clearly surprised him and his expression turned momentarily thoughtful. He still hadn't loosed her hand, and she became more certain that this whole scenario was unfolding in surrealistic limbo.
Since she was unwilling to be the first person here who made two social gaffs in less than two minutes, (first rule of fund-raising: never piss off the money) she continued to leave her hand trapped, even though it was getting weird, and asked him about his name, which was weirder.
"Lucifer. Hmm. And Morningstar as the other bookend. Unusual. Show business? Deviant witness protection program? Famous family?"
"Famous father. And yes, quite unusual. You've no idea." He did not hide his identity per say, just was far less overt than he had been in the past. He found most people so discomfited by his persona that he usually wasn't grilled over it. He had a suspicion that precedent might not hold true with the one now in front of him.
"Ah."
"Your name is a bit biblical as well, darling. And granola. Make it up yourself, did you?"
"Yep." She had. New name for a new start. She had no idea why she told him that, other than the fact he was the first person to ever ask. Directness being such an integral part of her character the mere admission didn't bother her, just the fuzziness on the 'why' bit. A little tangle to turn her brain around later.
"Really? Do tell!" He was instantly more animated, and the unexpectedness of seeing a little boy appear in the man made her laugh. It was a beautiful sound, and he could have no idea how rare. He found himself charmed at the sudden light in her expression and pulled her one more step closer.
"Nope."
"Come on," he pressed, laying that voice over her like a pour of warm honey. "…this is turning out to be a more interesting conversation than most at events such as these."
"How unfortunate. Apparently you need to get out more often. Shouldn't have thought that would be a problem in your line of work."
"Yes, well, crosses to bear and all that." The sarcasm was back in spades. "Truly, tell me…you know you want to." His eyes gleamed. Convivial washes of expression over the surface of a feral undercurrent.
Strangely enough, she sort of did. Being a master of social autopilot, deliberately choosing to fly under the radar for longstanding reasons, she found his little challenge oddly refreshing. Although Lucifer couldn't know it, she usually had no difficulty with personal obfuscation either. This strange character in front of her was the first person she'd met in a very long time whom she felt was actually seeing her through her carefully constructed societal shell, and it piqued her interest on a fundamental level. She wasn't sure how she felt about that and uncertainty's unfamiliar whiff annoyed her. Trauma was very much a 'solve the problem, go on to the next' game. And there was always a 'worse next' right around every corner. The intensity of acquiring a proficient skill set in this field, and then actually doing the work effectively meant she had little time for anything else, and this suited her life now. Being good at her job, and topically pleasant but standoffish had kept her well clear of deeper personal interactions. Up until the last five minutes in the past five years she had never considered anything else.
Consideration didn't always begat change.
"You wouldn't understand and moreover, I don't require you to. Leave off." The rebuke and abrupt shift in her expression startled him, and he released her hand. She stepped back several paces, and as she moved away he was a bit stung…and more intrigued. Pulling his body up from its easy slouch, he drew himself to full height, slipped his hands in his pockets and angled toward her slightly. Most people found this posture intimidating, but provoked no obvious reaction in her; fear, irritation or otherwise. Just silence. He was certain his charismatic affect was reaching her, but rather than evoking the typical knee-jerk blurts or lolling tongues he usually got in response, she simply noticed it. Deflection by rationality, definitely a novel outcome. He resolved to loose Mazikeen to turn over a few informational stones on his new discovery in the near future. It had been a long time since he'd gone hunting, and this was a delectable premise to consider. His eyes hooded and mouth twisted appreciatively at the thought, tongue grazing the corner.
She noticed all right, but she wore control effortlessly. "I'm sure you have many other people to attend to, Mr. Morningstar. It would be rude of me to keep you ensconced here any longer." She warmed her voice but not her eyes, "Thank you, for what you're doing. It means a lot to this community." Her appreciation here was obviously genuine, but he no longer saw the Canaan he'd been sparring with, only Raene, the practitioner. Whomever that mystery was. It was unsettling watching a person disappear entirely without ever leaving his sight. The laurel he gave for her victory was a slightly mollified smile. He offered her another small bow, flavored with grace rather than derision this time, and watched her nod in return. As she spun away and strode off, his dark eyes followed her, narrowing further in concentration. Assessing power in others came naturally to him and her small form had exuded it. Of presence and frame; incredible that she cloaked it so easily early on. Camouflage of that degree took skill and practice, and was usually born of interesting reasons. Despite himself, he was impressed. Once more he curled back against the doorframe, musing.
"Not ensconced at all, darling. Ensorcelled."
A tumbler of ice bathed in amber liquid appeared from his right, and without looking over he accepted it from the woman coming from the atrium beyond the entrance. She had been there throughout the entire exchange, fuming. She stalked forward to join him in the doorway. "You do remember what happened the last time you had that look on your face? Not pretty." Her tone was acidic. Her boss's dalliances were one thing, fascination entirely another.
He took a large swallow, and crushed a cube of ice in sharp white teeth as he watched the enigma make her way through the crowd below. Cutting a glance to the side, he addressed her. "Careful now, Mazie." His voice was soft, but the warning within implicit. He waved his free hand out towards the lobby and halls beyond. "Clearly this little wreck of a place needs much more attention than it has been getting, don't you think?" The predatory grin was back, much wider and sans the charm coating. Mazikeen lowered her chin and launched a smoldering glare out at the people below. A random observer would be hard-pressed to say which one of them looked more dangerous.
Downstairs now, well-earned drink in hand and lodged on the outskirts of a peripheral helix her colleagues had formed around some talking head, Canaan chose that moment to turn back and look up at the landing. Across the crowd, Lucifer tilted his head and his glass to her, still smiling his Cheshire smile. Seemingly unfazed by either the new mystery man or the formidable expression of the woman beside him, Canaan simply raised one eyebrow, and her own glass in response before turning away.
"Oh yes, Maze," he said, draining the rest of his tumbler. "Yes, I definitely think more work is needed here."