The pianist finished his set with a flourish, the final note leaving one decidedly scruffy gentleman in tears. As the musician took his bow, the muted applause of his patrons died as they quickly lost interest, turning back to their banal conversations on the current events of this city and the beyond it. It mattered little to our performer, for he does not play for them. Since the day he left hell, Lucifer Morningstar's freedom never caused him to sing in the streets, but he quietly relished in the autonomy of his new life, a satisfaction sweeter than all the pleasures of the silver city. But even as he strode to the bar, his bar, he can still feel the strings on his shoulders, even if the puppeteer had lost interest, and they were just waiting to be pulled.
"I'll take the Janneau Armagnac, Mazikeen," the angel said, sitting on one of the leather stools at the mahogany bar.
"Ghe shevent-haigt hor ghe twennte hoo ngy rroahd?" Mazikeen asked. Her mask was ugly, Lucifer thought, but a necessity to keep front of house in the mortal world. What lay underneath would be quite horrifying to everyone else in the establishment, though the building's owner thought it was quite a unique and charming feature.
"The seventy-eight, the twenty-two is for a special occasion. I'll require two glasses however, there will be someone joining me." Mazikeen raised her eyebrow. She didn't recall the lord mentioning a meeting today. He shook his head. "No business, just someone who has taken my interest." He motioned his head behind him, pointing to a dirty man bawling in his seat.
'How did he get in', she wondered, making a mental note of looking into better security. She didn't question her boss' interest however, and went to grab his drinks as requested. Lucifer didn't particularly know why this man had piqued his curiosity, but he had, so he simply resolved to find out why. He used his influence to nudge the man into approach him, as he calmly waited for his drinks.
"Uhhh, Hi" the vagrant intoned, starting to wonder why he was standing here, in maybe the classiest bar in LA, talking to the most talented musician he had ever seen. It didn't help that they were a complete mismatch; he was wearing the same clothes he had worn three days ago, a scruffy mismatch of thick layers and gym gear, while the pianist was decorated with an impeccably white suit. Lucifer turned, and looking into his eyes, the man saw a twinkle, imagining that even the dark epicentre of the pupils could light up an entire room. He started sweating, irrationally and uncontrollably, but sure was something about the pianist that he couldn't quite put his finger on. "I uhh… Guess I just wanted say thank you. Your song it… it really… got to me, you know?"
"I can understand that Samael. Music has power, a power which seems to be more often squandered than not, as of late. Please, take a seat."
"It's Sam if you don't mind," he said. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, he added, chuckling, "You don't have to talk to me y'know. Trust me, I know a man who looks this shabby shouldn't be in a joint like this…"
"Sit Samael. You will accept the hospitality of your host."
The man sat, not particularly of his own free will, glossing over the mystery of how a stranger knew his name, his strange, antiquated name. "Host huh?" He acknowledged, looking around the room. "So you own this place?"
"Yes. It was an aspiration of mine that had remained out of my grasp, until most recently."
"I hear that, I always wanted a classy bar, y'know, kind that'll get the right kind of people in, ambiance, class, décor, y'know? Always chillin'."
Lucifer did not reply. He was staring at Samael, a name they shared, wondering why in the whole of creation, with its intricate design that he himself helped fashion and bend to exact specifications, he had decided to begin a conversation with this unremarkable specimen?
The specimen itself prattled on, oblivious. "Yeah," he drawled, "that's what heaven would be like for me y'know? Good bar, good drinks, good music, good friends. I could go for an eternity of that."
The ex-Lord of Hell smirked. Heaven was anything but cheerful, much less a party. Even in the timeless days before he questioned his true function, he only ever felt content; that was all they were ever allowed to feel. Assisting in creation was their function, tasks divided amongst them, and they only ever carried out their function. That was what they were. That was all they could be, until The Name set his plans into motion, scripting his pawns into motion, to battle, to fall. And those insufferable sods would only get excited if they were placed on the board, even for the most obvious suicide charge, for they all wanted one thing, the attention of Yahweh. But of course, lust is a sin, and angels cannot sin. Lucifer shook his head and chuckled darkly. "In heaven there are only angels, and as a consequence, it is the most boring place in all of the cosmos."
Sam nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, I get that. Gotta have some troublemakers to keep things interesting, right? Not that that was me, of course, heh heh." His expression turned sombre. "I was actually going places. Was up in the… uh…"
He thought for a second. The man in white smoothed his lapel in impatience. Samael was clearly drunk, and clearly stupid. This human only looked like a waste of his time.
"Business sector!" Sam finally managed, smiling as if he was proud of himself. "Yeah, y'know, I was a big shot. Cash was rolling in, left, right, up, down. Wife loved it, called me 'Mister Big D'!" He beamed at the fallen angel, who, at this second, wished hell could swallow him under again. "Y'know, for dollar, right?" He kept beaming, but then his expression fell. "So I kept bringing it all in y'know? I had to. Boss winked at me, said it was all great, just keep doing what I'm doing. 'Course, it was a little under the table if you know what I'm saying, y'know? Can't make a good omelette without breakin' eggs y'know? But someone snitched. Company left me high and dry, wife took whatever she wanted, I'm left paying every cent I know to get Uncle Sam offa my ass. That why I'm so beat up now man, y'kn-"
"Stop." Lucifer had enough of this man's incessant overuse of contractions. Samael tried to keep talking, but no words would come out. He realised he couldn't breathe. He was gasping for air, still making no sound. He stared at the devil, eyes filled with pure fear, face turning bluer by the second. "Now, we will try again, and you will think very carefully about how you elocute yourself."
Sam breathed. He took it in lungfuls, loudly at first, but a glance at his new drinking partner made him shrink up and not make a sound. He barely registered the drink placed in front of him, but he did notice who served it. He saw their face, and of course the mask, very chic, and was completely stunned. Himself as of couple months ago would be throwing his cash around, making sweet talk, doing anything to try and take this mysterious woman to bed. He, like many others had at this bar, ignored the sudden stench of rotting flesh.
Lucifer had also ignored his drink, instead glowering at the mirror through the stacks of bottles behind the bar. He was angry with himself. Why was he drawn to this pitiful man? Were his senses wrong? And why was he getting so irritated by it?
Sam stopped ogling to look back on the pianist. He didn't know what he did (hypnosis maybe?), but years in the boardrooms taught him to identify a man to not be fucked with. This thought sobered him up a little, but not so he was smart enough to leave, even if he had that capacity. He watched the man in white wave away the woman in the mask, who gave herself extra time to sneer at the scruffy stranger as she looked to serve other customers. When he looked back at the man-to-not-be-fucked-with, he saw he was analysing him intensely.
"There has to be something I'm looking for…" he mutters. His piercing gaze is placed at his quarry once again. "You mentioned losing your job. Elaborate."
"Well…" Sam gulped when he realised pauses weren't helping his situation "Yeah. I was working in stocks, got some inside connections on a bunch of companies, knew when to buy low and sell high y'kn-" he choked, and caught himself. "Well, you get the idea. I'm guessing one of my insiders squealed, or turned rat. Man, if I get a hold of that bastard…"
Lucifer held out his hand to pause him. "And your superior knew about this?"
Sam nodded. "Oh yeah, big time. He encouraged it, about twenty guys in our department; all did the same kind of thing. Pitted us against each other for bonuses and stuff, I know, dog eat dog world right? Guess I was the unlucky one right?" He tried smiling at the man who choked him a minute ago, but he was staring at the mirror again. Sam was worried, thinking the pianist might take away his oxygen supply for a second time, but a small smile had formed on his pale face, and that only worried him even more. Lucifer spoke quietly, and contemplatively.
"Ah, yours is a story I know well. Nothing changes. A superior gives you their word, that you're safe, protected, included in their plans, but they are ready to send you to the dogs as soon as that fits with their goals." He bridged his fingers together and closed his eyes. "They throw you away as soon as their able. Human, Angel, Demon…"
His suddenly gentle tone struck a chord with the mortal beside him. "Aw, it's alright man, we all get shit-"
Lucifer cut through with his own soliloquy, completely ignoring him. "Demon… Is that true? Did I treat my subjects the way Yahweh treated us?" He pondered on this thought intently, whilst Sam thought it wise to keep his mouth shut for once. "Perhaps. But those seeds were sown in his first betrayal, the true original sin."
His new friend was getting so surreal, Sam had to pipe up. "The… the what now?"
Lucifer looked up, remembering Samael. Sharing a name, one admittedly archaic as his own no less… He'd say it was fate, but he of all people knew there was no fate. While Destiny's book had no author, Lucifer knew who decided in the content. He realised however, that destiny's' book was not worth a damn. Only his own volume would be the one he would notice, he would follow, and he realised why he needed to talk to this sad little man. For his own book, he had to tell a story. And for something to be a story, it had to be told at least once.
"I am going to tell you a tale, my account, the journey of how I came to where I am today. You will remain quiet, and then, you're going to tell me who was right, and who was wrong. Do you understand me?"
Sam nodded, feeling a bead of sweat run down his forehead.
"Very good. Once, a time ago so far beyond your concept of reality and matter, lay a silver city, of angels and such beauty and-" He paused, noting the incredulous look on the face of his audience. He knew the cretin wouldn't have the intelligence to handle the metaphysics of the true version of events, not many mortals did. He had to concede that to really tell a story, the presentation needs to be switched, enhanced, to suit the needs of the audience you have.
"Let's try again. At the beginning of my life I was presented with a job and purpose. I followed that purpose to the letter, to the very shape of the ink on the page, from the alpha, to the omega." A blank look from Sam told him he really didn't have his desired audience. "My, you could say father, was the leader of our, hmm… Company." He spat the word out, displeased he had to reduce the complexities of creation to a corporate analogy for this simpleton. "My brother was his right hand man. I was his left. We worked well, for an eternity no less, but things began to change.
"We had completed our project. Our ultimate project. But I had grown to mistrust my father. There were far too many inconsistencies in his design, equations that didn't balance, gaps that needed filling, not to mention working conditions were of an oppressive nature, that we could never hope to fight against. So I rebelled, with a select many of my colleagues, whom I had convinced all was not as it seems, to take over the... Company."
Sam was transfixed in the tale, the pianists commending air making him pay more attention than he ever felt possible. "Then?"
"We lost." Lucifer said lamely. "We never could have won. It wasn't how the book was written. I and my compatriots were banished to the lowest, empty section of the enterprise. We were put to work, where I ruled as chief, but forever knowing my father was the real ruler of that place. I still tried to destabilise him, spoil a few apples here and there but…" The angel shook his head. "Something still wasn't right. The inconsistencies were still there but why? Over time, my anger faded, my thoughts became clearer, and I realised the truth."
"What truth?"
"The realm I was banished to. If my rebellion was after creation-" he scowled, "-The creation of the company, why was there this place with previously no workers, as if waiting for my arrival?" He turned now to Sam, his eyes dark, and hallow. "It was waiting for my arrival. My entire life, the rebellion, the fall, the aftermath, had all been engineered by my father. I was the fall guy, as you would put it. Whenever there was a failing in his leadership, or his, bah, customers, expressed their displeasure, the blame was taken to me, and so he could keep his position as the almighty and all-loving lord." He finished, but then added, with a sigh, "Of the company."
To Sam's credit, he sat quietly for a while, taking in the message of the tale. "Wow. Ya ask me, he sounds like an asshole."
"I'm not sure the creator of this realm and those beyond can be described as a rectum but I…" He paused. "Appreciate," he decided, "the sentiment behind it."
"That's cool. So, what did you do after?"
"I toiled in that blasted department for many eons. Always planning, always engineering a way back to the top, but soon after the true epiphany, I realised that was what he wanted. So I quit."
Sam could only raise an eyebrow. "In this economy?"
"I am a man of many means, Samael, physical compensation has and never will be the issue."
The scruffy man nodded, only wishing he could say the same. "So, then you opened up this place?"
"Indeed, though you could say that the providing of entertainment for the upper echelons of your society is more of a…" He swirled his glass as he considered his phrasing. "Hobby. In reality, I imagine I am what you would call an entrepreneur."
"Really?" Sam asked, interest piqued. "What's your pitch man, I bet you've got some great ideas!"
"Nothing much," Lucifer replied in nonchalant fashion, "the same industry as I was in before. But I will create a new design, one better than my previous master, where he cannot touch me or my affairs."
"Err, can't you just let go?" The fire in the pianists' eyes set the man's back as straight as an icicle, and his voice devolved into a high pitched squeak. "I mean you're pretty successful right now so you don't need his- shit I'm sorry."
"Enough." The fire died, and Sam relaxed, too much, slipping off the bar stool and ending up sprawled on the floor. "I tire of this exchange." He looked the man over with a fiercely critical eye. "You have provided some entertainment, so I would say this." His gaze pierced the man, who seemed to have shrunk into his coat. "Go to a house of sin and vice. You will find luck in the cards, but knowing when to stop will decide between poverty, a life of ease, and death. Go." Nodding his farewell, Sam stumbled to his feet and tottered to the exit, knowing somewhere deep down he would find a casino, but not feeling very good about it.
As Lucifer watched the poor man stagger off, he took a sip of his drink, and couldn't help but think back to dear late Morpheus, whose demise had been rooted in the affection he felt for mortals. While his encounter had been somewhat enlightening, Lucifer would be sure to not make the same mistakes. Besides, that drunken fool wouldn't be a contact to share a glass and story with every century. By the morning he would be a corpse in the gutter, one of the many imbeciles who was far too greedy at a table that didn't belong to him. But that wasn't his affair.
But, for all of his failings, his subject had agreed with him. He wondered if he travelled the world, spreading his previously ignored side of the oldest story, would they flock to him, and not to God? It was irrelevant. He would find out if the masses would flock to his dominion sooner rather than later. If anything, at least the encounter had prompted him to be more proactive. "Mazikeen," He called to his barmaid.
She smoothly appeared in front of him. "Yeshh masshta?"
"Close the bar, we shall begin to set my plan into motion." As she performed the usual busywork, he remained seated, sipping at his drink, contemplating what a new creation could be like. One where no one had to fall.
Well, I've had this story for like, ages now, and I just decided to finish it. Nigh-omnipotence is hard to write, so I don't think I showcased that side of Lucifer very well, but, I'm kind of pleased just to get this out. Hopefully if your reading this you liked it, but tell me how I did if you want! -WN