Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian
4/21
This is your fault, a voice inside Lucifer's head taunted. He pushed the distracting noise aside.
There weren't enough coins coming in to stock their supplies. It wasn't Maze's fault. She fulfilled the duty of the post Anilith assigned her to, and ensured there was an ample supply of leather work for him to take to the market for trade.
It should have been enough to cover all their needs, but everyone knew he wasn't Lilim. No haggling or discounts were given to a beast like himself.
Rillam, the hide seller with green hair and scaly face, spat to the side as she looked over Lucifer's bag of finished goods. She eyed him as she reached into her pouch and tossed five ornate coins in his general direction.
"Where's the rest?" He waited for her to add to the pile. This work was worth far more than that.
"You think you can get better?" She pushed the pieces back across the table. "Go on. Try another stall."
He glared at her. They both knew no one else would buy from him. But as he reached to take the coins she placed her hand down on them. In her other hand she held five more coins, displaying them on the her palm. "Show me the beast face."
"And you'll give me the full worth of these items?"
She nodded and her forked tongue poked out of her mouth, moistening her lips.
It's not important, this is your true face anyway, is it not? He pushed the annoyance in his mind away again; buried it.
Showing his true self was a small price to pay in exchange for having enough coin to restock their supplies. It was a choice he'd gladly make.
The glamour let go as he reached within himself, harnessing the disgust and contempt he felt there. Heat built within, spreading, twisting his skin into something else, something other…or so he wished to believe. But no, this monster was the real him. He let it manifest for just a moment and then released it, gliding back into his proper disguise.
He held out his hand for the extra coins, and the seller smirked as she deposited the tokens into his hand.
It's your fault Maze was punished in the Spire. It should have been you. The voice within took on one of his brothers' tones. He couldn't ignore it, even though he knew it wasn't real. It couldn't be. No one here spoke Enochian. He knew it was only a memory of his brother's voice, but he didn't know how to stop it. Why couldn't he stop it?
But it was right, whatever it was. He was the reason Maze was relegated to a position far beneath her dignity, subjected to the gossip and jeers of her fellow Lilim who rejoiced in seeing their betters humiliated and demeaned.
His chest squeezed tighter at the thought of Maze. She was a warrior. It was a powerful, respected thing. She was used to respect. She was proud and important.
He went round to the few stalls that would take his coin. They were small vendors on the edges of the market with goods below the standards of the main sellers. The dead flesh he purchased smelled worse here. The fungus tasted ashy, but they had to eat, and even here none would buy Maze's work from him. Rillam was alone in that. Exchanging coins for the things he needed was still an uncomfortable concept in his mind, foreign, just like everything else. How did anyone know the right amount of coins were being exchanged for the goods received? Listening to the other Lilim arguing over prices only confused him further. He'd tried it once, only for Rillam to tell him he'd better pay what was asked or risk not having anything sold to him at all.
There were no coins left after he was through, but he had the barest provisions he needed to survive. He wouldn't be going back to the dome empty handed.
It was much further to walk to their new dome by the wall. It was much smaller than what Maze had lived in before, the walls were crumbling and ash accumulated in corners from the drafts that found their way in. But they'd fixed it up as much as possible. The wind howled louder here than it had in Maze's previous dome, but as a shelter it sufficed.
He hung the dead flesh on the wall beside the hearth. Maze had commented before that she appreciated having food waiting for her, and he'd been diligent since then to keep their supplies well stocked in things she liked. Most of his coin went to purchasing the most recently deceased flesh at the stalls.
Guarding the wall took up most of her time, the least Lucifer could do was show her he could take care of things in the dome. If he kept the small shelter clean and well stocked with food Maze liked, maybe she'd come home more often.
He waited. The door covering flapped as the winds began to rise with the end of ashfall. He knew she would have come if she was able, so he tied the cover in place, securing it to keep the blowing ash out.
He lit a tiny bundle of moss, and filled his pot with just enough water for a single portion of porridge and ate alone. He shivered in the dark, but it was better to conserve the hearth moss. He kept the voices at bay as well as he could until he couldn't keep his eyelids open any longer.
And then he slept alone.
The dreams returned, as they always did. Dreams of being bound and unable to move, of darkness, of silence. When he woke up to those he lit one of his few remaining candle stubs and pulled a cape over his shoulders against the chill lodged deep within. Other times the dreams were of blue flames, of all encompassing pain, burning, screaming for help, for forgiveness, and hearing only taunts and jeers in answer.
He woke alone, and ate alone, and waited.
The whelps found him early on, and tried to coax him out to join them. Wasn't that what started this whole mess to begin with? Flaunting his presence to the Lilim? He was just a beast to them, his presence, no matter where he went, was offensive. What if he did something Anilith could hold against Maze to punish her again? Keeping his head down, staying quiet, that was how he could help Maze.
Fraq and the others came to his door over and over again, and he continued turning them away. And then an ashfall passed without them throwing things and calling for him, two, three, and Lucifer resigned himself to not even having them calling him names to look forward to each ashfall. So he waited alone in between Maze's visits.
"Lucifer," he heard Maze call from outside. She stomped her feet to dislodge the ash from her boots and brushed off as much as she could from her cloak before coming in.
With a roll of his shoulders he disappeared his wings. It was easier to move around in the small space without them getting in the way.
She'd never come home at the beginning of an ashfall before. He hurried to light the hearth fire and tossed several moss bundles on it before she had worked the door flap open. He didn't tell her how little he used when she wasn't with him. He didn't have any right to complain. If not for him they wouldn't have been forced to move. If not for the weakness of spirit that caused his nightmares he could be in the secure barracks with Maze, so he built the fire up and cast off the blanket and cloak. She surveyed the dome, giving him only a cursory glance as he nearly tripped in an attempt to clean the mess he'd made of trying to craft with the small leather scraps around him before focusing on their provisions.
"I picked up everything we needed at the market," he explained as she sorted through the baskets.
"You had enough coin?"
"Yes."
She grunted and emptied her pouch of a new batch of crafting she'd done at the wall that he could use for trade, and poked through the scraps Lucifer had been working on. None of his work went into the trade worthy pile; he hadn't expected them to.
"It's cold in here." She checked the hearth moss basket and found it over half full.
Lucifer looked away. Not talking about it was the norm between them now.
Maze plucked the dead flesh from the hook on the wall and skewered it on an iron bar to heat over the flame of the hearth as she sat on the bedroll beside him.
He got up to prepare a flask of alcohol to share, and when he turned back to her, he caught her staring at his back. She looked away.
Even banished, his wings were a problem. The spot where he'd pulled out the primary to give to Anilith was taking a long time to grow back. It was a physical reminder of the moment he betrayed Maze and caused her punishment, and he was careful to hide his wings since the first time he noticed Maze staring at the ugly spine slowly growing in its place.
While she was away, his mind raced with all the things he wanted to talk to her about. He missed her presence, he missed the companionship. But when she was with him, there was only awkward silence.
"You're doing fine on your own?" she asked as she finished eating. She drank from the flask he offered her and handed it back.
Lucifer took a long drink. He savored the burn. He saved the alcohol for her visits, too. "I am," he assured her.
"Good." She stood up and put her cloak back on. "I need to get back to my duties at the wall."
She was leaving already? But she only just got there.
"Should I pick up more dead flesh for you at the market?" Lucifer asked. He didn't know what more he could do to coax her to stay.
"Bring home what you want," Maze grumbled, and she secured the round bowl-like helmet on her head that marked her as one of the wall-guards.
She prefers the company of her own kind over an abomination like you. How did she stand being near you for so long? How did she force herself to couple with a beast? Lucifer drank the rest of the alcohol trying to drown the voice out.
When he woke the next ashfall, his head ached and his stomach soured, but he took the trade and went back to the market for more dead flesh and alcohol.
"Not interested." Rillam grumbled. What would he do if Rillam refused to trade with him? Had he offended her?
"Why not?" The thought of going to Maze and telling her he couldn't handle the market made his stomach turn.
Rillam smirked.
Oh. The vendor wanted to see his burned skin again? He released the glamor over and let his true form emerge. He pushed the bag of craft to the vendor. "Better?"
But she shook her head. Her grin widened and she looked pointedly at the shelter behind her table where a hide protected her wares from the ash. "I want more than just a glimpse of your face."
"And then you'll trade with me?" He followed her behind the screen. As soon as they were out of view, she grasped his hand and pushed at his body covering, exposing more of the skin of his arm.
"I'll take if off if you agree to pay a fair price for those wares. Deal?"
She hissed in a breath and nodded.
He tossed his cloak onto a basket of goods, and unpinned the chiton beneath.
She reached forward and trailed her fingers along his scarred chest but he caught her wrist and pulled her hand away."You want to touch me?" he asked, and she made a rumbling sound in her throat. "That will cost more." He was getting the hang of this game.
"I will pay double if you stay half a finger of ash."
He had plenty of time. He shucked the rest of his garments off, and tossed them into a pile near the door. "Agreed."
He stood in place and allowed her hands to roam over his body for the agreed upon time. When it had passed, he replaced his clothes and she passed him a small pile of coins. The exchange was so unlike the last time he'd been touched in this form.
She caressed his arm again as she said, "Don't bother with the crafts next time."
He bought the things he knew Maze preferred, and had enough to buy a few candles for himself. He hoped next time Maze would stay to sleep, but the winds rose and she didn't come at all. Lucifer's memories haunted him with vindictive pettiness. The rustling of the door flap morphed into the sound of the whip snapping at Maze's back. The darkness and silence took him back to the dungeon where time slipped away and his body grew cold and numb.
There are worse things than being forgotten in the dark.
The voice was right. He remembered the fiery lake. Agony searing away all sense of self.
That was the punishment Father intended. To burn for an eternity.
Lucifer woke to a cold and dark dome. He patted the other side of the bed he and Maze shared. Cold. Just as he knew it would be. Ridiculous of him to check.
She's avoiding you. You're the reason she won't come home.
He struck the igniting stones until a spark caught in the bundle of moss. He blew on it, nurtured it into a meager flame. He only needed enough to stir his porridge and flavor his water. He'd grown used to the cold and dark by now.
He missed Maze.
When she was near, it was easier to brush off the memories. The memory of his sibling's voices, accusing, renouncing, words in a language he doubted he would ever hear again. The shame of failure pressed in all around him.
Was she really this busy at the wall, or was she avoiding coming home to him? If she came back he could make it up to her.
You caused this. You have no right to demand explanations.
