"You there, parking man!"
Bernard looked up from his seat at the valet station to see one of the most beautiful women that he'd ever laid eyes on. He hadn't been in a stable state of mind, since parking The Bentley, and he'd been sitting there, wondering how much trouble he would get into, if he just walked off the job and went home for the night, but he plastered on a pleasant smile when he looked up at the waiting woman. It wasn't hard; she really was a knockout—creamy breasts practically bursting out of the front of her dress, legs for days, and long, curly hair that shimmered in the lamplight and just begged you to run your hands through it. The horns poking out through the tresses were a bit odd, and her heels were strangely proportioned (there hardly seemed room for a human foot to fit inside,) but the black feathers in her wings looked soft. In any case, whatever her costume was meant to be, it wouldn't be the strangest thing he'd seen all night.
"What can I help you with, Miss?" he asked.
She handed him her valet ticket. "I think I just give this to you? It's my son's car."
She hardly looked old enough to have a son that was licensed to drive, but Bernard took the ticket, and punched the number into his tablet, to pull up the information on the car.
"Friend of Mr. Crowley's are you?" he asked, while he waited for the needlessly complicated contraption to pull up the information he needed. He remembered when he'd started working, and they'd made do just fine with a ledger book and a pen, but you couldn't stop the wheels of progress. "Here for the wedding?"
"Yes, we used to work together," she said.
"Really?" Bernard perked up. He'd always been curious about just what line of work Mr. Crowley was in. Usually, you got a sense of a person from their car. You could tell a yummy mummy, PTA member from her fully-loaded Chelsea tractor, with its glove compartment full of cosmetics and the boot full of football gear. You could spot an advertising executive from his Jaguar, and a stockbroker by his Lexus, but Bernard had never been entirely sure what sort of man used a vintage, 1926 Bentley as his daily driver- listening to Queen at full volume. "Where is it you work?"
"Hell," the woman said, without a pause.
Bernard laughed. "I hear that; don't we all." He appreciated the joke, but was disappointed that his curiosity remained unfulfilled. Still, it seemed rude to repeat the question. He looked down at the tablet again, and froze. "Level 6, section 6, row 6," he muttered to himself, with a sinking feeling. "What kind of car did you say it was?"
The woman frowned. "I'm not sure, at the moment. I think it's usually a silver convertible."
"Not an old, Citroen C3 Pluriel?"
The woman shrugged.
Bernard reached for the keys under the desk with trembling fingers. He could feel all the blood draining from his face. "I'm terribly sorry, Ma'am, but we've ceased valet services for the night. The parking structure is just two blocks that way." He tried to keep his voice nonchalant and his hand steady, as he pointed, but couldn't completely manage it. "If you just walk over there, you'll find it. Your car is on the sixth level, 6-6. I'm sure you'll find it." He laughed, uncomfortably, as he handed her the keys. "666. Should be easy to remember."
The woman took the keys and looked despairingly down at her feet. "These heels are killing my hooves, but the dress really doesn't work without them. Maybe I should have gone for the Armani suit instead. Ah, well," she smiled at him. "Guess I'll stretch my wings. Saves on the stairs anyway. Nice talking to you. Have a pleasant night."
"Yeah," Bernard mumbled, and he took a step back as she crouched, revealing even more of her long legs and curved hips, and her wings beat the air three times, before she was taking flight, up into the darkening, night sky.
Bernard rubbed at his eyes and swore under his breath. He didn't care if his boss liked it or not. That was the last straw. He was going home. To the devil with this nonsense.
oOoOoOo
Pepper cleared her throat for the second time, as Warlock still hadn't noticed her standing next to him, holding out his drink. He seemed to be transfixed by Crowley and Aziraphale- who had returned to the desert table for seconds, and were currently ensconced by themselves at a corner table engaging in some kind of cake-related foreplay.
When Warlock still hadn't noticed her, Pepper asked, "Did you want to be alone?"
Warlock jerked to attention, snapping his gaze away from the newlyweds. "Oh, Pepper. I… Thank you." He took his drink and downed a large gulp, looking sheepish. "Sorry, I just can't get over those two." He waved in Aziraphale and Crowley's general direction.
Pepper watched them for a moment with the same, faintly disgusted, gut-ache that she always got from the thought of rich desserts and anything else as saccharinely sweet as the display before her. "What about them?"
Warlock smiled. "They're just so adorable. Don't get me wrong, they were utterly ridiculous for each other when I was a kid, too, but to see them like this, not trying to hide it, it's… nice. You know?"
"If you say so."
He laughed. "I guess they're always like that, huh? I can see how that would wear thin after a while, but it is their wedding day; you have to cut them some slack."
Pepper rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling. "I suppose, just this once. They are kind of cute together."
"Do you ever think that you'll ever feel that way about anyone?"
Pepper tilted her head to the side, considering them. "I think that level of combined idiocy takes around six thousand years to simmer to a boil, but I'd like to think so."
Warlock raised his glass to her, smiling. "I like to think so, too."
They both drank to it.
He cleared his throat, not quite meeting her eyes. "Would you like to dance?"
"If it will keep you from standing here, gushing, like a fifteen-year-old girl."
oOoOoOo
Azazel landed on the sixth floor of the parking garage, with skittering heels and frantic foreshortened wing beats, to stop her forward momentum. Even so, she almost crashed into the Volkswagen bus.
She threw out a hand to brace herself against it, and felt the metal shudder beneath her hand.
Now that her hearing wasn't being obscured by the noise of her flight, she registered the cacophony echoing off the concrete walls around her. It took her moment to realize what she was seeing, but she had a professional eye for these sorts of things, and she could recognize a threesome when she saw one—regardless of the parties involved.
She watched for a while. It wasn't just her usual professional curiosity for any and all things pornographic, but also a sense of wonder at the mechanics involved. It gave a new meaning to terms master and slave cylinder, and lube job.
The Bentley seemed to be getting the best of it— full service, with a tire rotation, getting a port and polish on both its intake and exhaust manifolds. While, the red cherry convertible, that was surely Adam's car, had its top down and its headlamps out, and was getting rear-ended. The bus might not look like it could corner worth a damn, but it was handling the curves just fine. The whole thing made an incredible racket, Freddie Mercury's voice rising over it all in a moaning crescendo, as the Volkswagen beeped away happily, and a cherry red convertible broke into static.
When the slamming of pumping pistons and well-oiled machinery finally died away, Azazel cleared her throat.
"I hate to break up the party, but I need a ride."
oOoOoOo
Oscar watched as Adam drained his tumbler the moment that Oscar handed it to him.
"Are you sure that you want to do this?" he asked. "I don't expect-'
"Shut up," Adam said, cutting him off. "I don't care what you expect. You deserve better, and I'm going to make sure that you get it. This is about what's right."
Oscar nodded. "I don't want to see anything bad happen to you either. If you think that your father will-"
"I said, shut up."
Oscar fell silent, and Adam took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"It's going to be fine. My father isn't going to do anything that I can't handle, and I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you."
Oscar squeezed back. "Maybe we could just run away."
"They'd find us. You can't run from God, or the Devil, and besides, you've done enough hiding for a lifetime, I'm not letting you start the second one the same way."
Oscar shook his head in disbelief. "You're incredible. If I had half your confidence and determination, my life would have been completely different."
"Too late for that," Adam said. "Let's worry about your afterlife instead."
Oscar didn't care who was watching; he kissed Adam anyway.
oOoOoOo
When Azazel had asked Pepper for Adam's keys, she hadn't really put much thought into how she was actually going to drive the car. She could handle a horse or camel just fine, but a well-trained beast of burden generally operated itself. You just had to tell it where to go, and it didn't have nearly as many buttons and levers.
It had taken a liberal application of demonic power to get the complicated contraption rolling, once she'd coaxed it away from its amorous companions, but Azazel was nothing if not adaptable. After a bit of fumbling, she seemed to have it all worked out well enough. One pedal made you go faster; one pedal made you stop, and you turned the wheel to point the thing wherever you wanted to go—easy as sinning. The other motorists would have probably preferred the application of the turn indicator, on occasion, but such niceties didn't really fit with the demonic persona, and in any case, if they didn't have the good sense to get out of the way, Azazel would only be doing them the favor of strengthening the species through homicidal vehicular selection.
She didn't bother with navigation. She simply expected the car to take her to Marcia's flat in Oxford, so that's where they ended up.
She didn't bother with the security buzzer at the door to the building either. She simply let herself in, made her way to Marcia's second floor flat, and knocked on the door.
Azazel only had to wait for a moment, before a petite, confused looking, girl, with frizzy blonde hair, was standing before her—tightening her dressing gown, and blinking up at Azazel from behind horn-rimmed glasses.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
Azazel looked her up and down. "We'll have to do better than that, if you're going to win him back."
"Excuse me?"
"My son is all alone at a wedding, and I think it's time that you and I had a chat."
"Your son?"
"You aren't very bright are you?" Azazel asked, pushing her way past Marcia and into the flat. "Not sure what he sees in you. Must be the dinosaur thing."
"Excuse me!" Marcia shouted in indignation, hurrying after her, as Azazel searched through the flat to find the girl's wardrobe. "Are you talking about Adam?"
"Of course I'm talking about Adam." Azazel spun on her, threatening. "You haven't been seeing anyone else, have you? You'd better not be stepping out on him."
"Stepping out? We broke up, months ago!"
"Well, I think it's time we fixed that, don't you?" Azazel turned back and started sifting through the girl's hangers. "Is this all of your dresses? Don't you have anything red?"
oOoOoOo
Lucifer pulled his attention away from where God was dancing with Mary, and his scowl melted away at the sight of his son.
"Where did Azazel go?" Adam asked, taking a seat across from Lucifer at the table
Lucifer gave him a fondly exasperated look. "I have no idea. She has a thorn in her hoof over something. Ran off on some emergent mission."
"Okay, well, if it's a good time, there's something I want to talk to you about."
He immediately gave Adam his full attention. Things had been, surprisingly, improved since the revelation that Azazel was Adam's mother. They'd all been trying a little harder to make things work, and if Adam felt comfortable enough to come to him with his problems, it was a huge step forward in their relationship.
Lucifer was more than ready to start dishing out some fatherly advice, and he was even prepared to handle the subject of the giant lizards with a bit more tact, if it came up.
"What is it?" he asked, with careful nonchalance.
Adam took a deep breath, and said, "Oscar."
"Wilde?" Lucifer turned in his chair to find the reincorporated soul, and spotted him near the bar, watching their conversation. Lucifer sighed. He probably should have expected this. Adam had a soft heart and a stubborn streak like tempered steel. "I understand if you feel pity for him, Adam, but if you're trying to extend his stay on Earth, it's out of my hands. As soon as this party ends, his furlough expires, that little golden ticket disappears, and he's back in Hell. He doesn't belong here."
Adam's carefully composed expression fell. "I love him," he said, voice gone harsh.
Lucifer turned in his seat again to look at Wilde. The man had taken two steps forward, but froze as he met Lucifer's gaze. Lucifer frowned and turned back to his son.
Love. This was what love bought you. The look of pain in his son's eyes, as he held up a hand to hold Wilde off a moment longer, was all the testament Lucifer needed on the subject. He didn't know what to say, and he suddenly felt completely out of his depth. He wished Azazel was here instead.
He extended a hand, tentatively, rested it over Adam's on the table, and waited to recapture his son's attention. When Adam let his other hand fall and looked back to him, the pained look was gone, replaced with a familiar defiance.
"Oscar lived his life," Lucifer said, as gently as he could manage. "He's had a chance that almost no mortal ever gets, to walk the Earth again, if only for a week, but that's it. I'm sorry, if you've become attached, but he can't stay here."
"What about a pardon?" Adam asked. "I can't see him go back to Hell; I just can't. He doesn't deserve it."
Lucifer shook his head. "That isn't for me to decide either."
"I could talk to Grandma."
Lucifer winced. "You could, but God already knows everything you're thinking, and everything you want to say. If He wanted to help, He would have done it already."
Adam turned now, to find Her, and Lucifer followed his gaze to see God watching them with mild curiosity.
"Fuck Her, then," Adam growled, and turned back to his father. "There has to be something that you can do?"
"Even if I could pardon him, send him to Heaven instead, that would mean that you'd never see him again. If you really love him so much, isn't it better that he's down in Hell?" Lucifer suggested.
"Better that someone I love experience an eternity of torment, than never see him again?"
Lucifer winced. He fell quiet for a moment, before he said "There… could be a way around that, but you're not going to like it."
"What do you mean?"
Lucifer searched his son's hopeful face, and remembered all of the conversations he'd had with Azazel about not trying to push him, not trying to manipulate him into anything. He's too much like you for that. He won't fall for it, and he'll just end up resenting you even more.
But, was it really manipulating him, if Lucifer just presented him with all of his options? It was up to Adam to decide what he wanted to do.
"I can't release Oscar Wilde from Hell, but it wouldn't necessarily have to be eternal torment for him, unless he breaks your heart, and you want to punish him a bit."
Adam frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You're a prince of Hell, Adam. If you have any interest in learning what that entails, in taking up your responsibilities, there's a great deal of power you can wield over its denizens."
Adam's frown deepened.
Lucifer removed his hand from Adam's and leaned back in his chair, observing his son critically. "You've already created your own pocket of torment. You've been overseeing the punishment of Hastur for months now. If you were inclined to take up your duties, as my heir, you could oversee the torment of whatever souls you choose."
"So, instead of standing by to let someone else torture Oscar, I'd have to do it myself."
Lucifer rolled his eyes. "In whatever manner you choose. As long as your paperwork is all in order, you can get away with fudging the numbers a bit. Certain things that might be considered torture in other circumstances… Your mother can be quite inventive, if you need tips."
Adam's jaw fell, and he stared at Lucifer with wide, horrified eyes.
Lucifer waved it away. "I'm sure you get the idea. As long as Dagon gets all the paperwork filed, it really doesn't matter what goes on in your own circle. The only one with higher authority than you is me, and I'm willing to cast a blind eye. As long as it doesn't get too out of hand."
Lucifer waited, watching the complicated series of emotions play over Adam's face. "So you get what you want, and Grandma gets what She wants, and I'm down in Hell where I belong?"
"I told you that you weren't going to like it. The choice is entirely yours."
"Choice," Adam spat. "Of course it is. Free will and all of that."
Lucifer shrugged. "It's the best I can do."
Adam stood up from the table, eyes shut tight, hands pressed hard to the tabletop, and let out a heavy breath. "This isn't fair."
Lucifer snorted. "Don't talk to me about fair. I've been condemned to an eternity of torment, as the tormentor, for the sin of asking the wrong questions. More than that, I think it was just because the Great and Terrible God needed a scapegoat. At least you have a choice, even if it isn't much of one. Take it up with Him, if you don't like it. I'm sure He'll be reasonable. I mean, why break the habit of an eternity now? But, you never know."
Adam opened his eyes then, cold and hurt, and Lucifer could sympathize, he really could.
"Damn you," Adam said.
"Too late for that, I'm afraid."
"My lord?" came a questioning voice from his shoulder, and he turned to see Beelzebub, buzzing with uncertainty, and dressed in their formal regalia.
"What are you doing here, Beelzebub?" Lucifer asked, visions of upheaval in Hell suddenly taking over his thoughts. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong. Everything is ready, my lord. We only await your command."
"Everything is ready for what?"
"Our gloriousz revolution, of coursze."
Adam scoffed. "I can see you're busy."
"No, Adam. Wait!" Lucifer called after him, but he was already gone. He sighed. "I think that I handled that poorly," he grumbled.
"Hardly mattersz now," Beelzebub said.
oOoOoOo
"Gabriel!" Marriam said in surprise, as God twirled her around on the dance floor, and she came face to face with the archangel.
"Hello, Marry," Gabriel said, flashing her a bright, even smile. "You look lovely tonight. I've always thought that color suited you." He turned to God and bowed. "My Lord, if you have a moment, everything is prepared, and I think we should discuss tactics."
God gave him a soft smile. "Gabriel, My sweet, idiot, child. I've been waiting for you. I think it's time that we had a discussion about just how far it's safe to take personal initiative."