#if he does ask about his fate it'll be like a trainwreck

[the-devil-less-known]

"Take it up with your hand, I am merely the messenger for what your own palm says, and might I add, your natural demeanor, not the one you work at presenting~ Though, if your other hands says the same, I guess you will simply have to take me at my word that your heart isn't as shriveled as you would like it be," there's laughter in his tone, tracing the line so Alastor could see for himself what was being measured and examined.

"Next would be your head line... That would be your learning style, communication approach, and.... well, does a thirst for knowledge count? You can be rather voracious when you're curious." Lucifer blew back, sending some of the smoke back, but other than a few long blinks to keep it out of his eyes, he wasn't so bothered. It had been the unexpected sting on his finger that surprised him more. Reaching out with one of his hands, incidentally the one that had been nicked, to grab some of the flesh from the charcuterie board to offer him.

He was fighting to prevent the fact that he so easily got the equivalent of a papercut (claw cut?) to turn into a fuel for his overactive imagination. He doesn't think, right then, mind pulled in a few different directions about what else could be cut with the claws and what to look for in a head line and how nostalgic the smell of smoke was.

More to the point, he doesn't have the room to think about how Alastor might be affected by even a drop of Lucifer's blood mingling with the meat he brought up to the man's mouth, wriggling it in offering and prepared for any snapping of teeth, teasing or misjudged.

"I can order us something, or you can stuff your face more, after I read your palm. Which, by the way, is telling on you. Your head line is deep, long, and relatively straight. Broken in the middle, and like your heart line, some crossing over with smaller lines." Or they might be scars, but he doesn't think Alastor was taking this all that seriously, so he doesn't bother examining them closer. "Essentially, your thinking is clear and focused, and leans towards a more realistic mindset. Despite this, there are some inconsistency in your thoughts, perhaps pertaining to the momentous decisions you've had to make in your life. Hm. Regrets? Interesting."

Stealing a piece of cheese for himself to chew on, Lucifer frowns down at the life line and scratches at the back of his head, absently, fingers twisting in the hair and tugging in thought. "Well, this one's a bit contradictory, but that might just be because it's your life life. Hm. It runs close to the palm, fairly straight, and ends close to the edge of your palm. And yet, there's a breakage here and a few lesser lines parallel to it. So... you're somehow overly tired, yet are full of vitality. Still cautious when it comes to relations with others, but had a change in lifestyle and got injured. End up having a mid-life crisis or something recently?"

Perhaps he's the one looking too much into this. In his mind from what little he actually knew about Alastor.... it all pointed to the Hotel, and the fight that resulted with Heaven.... Lucifer takes the opportunity to finally take a hit of his own, lighting the bowl and slowly dragging in smoke into the bloody red chamber. Alastor could now take that hand back, if he so desired to, Lucifer finding himself reluctant to read the fate line.

An eyebrow raised, Alastor stares at his other hand as though it has affronted him by giving away 'what he does in his spare time'. But he has little time to determine what that even means before his attention is again pulled back towards the hand that is presently in Lucifer's hold. The size difference between them is quite noticeable - his own claws are long, sharpened ends threatening and imposing, compared to the king's smaller, seemingly more nimble hands. He is tempted to close his grasp around the other's and give a squeeze to see the true dwarfism, but he decides not to.

His ears pointed forward, Alastor listens with patient attention as he basks in the smoke he has already taken in, causing a bit of a haze to form over his perception of the environment and of Lucifer himself. But he is interested in the details shared, his claws giving a slight twitch whenever they are mentioned. As though barely keeping themselves back from seeking out something to rip, tear, or rend. Like they have their own minds, sometimes. But Alastor is ever in control.

"Are you complimenting me?" Alastor asks with a slight raise of his brow at Lucifer's sing-songy conclusion drawn. He cannot find any true dismissal in the commentary, invested now as the other goes on. Heart line? He's heard of no such thing, squinting down as though he can see it with enough concentration. But what he really listens to is Lucifer's assumptions made, nose wrinkling slightly.

"I don't have emotional trauma." His voice is haughty and thick with denial. Every Sinner does. His is simply one of Hell's bigger mysteries. "And I don't have a heart."

That is even less believable. Of course he does.

But it is a simpler thing to make people imagine otherwise.

"I will acquiesce to being selfish."

There. Lucifer will get ONE as Alastor lightly folds claws to poke at the other's prodding fingers. To be aggravating and annoying, if nothing else, already too calmed by the influence of the weed to be any sort of truly bothered. Doubling down on that by taking another drag of it and releasing the smoke from between his sharpened teeth. Not turning away when he does it. Lucifer will get the plume directed at him, either intentionally or unintentionally.

"Does it say anything about voracity?" It is a tease as he grins, sharp-edged and toothy at the Devil. "Delectable as these snacks are, they don't always truly sate."

It is a misjudgment of how hard he is prodding with his claws, accidentally nicking the smallest expanse of Lucifer's skin. He does not even notice, truly.

But it is likely that he will.