#§radioiaci§

[the-devil-less-known]

He was fine. He was fine. He had been completely and totally fine —

Until he heard the sounds Alastor was making, clearly barely keeping it from flowing back up himself. And then, at that point, it was just his overthinking mind working against him (the same as it would in any timeline, it seemed) by being unable to let go of the imagery and disgust it invoked.

Lucifer mirrored him on the other side, gagging and inhaling between wet coughs. Already his hands instinctively move to take off his life jacket, like it might do anything to help him catch his breath and keep from losing his stomach, breaking out in a cold sweat.

It's a losing fight, him swallowing bile and chancing a brief glance at Alastor in an attempt to check on him, before it's game over from actually seeing the guy heave, and a rainbow waterfall of nasty proportions hits the sand.

Absolute WORST. -10/10. Never again.

Somewhere in the midst of selecting his choice of glow-stick concoction, Alastor began to realize that this was... a terrible idea. And yet a challenge was a challenge. And as he'd said: he was no quitter.

The cups were knocked together with a flourish before he was outright chugging the contents of his own, not bothering to put any blockage between himself and the full tilt nastiness that was the mixture Lucifer had made.

He only just managed to swallow it back before he was coughing, sliding the cup away from himself on the bar as he turned his head to continue to hack into the sand beneath their stools.

It sure was threatening to come up - but he willed it down, knowing full well that he consumed flesh and viscera on the regular. He could handle this.

But give him some time to not be actively choking on what he'd ingested.

Awful.

[videokilled]

@radioiaci

[txt] I bet you’re fucking pleased with that deal you skank.

[heliacalxrising]

@radioiaci

Lucifer thinks perhaps that maybe his...encounter with Alastor had been the wrong way to go. It's another to confess developing feelings for someone who most likely does not return those feelings; it's entirely another to end up having sex with that person, and then end up feeling worse than confessing.

They don't really speak to each other again for almost two weeks, and that's mainly due to Lucifer feeling so embarrassed that he avoids Alastor like the plague. No one seems to think anything's off, which is a minor relief, because he doesn't have the words to explain, or the energy to try.

It's better to try and be busy, so that he can be too tired to do anything else when the days are over. But his brain's reverted back to insomnia, haunted by all of his mistakes and racing thoughts and wondering why he's always been the anomaly. Why he's the one that's on the outside looking in, despite how desperate he is to be included. He's just...too much.

It gets to the point where Lucifer spends three days in his room simply because he doesn't want to leave it. He assures Charlie he is fine, he just needs some time alone, and then he's laying on the floor staring up at the ceiling in silence for hours.

The third day finds him plucking at his violin just for something to do before a knock comes to the door. When he doesn't answer, the knock comes again, so he sighs, putting the violin aside and pushing himself to his feet, going to unlock and open the door, only to freeze when he sees Alastor standing there.

"Oh!" His face immediately flushes. "Hi..."

[sirserpentine]

Plotted starter for @radioiaci

"My love, humour me for a moment," Pentious begged from his upside-down recline over the other demon's lap. He had pretended that their Stay in the bedroom all night to read books and snuggle while sipping tea-date was exactly that. Simple and lovely and entirely ordinary. But it was a brilliant ruse, all to hide the secret vacation plans Pentious had in store for later. Ones he had been working on for quite a long time by now.

His tail joyfully whisked as he hoisted himself around to poke Alastor's chest with his book of choice; Jules Verne's Around the World in Eighty Days.

On the nose. He always was.

"If you were able to spend... ssssay, two days back on Earth, where would you want to go? What would you want to do?"

[the-devil-less-known]

What's more, none of what he was doing was particularly awful either, even if it made Lucifer feel so in conflicted guilt. Alastor was simply living on as normal, unguarded, and it was the same as it was in public, if a tad more relaxed. It was relatable, domestic, transparent in a way that he couldn't reconcile with his personal opinions with the man. To the point that now...

Now that he was struck with not only a perfect chance to get closer with the man, and share something dear to himself for someone's very first experience... Lucifer could only catch himself backing out, out of fear worry for what he might find with this strange man that he couldn't just leave alone.

For some blasted reason, he found himself caring for Alastor's opinion, even when he suspected already that it might not be positive, if not outright scathing. He suspected it, despite a great lack of evidence pointing to that happening. Despite there being everything to point that Alastor would at least be polite in his aggrievances. At least if he put a stop to it now, he could spare himself the confirmation, or so he told himself.

And, for some reason, without much impetus on his part, Lucifer found himself as a cockatiel again, peering over the side of the window, mostly hidden by the divider between the panes. Spying, yet again, as if it might help him divine answers.

Cognitive dissonance had taken its sweet time in appearing, denial having had a spirited time in keeping it busy.

Guilt of this not being entirely pure in motivation. Guilt of taking time to play when he should be acting. Guilt in laying a possible trap using something he held dear as bait. Guilt of not entirely wanting to... because he was becoming ... invested, in this particular sinner.

The particular sinner that also happened to be a thorn in his side, just as much as he could prove to be pleasant company. Or an innocent.

Not by lack of blood on his hands or of sin, but of the wrongdoing that Lucifer kept searching and used to hope to find. First to feel vindicated, but now merely to justify his guilt.

Ah, but no relief to be found here, only the dawning realization that ...he could not possibly back out now. Alastor wasn't giving any indications of excitement, per se, nor dread either... But seeing him again, unguarded and unwitting, just reminded Lucifer of his emphasis on being one to keep his word after making it. And his irritation at Lucifer hinting at his desires being otherwise, committed. To cancel now, only a day before...

The reaction he could imagine didn't sit with him well at all.

He knows, he knows that Alastor was one sinner amongst many, but for whatever reason now... This sinner's esteem mattered a not-so-insignificant deal to him. He'd have to follow through. Sink or swim, he had to.

Lucifer's transformed little bird head peered over from out of cover again, feather crest puffing up... He would need to make this count, or find himself crushed yet more trying.

Blissfully unaware of any tumultuous inner conflict that Lucifer seems to be dealing with in the coming days, Alastor carries on with his duties as usual. Maintenance, a fair bit of after-hours advertising throughout each broadcast, and brief trips out to various meetings and private conversations in which he is capable of procuring materials, inventory, and defensive measures for the hotel itself. Alastor rarely takes a break - so when he does, sometimes he finds himself apace, trying to fill his time with something to prevent the impulse to outright sleep.

On that second day, the strange prickling sensation of being observed is certainly there - but he brushes it aside as he lays in his bed, eyes shut, though he is still at least clothed. Instead of his button down, he's donned a simple white undershirt in the form of a tank top - probably a bit aged in its style and fashion, but at least more comfortable than the confinement of his usual garb.

After all, he does not anticipate being seen in this state, with scars so prominent along his throat and arms and fuzzy details of his chest fur poking from the neckline of the undershirt.

Unable and unwilling to truly rest, he rises to his feet, stepping red hooved toes into the grass which he glances down at. The bed itself rests halfway between wooden flooring and the bayou proper, making it a little bit of a trek to get back to where his writing desk is. Upon it are notes and scribblings scattered about, and Alastor hums a small tune to himself as he collects them in hands to stack them and set them aside.

"You say you're going away... You think that I'll be lonely..." He sings the lyrics to himself in a murmur as the nearby radio flairs to life with the instrumental and accompanying melody. Alastor busies his hands as the song carries on, reaching to the nearby book shelves to begin absent re-organizing of the titles within.

"The battle won't be half so hard if you've someone to share it... I'll gladly carry half the load, what's more, grin and bear it..."

His singing does not carry very far. The radio itself is louder than he is. But it is something that comforts as he sifts through books, his tail giving the slightest bit of wags as he comes across one that makes him pause and thumb through a few pages.

He is not in a poor mood, at any rate. The music does not turn dour.

It is more than he can say about his observer, more than likely.

[alteregozowie]

The radio tower's somber silence is interrupted by a spatial rip, a jagged green portal sears across the wall. Many eyes were behind the tear's darkness, glowing, itching to climb out and onto the tower's floors.

But only one pair of reddish pink orbs walked through, with a hum of a tune and a twirling crackle of his microphone cane. The portal sealed itself behind him almost like a zipper, as they heard the disappointing shrieks of those who couldn't join him being swallowed up as it closed.

"A little tidier than my own, how utterly boring," as the very familiar figure gazed over his surroundings. "Where's the character? Where's the pizazz!?"

With a flick of his ear, he turned to look at his soon to be opponents, that signature yellowed grin widening.

"Well, well! At least my opponent has some class, if only in a physical sense," he said, looking over his striking resemblance. He gave him a sneer, then changed that tune once he saw Rosie.

"My dear, how unfortunate for you to be caught up in all of this. It breaks my heart," and he puts his hand over his chest in his theatrics. "And how truly unfortunate that I be the one that could end it all."

Then he laughed, the radio feedback more apparent now.

"I must admit, even I didn't know what would become of our 'happy' couple. I was getting worried that I'd be left out in all the fun!"

He tapped on his microphone, and they watched as his antlers grow double in size, followed by sickening cracking sounds as he twisted and contorted into the eldritch horror that they saw before them.

"So let's not waste any more time and get started...."

.̷̨̣̟̲̳̑̓̏̓.̸̗̳̝̫̮̼̫͐̈́̿̌͠.̸̨̱̜̼͖̫̻͖́̀͛͜͠.̷̳̓́̓̏̈̓̌̐͋̚.̵̱͓̈́̉̃̀̑̈̏͜͝s̴̪̠̀̎͂̊͊̊͛̑h̸̨̤̰͎̘̥̫̓̉̿͗̍̓̑̄ą̸̝̖̹̭̥̜͖̭͕̆͒̍̄̀l̸͚͕̼̹̟͖̰̦̕l̴̘̀̏̎̽̈́̃́̈ ̸̹̫̪̺͌̓ẉ̶̊e̵̠̺̱͌͋̎́̏̈̕͠?̵̜̩̣̈́͆́

@radioiaci @cannibalxroses

[infernal-blaze]

Starter for @radioiaci

It had been almost a full day since Fizzarolli last made an appearance. He was tucked away behind the door of his hotel room, unwilling to come out. He couldn't be around prying eyes- not when he was in such a pathetic state.

The imp was curled up into a tight ball on his bed, jester hat thrown haphazardly beside him. Tears dripped from his face as shaking, metal claws gripped tightly at broken horns. His tail was wrapped stiffly around his legs as his body shook with a sob. Fuck, he was a mess.

There was a nasty gash in his left prosthetic limb- one that would spark and glitch any time he went to move the arm. It hurt, but he refused to take it off. His jester outfit was covered in rips, dirt, and splatters of blood, though he had yet to decide if that blood was his or not.

It had been a pretty shitty day. At the request of Mammon, Fizzarolli had put on a show in the Greed Ring. The show itself had gone well enough, but the crazed fans of Greed decided to play with him afterwards. Fizzarolli could still picture the moment a sudden shock hit him, temporarily disabling his prosthetics. Then, out of the shadows, came his assailants.

Fizz screwed his eyes shut, curling more tightly into himself. The sudden knock on his door, then twisting of the door knob had him lurching forward, snagging his jester had with a sudden sense of panic. The hat was only just barely pulled over tattered horns before his visitor entered the room.

[circus-frog]

Starter for @radioiaci

Fizzarolli's connections to the Sins could be incredibly useful from time to time. His main employer was Mammon, but he also technically worked for Asmodeus. Sort of. He would do performances for the Sin of Lust's clubs from time to time. He didn't know the specifics, but Mammon had made some sort of deal with the other Sin in order to get Fizzarolli custom prosthetics. All he knew was that he was under contract to work in Lust whenever Asmodeus asked- which, surprisingly, wasn't very often. Kindness and understanding were always offered to him when he worked with Ozzie, which was a stark contrast to Mammon. He didn't understand it.

Long story short, Fizzarolli was technically employed under Asmodeus, which meant that he could legally request an Asmodean Crystal.

Claws tapped lightly at the blue crystal within in grasp, eyes bright with excitement. It was a smaller crystal in the shape of a heart, which happened to fit perfectly into the little heart-shaped crest on the front of his jester hat. He pressed it into place with ease, the crystal shifting its form to fit snuggly with no concern that it would fall out.

Fizzarolli was in a bubbly mood when he finally made it back to the hotel. With his tail held high, he searched all of Alastor's usual spots until he managed to find the man in question. The imp lit up, skipping over to Alastor's side with an excited grin. He was practically vibrating by the time he made it there, tail wagging at high speeds.

"Al! Clear the rest of your day! We have something to go do!" Fizz grabbed at the deer's hand, already busy trying to tug Alastor towards the direction of his room.

[penanceisthecure]

@radioiaci

Falcata was seated in the lobby, as they like anytime the lobby is empty or close to it. Gave the illusion of being less of a recluse without actually having to socialize.

There was an ornate sign that was newly placed that said "No portals in the lobby!" Pretty clearly Lucifer's style. Had the apple iconography and everything.

Despite that, Falcata was stretched out on the couch, shoes on the cushions, a rift open above their head, eating a bag of popcorn while they watched whatever was on the other side. Chillin. Figured they'd hear Lucifer coming if he was around, that guy was NOT sneaky. He burst into every door like he was making an entrance.

Alastor was trickier, but after a few weeks here, Falcata was starting to think that if he was going to get on Fal's ass for anything, he would have by now. As long as they don't fuck up his breakfast again.

[duckduckluce]

@radioiaci

Lucifer had a long day smiling at sinners and pretending to ca- attempting to care, and actually engage with them and their problems. He should care more about his people the way Charlie does.

But they're so....eugh. Exhausting. What a mess.

But hey, he's done for the day! Back to the hotel, now he can do something much more his speed. Walking the halls and finding little things here or there to upgrade. This hallway could use a little love! Conjure a quick pedestal with a nice flower arrangement here, do a little repair on the carpet there(how'd it get torn up?? It was JUST installed), relocate this junky old radio... Ah, yes. This is his true calling. Charlie will be so proud. Hells Greatest Dad, 10/10.

[mysteriouslyhopefulstranger]

Closed Starter with @radioiaci from here.

Alice and the Mystery Skulls Inc. were fighting a jubokko, a Japanese vampire tree. Apparently, the Mystery Skulls gang had encountered her before. Their kitsune mascot, Mystery, had created her eons ago, and she needed blood, thanks to him. She was back once again, but she had another face to fight.

Unfortunately for Alice, the tree managed to catch the red head in a spot that she couldn't see. She gave Alice a deep cut in the torso. The team had to wrap it up and take her to a hospital, despite her fearful protests.

Alice laid in the emergency room, drifting in and out of consciousness. The faces of the doctors and nurses were blurry. Living doctors and nurses whose intentions she couldn't sense.

"Nng...Huh?!" Well, she did sense something, and it wasn't Lewis or Mystery. It was malicious. It was powerful. It was looming over her.

"N-no...!" She clenched her bed sheets.

[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.

[videokilled]

@radioiaci

At some point when Alastor made his way back to the hotel, he would be made aware of a small package. It didn't have anything written on it but the hotel crew said a fish looking character delivered it to the front door and said it needed to reach the radio demon.

If it was opened, it was an iPhone. With one contact in it.

[dark-ambition]

@radioiaci continued from X.

As the playful taunt from Alastor’s voice came, Pentious felt himself seethe with anger, with nothing short of sheer rage. The wrecked remains of his airship laid scattered around him in a pile of glass and warped metal, months of work down the drain in an instant all thanks to the insipid deer’s foul magic, and Alastor’s mocking taunts did nothing but goad his own already stewing ire. His hood bristles hard, his pupils shrink as his teeth grit in a visceral snarl, pulling himself from the ground in which he had crawled out of the wreck of the ship, and in one swift movement, he’s dug his hand into his inner coat pocket, pulls free a fancy gilded revolver, cocks the hammer, and aims the barrel down toward where Alastor stood, firing a shot without a single word.

If the damned deer wouldn’t take him seriously, he simply would have to prove how much of a grave error that would be.

[sirserpentine]

@radioiaci asked:

It's been some considerable time since their... rendezvous. And he would be lying if he said he was not actively thinking about the bite more often than he really should be. The thought alone - coupled with the fact that he knows there are stitches yet to be removed - carries him towards where he figures Pentious to be, peering from over the other Sinner's shoulder. Prime real estate, he thinks, chasing the briefest of urges (though likely the most foolish) to lean and give that shoulder just - A test bite. Catching himself, however, before he goes too deep with it, offering his usual easy grin once he is noticed and leaning upright once again. "Just testing your level of awareness in your surroundings.~" 🦌🔪

A loud yelp betrays the serpent's surprise as a hot breath grazes his neck. The tiny screwdriver he has been using to pick apart his pocketwatch raises to the air in defense of the intruder who Pentious clambers up to face.

Oh?

How unexpected it was to be surprised while working at his desk in the airship, in his shirtsleeves and goggles upon his eyes. Surprised with the threat of teeth upon his shoulder, nevertheless.

Though, since it was Alastor, maybe it should have been expected.

"Ah-, it's you. Hello," Pentious stutters, raising his goggles to his forehead and lowering the inaffective weapon as he gawks at the other Demon, illuminated by the light of the sunset shining through the ship's painted glass windows. It takes a short moment for Pentious to think of a good reason why The Radio Demon would ambush him all of a sudden. Then he remembers.

Though he's never forgotten that meeting they had shared. Quite the opposite. It's been plaguing Pentious' thoughts a bit more than is proper. An uncertain smile widens on his fanged mouth. The mouth that had...

"Has it already been two weeks?" he asks, before the thought can entirely carry him away. "Blimey, time certainly fliesss,"

[the-devil-less-known]

Lucifer cocks his head to the side, ears perked and interest piqued at the selected piece, as he accepts the offered hand without question, tail swish and flicking behind him. Alastor might feel it when taking Lucifer’s hand in his own, just as the fallen could as they positioned themselves into the familiar stances needed for a bit of ballroom dancing; that elevated pulse, warmth between the palms. It’s reassuring to feel the man was as invested as him, the call of the dance making the both of them feel so lively. It makes the smile reach Lucifer’s eyes.

“Sounds fine enough to me, presuming you don’t sweep me off my feet entirely.” The pacing would be interesting to see, certainly, and Lucifer’s hooves waste no time, stepping lightly and following each indication on where and when to step. The dance is new, but the baseline steps and Alastor’s excellent leading are enough to settle into a rhythm in time with the thrum of bass and tasteful percussion.

It’s enough to make him close his eyes, smiling to himself and enjoying both the music as well as an extraordinary dancing partner. Joy spreads its tentative wings behind his sternum for the first time in a while, and he couldn’t have been more grateful that he took a chance that night. That Alastor not only humored him, but actively participated in making it a night worth remembering, and more than that, one worth repeating.

The end of his tail flicks and curls in loose figure eights, matching each shared step taken between sways and half spins. Lucifer huffs out a laugh, sheepish, unable to keep silent about a thought that's been ringing through his mind more and more often as of late. "I have done you a great disservice in not genuinely trying to know you sooner — all those wasted moments that could have been better spent with a good tune and a dance floor!"

Though, perhaps, there would have been no guarantee for that either, it wasn't exactly like the Radio Demon offered dances to any and all tolerable individuals he met... Right? Not- Not that there would be anything wrong if he did, just that Lucifer couldn't see that happening, not with Alastor's standards. Not important, really not important right then-!

Lucifer takes in a breath, and uses it to tease, eyes glittering in equal measures of anticipation and mischief, "Tell me, how well do you know the tango, Alastor? I will make you sweat, if you think you can keep up."

He has not yet been gifted the privilege of hearing Lucifer sing, but he can just as deeply appreciate that as an art form in and of itself, having never truly heard the singing of a former angel, really - though he knows there is enough power in that to cause a significant stir whenever utilized.

Neither here nor there at the moment, Alastor's attention is instead on Lucifer's enthusiasm for the proposal of more dancing, setting his own drink to the side and out of the way as he pushes himself up to his feet. Feeling rather pleasantly warm and encouraged by the display of musical prowess which he has been graced by to the point where he has no issues with approaching Lucifer with some relative gusto.

"I think I have a tune in mind," he says; a snap of his finger illustrates his resolve as his power infuses into the nearby radio which crackles to life with his own influence. From it begins the low and steady percussion and piano duo that indicates he's selected something decidedly jazzier than their earlier musical forays - and slightly more modern too, which may be a relative surprise to many who know him to be much more invested in the music of his own era.

Good music is good music.

A hand is extended to the waiting Lucifer with intent to lead - just in case the other is not quite accustomed to this particular style of dance which is not a waltz but instead some off-shoot of a ballroom dance that better befits the slow croon of the melody. The song delays its true start until the hand is accepted, for he does not want to waste any valuable time.

Though if he has his way, this will not be the last dance of the night.

"I will let you pick and lead the next."

A promise of more to come, too eager to first guide Lucifer through the steps of this (admittedly probably far too romantic) soothing tune to which he can pull the Devil into any number of quicker steps interlaced with steady sways. Well practiced and perfected as always, he looks for any reason to maintain the contact between them - for it is in that where the evening is made that much sweeter.

Alastor chooses to not dissect that, for the moment. He does not need anything to pull his focus.