( a couple different beasts has luci hemming and hawing, figuring that must be whatever he tasted in his blood. definitely something strange. demon maybe? no, he'd recognize that. some new product of god's? he glimpses back over his shoulder briefly, intrigued by the idea, except that he's jumping to conclusions again and has little to no basis for it. still and still. if humans were made in god's image, what image would a child who leans into a knife's blade be made from? me, lucifer thinks. is insulted. is briefly touched. remembers he's still assuming things. stops. )
Mm. Yeah. ( he looks forward again, wobbling his head. ) Well βΒ no. Hm. ( shrugging his shoulders. ) My nature is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Things just are. On occasion, they aren't. It's one of the two, so you're either right or wrong either way. So am I. So is anyone. There is a certain magic inside of sacrifice, which is really just suffering. You can't get anything off someone who wants to suffer, or likes to lose. It's paradoxical. If you don't have empathy for the Lamb, the blood means nothing.
( is that lily? at a certain point lucifer is more or less just talking his rambling thoughts out loud, rather than directing it at danny. sheepish again, he flashes a grin over his shoulder, every tooth outlined by danny's blood, red and vibrant. luci's blood doesn't look like that. he wasn't made in god's image. )
I forgot what we were talking about, but I'd never call you fat. I'm not rude, just evil. Can you come here? ( at the break in the center of the maze sits the domineering statue of the minotaur, and lucifer isn't necessarily sure why, but part of it feels alive. it's probably just big. he positions danny where he wants him, extending his arm in luci's direction, rolling up the sleeve of his jacket. ) Say a secret. Preferably a juicy one. ( while a reptilian claw juts from his thumb again, carving his arm in a straight line from elbow to wrist. not deep enough to bleed out, but a healthy bubbling of blood surfaces, picked up by luci's pointer finger. at the base of the statue, he starts drawing out archaic runes β sweeping, witchy lines.
and lucifer's back gets sticky and wet with his own blood, a byproduct of magic usage. soaked into his shirt it looks nothing more than wet, but does oddly glimmer in direct sunlight βΒ the gilded morning star's angelic, magic blood, born from the stumps of two torn wings. )
no subject
Mm. Yeah. ( he looks forward again, wobbling his head. ) Well βΒ no. Hm. ( shrugging his shoulders. ) My nature is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Things just are. On occasion, they aren't. It's one of the two, so you're either right or wrong either way. So am I. So is anyone. There is a certain magic inside of sacrifice, which is really just suffering. You can't get anything off someone who wants to suffer, or likes to lose. It's paradoxical. If you don't have empathy for the Lamb, the blood means nothing.
( is that lily? at a certain point lucifer is more or less just talking his rambling thoughts out loud, rather than directing it at danny. sheepish again, he flashes a grin over his shoulder, every tooth outlined by danny's blood, red and vibrant. luci's blood doesn't look like that. he wasn't made in god's image. )
I forgot what we were talking about, but I'd never call you fat. I'm not rude, just evil. Can you come here? ( at the break in the center of the maze sits the domineering statue of the minotaur, and lucifer isn't necessarily sure why, but part of it feels alive. it's probably just big. he positions danny where he wants him, extending his arm in luci's direction, rolling up the sleeve of his jacket. ) Say a secret. Preferably a juicy one. ( while a reptilian claw juts from his thumb again, carving his arm in a straight line from elbow to wrist. not deep enough to bleed out, but a healthy bubbling of blood surfaces, picked up by luci's pointer finger. at the base of the statue, he starts drawing out archaic runes β sweeping, witchy lines.
and lucifer's back gets sticky and wet with his own blood, a byproduct of magic usage. soaked into his shirt it looks nothing more than wet, but does oddly glimmer in direct sunlight βΒ the gilded morning star's angelic, magic blood, born from the stumps of two torn wings. )