1057/Night Pulse

Night Pulse
Date of Scene:	21 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Hellstorm, Lucifer

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Hellstorm has posed:
They say it's the city that never sleeps. One in which all manner of happenings can occur at any given hour. And anywhere. While this is hyperbole to an extent, it's true that there are pockets where time is of little importance. Club Lux is one such place where, even on a late weekday night, there is a pulse.

The upper floor certainly has one tonight, with numerous patrons spread about at the bar or in lounge chairs, eating and drinking and chatting away. Music fills the room, exotic and soft enough to allow people to hold a conversation. A pleasant, floral scent fills the room.

"Another for me," Daimon announces to one of the bartenders, placing an empty tumbler in front of him. "Don't skimp this time." He barely even looks at her, a pretty young who goes off to grab something from the top shelf, her blond ponytail bobbing behind her.

Lucifer has posed:
The girl flutters off to attend Daimon's drink, and moments later, a bottle upturns itself over his tumbler with a *glugglug* of well liquor flittering from the pourspout.

"I'll need to see some ID, kid," comes a new voice-- masculine and assertive, the blonde girl now busy with a customer at the far end of the bar.

"I'm not sure you're old enough to be drinking here," the Bartender remarks, a wry, challenging grin on his hawkish, dark features.

Not that his features fool Daimon for a second. A demon, almost assuredly, and not just one of the low underlings that exists to make Hell miserable for everyone.

No-- no mere third-tier entity. A Power, with a capital P. The energy around the dusky-skinned fellow vibrates against Daimon's skin like a tuning fork jammed into the teeth.

Hellstorm has posed:
Daimon watches with a sneer as the young woman pours from the sub-par bottle. Certainly not the brand he was just drinking, with it's label peeling from overuse. He ordered the Yamazaki, damnit! Limited edition!

The Son of Satan looks about to shout that when Lucifer's masculine tone interrupts his stewing. Daimon turns his gaze over to the demon and sighs. What was once a perfect stature falters as his shoulders slump.

"Ha. Ha," he let's out, dryly. "I almost forgot," his eyes narrow into slits, "to laugh."

Lucifer has posed:
"Aww, chin up, buttercup," the Bartender says, pouring himself a drink as well. He throws back the shot and rests his palms on the bartop, lifting a brow and regarding Daimon steadily.

"It's not like the liquor license board comes around to enforce it. They leave me well enough alone." He narrows his eyes at Daimon, his voice growing a little harder. "But I generally don't give them reason to come around and cause trouble at the bar, either. I hope you're of a similar mind," he suggests to the young man. "Because the #1 rule at Lux is-- no troublemaking on the premises. It's a rule we enforce pretty enthusiastically."

Hellstorm has posed:
Daimon's lidded gaze doesn't budge. Nor do his hands or most other parts of his body, in fact. This means his glass of whiskey sits lonely on the counter, mere inches from his grasp.

"Do I strike you as a troublemaker?" he asks with a slight tilt of his head. Very small, controlled movements. A sign of tension, perhaps? "If so, I'm sorry to disappoint. You'll have to keep your enthusiasm in your pants."

Now, he decides to give his drink some attention, hoisting to it to his lips and devouring it in a single, practiced swallow.

Lucifer has posed:
"Marduk's spawn? Yes, forgive me if I just assume you're out to cause a little mayhem," the Bartender remarks, dryly. He's still not given his name or even suggested anything meaningful about his identity. "You've got a pretty good track record going, kid. Another century or two, it might even turn into a halfway decent reputation in the right circles. But I've heard tell you're a little on the hair-trigger side, so I wanted to clear up any misconceptions right off the cuff," he says, tilting a brow at Damian. He pours him another drink without being prompted. "So I'm glad we got all that sorted."

Hellstorm has posed:
A flicker of something passes across Daimon's face. An expression, of sorts. The way he sets his jaw and lowers the tilt of his head without changing the level of his gaze. The new way the shadows fall it across it gives it a more sinister texture. It's downright unsettling how a man can do so much with so little. Or, at least it would be to the average Joe, which this bartender is clearly not.

"I'm impressed," he admits, reaching for the new glass. "You mention my father by name and I don't outright kill you." He shoots the whiskey. "Or maybe I just surprise myself."

Lucifer has posed:
"Your magnaminous self restraint is a credit to your maturity," the bartender says, in a positively Saharan example of a dry wit. He rolls his eyes very slightly, but the expression is more tolerant than disdainful.

"So, Mister Daimon, what brings you in to Club Lux?" he inquires, setting aside the slightly hostile vibe of the conversation and lapsing into Professional Bartender mode. "You just here to socialize, drink, or are you looking for something to occupy your time?" The lean fellow wipes at a dab of condensation on the lacquered, well-worn wood-- the entire place is kept immaculately clean, even for a relatively popular bar such as this one.

Hellstorm has posed:
Daimon sets down his glass and gives it a spin. It precarously careens in several full circles, threatening to end its dance in a thousand tiny slivers, before ultimately remaining upright a mere few inches from the endge of the counter.

"Just wanted to show my face somewhere it might be appreciated." A toothy grin is allowed to creep up. "Apparently this is the right place."

Slowly, Daimon settles onto one of the bar chairs and feels it give some under his weight. "You the proprieter of this joint, then?"

Lucifer has posed:
"We're as equal opportunity as it gets," the bartender says. He flashes a smile at Daimon's question. "Propeitor? Depends on what you're looking to find out, I suppose," he says, scratching his chin. "I run the bar. Coordinate with our guest services. Match opportunities with challenges, so to speak," he says. "Lots of people come here with problems in need of professional troubleshooters," he explains. "I like to think I'm pretty good at it. We don't get a lot of complaints, anyway."

Hellstorm has posed:
A single, honking laugh escapes the son of Satan, who also slaps his thigh in case the bartender doesn't get the point. "Well, I don't have any of those at the moment. Except maybe that I heard my fathers name for the first time in a long time. That's always grating, but you can probably understand that."

Daimon considers the other man for a moment, then nods at his empty glass. "Pour us another, would you? And tell me about some of these problems that walk through your door."

Lucifer has posed:
Another is poured obligingly, and the bartender hikes a brow at Daimon. "Well, that depends entirely on what kind of work you feel suited for," he says, a little enigmatically. "There are lost things that need finding, permanent positions to establish, even people who want a little protection while they're ... out shopping for groceries," he suggests, delicately. "And what you're looking for. Cash is king; you'll see plenty of doubloons spread around," he remarks, flicking a coin from nowhere and spinning a solid gold coin on the countertop in front of Daimon. "Favors, equipment... even more esoteria, if that's where your tastes run."

Hellstorm has posed:
"Don't forget one for yourself," Daimon tells the man as he reaches for his own whiskey. Cradling the glass in one hand, he lifts it as if it were Yorick's skull and examines the way the room's dim light plays against its surface.

One thing he wasn't expecting when walking into Lux tonight was to get a job offer. Especially by who Daimon expects this bartender to be. Nevertheless, he subdues his instinct to reject it straightaway.

"Demons," he says, eventually. As he studies Lucifer for a reaction, his eyebrow arches. "You know enough about me to know what I want."

Lucifer has posed:
"Demons, huh?" the Bartender asks, folding his arms across his chest. He demurs from joining Daimon for a drink, shaking his head. "What /do/ you want, Daimon?" he asks the Son of 'Satan'. "Souls? Servants? The sweet screams of the damned being tortured?"

Weirdly, there's no one else at the bar anymore. No one even in earshot. It's as if the entire world walked away so the Bartender and Daimon can have their little discussion in relative privacy-- and not a word was said.

Hellstorm has posed:
Daimon lowers the glass to give Lucifer his full attention. "What would I do with souls and servants?" he asks with a chuckle. "Those sorts of things are what my father would enjoy. Me? I'm not my father," he says, further hammering the idea into the conversation.

A sip of whiskey is taken and, this time, savored. "I just want ears on the ground at this point. I want to know what things from, and let's be honest for a moment, /our/ part of town, are up to. And I don't want any bullshit."

Lucifer has posed:
"Hmm. Are we playing the one-man vigilante?" the Bartender asks, grinning at Daimon. "You've got a penchant for kicking demonic ass? Some girl you want to save?" he inquires, rubbing at his jaw.

"All right, Daimon, I don't mind throwing you a bone on the local supernatural front," he tells the spawn of Marduk, nodding his head. "But you'll need to make it worth /my/ while. A membership here," he suggests. "Or a favor. Either one is gonna be expensive."

Hellstorm has posed:
As Daimon considers this, he looks down into the remainder of his drink with a probing intensity. "That depends on just how juicy of a bone you have for me," is his eventual answer.

The Son of Satan sets his whiskey tumbler back down and stands. "I'm not above working something out with you, but let's make sure it'll be worth both our whiles." he smiles, friendly this time, his humanity peeking through the devilish veneer. "Until then, just know that I'm around with open eyes and ears. You can find me if you want to." He winks.