1212/A Man of Wealth and Taste

A Man of Wealth and Taste
Date of Scene:	30 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	The conclusion of the game between bartender and detective ends with the latter guessing the former's name.
Cast of Characters:	Jessica Jones, Lucifer

---

Jessica Jones has posed:
New York City is awash in a storm. The kind of howling storm that tends to leave tree limbs and a corresponding carpet of leaves in the streets. Thunder is rumbling, and the rain is sheeting down. It's not a night where too many people want to go anywhere.

This had sent one Jessica Jones diving into the shelter of a classic rock record store a little while ago. Where a certain iconic Rolling Stones song was merrily filling the stacks up with sound. She'd even absently sung along. And then she really listened to what she was singing.

Tell me baby, what's my name.

Tell me honey, can ya guess my name.

Tell me baby, what's my name.

I tell you one time. You're to blame.

And then she'd stopped singing and muttered. "No..."

Out the notebook had come, and with the final 'woo hoos' and 'woo woo's' of that song drifting through the air, the picture the clues formed couldn't be more obvious to her. Ironically, the clincher isn't even 'NOT MORTAL' written in all caps. It's Lux. The name of the bar. Light. Light...and the rolling laugh of Dominus Lux as she'd said it would be weird to have people make movies about your life and get it all wrong.

"So not something you accuse someone of," she'd muttered down at the damp paper, but in the end it had gone back into her pocket.

In the end, squinting against the rain and wet, wearing her leather jacket, scarf, jeans (though newer ones), and fingerless gloves against the unseasonal, damp chill, she'd found herself roof leaping for ten blocks until she ended up crouched on the roof directly across from Lux. Staring at it.

She could just walk away. It's dangerous. He's /really/ dangerous, if she's right. He's so dangerous the word dangerous is laughable when applied to him. And thinking what she thinks has sparked a dozen other questions.

He makes her happy.

She should walk away.

He's the Lord of Lies, the Lord of Evil.

And yet he was happy with her for doing the right thing.

Sympathy.

Nobody's ever heard the Devil's side of the story.

This is a trap.

This is a case. One she accepted. She's going to go in and solve it.

Perhaps, angel that he is, he even hears the moment of decision from outside, or becomes aware of it some other way. The moment where heavy wet boots thump into a puddle just outside the doors, and a wet detective comes striding in, driven not by the need for a drink, or relaxation, or the need to chase a Gutenburg Bible, but something else entirely. She doesn't even seem really aware of her own appearance as she makes a beeline for the bar.

Lucifer has posed:
The Bartender stands his post, as eternal as the mountain. Always there, always present-- no matter the hour or the day, no matter when anyone comes in, there's always 'The Bartender'.

Is the Bartender in? they ask.

I need to see the Bartender.

Where is the Bartender?

Is the Bartender available?

"I have never known him not to be," the staff replies, truthfully.

So it is no surprise to see him-- shirtsleeves, vest, setting out coasters on the bartop when Jessica shows up, a bedraggled cat chasing a mouse with grim determination. A ready, even smile appears when Jessica walks up, despite her grim expression of focus and the strange light of hope in her eyes, two points of contention on one face.

Remarkably, the lounge is utterly empty. As if the rest of the world has fallen away as she stalks up to the freshly waxed wood.

"Miss Jones," the Bartender says, slinging a damp towel over his shoulder. "Nice to see you in so soon. No granddad today?" he inquires jovially, resting his palm against the bar's edge for balance in a relaxed informal posture.

Jessica Jones has posed:
"No, not today," Jessica says, shaking her head.

And with that phrase puts the matter of Indiana Jones out of her mind for now.

She runs her fingers absently through her hair, realizing that even in her own clothes she just feels like this place fits her like a glove. She feels like she can sit here. And be herself, instead of being dolled up in a mask of nightclub gear. It's an absent thought, but one that has her unzipping her jacket a little bit.

She is indeed looking at him so very intently. Finally, she swallows and says what she always says when she shows up here, what she always more or less says first, now.

A faint smirk.

"Surprise me."

This is so not something you accuse someone of.

Lucifer has posed:
"A surprise?" The Bartender smiles, eying Jessica. Nothing about her demeanour slips past him, despite her strange combination of brassy determination and trembling nerves. It could be any number of things-- that sly smile suggests he sees more than he lets on.

Or maybe it's just Jessica projecting everything onto him she wonders? He /is/ a stellar bartender, after all. Maybe not human... but a leap to the Lord of Lies seems so preposterous, too, in the face of such an otherwise 'normal' looking fellow.

"So the last time you and I talked, we made a pleasant little wager," the bartender remarks. "And you've been in twice since then." Gin and lime juice is added to a cocktail shaker. "I'm a stickler for rules, and we /did/ agree you'd get three guesses, so I think that it's only fair to say you've forfeited two of them." Bitters and creme de menthe are added, white as fresh snow.

He rattles the cocktail shaker near his ear, then pours it into a cocktail glass in front of Jessica. Before she can reach for it though, he holds up a finger and twists two mint leaves into butterfly wings, and sets them on the edge of the cocktail.

"So, let's say you get one guess," he suggests, resting his elbows on the table. "If you can say my name, I'll give you something you've craved for years and not found in a longe time. If you can't say my name, then you'll give something up to me. Something you can't stand, and don't want. It won't fit in your hands, but it weighs you down," he reminds her-- word for word repeating their bargain.

He lifts one brow and slides the cocktail towards her.

Jessica Jones has posed:
"As well I'm not in the business of guessing," Jessica replies, accepting his judgment of forfeited guesses. "I just solve. When I can."

She smiles faintly at the butterfly wings. And takes a sip. Savoring it, letting it the alcohol give her a moment of calm and courage as it slides down her bloodstream.

There are things she should have written into that bargain, like...oh, maybe him not getting insulted.

He repeats the bargain, and she becomes more certain. How many old legends talk of bargains and contracts? Capitol-C contracts?

And she wonders what she's gotten herself into, if she's right, because that bargain is worded in ways allows for a lot of trouble...even if she's right.

But the determined look of 'Fuck It' passes over her face soon after.

She almost feels compelled to outline each of the steps she made to get to these assumptions. She realizes that's bullshit. That's her second-guessing herself, wanting to provide herself a funny little out if she's wrong, ha ha ha, you can see how I may have thought that, as you take whatever-it-is. Screw that, too. All the pieces click together reasonably enough, and for this game to have any meaning at all he can't just be some random M-Town resident made good, genetically altered to make lillies grow with the force of his laugh.

In the end she says it simply, with no preamble. "Lucifer Morningstar, AKA lots and lots of other stuff."

Lucifer has posed:
The Bartender rests his elbow on the bar and props his chin in the palm of his hand, and smiles lopsidedly at Jessica when she makes her bold guess.

"I've been called such before," he agrees. "And what is more important, the name you're born with, the name you choose, or the name you're given?" he asks, a bit rhetorically.

"My Father gave me a name that can only be sung by a star burning in eternity's grasp. I called myself Luciferum after I left Heaven; mortals have called me Sammael, Shai'tan, Satan... and those are the nice ones."

Reality ripples around him and the face of the Bartender falls away. The face grows bolder, features finer as he stands up. His skin pales and gains a low glowing translucense-- literally, glowing from within. His bartender's clothing becomes a sharp suit all in black, worn over a white dress shirt open at the collar. His hair turns blonde and curly, shaggily mid-length.

And a pair of wings appear on his back as the veil ripples away. White, easily twenty feet between the pinions should he stretch them. Light is aimed down at him-- no. Light /pours/ from him. A halo of energy that makes the potted plants bloom and face him, dwarfs the low incadescents of the room.

But the eyes remain the same-- hazel, too-knowing, full of comedy and life. And kind. Kinder than one would expect.

"This isn't my actual face," he assures Jessica, his voice mellifluous and full of energy. The halo slowly dwindles, then dims to mere healthy glow. "For lack of a better explanation-- my physical form exists as an energetic waveform roughly the size of Sirius," he tells Jessica. "But it's hard to make drinks for people if your very voice causes mortals to flee in mad terror. How do you like the drink?"

Jessica Jones has posed:
And just like that, he confirms it, and starts telling his tale. She ought to be annoyed at herself.

She'd been more concerned about insulting him than about...literally sitting here talking to literal Satan.

But she listens as he tells his own tale in his own words, intently, the rest of the bar melting away for her as if it doesn't even exist. And then he changes, and he's hardly the bent and twisted demonic form that people have envisioned, but a literal being of light. An angel.

And she, a woman whose life has been darkness after darkness and trauma after trauma, drinks in the light. Notes the kindness in his eyes. She understands the explanation well enough. His final question throws her for half a second.

Finally she just...raises it in toast. "As usual, it's...a fantastic drink," she says.

"Which of those names do you actually /prefer/?"

It is the /least/ of her questions, especially given she's looking at object proof of the whole Heaven-Hell-God-drama-thing, but it's the one she settles on as the most civilized. She has a singular talent, does Jones, for simply absorbing the incredible into her paradigm; a moment of shock as she actually gets the 100% proof positive of her own guesses in the form of a glimpse into eternity, and then simply...accepting it. Rolling with it.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer's mouth tugs into a smile. "It's called a 'Fallen Angel'," he tells her, as she sips.

His arms rest across his chest in a languid posture, utterly at ease as he speaks with the dark haired detective so plainly.

"How about Lou?" the Devil offers to Jessica, shrugging one shoulder. "Honestly, I'm not that big on formalities; but you're sweet to ask," he tells her, smiling lopsidedly. "You figured that out on pretty few clues, though," he congratulates her. "I would have put money down on you whiffing with wasted speculation, or pegging me with speculation about all sorts of tawdry underworld connections. Spot on," he says, approvingly.

He eyes Jessica, then sits on the bar while she sips and swivels his legs over. Pop, drop, and he sits in a stool next to her, facing the opposite direction-- legs crossed towards the lounge-- and resting an elbow on the bar behind him.

"Well, Jessica Jones," he remarks. "Now what? Have I ruined all your fun by giving you too easy a mystery to solve? Or would you feel more comfortable speaking to your olive-skinned friend behind the counter, instead of--" he gestures mutely down at himself with a cocked brow.

Jessica Jones has posed:
He tells her the name of the drink and she almost spoils it by snarfing it. "Thought you'd give me one more hint?"

Lou. That's almost surreal. She's met the devil, and he wants to go by Lou.

"It's better than Holden Caufield," she says dryly.

"Well. Your riddle? Never could solve it. Couldn't think of one damned thing I'd be afraid to hear that was also the beginning and end and behind every army. So I'd love the answer to that one. In the end I got frustrated by that and just...approached it the way I'd approach any other case. I don't know that it was easy. I just figured...you had already dropped plenty of other clues in conversation. You did in fact treat me to a whole ask me anything and I'll answer it honestly game. And you know. I read all the original Sherlock Holmes stories as a kid too. Always kind of let his words-- you know the ones-- be my case-solving paradigm."

She was absolutely wasted, this woman, on infidelity cases. This is why.

She turns a little to study him, then shrugs. "I think given your true form is as big as a /star/ that's a little academic. That's as personal as...whether or not I am going to put on mascara. I'm not big on telling anyone how to look or dress, cause I happen to know how shitty it is to be on the receiving end of that. So you do you, Lou. It's not going to make me uncomfortable. Though I'd love to understand why a celestial being opened up a nightclub in Manhattan."

Lucifer has posed:
"Low tax rates and increased foot traffic create a higher net revenue over the gross," Lou says, cocking a brow at Jessica. "What, you think I should open up a Club Lux in Boise?"

He shrugs at her. "I like it here," he says, finally, looking around the empty lounge. "As well as anywhere else I am, anyway. This is one of the densest, most modern metropolitan areas in human history. Manhattan will be a shining light of civilization for centuries to come," he tells Jessica. "Why /not/ set up shop here? Particularly during this incredible timeframe."

"Humanity's just starting to take the most dramatic of first steps. You're so /close/ to an apotheosis. In a few centuries humanity will be spreading to the stars and will expand to every corner of Creation. Trillions and trillions of mortal souls all clamouring for existence."

"You've also never been closer to utter and complete ruin. Doomsday lives in suitcases and at the hands of a few men playing with switches. You'll either climb to levels of greatness that even you can't conceive of, or become one more species suffering extinction at the hands of an uncaring universe."

"It's all /very/ exciting."

Jessica Jones has posed:
"Whipping humanity into greatness," Jessica says slowly. She remembers their past conversations well, and was definitely paying attention to all of it.

"Unless you kind of want to see the destruction, but...that certainly doesn't track with how you've been /acting/. I mean...we talked about inaccuracies the other night, but I mean...when I compare my experiences with you to the rep you've got it sort of takes bad PR and says 'what would bad PR be like if it was...'"

She shrugs, apologetically. "The size of Sirius? What's your real deal, anyway? I'm not going to sit here and bore you with all the questions you probably normally get when you choose to share your identity with someone..."

Much as she'd dearly love to know if Zebediah Kilgrave is in Hell, or how to keep herself out of a place she'd assumed she, too, was going, or even 'are there really pearly gates'. She's a curious person, and she could literally spend her own eternity doing nothing but asking him questions about How It All Works, but she figures that's the Fan Groupie Bullshit response, and quashes the urge in favor of doing Lou the courtesy of trying to interact with him about like she'd interact with anyone.

But this bit? The dissonance between his reputation and her own experiences with him? That...demands an answer. But given his rolling belly laugh of the night before, one she doesn't think he'd mind talking about overmuch.

"Reader's Digest version," she adds after a moment of thought, suddenly realizing that's probably more history than her human brain can even hold.

Lucifer has posed:
"You /are/ taking this pretty well," Lucifer agrees, wiggling a shoulder at Jessica. Aside from the fact he's literally glowing slightly (and the wings), he does seem... otherwise quite normal.

Then again, it's possible he's just keeping himself well contained.

"Let's set aside angelic physiology and get to the real crux of it: am I the sort of bastard who's going to try to entrap your mortal soul? That's what you're really asking, isn't it?"

Lucifer quirks his lips and frowns contemplatively at his twiddling thumbs. "I'll tell you this-- the whole 'Prince of Lies' thing is the least accurate of all my titles. I've never found it necessary to tell anyone a bald lie to their face. Lying is for fools; telling the truth takes brains," he tells Jessica. "And here's something else that gets conspicuously omitted; I have no claim over a free spirit. Even if I /could/, I wouldn't take your freedom from you. Honestly," he mutters, as if scolding some unseen presence. "The entire reason I /left/ was because of freedom," he says. "I had this crazy idea about self-determination that was apparently fairly unpopular."

Jessica Jones has posed:
"It wasn't, not exactly," Jessica says, shaking her head. "My head wasn't on my own soul just yet. Seriously I kind of assumed I was already doomed on that front."

But everything in her relaxes when he says he doesn't take free will away, all the same. "Yeah. Kind of have that same hang up about the self-determination thing," she mutters. She can't help it. It's more an awareness of his /power/ versus her own than it is some sort of thought that he's going to hit her with an unbreakable version of the Kilgrave whammy, because she'd already observed that all he'd ever done was...basically do something that made her feel happy around him. No coercion, no urge to do anything. Just a feeling, and even if the feeling predisposed her to something anything she does with it is still her own choice.

Though this bit about truth telling makes her thoughtful, and she decides it's worth asking the hard question that's been bubbling at the back of her mind since she decided, correctly, that she had the answer to her mystery.

Here they are, masks both off...he, a winged being of light, name revealed, her, dressed in her normal get-up as a scruffy Hell's Kitchen private investigator, not trying to clean up anything about herself tonight. It's the perfect position from which to ask this.

"And the... interest... you've shown in me," she says, turning around to face him fully, brown eyes thoughtful and intense. She is, after all, about to ask a potentially harsh question in the pursuit of what may ultimately be a very unpleasant truth to hear. "Does it have something to do with the fact that I've apparently got some of the magic of the Holy Grail rolling through my veins? I can't imagine you didn't know. Anyone can trace a geneaology. If you can't just. Smell it. Or something."

Lucifer has posed:
"Nope. I have no ability to compel you to damn yourself," Luicifer tells Jessica. He brushes an index finger across his sternum. "Cross my heart."

He lifts a brow at Jessica, and a smile crosses his face when she voices her question. Not the specifics at it-- but the vulnerability suggested, in such a way that only Jessica Jones could offer: tough and thick-skinned, seemingly uncaring.

Which is, really, an expression of how very sensitive that question really /is/ to her.

"'Smell' it is the wrong word-- humans don't have a sense of--" and he emits a word that sounds like something crossed between a horse and bird-- "but yes, I can 'detect' it on you. You're familiar with Salic law? 'And unto the seventh generation, your sins, etc. etc.'?" he inquires.

"It's the same for any decision a person makes on that scale, and it's not just the bad things. When your grandfather touched the blood of Christ, he took a little of the power of Creation into himself. It affects many people in many different ways."

"So on the one hand, yes. I'm fascinated to see how a human handles the Eternal Flame. So far, your grandfather is just in extraordinary health, and your immediate sires wasted it on brash indulgences and petty luck. You, however, seem to have adopted it as a tool to help others."

"Which is very interesting as well-- but in entirely different ways," he says, and his smile is far more kind and even human than his previous knowing expressions. "It's a little like seeing a man in poverty win the lottery."

"Oh!" he snaps his fingers, and wags an index finger at Jessica excitedly. "Or-- or it's like that movie. The Princess Bride? Or... well, I suppose there are lots of other examples of people getting Everything They Desire and running amok with it, but-- well, you get my point."

"The interesting thing about you isn't your gift. It's what you're choosing to /do/ with it," he assures her, smiling benevolently.

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica can't help it. She chuffs a laugh when he brings up /The Princess Bride/ of all things. "Of all the things humanity might have guessed about you, Lou...I think the fact that you are apparently a raging /dork/ isn't one of them."

She looks a little uncomfortable with all the praise. "I didn't always," she says.

She also frowns at 'brash indulgences,' wanting to defend her own direct sire. But for all she knows it never manifested in him. Or, if it did, it gifted him instead with intelligence, the kind of thing that allowed him to be an engineer for the likes of Stark Industries.

Her tone turns both soft and dark, contemplative and remorse-ridden. "I spent a lot of time just...wasting it. Wallowing in guilt. Self-pity. I just...find when I can be that person I want to be, even for a moment, that I get a few minutes where I don't feel worthless. I'm not sure that's about everyone I'm trying to help, or, in the end, if it's just another kind of self-indulgence, really more about me than them after all."

Lucifer has posed:
"You're thinking in very binary terms," Lucifer suggests to Jessica. "And you're really being as hard on yourself as possible. Self-flagellation went out of vogue in the fourteenth century, y'know," he reminds her.

"No one's motives are pure, Jessica," he tells her, with sympathy in the soaring tonals of his even voice. "People do bad things for good reasons. They do good things for bad reasons. And sometimes they do good things..." He reaches out to barely touch Jessica's chin. Almost featherlight, but nudging her to look back at his steady hazel gaze.

"And sometimes they do /good things/ and convince themselves they're being done for selfish reasons," he tells her, speaking with soft earnest.

At some point, the wings and glow had faded away, leaving him entirely mortal looking once again. Or perhaps he'd always been? Or the luminescence was merely... no longer relevant to the little two-person world they occupied.

"Whether or not you think of yourself as a good person, Jessica Jones-- I see a great deal of light inside the shadows."

Jessica Jones has posed:
She can't even deny that she's a past master of self-flagellation, of beating herself right up.

It's hard to meet his eyes for some reason, even though she sure met them boldly enough earlier. She can meet them in challenge. It's harder when being shown care and compassion. She knows how to fight. She's less experienced with the other. But she accepts the touch, looks into his eyes, swallowing hard, something crumpling in her face for just a moment. The wings and glow fade away at precisely the right moment.

She opens her mouth a little. Perhaps to say thank you, which is, after all, what one ought to say to a compliment. Perhaps to acknowledge that if anyone has the perspective to know it's him. Part of her wants to ask if this is the gift he'd offered to her, because the truth is such a thing can be. It can be huge, getting to see yourself, for a moment, through someone else's eyes, and know that they're being absolutely honest with you, especially when the vision is so positive.

Instead she finds herself moving in for the kiss she aborted four visits ago. Brash enough to try to kiss the devil himself and foolish enough to carry feelings for him in spite of what she now knows: one Jessica Jones.

Lucifer has posed:
There's a song about this exact situation. Granted, the genders are often switched, and there's usally a smooth-talking someone who done something wrong; but it's a tale as old as moths and fire.

Except the fire reaches a hand out and pulls Jessica towards him, supporting her effortlessly and with a fingerlight touch.

And as it turns out, the devil is a hell of a kisser.

When Jessica leans in he brushes his lips against hers, once, and with no hesitation to gauge her commitment, as if knowing full well where her intentions reside. It's a brush and a slight tug on her lips with his, a little teasing, a little possessive all at once-- fingers stroking the nape of her neck, curling but not pressing against the skin.

But if she thought that his smile carried any charms, then the kiss is like licking the third rail of a subway. Light and warmth and compassion blows through the shadows of Jessica's brain like a hurricane of happiness. Delirious joy. Incandescent joy. Everything from the purity of flying through the air to the summer comfort of bedsheets to the winter contentment of hot cocoa.

An eternity (or half a second) later, Lucifer breaks the kiss and leans back, eyes dancing merrily at Jessica's face as he waits for her reaction.

"I was hoping you'd try that again," he tells her, breaking the silence.

Jessica Jones has posed:
He's lucky she doesn't try to climb into his lap when that rush of feeling hits her. Or run around screaming 'woohoo' like some sort of madwoman seconds after. There are a host of cliche'd adjectives that could describe her reaction, from breathlessness to euphoria, flushed cheeks and glazed eyes, but none of them are really adequate to the task of containing her reaction. She has come to believe she's just getting to feel what /he/ feels, and if that's how he really feels, that alone would be enough to make her happy. Getting to feel it with him...

It's like nothing she's ever experienced.

Her own kiss is just a mortal's kiss, but it has plenty to communicate all the same. There a ferocity there that speaks of the loving person buried deep under all the walls and hurts, the swagger and the swearing, an unapologetic passion, unbridled intensity.

She swallows, trying to find some sort of dignity, or response that doesn't mirror any number of Maroon 5 lyrics in terms of what she wants to do next.

She is a bit of a ham, deep down, when she's happy. She widens her eyes, makes a bit of a smirk that is not at all sardonic, but just...played up for him, and slowly fans at herself with her hand in exaggerated fashion meant to compliment. Not that he needs them, he surely /knows/, but at the end of the day she has made a decision to treat him not like some vast celestial being, but like a person.

"Were you?" she asks, lightly. Still rather trying to catch her breath.

Lucifer has posed:
Apparently, the Devil isn't immune to flattery. Jessica's slightly over-compensating reaction is still a cover for the sincerity of her appreciation, and he grins at her with an easy, melodious laugh. In the burning sun of that kiss it's barely a tickle of warmth, but it's still there.

"Who doesn't like being kissed by a pretty and appreciative person?" he inquires, brow tilting at Jessica. "There are few actions that are a more profound statement of a person's essential self."

He glances at Jessica then reaches over the bar and comes up with a glass of ice. Water's jetted into it and he hands it to the woman, resting his elbow on the bar to prop an index finger against his high cheekbone for support.

"You okay?" he inquires, eyes dancing merrily. "I hope that didn't overwhelm you. Deep breaths," he encourages.

Jessica Jones has posed:
He tells her to take deep breaths, and her shoulders shake with mirth. "Ass," Jessica replies, in a warm, amused tone, even as she takes the ice water. She drinks a bit of it. Then? She pulls a cube into her mouth and crunches it up like the bohemian she actually is, but she's still relaxed, turning her chair to lean against the bar in comfortable fashion next to him, crossing her legs and just taking a moment. To sit here with him, and to just...be happy. Not even as the effects of whatever emotional whammy came with that third-rail-of-the-subway kiss, but just...happy to be sitting here, with him, drinking water of all things, sharing stupid jokes.

She's even relaxed as she asks another vulnerable question, even as she again dresses it up with a mild tone, one that is meant to say: 'I don't really care, just curious and all' tone: "You got other pretty and appreciative people wandering in here to share their 'essential selves' that a girl ought to know about?"

Lucifer has posed:
"'Here' is ... a tricky word," Lucifer frowns. "Lux ..." He looks at Jessica. "I'm not trying to insult your intelligence," he tells her, earnestly. "But you don't have the right vocabulary to really thoroughly comprehend the wavelengths that Lux exists on simultaneously. This conversation's happening in the future-- and the past-- from my perspective. And that's really a gross oversimplification."

He lifts a hand. "Not dodging, just getting to the second part of it." He rests his hand on his leg, still sitting close enough to Jessica that their knees brush under the bartop.

"When I smiled at you, I'm not just being amused. I'm showing you a bit of my soul," he tells her. "Yes, I have one," he says, anticipating the question. "I'm extruding a very tiny piece of it through this... vessel," he says, brushing at his shirt as if looking for the word. "When you kiss someone, you /share/ a bit of your self with them. Like... two magnets touching," he says. "The stronger the magnets, the stronger the attraction. Nothing is gained or loss-- just shared."

"So the answer to what you're asking is 'no'. It's been a very long time since someone came along and wanted to touch my light for the sheer pleasure of it," he says, with an easy smile.

Jessica Jones has posed:
"So you're saying it exists in an infinite space. All points at once. I'm literally drinking in some sort of tesseract," Jessica says slowly. She doesn't seem insulted, just keen to put it into whatever words she /can/ use to understand it. And he's telling her that on one level because...

She thinks it through. In some other timeline, some alternate reality, it's someone else sitting at the bar with him. Or it's her, but she's different, having made different choices. And because the bar exists in the past, to his perception he could have just /also/ shared a kiss with someone who lived and died half a century ago...though she supposes the bar wasn't open 50 years ago. But he certainly could be doing the same with someone else 50 years from now. All at the same time to him, and in a discrete series of steps for her. It's not really a hard concept to grasp as long as one doesn't try to /imagine what that's like./

And then he explains the bit that had caused her so much concern, and her eyes widen. Showing her a bit of his soul. /Sharing/ bits of soul. Her itty bitty magnet to his Sirius sized magnet. She smiles at his explanation, one that keeps her knee next to his, though her brow also furrows in concern.

"This may sound inane but...That's not dangerous for you?" she asks slowly. "Showing your soul? Exposing it? Nice as it is for the recipient. I mean I get that you're uber-powerful, but there are surely things in your weight class that might try to take advantage of something like that, striking at it somehow while you're just trying to smile at someone."

Lucifer has posed:
"Like /who/?" Lucifer asks, with a lifted brow. "Anything with the metaphysical mass to really do more than irritate me would be impossible to miss. Ever tried to look at a bright flashlight with your eyes closed?" he inquires. "Especially here, in my own home. That much power walking around would make my teeth itch. Metaphorically, I mean-- it's the closest approximation." Okay, so Satan's a /little/ arrogant. Small surprise.

"But... it's very sweet of you to be concerned," he tells Jessica, with a wry, lopsided smile curling at the corner of his lips. He reaches over and gives her hand a squeeze, his skin weirdly without wrinkle, mar, or blemish. Too-perfect, on inspection-- if she's bothering to look. "But realistically speaking, there's nothing that's going to sneak in here, let alone bust me in the chops in a meaningful fashion," he promises her.

Jessica Jones has posed:
"Okay, fair point," Jessica says, slowly shaking her head. She pulls a bit of a face when he describes her as /sweet/ of all things, because it hardly fits how she perceives of herself, or with what she tries to share with the world. But neither does she argue.

She is studying it, his hand. But if he's choosing how he looks, it makes sense that his hand is without blemish. She squeezes his hand back, leaving her fingers interlaced with his. "I guess just let me know if your teeth start itching. I'd like to at least be aware if Cthulu has decided to come in for a gin and tonic or something."

Her voice is dry.

But she's not entirely joking.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer's smile drops unevenly from his face. "The Elder Monsters are..." He looks at Jessica, and clearly thinks better of what he's about to say.

"Er, nevermind."

Despite his earlier bravado, the mention of C'thulu seems to have tugged a nerve-- the Lightbringer seems to realize that Jessica's being blaise just in time to avoid scaring her even more.

Or scaring himself.

"You're safer in Lux than anywhere in all of time and space," he assures Jessica, trying to pick up a tone of gentle reassurance. "This is a demesne. A home, of sorts. I make the rules-- I decide what flies and what doesn't," he promises her. "In some ways, you're safer from something big than from someone small. I can keep monsters and demons from rampaging around, but I can't stop you from getting shanked in a barfight you pick," he tells her, wryly. "Nor would I. Self determiantion and all." His thumb brushes against the back of her hand with a gentle motion while he speaks-- exquisitely sensitive to Jessica's preference for her personal space, he lingers right on the edge of her comfort zone without intruding deeply while she works through this new paradigm shift.

"I would ask that you keep my true nature to yourself," he asks Jessica, a beat later. "I can't hide from /everyone/-- I move Lux around a lot for that reason, and I use different faces-- but there are certain Powers and entities who know precisely who and what I am. Others who would merely /like/ to know. Some I mislead for tactical reasons, or because I can be a bit of a petty bitch when I wish," he says, with a self-effacing smile. "I've had a running gag going with the Vatican-- nevermind, that's a story for another time," he says, waving it off.

Jessica Jones has posed:
...Shit. Cthulu /might just/ come in for a gin and tonic.

Here's where she decides to exchange her water for the rest of her Fallen Angel, fortifying herself with alcohol. Seeing Lucifer himself get shaken by the mention of something like that is definitely telling.

But he tells her she's safe here. It's a bit of what he's said before, with the no violence speech. But it causes a bit of introspection. Is it another reason why she's so happy here? Because here, above and beyond any other place on earth, she feels /safe/ for the first time in her adult life? A break from feeling /under siege/, a feeling that didn't abate even after she finally ended a man's life?

"People assume I like fighting a lot more than I do," is what she says aloud.

She seems not to mind the brush of his thumb. He makes her feel pretty safe too, which is just really ironic given /who and what he is/. But...everything she thought she knew about him seems to be wrong. And if her only guideline for determining that is how she's been treated, it's not a bad guideline. She /could/ sit there and wait for the other shoe to drop, assume she's being manipulated, assume that he's just playing her. In her experience these would all be very reasonable assumptions. But if he /really/ wanted to do that he probably would have been better served not to invite her to play a game which could have ended in this...this very thing...the revelation of his true nature. Of course, this begs the question.

"Your secret's safe with me," she promises. She furrows her brow, meeting his eyes even as his words spark some curiosity about this Vatican story. Maybe he's the one making all the statues cry.

"Why'd you share it with me? Setting me on the path was as good as telling me outright."

Lucifer has posed:
" 'In all the gin joints in all the towns in all the universe, she walks into mine,' " Lucifer quotes, examining Jessica's face and smilingly gently at her confusion.

"You think you're the only person who's ever felt alone? Lonely? Misunderstood?" he inquires of her. "Burdened by a purpose other people didn't appreciate-- even objected to?"

"I can see the future and the past and things that might be or never will but not all futures are concrete," Lucifer tells Jessica, gently tilting her hand back and forth. "A web of probabilities-- and the human spirit can act on those probabilities infinitely, in ways gross and subtle. I can nudge people certain directions, I can stack the deck and I'm /very/ good at anticipating people."

"But sometimes I am still surprised by them. I suspected you'd figure things out sooner or later. But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy putting a challenge in front of you," he says. "What's more fun, anyway? Doing the crossword or hanging it up on your wall?" he asks, a bit rhetorically. "It's the challenges we undertake that define us as much as the mountains we're too lazy or afraid to scale."

Jessica Jones has posed:
There are a lot of mountains Jessica has been too lazy or afraid to scale, but she smirks at his mention of crosswords. She likes crosswords; they're great when she's sitting around on surveillance waiting for something of worth to happen.

She reaches for his other hand, when he says he's lonely. She can see it...feeling misunderstood, only on this /epic/ scale. The perpetual villian of everyone's piece. Even she had called Kilgrave 'the Devil', with no concept of who she was inadvertently maligning.

She looks at him for a long time. Studying him.

He doesn't lie.

And she is safe here.

And she has a long standing policy of just saying what she wants. It's reckless. It's crazy. But the ship of caution sailed when she kissed him, anyway.

Part of her says she is too small, too bedraggled, too graceless, too /everything/ to provide any kind of balm to the heart of a lonely angel.

The other part, the greater part, comes to a decision, and speaks.

"Take me somewhere quieter."