14894/As Above, So Below...In a Sense

As Above, So Below...In a Sense
Date of Scene:	05 April 2023
Location:	Club Lux, Melville
Synopsis:	Lucifer tries to offer Rorschach a job, but is denied.
Cast of Characters:	Lucifer, Rorschach, Sinister

---

Lucifer has posed:
It's after hours once again at Lux, because that is the best time for Lucifer and Sinister to conduct any kind of business. When there's a crowd, there's a risk, no matter how many measures are taken to keep people from figuring things out. People talk. As do walls. And sometimes other random inanimate objects - much to Lucifer's chagrin.

So he sits at the piano, playing a random tune that likely has no name because he's just vibing while letting his fingers hit keys in perfect succession. "Another slow day... lets hope it gets busier at the weekend. Also, Spring Break is upon us...so we'll need to be careful who we're letting in and serving... lots of high school and college freshmen will try to slip past with fake id's..."

Rorschach has posed:
Rorschach is first known by the warmth of his breath spreading on the pane of glass in the door. The night is cool but not truly cold, so it's slow to form and the deepened shadows of far night hide him from view at first. But as his breath spills cloud, his mask resolves in the faintest hint of neon from a sign, probably an EXIT, the red tint of it showing in the white of his squirming mask, like blood seeping over the crevice of an abyss.

This is his Face.

He raps at the locked door three times. Firmly but not so hard as to break the glass. He thought of doing so. Thought of kicking it in, even. But in this age of magic and science, of superhumans and posthumans and metahumans and mutants and angels and demons and robots, Rorschach feared nothing but still exercised caution. He was still alive because he could measure his moves, even if his mind was anything but calm, anything but measured. The stillness came from his Face, came from the blot, came from the pattern.

Came from Rorschach.

A very keen ear would be needed to detect it, but there's the slightest, raspy shudder of a throat and a single muttered word in the dark. If it can be called a word.

"Hurm."

Sinister has posed:
"There's a part of me that thinks they ought to be celebrated for that misdemeanor if it's good enough to fool. But there's legality and your connections, so I get it..." Essex is not himself tonight. He is keenly listening, smelling sharp and potent, keeping a mental eye open for the things in the dark. He is the wolf, black as night, lounging on the floor beneath the piano, having a full on conversation with the man playing it.

The physical form is such a thing of beauty. Life itself, so very clever in its designs, has come up with mechanisms and orders, patterns and structures of the essential same biological unit, to do a miriad of things, some of them so much better than others, just because of cunning adaptation. This is why he studies zoology, gets samples, looks at them, works things out -- this is how a man can become a beast unrecognizable from the original. How he can make his skin as strong as steel. Can make it bullet proof. Wolverine skin resists gunshot. And a wolf's hearing can hear strange knocks and muted sounds at the back door.

"I think he's arrived," the large lupine, a dire beast in truth, pads through the kitchens, to the loading docks, to the heavy fire escape there. And stares at the bar.

It clicks. The door pushes open a crack. He though, doesn't say anything more, is just a welcoming... smile of white, white knives.

Lucifer has posed:
"I mean, if they make it into the club then they're protected...but I would rather limit the amount of cops I need to pay off just to let a load of minors drink." It's different when it's one or two a week during normal hours, but come Spring Break Lucifer often feels he's paying out more bribes than his club is making money. (Likely not true though.)

"I guess I left the right type of messages..." Lucifer offers as he slowly stops his piano playing and then shifts to stands from the seat and looks towards the entrance of Lux. Soon as the door seems to be unlocked and opened for the man to step through, Lucifer actually walks up to the bar itself and then just waits for the masked man to fully make his entrance. He'll have to ensure he also makes this well worth having the man come out in the middle of the night, taking him away from anything else he was working on.

Rorschach has posed:
The only time Rorschach ever thought he saw anything he'd call god, he'd seen it in the guts of a dead dog. Not the only guts there that day. Guts in guts in guts in guts.

Shiver. Pain. He bites his lip for a moment, tasting blood. The copper like smelling salts. Alive. Present. Now. Focus.

He has countermeasures for canines who cross him. Pepper spray. The kindness of a doped up slab of raw hamburger, nestled in a paper packet. A belt, for control, for choking. Ordinary canines. None like this. No need to provoke.

He regards the darkling beast for a long beat, left hand coming to pop knuckles on his fisted right as he steps past.

"Wolf."

He approaches Lucifer directly as can be, although he might step around a stool or two if necessary. He's not a ghost. He just feels like one sometimes.

"You want something?"

Sinister has posed:
Wolf, indeed. All of those things would make things INteresting...

The beast follows the man, a silent black shadow save for the clicking of the claws on the linoleum, then the hard surface of the dance floor. The carpetting in the seating area makes that staccato echo at least fade away.

Sinister pads beyond Rorschach, to flop himself back down and watch with yellow-gold eyes, with that red of reflection in their cores.

<<I can smell blood.>> The thought is loud, but the thinker is not intrusive. This is just easier than going all chronicles of Narnia on the night.

Lucifer has posed:
Straight to the point. Lucifer can respect that. He's not intimidated by Rorschach's presence at all - whether it's thought he should be or not. At the end of the day, it would be a mortal against a fallen angel and many a mortal has learned that going up against the Devil is not in their best interest.

But it's not a fight he's looking for.

"Yes. You've had my interest since the night you were in here...taking out some trash..." Lucifer begins, motioning towards the area where said trash dumping had occurred. "And it dawned on me... as much as I don't mind people partaking of their criminal lives here... many a meeting has occurred under my roof, but because it's done in a civil manner and no one gets hurt. I take no issue." He pauses, grins. "It's when things don't go so nicely that I have a problem. The only other issue is...I don't really have a way of dealing with that problem. Cops come here and I'm screwed for other reasons. Short of the long, I need someone who can come in, take out the trash, and then get out of sight. Much like you did."

He pours a whiskey, takes a sip. "So, I'd like to put you on retainer to be that person. Name your price."

Rorschach has posed:
Rorschach listens with his hands clasped in front of him. He breathes steadily, even, as he enters a kind of fugue. Sinister's contact with his mind may be unlike any he's seen: a roiling abyssal vortex of self-hatred, despair, abuse, shame, degradation, humiliation. A hatred so pure and so universal that the only language he truly understands is violence, the only expression of his soul is through the pain of those he deems deserving. All deserve to suffer. He is just lucky enough to cause some of it.

"I don't make deals. I don't follow orders. Or 'tips', if you prefer," he says. He even makes the little quote marks in the air.

"I hunt who I hunt. I see what I see. Ain't up to you. Ain't up to me. But don't worry. They've all got it coming. One way or another."

Sinister has posed:
<<Tiger, tiger, burning bright, in the forests of the night, what unthinking hand or eye dared frame thy fearful symmetry?>>

The thought comes soft but present, again without intrusion. <<It simply is. Ahh, but you... you are the embodiment of fractal. Langton's ant...>>

Crossing forepaws, the wolf yawns, licks its nose and looks at Rorschach, then the devil with ears pricked up. What will come next?

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer seems to consider this a moment while he lifts his glass up for another sip and then he goes through the motions to light up a cigarette. "Okay but see that whole hunt who you hunt thing, is kinda bad for my business. You kinda came in here, balls to the wall and made a mess of things that were actually going pretty smoothly. So..." He pauses, inhales, then sips whiskey.

"No tips. No deals. What about a compromise? Cause like I said... this is a safe haven. For many a good or bad person. Unless they begin trouble, they're allowed to be here. So, you want to hunt them down, fine. But then the compromise will be this will never be a target for your hunts. Ever. You can come here and have a drink, you can even watch your target, to take them down once they leave. But within these walls. My domain. They remain neutral targets."