9683/Fallen Feathers

Fallen Feathers
Date of Scene:	21 October 2019
Location:	East Village, Rooftop
Synopsis:	While fixing a Leyline crack, Felicia and Lucifer meet a fallen Angel: Hayal.
Cast of Characters:	Lucifer, Black Cat, Exile

---

Lucifer has posed:
The ley lines of magical energy in New York have been tortured and thin for months. The veil between planes grew thin, as the areas were stressed. Like a gossamer tissue, little rips would appear, here and there. Many of them were looked after by magical guardians, but others were torn further, and grew.

A fluxing, twisting ghost of a crack exists, angled across the roof of the apartment complex in the East Village. Electric lines and signs were heavy in this area, masking view of it from all of the areas around. In fact, a huge billboard with a woman showing off her new tooth-bleach was grinning down at the city below, blocking the scar entirely from the street.

This rip is about six feet across, pulsing, pained, like a stretched ghost in the air that can't quite reach reality.

"We're not out of holy water. //Really?// That's the thing we're out of?" Lucifer asks Felicia. He's reclined comfortably on a deck chair he dragged over from the other side of the roof, near where the owner of the apartments seems to have been doing some golf. There's a stained green and yellowed golf patch over there. He's 'supervising': meaning, watching Felicia work out a ritual circle under the floating scar, with her books and her cardboard box of materials. "Just have to substitute."

Lucifer's general ambiance is heavy to those that can sense it, though it is SO heavy that trying to specifically track him with it would be like entering a lake and trying to determine where the water came from exactly. There's a lot of water to deal with. Still, the ripple of magic, the glittery spot? That's visible, from the air.

Black Cat has posed:
"Yes, Bowie, we're out of holy water." Felicia glances over her shoulder towards the club owner so comfortably ensconced in his deck chair. The wind plays with her hair even drawn back as it is in a ponytail; it cascades down the back of her black peacoat in stark contrast given its pale hue. In dark jeans and ankle-high boots, she turns her attention back to the page she has pinched and lifted.

A flip backwards...and forwards...and a skim-read once more...and she sighs rather dramatically, shoulders lifting and falling.

"It doesn't say what to substitute," she complains at the Devil again as she turns on the spot on her toes. From the front, it's apparent she wears a deeply-red blouse, ruffled at the...midpoint of her sternum. The peacoat's tied about her waist to create a svelte figure. "You've got an idea, right? I want to get this closed. No more...slug things."

Blech. Felicia sticks her tongue out and wrinkles her nose. At least the ritual circle's all drawn on the rooftop and nearly complete!

Exile has posed:
The problem with that imprecision, the inability to feel just *where* the Morningstar is....is that Hayal doesn't know where he *isn't*. He's tried vertical and horizontal flight, but it's been like playing Hotter-Colder....and now he's so tired. And there's that something wrong with the magic there.

That he's about to effectively land in the Lightbringer's lap.....not a clue. There's the batter of wings as he comes wearily down to the rooftop, lands not in the classic superhero three point (so hard on the knees), but in an unceremonious heap, like a drowning man hauling himself up on shore. He doesn't need to breathe, so he's not panting, but there's the weary flop of ash-gray wings....right into the center of the circle.

.....was it supposed to do that?

Lucifer has posed:
"No, it wouldn't, would it; it's rituals for beginners," Lucifer smirks. He moves one leg, unfolding them-- to cross leg the other way, one hand playing over the crisp crease in the side of his suit pants. "Think of it's intent. It's /nature/. What is inherent in that particular ingredient? 'Purity'? Blind servitude, maybe?" Lucifer grins, with a lift of his brows. Lucifer's grins can sometimes have a manic intensity. "For a match, you---"

The grin peels away into interested, pure curiosity, as the winged humanoid crash-lands right into their little party. Curiosity, but not concern. Hardly.

"//Hey.// Do you //mind//? We have a novice here," Lucifer calls out. Lucifer can PROJECT his voice: there's no question that the wind will tear away his words. No, the Devil has a signature way of speaking, and it comes with a pulse of his aura that tends to make many creatures want to leap to obey. The deck chair may as well be a throne, the peeling white paint on it appearing much as a soul's husk of sanity peeling away over eons of torture.

With a frustrated little click of tongue to the inside of his teeth, Lucifer drops both palms to the arms of the chair, starting to rise.

Black Cat has posed:
There's the smallest eyeroll towards the dappen gentleman in his suit, but while Felicia arches an eyebrow, she does listen. Her eyes narrow attentively; a fingernail slowly tap-taps the page open on the book spread across her palm. Given the direction of her attention, she's made aware of Hayal's approach only by Lucifer's shift in focus. Frowning, the thief turns on her booted toes again only to begin a light-footed dance backwards from the ritual circle.

"Oh my GOD!" The tome is spread flat against her chest with both palms anchored on each side of its cover. Felicia stares. Even as Lucifer begins to get to his feet, she asks,

"Is that, like...the world's biggest man-pigeon or am I looking at what I think I'm looking at?" There's an airy element to her question, as if even SHE can barely process what she's seeing.

Exile has posed:
He was turning, dizzily, even as Lucifer speaks. Trying to get up, stagger drunkenly out of the circle. Blond hair, a flash of impossibly blue eyes. A werepigeon, maybe? The creature certainly looks borderline homeless.

But that voice. That *voice* that he hasn't heard in aeons....it has Hayal whipping around to face the Morningstar with that impossible speed. And, like a magician's trick, there's a blade in his hand. Or the suggestion of one - it's black, but not in the way that black-enameled metal is black. Like a shard of shadow, a sword forged from sliver of primal night. The weapon of one of the Fallen. But if he's Fallen, why is he so palpably terrified by Lucifer?

Lucifer has posed:
Felicia's need to continually bring his father into it causes Lucifer to stop, and give her an exasperated look. "Again, really nothing to do with Him," Lucifer reminds her, once again. But then, he pauses. Considers. "Actually, in this case? I can't quite correct you," Lucifer gives, willing to grant her this one. Is Hayal come from God, indirectly? Maybe.

"Hayal, angel of ....indecision to the point of paralysis, is that it now?" Lucifer declares of Hayal with a deeply expressed sigh, and one hand out grandly, as if introducing Hayal. He comes only a handful of paces towards Hayal, cutting the distance in half, but staying well out of the ritual zone. Lucifer himself appears entirely human, in his debonair suit, sleekly styled hair. Sure, he's astronomically handsome for a human, but it isn't otherworldly in a noticeable way.

Lucifer's dark eyes flare wide, settling his gaze like a snakecharmer on Hayal. His mood isn't aggressive: just relaxed. Pleasant, but a bit impatient. "Do you feel safer with that sharp stick?" Lucifer winks once, still smiley. "If you're going to have it out, move three paces to your left, won't you? We're already struggling with balance here in our little project."

Black Cat has posed:
"...he's got, like, a really creepy-looking sword thingie for an angel," Felicia murmurs (mostly to herself, honestly) from where she's now backed far out of immediate lunge reach of Hayal himself. The tome remains up against her chest as if she might half-hide behind it -- or maybe it was expensive and she's guarding it -- or maybe feeling incomprehensibly guilty about being caught in mid-ritual?

Regardless, her jade-green gaze flickers between the arrival, this Hayal, and the more familiar and charming form of Lucifer. She remains silent for the moment in order to further suss out the finer nuances of connection between the arrival and this guy who's purportedly the Devil.

Exile has posed:
That he has no moral obligation to resist, to fight....it's visibly hard for him to grasp. He may be tough and deadly and skilled, but he isn't *smart*, this one. Hayal looks blankly at Lucifer, looks at the sword, looks at Lucifer again....and then the blade is gone, in a moment.

Bizarrely, he sounds almost flattered. "You know my name." Like Lucifer admitting it confirms it, somehow. And he takes three big paces to one side, like a kid playing Simon Says.

Only then does he seem to become aware of Felicia, and she just gets a big, sunny smile. Hello, human. "Sorry," he says....only then turning to examine the circle with a birdlike cant to his head.

Lucifer has posed:
How wonderful, Hayal's very clearly going to follow instructions. To Lucifer, that makes this much easier. "And title, apparently, unless you've changed it," Lucifer replies evenly to Hayal. "Put all that away, won't you? You're distracting my student," he says, conversational, but also empathetically awkward: as if Hayal's fly were unzipped. Everyone around is uncomfortable with it being mentioned, but there it is. The move of Lucifer's slippery dark gaze is to wings, not fly, though.

Black Cat has posed:
"...hi," the thief says lightly by way of greeting towards Hayal; one palm pulls away from the book to twiddle fingers towards the angel. Her smile is big and a touch forced -- in her opinion, ritual circles got weird //fast// today!

With the natural inclination towards bravery, the thief then begins walking soundlessly back across the rooftop towards the sigils and circle mostly finished. However, she pauses midway between the Devil and the angel and looks to the former, brows drawn. "We still don't have any holy water." Then her keen interest returns to Hayal.

"...put what away...?" Her head even tilts a touch, adding an extra feline aspect along with the interested slitting of her cat-like eyes.

Exile has posed:
They fade away again in moments. Substantial enough to bear him in gravity, and yet they vanish like morning mist. Hayal is left, to all appearances, merely some homeless or nearly homeless man who just ended up on this rooftop. He bobs his head in wordless assent, looking between Lucifer and Felicia. But then, soldiers are used to following orders....

Lucifer has posed:
"No, we don't. I don't think Hayal will be blessing anything anytime soon?" Lucifer teasingly floats that question over at him, but his tone isn't actually questioning. He knows the answer, it was more to amuse himself. And, in a way, showing that he's not going to be aggressive against Hayal right now.

"So, look in your supplies. Something similar in intent," he encourages Felicia, with an air of infinite patience.

Lucifer considers Hayal, and approaches, in an easy, comfortable pace. "In-between not suiting you well, is it?" Lucifer asks. He isn't asking from kindness: this is just pure curiosity. "You look something of a wounded pigeon."

Black Cat has posed:
A gasp from Felicia is frankly...impressed and somewhat delighted to see the wings evaporate from Hayal's back. "...ohmygodhereallyisanangel," the thief squeals to herself in a whisper gone almost hypersonic. Lucifer's suggestion brings her back to the task at hand. She sighs as she wanders over to the box. A frown means pursed red-red lips and some muttering under her breath as she rifles through it.

"Hmm." A smaller satchet comes up held between her thumb and forefinger. "I think ground coffee will do. It's the good stuff -- and talk about blind servitude." Her chuckling is very, very self-amused at her 'funny'. The thief then returns to the summoning circle and crouches down to sprinkle some of the espresso grind into the very center of the sigils.

Exile has posed:
He shakes his head, mutely. Nothing of holiness about him - whatever he's achieved in the days since he skived off from the Fallen, redemption is not it.

Hayal doesn't bother to retreat from Lucifer, letting him come. "No," he says, simply, matter of fact. "I was never intended to be in that position. Matter is tiring." He doesn't sound plaintive, it is what it is.

Lucifer has posed:
"That sounds.... weird, but reasonable," Lucifer says to Felicia, raising his voice some to call his agreement back to her, though he doesn't turn away from Hayal at all.

"//Quite//," Lucifer's dulcet accent agrees with Hayal's predicament. "And with no breaks. No vacations from here for you, is there," he continues, thoughtful, as if this were the first time that he'd considered what those like Hayal's state must be.

But then the Devil abruptly gives a 'hmh', as if finding it interesting but dismissing it, and angles his eyes to Felicia's little coffee expriment. "At the very least, that isn't a recipe for explosions," he remarks. He draws a metal, shiny flask from his suit pocket, unscrewing it in a leisurely way, taking a refreshing drink from it. All of Lucifer's manner is very relaxed, like a tourist of the whole situation: slightly removed.

Black Cat has posed:
"Hey, it could have been crack cocaine. I'd rather not deal with that." Felicia smirks at Lucifer over her shoulder and returns to pinching out the smallest last bit necessary to complete the circle. Rising to her feet, she gives the burgeoning discomfort of reality a chary side-look even as she backs carefully away and out of the ritual circle. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." A hand flicks hair behind her shoulders; these, she rolls and takes on a proud, intentful stance, feet set equally apart for balance. "I have a ley line to fix."

Preen, preen.

The young woman then extends her palm out towards the pulsating fracture in midair. One last check of the inscription on the page and she takes a deep breath. This time, it's not so much about pronounciation -- though her Latin is precise -- but there's a sense of willpower being funneled into the chanting -- of thinking it //will work//.

Upon the last syllable, the ritual circle flares up and around the wounded ley line in auroral curtains of pure, blinding light. Felicia blinks again, same as last time, and then coughs.

"...now it smells like burnt coffee. Pfffugh." Wrinkling her nose, the thief then slinks back over to the two gentlemen. Pausing as the third corner of a conversational triangle between them, she gives Lucifer first a brilliant grin. "Did it," comes the singsong.

Hayal then gets a look very...calculating.

Exile has posed:
That's one of the most inhuman things about him - his lack of expectation. He doesn't want the way mortals do. Doesn't look for any particular reaction, even from the Morningstar. And thus the sense that he's dismissed from Lucifer's attention....only has him looking to Felicia again, all curiosity. Meeting her gaze with that utter lack of guile.

Lucifer has posed:
"Well done," Lucifer says to Felicia, turning aside to her to beam at her. All of his features light up with it, a sunbeam of pleasant quality. After all, the Devil can really turn 'it' on when he chooses. "Was that a suggestion that you'd like cocaine as a reward?" teases Lucifer lightly, but opens one arm to her, an offer for her to come in for a sideways hug. Seeing as he's proud of his little friend/pet.

"Because I'm not saying 'no'," Lucifer adds, cheeky. "It does smell a bit foul up here now. Although I want a Latte." Lucifer gives a little sound of grumpy displeasure, about either wanting the drink, or not having it already. Instead, he has another big drink from his flask, and screws the cap back on.

Black Cat has posed:
The praise showered upon her diverts the thief's attention from considering the other angel to grinning slyly at Lucifer.

"Aw, shucks, cocaine for little ol' me? ...nah," she replies, switching interests on the flip of a coin. Pleased enough to sidle over for a sideways hug, Felicia does indulge herself. After all, the club owner meets the requirements for a hug: looks good, smells good, check and check. "No slugs either. I think coffee sounds good though. It got chilly up here."

Closing the tome with a sharp snap of fingers tipped in flawless manicure, she then saunters over to Hayal and very nearly up into his personal space. "So, if you're...an angel..." She frets the inside of her bottom lip at him and gives the blond angel a curious, beseeching look through her dark lashes. "...can you make those wings show up again?" What a fetchingly-postured request.

Exile has posed:
His answer is to have them reappear. Soundless as a ghost, raised up and out. They have, in stronger light, a strange rosy iridescence to them, as if they were touched by dawn light. "I was an angel," he corrects, gently, but without any real heat. "Now I'm this." Though he doesn't specify what 'this' is.

Lucifer has posed:
"No cocaine? Suit yourself, more for me," singsongs Lucifer playfully, cheeky and upbeat. He puts his flask away, trading it for a cigarette, while he observes Felicia's assault on the semi-fallen angel. His manner is similar to an owner that let his dog off the leash, and couldn't care less if it wandered off to shit on someone else's shoes. Not like it's his problem.

"Indecisive, yes," Lucifer says helpfully, to help define what 'this' is. Peanut gallery, amused Devil style.

Black Cat has posed:
"Oooooooooooh."

They're shiny, those feathers, and they look //achingly// soft up this close. Already, Felicia's reaching out towards the dawn-kissed pinions, but the peanut gallery off to one side has her pausing...and brazenly leaving her hand outstretched.

The thief thinks to comment, "They're awfully pretty. Can I touch them, pretty-please?" How winsome this request is now, as if it would make her LIFE to be able to brush her fingertips along the outer line of his wing. "I mean, I think we can decide they're gorgeous," Felicia asides towards Lucifer, smiling most pleased in her curl of red-red lips.

Exile has posed:
Again, his answer is wordless. One of them dips down and curls to let her brush the leading edge. They are surprisingly soft, rather than keen-edged as they look. His expression is only patient. Humans ask this a lot, after all.

A look to Lucifer. "That's not true. I make lots of decisions. I made two to begin with. That's more than anyone else."

Lucifer has posed:
"Yeah; gift from fuckin' God," Lucifer comments, tone heavy with contempt. He turns away, leaving them to enjoying Hayal's wings. He seems to ignore Hayal's statement about decisions, instead he takes a little stroll along the edge of the roof: dangerously, really, along the edge, the wind blowing his suit jacket open in rippling black movements as he walks.

There's a danger's step to the sleek, easy strut, and a softened trail of the smoke from the handmade cigarette. It's nothing any human should be inhaling if they wanted to live very long, but for Lucifer, it's just a bit of something of spice.

Black Cat has posed:
Hayal's wings are...delightfully soft. Felicia melts a little upon feeling their texture as she slides her palm down along the front curve. It's better than the most plush fabric or fur she's ever felt in her life.

"Geez, that's...wow." There aren't words for how thrilled she is -- and imagine, she'd never be where she is right now if the Devil hadn't knocked on the Sanctum's front door.

However, Lucifer's reaction has her pulling her hand back and watching him walk away along the very fringe of the building itself. It's a nice view. Still, she glances back to Hayal and his wings. "Sooooooooo...hold on." One question gets diverted for a sudden different wonderment. Sotto-voce, she leans in and asks the blond angel, "...so...if he's the Devil...doesn't he have wings?"

Exile has posed:
"Of course he does," Hayal's voice is blank. Like....what kind of question even is that? He seems genuinely puzzled that she asks. Looks between them - unlike humans, he doesn't blink when he's surprised.

Since she seems to be done with them, he folds his wings back, and they fade away.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer stays over away from them for the moment, off on his corner of the rooftop, like a sleek statue, smoking, his other hand in his pants pocket, relaxed. Whatever strange mood took him over there is still possessing him, at least for the moment, but he finishes his cigarette, and flicks it off the roof into the street below, then begins to come back to them, his smile returned, bounce back into his step. He walks through the remains of the summoning circle, a crunch of remaining bits of salt under his shiny shoes.

"Hayal, you should come by my club, sometime," Lucifer invites, flipping a card out of nowhere, and offering it towards him with two fingers. It's a sleek black LUX club card.

Black Cat has posed:
"He does, does he...?" Lucifer's back is given another calculating look -- specifically, between his shoulderblades. Yet another curiosity she might be inclined to paw at, given time and interest. "Thanks for telling me, Hayal," she adds, then giving the blond angel another appealing smile and flutter of dark lashes.

The thief slides her expression back to a more benign interest when she realizes the Devil is returning from his brief promenade about the rooftop. Her eyes fall to the card and then flick to Hayal. "You totally should. I hear it's a great place. I'm planning on visiting it myself...dressed to the nines, of course."

Preen, preen redux.

Exile has posed:
He accepts the card, turns it over deftly, tucks it away in the pocket of the army jacket he wears. "I will," Hayal says, simply. Presumably to satisfy his curiosity, if nothing else.

"I mean, we all come with them. Built-in." Even if Lucifer is an upgraded model, surely he's got the basic features, right?

Lucifer has posed:
"Come with what?" Lucifer asks, curious, his manner open and beguiling as he comes back over. So long as the pair aren't singing God's praises, Lucifer's mood can remain upbeat and at ease. "Ready to go?" Lucifer asks of Felicia, flipping his lighter in his other hand, just a shiny golden object to play with, no flame. Flick, click. Flick, click.

Black Cat has posed:
"Nothing at the moment."

In which Felicia words very deliberately as a reply to Lucifer's question. There are, after all, no wings present that she can see on the Devil at this particular point in time. "I'm still good for a coffee, since you mentioned it earlier -- that, and..."

Turning in place, the thief apparently lets her thought linger behind her as she places the tome inside the reagent box and closes its flaps to seal it off from the wind.

"A dozen free drinks at Lux, when I come visit." She shoots the owner of aforementioned club an eyebrow, as if to dare him to refuse.

Exile has posed:
One of the other things humans do that he doesn't bother with....farewells. For there's the beating of those wings, and he's laboring up from the rooftop, until he can catch a thermal rising over the city.

Then he's soaring up with a vulture's calm, and no goodbyes.

Lucifer has posed:
"Not all at once, I hope? We'll have to peel you off the bar," Lucifer laughs, but grins all the same. "A dozen, you drive a hard bargain." Lucifer looks aside at Hayal, muted amusement dancing in his dark eyes. There's a darkness there beyond just brown eyes - pools that often feel like they lead into the depths of something far deeper.

Lucifer observes the angel leaving, and then smiles quietly to himself. An interesting new development.

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia's laugh is bright and deeply amused.

"No way, not all twelve all at once. I like a drink or two at a time, but that's just asking for an epic hangover. Me and hangovers don't get along," she comments as she prowls back over to Lucifer's side. The box might be heavy with ingredients and the tome, but with her strength, it's an easy carry.

She watches Hayal go with her mouth visibly dropped. It shuts soundlessly after a handful of seconds. "...well, holy crap. The things I have learned today might keep me up tonight."

Lucifer is then given one of those measuring glances, complete with the usual accompanying head-tilt.

The question comes innocently enough. "So...where are your wings?"

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer draws one hand behind her back, beginning to escort her towards the stairs, as she snares the box, palm spread on her lower back if she lingers close enough to him.

"Hm? Mine?" Lucifer releases a deep laugh. "Dumpster outside of my penthouse," he says, as if he were clearly kidding. "On fire." He rolls his eyes towards her, amusement clear on his lips.

Black Cat has posed:
Not bothered by the presence of his escorting hand at the small of her back, Felicia swans along beside him. Her hair isn't terribly displaced by the wind of the open rooftop, but she does take a moment to smooth her palm across the top of it to sleek any frizzies down.

"Seems like a weird place to keep them," the thief retorts, giving Lucifer another look. Amused, yes, the look, but also vaguely concerned. "The fire probably doesn't make them really soft. It might make them crispy though," she adds, playing along.

Lucifer has posed:
"It does, once they're off me. I'm pretty resistant to flame," Lucifer teases, flipping his lighter around, though he doesn't do anything with it, other than to just make it click before he puts it away. The only 'show' is that he vanishes it in sleight of hand.

"Where would you keep yours? Unfortunately, I'd prefer them up God's ass, but I can't really reach from here."

Black Cat has posed:
"I mean, I wouldn't want MY wings up God's ass, but that's just me." Despite the droll reply on her part, there's still a muted titter behind Felicia's closed lips. "I'd keep mine...if I had any, which I don't -- which is no fun because wings would be //very// cool to have," the thief notes.

She continues after a few snaps of her fingers. Her pace is kept easily beside Lucifer. "I mean, it's nice how that Hayal guy can just...vanish them like they're some holographic projection. Very magical. It'd be nice. Yep: I would keep mine like he does."

Lucifer has posed:
"Well," Lucifer says, turning his head to smile at her, "That'd be your choice," he says, his tone not negative in the slightest. Supportive, beguiling, but not directing. He doesn't tell her she's wrong. Lucifer and freedom to choose, of course.

Lucifer pulls the door to the stairs open, and heads down with her, in an easy pace. "You have wonderful abilities as you are, you know," Lucifer encourages her.

Black Cat has posed:
The Cat's boots make refined, echoing click-clicks upon her descent down the enclosed stairwell. "Oh, they're great, don't get me wrong. I've been at my hobbies long enough to know I can hold my own against pretty much anybody who comes at me." Pride, thy name is Felicia.

"But, come on now: the ability to fly? I only get that when I borrow that Cloak back at the Sanctum. I mean..." The pause is thoughtful and lingers as they descend around another corner to cross another landing. "I suppose I already fly, if I mince words. Maybe one day you'll catch me out on the rooftops and you can see for yourself." Lucifer gets another proud glance.

Lucifer has posed:
"Fair enough, fair enough," Lucifer laughs, allowing her those points. "It's been a while. Maybe I'll lay off the dumpster-fire some night," he teases, but smirks. Convienient that he can't show the wings, it might be, after all: no way to prove he ever had them, or is what he said he is. Because it's all a lie, maybe?

The greatest lie ever told, they say, is the Devil convincing the world he didn't exist.

"Coffee?" Lucifer offers, as they get to the bottom, gesturing across the street, smile smooth.