Owner	Pose
Lucifer	The Devil has a saying. It's a very bad saying. Mostly because everytime he says it, or thinks it, the inevitable happens. Swallow a piece of apophis stone? Get sick for 24 hours. Lick the magic ink off your pinky finger? See colours for a week. It's a Devil's Curse at this point, and it's a simple phrase that should anyone hear him utter, they should do all they can to NOT let the Devil follow through. Or...just steer clear of the Devil for some time. What's the worse that can happen? And it just so happens that Lucifer was shown a jam jar a day or so ago. A jam jar that once contained a dead frog. Now it contains mini demons. And what does a Devil want most when they find new species of demons? They want to know everything they can about them. Precaution is key here... but then... indeed... WTWTCH? So maybe he set the jar on the kitchen counter. And maybe he stared at it for a good ten minutes. Then maybe, juuuust maybe, he unscrewed the lid of the jar and waited to see what the minis would do. Curious little devil man.
Sinister	So, Ms Braddock was off in the backside of beyond not that long ago -- Kuala Lumpur? Some place distant and rife with crime and mosquitos. But there was an invite to drop by when she got back, to catch up and potentially ask the questions she's probably wanted to ask for a while, but was too polite to. Or just to drink copious amounts, whatever actually works, right? Anyhoo... anyone that thought it was an easy thing to milk miniature demon spit, has another think coming. It's all Sin's been capable of to extract one of the little buggers with a teat pipette and erm... well... frappe it, so he can sort out the proteins and the like, later, after considerable culturing. They're the size of gnats. But size isn't everything, right? So that's where he's been at least today and yesterday, working on cell culture and protein cloning in his lab, returning now to the unfortunately potential for... WTWTCH. "Honey, I'm home. I sent an invite to Betsy to show up if she makes it back and isn't monstrously jetlagged..." -- this might be the moment of distraction needed for Lucifer to look up and for the caged midge-e-mons to make like little houdinis.
Psylocke	Guadalajara, but honestly, not far off otherwise. There was definintely crime and definitely mosquitos. When Betsy said she'd be back in New York in a day or two, she meant it at the time. But then plans change. People need to be tracked down, and some of them need to be taken out permanently. The woman's prone to obsessiveness and this sort of venture is no exception. So it is that shortly after Sinister arrives, the elevator heads back to the ground floor and when it returns, Betsy steps out. Her capacity to look completely put together despite a serious lack of sleep, an unfulfilling mission, and a limp cannot be underestimated. Her years as a model was merely training for this. She's dressed in designer jeans, and a loose, colorful kaftan top. Her only concession to the limp is that she's wearing flats rather than heels. "I need a drink," is her version of a greeting, and that's before she's seen or comprehended what's happening when Lucifer decides to choose the renegade option.
Lucifer	Tiny little demon gnats. Which just makes this entirely that much worse. It's shortly after he's opened the jar, and the entirety of the swarm decides to have at it out of the jar that Lucifer is aware he may be in a little more over his head than he thought. However, he also figures he can fix this. Some how. Because if a devil cannot control demons of any size, shape, or form...then what the actual fuck is the devil good for? Oh. Then there's a Sin. "Oh. Hi honey. Uhm. Nothing is wrong. Everything is absolutely... uhm... well..." Fuck it all. Lucifer cannot lie. Not even the tinniest little bit. "I-maybe-opened-the-jar-and-let-all-the-demon-gnats-out..." He says this quickly before the elevator dings AGAIN. "Betsy! What a lov...lovely surprise... drink? Drink? Ah yes. Drink. Whiskey? Nevermind the buzzing things we'll...have them sorted...soon..."
Sinister	"You... no, of course you did..." Sinister looks over his shoulder at the ding of the elevator. "Drinks are certainly doable. You look sharp as ever, my dear... Excuse us, there's a swarm on the loose." -- and unfortunately, they're very, very small, too. So small that when they vamoose and hide, it's exceptionally hard to see where they've gone, without the light hitting things just right. Sin doesn't move, casting his gaze about, but perhaps it is that their minds are also so very tiny that they don't immediately trigger, either. I mean, it would be a real headache of epic proportions of telepaths ALSO picked up birdsong as: HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY! and all the other wide world of wildlife fun out there. "Did you see where they went? Good gods, this is the equivalent of infernal sea monkeys, where the HELL did they go?"
Psylocke	Betsy has seen some things. Experienced many more things. Flying demonic gnats are new, though. Her lips part, briefly, and then she snaps them closed out of some sense of self preservation. Probably ought to not accidentally swallow one of those. She's having a bad enough time. That's almost undoubtedly why a faint glimmer of purple springs up around her, the shield gleaming faintly. "What hap-" a breath. "You know what, I'm not even going to ask." Flying demons are just like mosquito's, right? She can ignore them, with a vengeance, smiling warmly at Lucifer. "I will take your hardest whiskey. Thank you, Lucifer. You are, as always, a delightful and exceptional host." "You can't tell me, Nathaniel, you haven't got something that can detect these things?" The way she looks at him suggests she's not prepared to be disappointed in him. He better deliver! Expectations have been set.
Lucifer	The whiskey begins to pout itself at Betsy's request while Lucifer looks at Nathaniel for a lingering moment. "Well. I saw where they went when I opened the jar..." And he points in all sorts of directions. "As to where they are at this precise point, I have no idea... likely running amok wherever they are though..." This offered as he looks around the kitchen for a moment. Course, he could very likely - and very quickly - resolve this. But also, he's not sure if what he's thinking will work. He doesn't know just which spawn of what Hell-bent god, goddess, or being is the actual one to hold reign over gnat sized terrors. Hell-speak is almost the same everywhere though, right? But sad eyes turn to Betsy at her last question to Nathaniel and then he shrugs. Not his question to answer, so he won't. Besides, sometimes Nathaniel can surprise even him.
Sinister	Ok, way to put him on the spot, eh? There's a fleeting bland stare, a slow blink, then a look over toward the Devil, as he gesticulates in all directions -- the shield is a remarkably good idea, although as far as he -knows- they're necrophages, but that doesn't mean that they can't do strange things to mostly humans. Renfield syndrome anyone? "Of course I can..." Sin says in a mild tone of voice, one that betrays none of his 'how the heck' that's going on in his mind, but the clicking of fingers might be a giveaway on that. But he turns about, heading toward the mini-lab that's located in the 'safe room' thing of the penthouse. He steps in smartly, with a shimmer of red materializing in the door frame, to prevent tiny hitch-hikers from getting in and perhaps going to seed in his agar jelly. Ooh-er, missus! From inside: "... did you at least establish if they can understand you before you opened the jar, Luci? Or was this one of the classic episodes of our Life-serial?"
Psylocke	Since Betsy can now neither see the creatures, nor can she sense them, she reaches out for the glass, the shield disappearing briefly with a shimmer of purple, only resuming after she claims the whiskey. She's going to take a long, deep drink from the glass, letting the fine whiskey burn down her throat and turn her voice husky before she ventures to comment on the situation. "Of course you can," the mutant telepath agrees readily with Nathaniel, watching him retreat to his lab with a little smile for Lucifer. This is the problem about being super competent. It sets expectations. Betsy moves closer to the devil, taking a seat nearby, easing one leg up over the other and exhaling. "Is this a demonic version of a prank? How you show affection to each other?" she doesn't think so, but the idea kind of amuses her, and she gazes at Lucifer questioningly.
Lucifer	"No. This is me messing with one of his experiments because it involved demons and I got overly curious. It's a fault of mine, see? I often don't think before doing things, and very often play the what's the worse that can happen card." Lucifer readily admits to Betsy before his attention goes back to Nathaniel. "On a scale of one to ten, how mad would you be if I only sort of maybe tried a couple languages and then just decided to open the jar and see what would happen?" He asks this in his lover's direction with a sly grin before looking around once more and then moves a little out of the kitchen. Actually - depending on the size of the psychic bubble - he steps out of that as well. Holding one hand out, his eyes begin to burn with the fires of Hell, his skin begins to peel away and he springs wings of black leather from his back. Mini Demons, meet the Mini-Devil. While his hand is extended he begins to speak in deep, guttural voice that can shake the very pillars of heaven and hell in an ancient tongue that none can understand. Tho, gathering a swarm of mini-demons might take a moment. And at least five of them have made their ways into the air vents leading downstairs to the hotel rooms. Perhaps drawn to one room in particular. Thanks angel-blood.
Sinister	"Well, I would have been rather more so if I hadn't blended one in suspension and begun extrapolating the proteins..." comes the voice from in the lab. And when he steps back, he's got a hand held thing, looking similar to a Star Trek scanner in palm, only it's utterly pointless at the moment because a very interesting and possibly terrifying display is going on in the open space over there. That HE stares in admiration, is a testament to the fact that in this, he is fearless. SO he's going to Hell, if and when he goes, in the scheme of things it could be a lot worse. He has an ace up his sleeve, unless another of the Host interferes. But there's also a sigh and a toss of the device over his shoulder as he mutters something about rhetorical questions under his breath. "Magnificent," is said louder with his gaze on the Lord of Hell. Then, in more ordinary, less breathy tones: "Oh, I've been researching a different aspect of the Mutation equasion the last while. It's what brought me into Lucifer's sphere of influence actually -- the various mutagens that exist. I had a lead on some strange post-humous mutations in local amphibians and set a trap. Found out that the Hellmouth can produce some extremes; first there's a cockatrice the size of a VW camper van, then a jar full of micro-demons." He explains. "I brought them home to run some tests and they all took to playing Stare-at-the-devil when Luci arrived from Lux, all pressed up like horrifying puppies in a jar."
Psylocke	There's a spill of laughter from Betsy, but it's not in any way mean. No, it's completely understanding. "You are my spirit animal, Lucifer. Spirit demon? Whatever." She's amused because patience isn't usually one of her virtues, and she prefers the speed of violence over the patience of talking. "Well, I'm sure it's probably fine." Narrator Voice: It was probably not fine. The purple-haired woman twists in place so she can watch. Lucifer, in full demonic glory, is a sight to behold, and let's face it, Betsy does really like beautiful and deadly things, particularly when they are both at the same time. It's like her catnip. Even if the thud of her heart is loud and the primal part of her brain is urging her to run. It's fine! Whenever she remembers how to breathe (in, out) a few moments later, Betsy finally asks, "Do I want to know why you were experimenting on demonic gnats, Nathaniel?" It's a genuine question. As a telepath, she's learned there's some things she's better off just not knowing at all. The answer is not as out there as she'd feared but also more than she probably wanted to know. "Great. Yup. Great." She's going to take a long sip of her whiskey and just stare at the Lord of Hell to soothe her mood. There are worse ways to pass the time.
Lucifer	When we last left our ill-fated trio, Lucifer Morningstar has released gnat-sized demonlings into the Penthouse. Nathaniel went to grab a device to try and help catch them only to be outmaneuvered by the Devil himself. The Devil - who is standing firm in a sort of half-morphed form - attempting to call the demonlings to him in some sort of archaic tongue. Nathaniel may still be needed yet. A tiny swarm dances around in the kitchen, coming out from possible hiding spots, but that's the most they do. Collected themselves but gone no further. Maybe someone ought grab the jar and trap them again. Meanwhile, downstairs in the hotel area of Club Lux. Five little demonlings have managed to make it thru the vents and - by some miracle or perhaps because the story teller says so - into the room where one Nick Drago sometimes resides. They're buzzy little creatures and make quick work trying to get the lay of the land of this new room.
Sinister	"Why? Because there are mutagens and there are mutagens, Betsy. Some are extremely unpredictable and dangerous to the genome, others are ostensibly beneficial. If I seek to improve upon the lot of Mutantkind and the evolution of humanity in a manner that isn't quite so objectionable, one of the ways I can do it, is by mitigating and curbing some of the mutagens that exist and prevent a measure of exposure..." whilst also you know, encouraging it in the more useful spheres of change and metamorphosis of evolutionary materials. Lets just nod and agree that in this case, reasoning isn't /all/ bad. "The logic would be in the case of these particular mischiefs, that the mutagenic properties they possess are in their saliva, but isolating that required having a sample. They don't do ones or twos, so I had to deal with a small swarm. Plus, an extremely tiny sample." Hence the frappe'd gnat-beastie. Sin watches the display of infernalism with his head on one side, scanning the grouping with a seemingly casual observation, now that they're relatively clustered. "Erm..." there's a frown "...that swarm doesn't look as large as it's supposed to." Pause "Oh, dear." But having said those fateful words, he at least creates a sudden ball of red energy around the dimnished swarm, so that THEY at least, are contained. "Perhaps you could explain to them that you are the master of all Beings of their ilk, or somesuch thing. It seems out of character to apologize for re-imprisoning them." He hustles. With the jamjar. To do swarm funnelling.
Psylocke	Someone really ought to assist with the jar. That would be totally helpful. Betsy, though, is busy drinking her very fine whiskey, admiring Lucifer in his true form and frankly, kind of enjoying not having to solve a moment of chaotic mess for once. In between Sinister and Lucifer she's sure they've got this. She might be having regrets though about asking Sinister for specifics, given the crease of her brow. "You could have just said 'because I was curious'." But the crease is for the mention of /evolution/, because the the whole thing, frankly, unsettles her. Seeing Sinister hustle with the jar though? That twitches her lips into a smile. The woman has no comment on the size of the swarm since she missed seeing it mashed together before. "Probably ought to have put a shield around the room. They could've gotten under the door or in the vents. Ah. Lesson learned for next time. I'm sure it's fine."
Nick	The hotel room itself is quiet. No one is sleeping in the bed nor does it look like it was slept in recently. One could say that the place was unoccupied but then they'd be ignoring the sounds going on in the adjacent room. Unaware of the antics going on in the penthouse, Nick is simply doing normal things. In this case, practicing basic hygiene. There's the telltale creak of the shower as it is shut off. Soaked, Nick reaches a hand reaches from behind the partition to grab for a towel.
Lucifer	Lucifer looks over to the kitchen where Nathaniel is catching gnats in a jamjar. He lowers his hand, but the wings stay out. His skin returns to normal but his eyes continue to burn with hellfire. He turns and walks towards the kitchen, looking at the newly re-captured demonlings and then looks around the room. "I mean, I am a master of Hell. King of really... and they were so drawn to me before. Like they couldn't take their eyes off me..." He looks around once more and then shifts to sit on the counter. "About how many are left missing you think?" Meanwhile the demon-gnats down in Nick's hotel room move towards the sound that they hear. Being mischevious little creatures - and demons which likely have strength for days beyond their size - the towel Nick is searching for is snatched off the rack! And then...dropped to the floor because one demonling got distracted.
Sinister	Well, perhaps Sin is prone to occasional over-explanation. It's a neighbour of monologuing, the bane of so very many villains. "Anywhere up to ten, I'd say. I think it looks about two thirds of the size it should do," he replies to the question as the lid goes on and the ever-shrinking forcefield of energy vaporises as they're secured. The tiny beings inside jump up and down, bang tiny fists on the glass and generally look hang-dogged and sad-eyed toward the King of all things infernal. But, but, but! -- their demeanor seems to say. "They probably were, my love. But that doesn't put their intelligence or instincts beyond what they were before, which..." pause, beat. He turns to look silently at Betsy, then just as slowly to stare at the ventilation slits. "..." a sigh "...why did you have to say that. You know it probably will be fine. It'll be fine. Everything's on fire, but it's /fine/..." he looks down at the floor, then askance of it to the elevator shaft. "Shit they could be anywhere."
Psylocke	There is, truly, a point at which staring at the Lord of Hell is bad for one's mental health. It has a lot to do with the literal hellfire in his eyes, and the effects it has on Betsy's psyche, most of which are just triggering off millennia of primal reactiveness. She is only half-human, after all. Her calm amusement begins to fray as her primal brain catches up and tells her she should run for dear life, kicking off a surge of adrenaline to help with that. Thanks, brain. It's probably why there's just a little unsteadiness in Betsy's hand when she sets the glass down, her look not-very-apologetic at Sinister. "Maybe we should... split up and look for them? Are they the kind of demonic gnats who spit fire? Turn people inside out? Shouldn't be hard to find them, right?" Totally not because she's giving into her instincts, no. Also, here's a thing she's never known before: "Exactly how many floors is this place, anyway?"
Nick	Getting the slight touch of towel before it is pulled away, there's a bit of a blind reach around the rack. Hearing the sound of the towel hitting the floor, the hand stops seeking. "Fuck." A voice mutters from behind the curtain. Well there's no way of avoiding this now... The rings clatter as the curtain is shoved to the side allowing for the blast of not as warm air to hit the wet skin. "Oh ffff-" Nick steps out, crouching down to grab at the towel. Standing up, the musician steps back over to the floor mat before proceeding to towel off quickly. He's momentarily tempted to hop back in the shower to try and get the last of the heat but- He's committed now.
Lucifer	Lucifer blinks, shakes his head, and blinks again. Then he hops off the counter, does a little shimmy shake, and is soon his old mortal shell'd self. He looks back to Betsy to perhaps show her that he's just plain 'ol Luci again, gives her a wink and then looks to Nathaniel. "They could be...but they aren't..." He offers this much and then flicks his ears back and forth. He turns and heads out of the kitchen and into the bedroom where he stands there a moment before one can hear, "I'm bigger than you. I'm meaner than you. And I command the plane you call home. It would be very wise to come out as you've been commanded to do..." There's a couple buzzes in Nick's ear as he towels off. Though something is a little off about the sound of the buzzing. One could almost *swear* they more hear a very very very tiny pitched screams to release them at once! Tickles the ear hairs it does!
Sinister	Sinister gestures at Lucifer. "Demons are his thing," aka: the lord of all such things is on the case. With a glance to the way the devil is facing, he takes the jar and assists with the recapture of -that- lot, which seem to have weighed their odds of survival against their odds of escape and come up with a figure that seems logical to go and congregate with the others of their ilk. "Maybe having tea over a pickled newt would work later, if you want to chat. We can hook up a microphone so they're easier to hear... and leave the jar lid -on- for now, eh?" But what about the others? Conversationally, as Sin returns to the general open plan area of the penthouse, assuming perhaps erroneously, that Psylocke has slid back into rational brain and not primal human panic instinct... he glances up at her with a reassuring sort of smile. "There's levels of storage in the tower itself, but the elevator and the shafts only go from the club and hotel on the first five floors, to the penthouse. When you're Lucifer, you acquire quite a lot of things that end up having to be stored after a while." He gestures down and up, at the notion of an enormous vertical warehouse 13. "The vents from up here only go through the shaft and down to the club area and hotel. They're probably after the honey though, like mosquitos would be after blood. Which means they'd probably be in the hotel level..."
Psylocke	Betsy's heart definitely appreciates the more mundane form Lucifer assumes. Not that she doesn't /appreciate/ his demonic form, but well. Her mouth might still be dry but at least her heart isn't trying to pound out of her ribcage anymore, so that's a definite improvement. She drains the rest of the liquid from the glass and eases to her feet. Her limp is slight as she moves toward the bedroom door -- ostensibly to watch Lucifer call the creatures forth, but let's face it, she's also curious. Is having Mister Sinister smile at you reassuringly actually reassuring? Surprisingly so, at least for Betsy. It helps a lot that he dangles an intriguing thought. A secret storage area not accessible by the elevators? You can bet the ninja's all kind of tempted by that. She eases back toward the elevator to press the button, and will hold it open for the others to join her. "We can do a quick walkthrough of the floors. If Lucifer doesn't sense anything, and I don't hear any mental anguish-" she pauses, considers where she is and amends, "/Undue/ mental anguish, I think we can call it safe." It's not at all going to be personal that she'll stand on the far side of the elevator. Primal instincts are hardwired and coming down off that takes a bit of time.
Nick	The screams were very gnat like indeed. Subconciously, Nick lifted up his hand to wave to the annoying creatures but the hand pauses as he realizes they were actually forming words. Freeeeeee meeeeeeeee.... Freeeee meeee.....} Turning his head to look to a couple of Demon Goldblums a brow lifts. "The f-" Stepping back he manages to catches movement going on elsewhere. Pale eyes start to glance downward. And in the spirit of unexpected shouts, those of a more sensitive nature may pick up the familiar mental sounds of Nick. .oO(Oh HELL no!)Oo. And then there's a sudden silence.
Lucifer	Success! The ones in the bedroom are captured back in the jar and Lucifer is giving Nathaniel a very sheepish look. "Fiiiine. No more opening the jamjar..." He says this in a pouty sort of way as they likely all make their way back towards the living room and kitchen. With Betsy of the mind for them to check the other floors, it seems like that's precisely the plan of the hour. Until a few things happen almost all at once. There's the mental shouting from Nick that then had the man singing something. He didn't hear the mental shout (but the others likely did) but he does hear something entirely different. THe sound of Michael sniggering in his head. He scowls and then takes a deep breath. "The other five are no longer on this plane. Thanks to Nick and...blech...Michael..." He offers.
Sinister	"That sounds like a capital plan, Betsy. And logical..." Well, it did until the mental HELL no and subsequent silence. Sin's hackles are up of a sudden, because he is quite a powerful telepath. The echo of a mental laugh that was heard by the devil is mildly echo'd to his own mind. Jovial has turned to stiffly defensive in a matter of a second and his hands are akimbo at his side, spread of fingers and slowly turning in a circle, looking at the corners of the room. "Just a word of advice, Betsy... if you get curious, looking but not touching is a sound plan. I don't even go to the storage levels, except in very exceptional circumstances." Is he satisfied that there isn't an invisible archangel in the room? Oh hell no. Lucifer's twin is as tricksy as the devil is, in different ways and the match in power. Technically speaking. He has bigger, brasher, easier to push buttons though, thankfully. Or unfortunately, depending on your perspective.
Psylocke	The word of advice -- caution -- is probably wise. Betsy gives Sinister her most innocent look, however. "I certainly have no plans to." Nothing immediate. But you know, those sort of things are a seed that grows. Nick is just, well, loud. Mentally speaking. So Betsy is absolutely familiar with the sound of his thoughts, and when she hears him she kind of winces, eyes wide. That Sinister and Lucifer seem to react too -- brings her on edge. Her thought threads out, seeking Nick, touching his thoughts briefly. .oO(Nick?)Oo. Not so much questioning his identity. Just making sure he's alive. But there's also a curiosity brought up by Lucifer's words, and Sinister's sudden wariness, and Betsy asks, "Who's Michael?"
Nick	There's no response to Psylocke's inquiry nor any indication it was recieved. The silence remains. Off in the hotel room, Nick looks to the palm of his hand. Shaking his head, he sets about pulling on some sleep pants.
Lucifer	Lucifer blinks, looks to Betsy, then blinks again. Right. Not fully human. Likely skipped all of Sunday School. So he takes a breath and then explains, "Michael is my twin brother. Always the jealous one because I was better looking, and bestowed the power of the Lightbringer. Who then defied Father and made a whole mess of things. He's also, still, very upset that I have been able to not only abscond my throne, but then decide to take partial ownership of it and still remain upon this mortal coil with - most - of my powers in tact." He grins then. "But as Nathaniel said, he's brash and easy to push the buttons of. But he's also - technically - a Saint. And Nick is blessed with Saintly powers - of a sort - due to being....well...." He pauses, looks to Nathaniel, then back to Betsy. Should he tell all? There's a shrug. "Perhaps that's Nick's part of the story to fill you in on. ....As soon as he decides to let us know if he's okay...."
Sinister	"The Archangel, patron saint of soldiers, law enforcement and doctors, for reasons I'm unclear of. He's not the only one invested in doctors though, of which I'm /much/ relieved. And he seems... not to be about. I think." -- there's a frown at the lack of response, the psychic echo of which he can hear. There's a tilt of his head -- "He seems to do this reflexively, but not with intent. I think he just shut his mind down. It's -too- quiet..." Or he's dead. But that's not something he really wants to think about right now. And of course, there's elaboration from the devil, which leads him to giving a soft sigh. "Hmm." He squints. The concierge. Go look at the index. Find out if he's in the room. Go get a spare key, go check he's alright. Call room service. Tell us loudly in your head if he's ok. GO.
Psylocke	Well, the lack of response is probably not good. Added onto Lucifer's explanation of Michael being THAT Michael, jealous and upset with Lucifer, well. Betsy has made her lack of wish to meet any of Lucifer's family apparent. Some of that is self preservation. A lot of it is understanding that by comparison she is nothing to a literal angel. "I... see." The woman exhales slowly, shoulders squared. "I'll just make sure he's not dead then. If your twin is there I'll-" she'll what? Yeah, even the usually brash, competent ninja has no idea what to do with an Archangel. "-something," she mumbles, as she looks for the nearest shadow in Lucifer's penthouse. The thing about teleporting is for most people you normally need to know where to go. For Betsy it's a bit different, some combination of her mental abilities and the power that also brought her back to life allows her to do so unerringly and safely, as long as there's somewhere dark to step out of. Most rooms will have somewhere like that. Even if it's a closest or under the bed. She doesn't bother to announce herself to Nick though when she appears. Just in case there's an Archangel just hanging out, as one does.
Nick	The area Psylocke enters into is indeed dark. And the scents and general moisture in the air paint a general picture of a shower recently taken. It is rather quiet. Until Psylocke tries opening the closet door to get out. The door had but a creak before something heavy slams into the door to close it shut once more. There's a rustle of fabric and by the time Psylocke gets the door open, there's a topless Nick in a ready stance. In each hands are a pair of intricately carved escrima sticks. The sticks are held in a manner to where the right lower forearm scar is visible. And below the wet strands of hair is a dark expression, teeth gritted in a manner that may seem a little reminiscent of another sight Betsy may have been previously exposed to. Nick blinks. "...Betsy?" The sticks lower, "What the fuck are you doing in the closet?"
Lucifer	Lucifer places Michael in the filler spot. Looks at him. Grins. "Don't move until I say so."
Lucifer	Nathaniel has mentally commanded a person to go check on Nick. Psylocke has gone ahead and teleported out of the Penthouse and - from what Lucifer can only assume - to Nick's room. Lucifer now just glances over at Nathaniel and smiles cheekily. "Well. You have that many demon gnats to do your work on. Apparently the others have been...ahem...banished..." Then, because it's felt like the perfect time to make an entrance, a blinding flash of light fills the room for a brief moment only to reveal the presence of Michael de Archangel. "You know. They wouldn't have had to be banished had you not let them loose in the first place. But then, you wouldn't have had the opportunity to let them loose had your boyfriend here not meddled with things he ought to leave alone. Isn't it lovely how the circle of life works out in so many....interesting ways, brother?"
Sinister	And so a concierge gets busy, although suggestion doesn't create programming, this was specific thought command, a telepathic 'get to it, there's an urgency!' -- it could still lead to not knocking, because frankly, people, even level headed ones, ignore protocols when there's an emergency. "I suspect that -should- be enough..." Sinister, unable to just walk a distance and poof! be there, crosses over to Lucifer, expecting no doubt to be transported down there in case of sudden need. Except that there's an intrusion that isn't /exactly/ welcome. "I do so love how he doesn't actually speak to me, as if I'm in the room. It's /so/ refreshing to be so utterly overlooked..." Sinister says this drily as he draws up close. "And so very childish. One would think that millenia might have learned a slice of wisdom. I meddle precisely as much as I care to, Michael. And I have yet to be smote down, so -clearly- Pater Noster isn't paying me too much mind. Maybe -He- has a plan, hmm? wouldn't that just pucker your constipated backside?" -- He looks to Lucifer, looking away from the other archangel -- "You think we might be needed to prevent potential collateral damages?"
Psylocke	For a moment, Betsy looks everywhere else but at Nick. Nope, no Archangel just chilling in the room. She assumes, at least, he's going to have the same kind of presence Lucifer has and be pretty impossible to hide. That kind of presence just tends to fill a room. Then she looks at Nick. It's not his state of undress that arrests her gaze, even if her eyes tick down briefly; it's whatever she sees in his eyes, in his manner. It immediately puts her reflexively on guard, a subtle shift in her weight on her feet. There's no weapons in her hand -- nothing visible anyway -- yet she has that appearance of being wholly prepared for violence. And then he speaks, and... "Wait. Did you think I was hanging out in your closet this whole time?" Betsy exhales a breath that sounds distantly of constrained amusement. "Next time, you should answer. We were worried you were dead." Her gaze flickers around the room again, yet this time it's with less of a turn of her head, keeping Nick in her peripheral vision -- the only sign she's being wary about him. "Apparently Nathaniel caught a brood of demonic gnats for science, and Lucifer let them out, and..." he probably can infer the rest. As awkward as this may be she'd definitely prefer to be here than for the brotherly reunion going on in the penthouse.
Nick	As Psylocke speaks, Nick's posture seems, less likely to attack, and yet still a bit- overly alert. The question gets a a sigh and a shake of the head. "I don't know I've just had a bit of bad luck with places said to be safe turning out not to be. So-" The sticks point over towards the entryway, "If I hear the door between me and the exit opening. I'm going to be a bit on edge okay? Especially when I just had to deal with some fucking demons popping out with some screaming in my ears and others getting WAY too close to my-" Nick pauses as the sound of the door being unlocked filters into the room. As the concierge follows Sinister's letters to the order, there is a notable thunk as the security bar attached to the top of the door smacks into the guide attached to the side of the doorframe. He glances in, sees Nick and Betsy together and promptly excuses himself to disappear back into the hallway. Nick holds up his sticks in frustration. "Oh fo- " The sticks lower. "Does anybody KNOCK around here?!" Sinister gets an update about Nick entertaining a lady in his room. Nick pauses, taking a deep breath before moving back over to the bed. Bending down, he picks up a backpack that apparently slid off the bed at some point. The sticks end up being slid in at an angle, obscuring the length from the outside view. He's quiet for a few moments as Betsy explains what's going on. "Answer what?" He queries, "I didn't hear anything. Ringer's on, no one called." He gestures over towards the bathroom. "If Sinister REALLY needs those gnats, I'd say he's welcome to check the bathroom for some traces but he won't find much if any. I swatted them back home."
Lucifer	Michael just gives a snerk as he slides his gaze sideways to Nathaniel before turning and heading towards the bar where he helps himself to a glass of whiskey. "My backside is not constipated, and just because Father hasn't smitten you doesn't mean He hasn't got something in store for you if you keep meddling and pretending to BE Him in so many words." This said just before he lifts the glass to his lips to take a sip. "Mmn. How you enjoy this swill is beyond me. Anyway. As much as I am sure it would -tickle- you both...I'm not here for either of you. I'm here for the one who used..." And here he grins, and gets a bit swelled with pride. "-My- song to rid this world of some demons. Pesky little things, but still... I am rather piqued that he would choose to do such a thing." Stepping away from the bar, still holding his drink, he looks around. "So. Where is the savior of the night?" Lucifer grumbles something and then shoots a glare. "My my. Nathaniel's right. Not an -ounce- of mannerisms in any part of you is there, Michael? You could have at least asked before deciding to help yourself. Regardless. He isn't here. Well, he is somewhere in this building but... not within these particular walls..."
Sinister	"Pretend to be him? Oh, my word, you think I have a god complex. Hah. Well, I suppose it might look like that to prejudiced eyes," -- Sinister squints at the Archangel not normally in residence and the choices of drink. And in a murmur -- "....hnn, methinks the lady doth protest too much." But in mind, there's the deep, sonorous tones of Sinister reaching out and slipsliding OFF of Nick's mind, into which he won't pry. But the phone in his pocket ticks a text to Nick's - and because occasionally his humour is black, it's the 'Alert announcement' tone, normally reserved for official federal missing persons, child abductions and apparently: 'ARCHANGEL MICHAEL IN SITU. WANTS TO SEE YOU. BEST OF LUCK KEEPING A STRAIGHT FACE, I WANT TO PUNCH HIM AGAIN.' And to Betsy? A caress of <<We have company up here, but I don't think it's avoidable.>> And this done, he moves toward the bar again, seemingly nonchalant in his seeking of mixers and the correct poison of the moment, heedless of the fact that Michael is there. Just act like he's anybody else, Nathaniel old boy.
Psylocke	Betsy's mouth parts, and a bit of sympathy slides into her features. "Sorry. Not my habit to appear in friend's closets. Emergencies only, I promise. Forgive me?" she asks. When the door unlocks, she turns, a gleam of purple blade coalescing into existence as she settles into a crouched, wary stance. At least until the hasty retreat. "Nathaniel was worried," Betsy says, as she lets the psychic knife disappear. "I'd call it a win that he cares enough to check whether your body is lying on the floor being eaten by demonic gnats, personally." When Nick says he didn't hear anything, Betsy's eyes narrow. She hasn't actually tried to speak to Nick's mind before. She just assumed, logically, because he literally broadcasts his thoughts to the room, he'd have no issue hearing her. "I reached out, telepathically. Could you really not hear?" She seems more curious than anything. And then: <<Answer this.>> Her brows do go up when Nick says he swatted the demons 'home'. "Interesting trick," she says, and she has a look in her eyes. It's an intent, thoughtful look, easily interpreted as a sharp interest. "We should talk sometime. Another time. Right now, you should let them see you so they don't send the rest of the staff as backup." That's about when Sinister's message comes in. He gets a questioning thread in return, but acceptance. "Company," she relays to Nick. "That sounds ominous. You want to put a shirt on first, or go like this?" she's not judging.
Nick	If Nick heard anything in his thoughts he doesn't give any signs of it. But the spoken question does get an answer. "I didn't hear anything." Nick confirms, "...But, I think you should be able to. Nathaniel is able to. And, I wasn't focusing on maintaining the concert today so there wouldn't have been that. Plus I just shot off a spell so..." There's a pause. "Well...unless the after effect is different." There's not much time to mull over the details as the tones of an Amber Alert goes off around the time Sinister's giving Betsy a heads up of sorts. Nick steps over to his phone, fumbling with it to cut off the sound, and consequently seeing the message. "...Of course he would." Nick murmurs. nodding to Betsy's comment about putting a shirt on. He heads over to a drawer, tugging out a basic worn tee. Combined with the wet hair, he's not all THAT presentable, But at least he's not walking around half naked. And so ends the portion of gratuitous fan service for the readers. Taking a key off the dresser, he slides it into the pocket of his sleep pants and catches the glimpse of the wild wet locks. "Well- it's not the best look. But it'll have to do."
Lucifer	Lucifer takes a breath and tries his best to keep himself calm. They're about to have a couple more here in the room and he doesn't want to be fighting his brother in the midst of whatever the hell his brother is here for. Bragging rights, he suspects, since he's here to see Nick and the only thing Nick could have done was use a particular song to banish demon gnats away. "Father doesn't care more or less about what Nathaniel does here. He also doesn't care what I'm doing here. All you're doing is trying to stir shit up that doesn't have a pot to sit in. I actually don't mind you being here to see someone, but you having to bump yourself to an eleven just to make it seem like a worthy effort is just pissing in the same nonexistent pot." Saying this he shifts to move and actually sits himself upon his throne. "I know you have courtesy somewhere within that brain of yours, Michael. You just need to use it a little more." Michael lofts a brow and then scoffs a little. The fact that Lucifer is taking the calm and collective approach seems to be getting under Michael's skin a little. But, he's not here for Lucifer or Nathaniel - they're right about that one. "Whatever. Sit on your throne and keep calling yourself king. We know the truth behind the biggest lie you're selling to the world, Samael." Then he moves to sit on a stool at the bar, sipping his whiskey and waiting.
Sinister	"Oh, it's like old times," Sinister mutters to himself and sighs, taking a seat at the bar and drawing his hand to the bridge of his nose, rubbing there with his eyes closing and a frown esconced. "They're coming," he informs, though there's silence whilst he gathers memories and stows them back where they belong. Swap siblings for everyone that's ever argued. Throw in some very questionable associations and you've got a recipe for very headache inducing tacit reminders, no mistake. But he nevertheless gets drinks poured with the power of his mind, whilst everyone arrives. Cue: Entry! "How is it, that I can have civil conversation, discourse even, polite -and- friendly, with all the others. Not met Gabriel, I'll admit, but I've had perfectly sensible and not patronizing conversations with the rest of the choir. I actually rather like a couple of your siblings... but you? You just want to poke and prod. Like you're waiting on the ultimate smackdown, but the trumpets haven't blown yet."
Psylocke	"Hm. Intriguing." Betsy is no scientist, like Nathaniel, and yet the look she gives -- intrigued and interested -- probably seems reminiscent of the doctor on some new research tangent. "Another thing to consider and speak of later. We can test your theory, Nick." Casually, Betsy watches Nick dress. Because, why not. People are interesting and he seems not to be particularly modest. "I'm sure any photo your fans happen to get will do fine," the woman says with a smile, as she walks toward the door, opening it. There's just a little pause, reaching out with her mind, to make sure they're alone before she steps out into the hallway. Sure, she could take them up. But she's been warned and she's not so sure she wants to jump into the unknown again. Getting shoved back into the closet was enough excitement for one day. She's still limping as they head to the elevator and up toward the penthouse. "I'll have you know I was in the middle of a very nice drop of whiskey when I came down." Just so they're clear she had to give up a lot, too.
Nick	The wet haired musician looks over to Betsy as he walks over, holding the door open so the surprise visitor can be the first to leave. "I don't think we're going to see a fan." Nick comments, following Betsy to the elevator. There's a general silence until the doors close, leaving the pair in the elevator alone. Nick leans against the bar in the back of the elevator, glancing up to the number indicators, "If I were to guess it'll probably feel more like a very awkward Thanksgiving get together. He turns his head, looking over to Betsy, cracking a weak smile, "So...there will be plenty of excuses to catch up on your drinking." Nick glances to Betsy's leg, particularly the one being favored. "...Was that from the door slam?" There's the faintest hoarse whisper of regret coming from the void where Nick's thoughts usually blast from.
Lucifer	Michael just blinks for a moment as he glances over to Nathaniel who speaks on having better relationships with the other members of the choir than him. "That's because they don't see the truth behind all that goes on here. They're blind with wanting to think the better of things. That perhaps you and even Lucifer have...hope. In some way." He scoffs again. "I know better. I know that when the curtain falls on this little cherade of yours... when the trumpets do sound and the whole of the choir sings...I know what will be left within the ashes of what you both have built." Lucifer sits. Calm. Quiet. His hands folding together as if in prayer and rest upon his lips. Eyes close for a moment as his brother speaks and chastises, and assumes. He was hoping that Nick and Betsy would not walk into something like this, but the more Michael speaks. The more that Nathaniel tries and tries again to get the twin to see reason....it's all too much. His eyes finally open and he stands quick from his throne taking one step, another, before he is right in front of Michael. "That. Is. Enough!" Staring his twin down. "You come in here, unnannounced and uninvited. Into MY home, thinking you can sit here and utter your words of disdain and displeasure without suffering any consequence. Do you think me SCARED brother? Do you think me UNWILLING to come down upon you?! You know -nothing- because you only see what you want to see, and you think that with all these utterings of bullshit you can bring upon us what you think will happen. If anyone of the choir is blinded it is YOU. Because you cannot see past the end of your nose. Now. You have a choice. Either you stick your pride up your pastey white ass and keep a decorum of manners in my home, or you can begone from here just as quickly as you came, and know that I will do all that I can to see that you are NEVER to be allowed in my presence or the presence of those who associate with me in ANY way." He pauses, then leans in close. "Am. I. Clear?"
Sinister	Sinister pulls his finger and thumb down the bridge of his nose, stretching the skin downward as he peers over the top of his knuckles at the interaction of the identical siblings. He'd know them in the dark. But to the casual eye, except for the attire, they don't really look any different from one another. It could be terribly confusing, if you didn't have the inclination of mannerism to your benefit. "I am not afraid," he says that softly, mostly to himself. "This? This is not what I fear. This, I do not have doubts about..." a mantra, to repeat in the head. He eases straight, leaning an elbow on the bar, but does not take his eyes off the tableau, even though he can sense the approach of the elevator. "He's here," said a bit louder. "Maybe this is why we don't spring fully formed into existence. We have to grow up, face the challenges, learn to walk before we can run and come to terms with one another. The Children, mark two, by this doctrine. Human twins are usually pretty damned close, but..." he cracks his neck, rolls his head to upright. "I say this to those that would associate with me. Do NOT trust me. There are a million ways that doing that could go horribly wrong, unless I prove myself. Maybe, you should stop focusing on the fact that it will all go wrong in the end, because that might be a given already and see if something -good- can come of it all. Because, like it or not, there is an association and it cannot be yanked apart -- there are those that have tried. And you, Michael... you're fighting the good fight, obeying the rules and the law, keeping it on the straight and narrow. Supposedly. You patron doctors, medics, soldiers and the law. Those that fight so that others don't have to. Fight /on the same bloody side/ for once, because you might be fucking things up royally if you keep sticking the knife in. Are you not all supposed to be dancing on the head of the pin your dad created, to a plan he has in mind? Stands to reason then, rebelling puts you in the same camp -as- the rebel that you're hellbent on pissing on the hushpuppies of. You'll probably get more satisfaction to be proved right if you've given us all the chances to screw up you possibly can."
Psylocke	"I've never done Thanksgiving. That's more of an American thing." And for however long Betsy has been here, she still at her core considers herself British -- even with the melding of a Japanese mind on top of it. "I assume, however, that alcohol will provide a counterpoint to awkwardness?" Just a logical conclusion. "Thanks," Betsy says, and though her tone is wry, there's a genuine gratitude to it as she smiles at Nick. "Hm?" Betsy catches the direction of Nick's gaze, and shakes her head. "No. Some asshole in Mexico who very much wanted to live and had several people intent on stopping me." She sounds so matter-of-fact his fate might be readily guessed. "One of the money men behind those snatching mutants." She is definitely a take-no-prisoners type of person when it comes to the safety of mutants. Ding! The elevator opens up onto the Prince of Hell in his full, glorious anger. Funny, in hindsight, how Betsy thought it would be impossible not to notice Michael in a room, but next to Sinister and Lucifer, her eyes are fixed completely on the latter, mouth half parted, gaze both admiring and a little bit, frankly, afraid. Even though it's not directed at her, there's such a thing as a blast radius and Lucifer's presence is well, considerable when he's angry. But she is nothing if not born of a stiff upper lip. "Drink, Nick?" she inquires, with feigned casualness. She'll definitely head to the bar. Once she remembers the motions of walking again.
Nick	"There will be awkwardness." Nick confirms. "The alcohol can't hurt." Nick's gaze is still upon the leg until Betsy explains the source of the injury. To the mention of the activity associated with the offenders, he looks over to her. "...The group with that bloodhound lady?" He asks. There's really not much time to get an answer as the elevator door dings open, drawing Nick's attention to the scene taking place outside of the lift. Nick steps out, taking note of the tense positioning between the twins. Awkward. Betsy's offer is not missed. "Yes please." He responds, before sighing and stepping further into the room. Looking to the pair from the gaps of his wet long locks. "...Hi. Pardon the appearance. I wasn't expecting any visitors tonight."
Lucifer	For perhaps the first time in all the instances that Michael has come to visit, he's speechless. Not only at his brother, but then at Nathaniel. He cannot argue with either of them because they speak more truth than he knows how to deal with. Being faced with his own idiocy is not something Michael likes. And just as Nick arrives as well which isn't going to give him any gold stars in the musicians eyes. So, true to Michael's form in many ways, with his tail tucked between his legs...Michael departs just as quickly as he arrived - without saying another word to anyone. Lucifer sighs. "Coward!" Yelling that forward before looking around the room. "I say we drink until the morning and then some..."
Sinister	The Doctor at the bar, mischief to many and inhuman monster to more, raises three glasses with the power of his mind, as he raises a fourth with the power of his own wrist to lips. His cognac? Down the hatch quick, and a refill poured. Those glasses float unbidden to their respective destinations, as if he'd anticipated their need. And indeed, he'd set himself up at the bar -and- gathered drinks as if he might have been prescient. "I don't know whether he'll be less or more annoyed at me the next time. Oh, hells bells, I hope that next time is a long way away --" Glass raised "--Cheers. And you'll have to let me have a look at that leg, later Betsy." Oh yes, he saw. But they do have a Doctor McCoy for that, back at white-hat central.
Psylocke	"Right." Drinks. That's what Betsy was doing. Prompted by Nick's agreement, she finally lurches into movement. She's only halfway to the bar when she notices Michael, slowing, frowning, /tensing/ as some kind of recognition slides over her, and then... He just pops out of existence right in front of them. "Huh," Betsy says. "Is that what it's like when I do it? Kind of vexatious and rude?" She gives a firm nod of agreement to Lucifer, resuming her path to the bar, slowing when Sinister floats a full glass of liquid toward her. There really should be something unsettling about him anticipating that, but there's kind of not. She gives him a grateful smile and plucks the glass from air. "To less problems," she murmurs a toast, downing a good portion of the liquid. "Let's see how much I drink first," she says, on the matter of looking at her leg.
Nick	Nick's head tilts as he watches Michael vanish. Being he didn't QUITE hear the statements going on before the elevator doors opened, he's not sure on what in particular lead to that departure. He's certain while his attire wasn't exactly formal, that's probably not bad enough to drive an archangel out of the room. The glass floated over to him is plucked out of the air and a sip is taken before Nick looks back to where Michael once stood. Guess he didn't want to see him after all. Another sip is taken as Nick goes halfway through the drink. Despite the not as boisterous thoughts coming from the musician, there are the gradaul ebbs of thoght hinting to whatever caused the shutdown earlier is fading off. There's the slightest trace of relief. And yet. A hint of disappointment. "...Guess it wasn't important after all." Well, at least he got a drink out of the deal.