5108/Dinner with the Devil

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Dinner with the Devil
Date of Scene: 10 February 2021
Location: Amanda's Apartment, The Dakota
Synopsis: Amanda and Lucifer enjoy a bit of philosophical discussion over dinner.
Cast of Characters: Lucifer, Amanda Sefton

Lucifer has posed:
"This one's for you," Lucifer explains, drawing one of the wine bottles out of the crisp bag he'd brought them in. "Or visitors, or to re-gift, I don't mind," he adds, with a laugh and teasing flicker of electric pleasure passing through his eyes.

"And I brought my own, seeing as I get to actually drink whatever I please, without humans making difficult assumptions to things I may or may not be in the mood to field," Lucifer adds. The other bottle is a thick, dark green glass affair, and the interior looks ...black, or maybe a very dark red. It looks more like poison than anything paletable. He sets down both at her counter, looking around with an alert quality, checking over the apartment with a semi-polite aloofness.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
That's the advantage of supping with a Witch-in-the-Know. Human rules need not always apply. Oh, sure *Amanda* has to follow human roles. But her guests don't, providing they leave the place -- and her -- in one piece. "Lovely," she says, taking the wine bottle from him and lifting it toward the light to see the clarity of the liquid through the glass. Not that it particularly matters. But she's always liked seeing the way light filters through the bottles, regardless of the spirit within.

She pulls down a couple of wine glasses and gives him a questioning look. "Does this work for you, or do you want a different sort of glass?" Or does the liquid require a different vessel entirely? It looks somewhat like blood, to her.

The apartment is still the cozy affair Pepper made it. Fewer of Pepper's things are displayed, now. Slowly, Amanda is taking over the place, since her friend is well-settled into Tony's penthouse, by now. The little bot, Patrick, still makes his regular patrols. He's still paranoid about magical snakes turning up. And gods forbid the Asgardians show up. If that were to happen, he's use the magic Amanda placed on him and transform into a mini-Optimus Prime with a sword and shield. It makes him happy.

Bots are weird.

Lucifer has posed:
"It's not blood," Lucifer says, smoothly, informationally. He's not a mind-reader (probably), but has a very strong innate method of guessing, of 'seeing' and understanding where things could, and often do, go. It's a deeper 'experience' that flows out from centuries of interactions.

"And no, it's just mixed with Felroot ichor. I like the aftertaste, but burns too much for most," Lucifer explains. He's perky, pleasant, with an upbeat quality that is often very infecting to those who may not have their guard up about it. He tends to leak his emotional aura all around, an impact of the deeper, heavier magic that he brings with him impacting all of the wards and alarms sort of like a muffling drape of weighted blanket. He's not making any real effort to not set off every magical alarm; Amanda knows he's there.

Lucifer accepts the glass one handedly opens his own wine -- by sort of holding the cork in a few fingers and sliding it out with a swift little sleight-of-hand that removes the cork with a quiet sound into his palm, and then extends the same hand with a question in his expression of asking if she wants the one he brought for her opened. It is, when investigated, some insane choice from Germany. Stupidly expensive. It's fun to impress: and Lucifer loves his prideful shows.

"How has everything been, Sorceress?" He does recall she'd asked him to call her Amanda, but there's an intimacy level with using people's names that he's choosing not to walk into; he mostly sticks to nicknames or titles.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
"Ah," Amanda nods her understanding as Lucifer explains the drink. Yeah, Felroot ichor isn't on the list of human-approved ingestible substances. Hell, even touching it is dicy without preparation. She passes her bottle of wine over when he offers. "Thanks." Then, once it's opened, she pours herself a glass.

"It's lovely choice," she says, with regard to the vintage. "I've never quite been able to afford it, myself." And, being disinclined to overly abuse her powers, she hasn't ever bothered to simply conjure herself a bottle. The fact it's German, though, amuses her, given her heritage. There's still that trace of German lurking underneath her English accent, after all.

"Not bad," she says in answer to his more mundane question. Sniffing the wine gently, she takes a sip and makes a small noise of pleasure. Then, she sets it aside in favour of checking on the meal presently warming in the oven. It's a fairly simple affair -- just a baked pasta -- but should be flavourful, at least. "I'm beginning to think the source of that trouble in Tribeca is focussed around that old deco theatre, The Majestic. The taint is thickest there." Yeah, business. It happens. She's not necessarily looking for his advice, however. Not that she'll refuse his help. But that's not her intent, and it's clear in the guileless casualness of her tone. Like it's just another day at the office. And, on some level, for her, it is.

Proven by her segue: "I've secured a couple more corporate accounts for the business, too. So, that's encouraging. I'm actually going to need to look at getting an assistant, I think. It's rather exciting, really."

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer doesn't key in or jump into immediately offering help. Which is probably slightly /different/ for Amanda - if she associates with heroes all the time, she's used to mentioning problems creating a bunch of heroic leaps to assist. Lucifer doesn't do it at all, he listens without any assumption that she's asking anything of him at /all/. He's a good listener, in those terms - he's non-intrusive. Assumptions don't get made.

Lucifer does invite himself over to look curiously at the meal prep, bringing his glass with him, relaxed. He's a proper dignified house guest, neatly dressed without being too far overdressed for the occasion. Just a little overdressed, since that's Lucifer's natural state. A little 'too pretty', a little 'too expensive'. A little too much.

"Assistant hunting... is not my favorite, though I do like auditions quite a bit. Nervous /effort/ is a sort of wonderful, strong emotion. Hope, I think." Lucifer smiles lightly, an oddly more natural and softened smile than his more usual ones. It's like he's not being such a try-hard, as he relaxes some, in the apartment.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
A wry smile touches Amanda's lips. "Hope, yes," she agrees. "The curse of the eternal performer." Something she knows a little about. "I've been on more than one audition, myself. They can be far more grueling than the standard job interview, I think." She flashes him a grin. "I think I'm glad to be on the 'other side of the table', so to speak, now." She decides the cheese needs a few more minutes and so sets about pulling out plates and utensils to finish setting the table. She's not gone very formal with the display, though it's nice enough. Still casual. This isn't, after all, particularly a date. It's just dinner between friends. So, she stands on no ceremony and no expectation.

"I'm fairly certain Pepper will be able to point me in the right direction, when it comes to picking an assistant, anyway. No one I know has more experience at it than she." Either assisting or picking them, actually.

But then, what can't Pepper Potts do, if it's related to work?

"Do you care for pepper or extra cheese?" she asks, almost randomly. "I can pull it out, if you'd like."

Lucifer has posed:
"Careful with changing the subject so abruptly; it sounds like you are offering me your roommmate, or extra cheese," Lucifer says, with no shame, just a deep, soft laugh, and flare of his eyes. "Or perhaps I just hear between the lines of such things. Is she single? -- or, I suppose, better question -- is she highly monogamous." He's amused by the whole thing, but also does fan his hand to show no need to pull out the item to add anything.

"Make it the way you always do. Impress me. No pressure. Your cooking skills will not strongly alter our relationship in either direction. Unless you are attempting to poison me, which.... I've had Holy Water smoothies before. I find them /bland/."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda stops. Blinks. And then laughs. "You know," she says, still chuckling. "It's actually funny that I've settled in to calling her Pepper so easily. She was Gin for the longest time." A beat. She grins. "That doesn't necessarily make it better, does it?"

She finds her stash of chilli flakes and some extra cheese, putting out just because. The pasta is fairly piquante to begin with -- a recipe variation she picked up in Morrocco. So, really, the chilli's probably overkill, but the cheese might be an interesting variation.

Whatever the case, Amanda continues, as she finally pulls the pasta out and sets it on a trivet on the table, along with a serving spoon. "Unfortunately for you, Pepper is very not single and very seriously monogamous. And her preference for bad boys run more to the heroic billionaire types than enticing nightclub moguls." She flashes him a grin as she says it. "Though, I'll confess, when we were in Uni, it was very much the reverse. She liked drummers." Yes. She's telling tales out of school.

She turns to retrieve her wine and a loaf of french bread on a wooden cutting board with a stick of butter. "Well," she says, giving a mild shrug, now. "This is it. Enjoy."

She hopes.

Lucifer has posed:
"I /can/ drum, though I far prefer the violin, guitar, or piano." That's probably zero surprise, if one thinks about some of the lore around Lucifer. But maybe slightly bizarre dinner conversation as a topic - the Devil's musical hobbies. "When paired with my singing voice, many panties are dropped." For perhaps that reason.

Lucifer's laughing softly, but perhaps mainly enjoying himself, walking some lines of conversation, stretching out to see where it will open to.

"Excellent; I fully intend to enjoy." Lucifer joins her at the table, with an expectant quality of being served as a guest, and accepts his helping after he removes his suit coat and neatly hangs it up on another chair's back.

"Not everyone considers me so bad. As we sit down, I am hearing a group calling out desperately for my personal blessings," Lucifer comments, distracted, as if his cell phone were annoyingly buzzing. "Usually I just ignore it, but these are getting very insistant, and I think they've got a large demon pulled into their summoning circle now. Progressively escalating... I suppose I'm flattered, such lengths. That 'hope' thing, again."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
"Mm," Amanda says dryly, as to the circle, dishing out a portion onto his plate and setting it before him before doing the same with hers. "Hope, indeed. *I* hope they don't set the damned thing loose -- no offense." She gives him a wry smile and another dry chuckle. "It usually creates a headache for us hero types, you see." Not that she's expecting him to go against his nature to intervene one way or the other. But she is clearly a 'guardian' type. Which means she must be true to her nature, too.

Sure, she's all good with freewill and letting people be their own brand of stupid (and occasionally brilliant) as necessary. But that doesn't mean she won't exercise her freewill to protect the innocents they might otherwise harm.

And end up cleaning up the mess after.

She slides into her seat and picks up her wine glass. "*Prost*," she says, a bit of a toast, before taking a sip.

Then, she's picking up her fork. "Do you get called upon for blessings often?" She won't be surprised if he says 'yes'. She's simply noticed his distraction by it, which is a little unusual. He's not often so evidently distracted.

Lucifer has posed:
"Mmmmm, it's not usually from that angle, but close to that," Lucifer explains, with a more thoughtful tilt of head. He lifts his glass. "To our continued /mutual/ investigations?" Lucifer suggests as the toast, with a soft laugh. He accepts a deep, long drink of his own, before going back to the other topic at hand.

"There are a large number of religious groups which pray to me personally, requesting this or that. My favor in some form. Or the favor of what they see me as, or some manifestation of their own frustrations... varies." He taps his thumb against the side of his glass, and smiles across at her. "Mostly I ignore them when I'm on vacation. Sometimes it's useful to note when they're trying to end the world, though." He rolls his eyes up, considering. "These probably aren't getting quite that far. We can enjoy your dinner."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
"Oh, good," Amanda says, flashing him another smile and a soft chuckle. "Though I will concede, pasta makes excellent leftovers, I do prefer it fresh. It's a better texture." Not that it really matters, in the long run. Still, no apocalypse before dinner is a nice change.

"Now, see," she says, still in a conversational mein after she's swallowed a bite of her pasta, "I've never really understood the whole 'Let's end the world!' mindset. I mean... where do they think they're going to live, if they destroy the world? The moon? Mars? Hell? I mean, really... there's just no sense there."

Are villians supposed to display sense? They do like to monologue. But monologuing and sense are absolutely mutally exclusive.

Lucifer has posed:
"Well, the way to look at it is from a viewpoint of seeing there being something /different/. This is a sort of grass-is-greener viewpoint," Lucifer says, setting down his fork to talk with his hands. He's warmed up, interested in actually speaking on this.

"Which you could also look at as how one could commit suicide. It is that /nothing/, a lack of pain, is preferred to pain, in that outlook. Similarly, that the idealized chaos would be a better place than what the structure is. Sort of.... 'safely' caged, or free and in danger... and more would believe that they would be favored, that they would have power or strength in this new world, were I elected New God."

Lucifer chuckles and resumes eating, seeming to enjoy it just fine. "I do know what would happen in that case, but it gets into a heavier topic than I think our first date should include," Lucifer teases her. And does clarify, "I know it is not a date. Never fear. Should your wish change, do update me on that, though." His smile is gracious and respectful: entirely her choice, never forced. Never would he make someone do anything.

"Just a moment; I want to send Khtynib to this little prayer party," Lucifer says, drawing out his phone, and texting with one thumb. "One of my 'assistants' that may as well get some use."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda cants her head, genuinely listening as he speaks. Then again, she's never shied from philosophical discourse. "I can see it," she says. She flips a hand lightly, picking up a little more pasta with her fork. "There's a play I read in Uni -- 'night Mother, by Marsha Norman. It deals with the decision of a woman to commit suicide. She's a severe epileptic who, after years of being unable to control her seizures, finally gains control through the right balance of medication. She chooses to kill herself, while she's in control *because* she's in control. It's a choice she can make -- not to continue in a state she has no say over." She takes a moment to eat and chew. "I always respected her decision. I'm not a fan of suicide as a choice, myself, I can see how it *could* be a valid one, nonetheless."

She shakes her head, nonetheless. "I still do need to object to the whole world destroying impulse, mind. It seems delusional to me. But I hear you. I understand how mindset changes perception. It's a fundamental law of magic, to some degree." And she is, at the end of the day, a sorceress.

As he sends his 'assistant' to take care of the annoying distraction, she actually laughs. It's merely the irony of it. She idly wonders if the group will be ecstatic by their success, or astounded (horrified?) it actually worked. Even among true believers... you just never know.

She doesn't comment on the idea of a more 'serious' date. She is fairly relaxed about her relationships and he is appealing. But he's more than he seems; she knows that. And that's enough to give her pause. So she simply smirks, gives him an appreciative look, and sips her wine. "Should I change my mind, I'll let you know."