5681/Seeds of the Pit

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Seeds of the Pit
Date of Scene: 22 March 2021
Location: 'Our Savior' Church in southeast Queens
Synopsis: A burning church, a fight of the holy... and the fallout.
Cast of Characters: Lucifer, Amanda Sefton

Lucifer has posed:
The impact is heavyhanded, in ways normal people can see or feel, as well as those who have some sort of mage senses or magical attunement to supernatural.

The news has reacted to it, first: because in the real world, a church in southeast Queens is quite literally on /fire/. Fire trucks and teams were dispatched, and that was already newsworthy, but they have been battling the flames for over an hour, and have entirely failed to make any dent in it at all. There's debate about what the accellerant is, or if it's something else. Groups have gathered outside of the fire in different types, but mostly to pray. Some have broken out in odd fights, over the rights to pray at the site, or the reasons to pray there. The television news crews are interviewing a great deal, and there's a lot of crazies present, not just the expected zealots. It is expected perhaps a dozen people are unaccounted for in the fire.

To those with magic, the feel has an more specific tone to it. It is like a piece of the city can't breathe as deeply, like it is shallowly reacting to some deeper injury that is constricting lung capacity. It radiates out from a site in southeastern Queens. It isn't constant: just as if breathing shallowly could mask a deep cough, such is the same here. Something caused a nasty constriction, that pulsed out in pain, and now, is being gentle, quieter.


All of that is playing out beyond the apartment of Ms. Sefton - though there's a sudden presence pushing against her wards, sending up any alarms she has in place, as something highly demonic comes very close, and attempts to knock on her door. It is a wiry, lean woman, visually one that would entirely blend in, assuming she keeps her dark glasses on. She reeks of an evil, loathesome worm that crawled out of recesses of ugly emotional sludge.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
The constriction of the City's spirit is almost as obvious to Amanda as anything else, attuned as she is to the beat of its heart. Sure, she has a slightly greater affinity for Manhattan that almost anywhere else in New York, but the whole of the City is within the scope of the territory she magically considers her own. She's just in the process of flipping on the TV to a local news station to see if any headlines jump out when the sensation of ineffable evil pressing against her wards interrupts her. Her attention snaps to the door and she conjures her rune-warded costume around her almost instantly, fearing she's in for a fight.

However, the knock on the door is polite -- particularly given the skin-crawling nature of the visitor -- and the scryward that lets her see through it at need shows her the face of someone she *thinks* she's seen around Lux. She's not sure, mind... but it's enough to allow her to give the benefit of the doubt.

Crossing to her threshold, she whispers a spell to make the door transparent to them both, but still impassable. "Good afternoon," she says, her voice perfectly audible to the demoness. "Can I help you?"

Lucifer has posed:
The demoness can see right through the door - all of her reaction proves it directly. She turned her head to follow Amanda's progression inside the apartment. She's very still; the stillness itself is creating a lot of the awful presence to her. She's like the coat-rack seen in the side of an eye that might be a monster.... and does turn out to be a monster there. There are no eyes behind the glasses; she has no need of them.

"Very kind," answers the demoness with a barely withheld sarcasm. It's just the demoness - not personal. Maybe. Her tone suggests if Amanda hadn't replied she /expects/ to have still talked. It is about as pleasant in sound as one would expect from chatting with a roach.

"I have a message," she says, as if that didn't really interest her, but she is perhaps compelled to say that. "...no invitation inside?" A flutter of grin and dripping creep coils in her throat and voice. "...Pity."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
"I don't know you well enough, yet," Amanda says pleasantly to the demoness, a surprising smile on her face. It's not warm. But neither is it hostile. More... cordial. Direct. Businesslike, perhaps. "Who is your message from?"

By this point, she has a guess -- there's only one fellow who's likely to send demons to her door so politely. Even so... it doesn't do to invite random (or even not-quite-so random) demons in thoughtlessly. "And what is it I should be told?"

Lucifer has posed:
Demons do tend to have other ideas, many of them unpleasant for those they choose to toy with. This one might fancy trying to eat Amanda's aspirations. Hard to tell. It might just want to chew her flesh. It does want something dark, for certain. Yet 'she' does remain where she is, dismayed by being blocked from extra things, but does seem to be here for a set purpose.

"Should you have any healing magic available, you're 'invited' to come to the 'Our Savior' church. I expect you know who." Demons are very weird about names, and the power of names, and this one is a strong enough one to know to dodge name use when possible.

"If not, we can hang out, though." It's playful, but has a deep swell of threat and eagerness. Though this demon's idea of fun is very apparent, and not veiled. There isn't a lot of manipulation here: she's just what she is.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Ah. How exciting. Another holy crisis. In the back of Amanda's mind, the nun's attention stirs. She's a little faded, her energy having calmed some since the day Amanda first encountered her. And the sorceress has hope the woman's soul will pass into the Light before many more days have passed. "Our Saviour church," Amanda repeats. She nods simply, giving the demoness another one of those cordial smiles. "Well then. I'm afraid I can't hang out, today. Apparently, I'm needed elsewhere. Do excuse me."

With that, she gestures and her scryward clouds, her transparency spell dissapates, and her wards strengthen fully once more. She then turns from the door, aware the demoness can still see her, opens a portal, and steps out into a shadow between two vehicles. Gathering magic around her for a don't-look-here spell, she steps out of the shadows and moves unnoticed between the people in the crowd until she, eventually, finds her way to the front of the Church. Her head tilts back, watching the flames clawing their way skyward. It's not the flames themselves that have her attention, however, so much as it is the *feel* of them. "So," she murmurs softly to herself. "This is what's constricting the City..."

The question is... what's causing it? Because she's got enough experience to know: Until the cause is stopped, the symptoms won't stop.

Not, mind, that it's easy to concentrate on that question, given the nun's alarm at the fire burning down the old church. "<<Hush, Phillis,>>" she says internally. "<<I'll fix it. Now let me think.>>"

Lucifer has posed:
The flames are severe, but the church somehow still burns. It /feels/ more like some kind of flaming ward to keep people out, and not a natural fire. It looks the same to a naked eye, and certainly the firefighters believed it was a real, normal fire, but they have started to catch on that something is not RIGHT here. The building is taking damage, definitely, but it also is not the shell of a husk it SHOULD be after all of this intensity, either.

There's a standoff happening to Amanda's left between some men with bloody things marked on their faces, and a group of patrons of the church, in a screaming, heated debate over if God holds sway here, or if Satan is taking over the world. It might normally be something to block out, but the gut instinct of some of the people...

Well, the identity of one of the players is something they did /feel/.

Amanda is more familiar than most, and can pick up that Lucifer is around, though pinpointing him isn't as easy in general, today it's clear that he's in there. And the dark zealots across on the other side by a pile of cars light a trash can on fire and cavort in their particular type of worship, only to get the fire department on THEIR case for creating more fire.

Phillis, the nun riding shotgun for Amanda, is able to provide something else, though - a sense of recent death. This fire caused death, and the spirits have not left yet. The breath that is strangled is also holding them in.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda can sense Lucifer within. It's not a surprise that he's here. That he's inside... may be more of one. Still, she looks around at the chaos on the street and decides inside is, in fact, the better place to be -- particularly when Phillis indicates the spirits trapped within. Her don't-look-here firmly in place, she rises up on eldritch winds and soars around to a side of the building where less onlookers gather. There, she opens herself another portal, using what little she can see through a blackened window as a guide.

She steps through into the inside of the church, bypassing the hellish flames outside entirely. She wasn't sure, intially, if she'd be able too. But, deciding that the fact Lucifer called her, and is likely behind the flames, she'll probably get a pass...

Lucifer has posed:
The inside is not exactly Hell itself ... but it is horribly hot, oppressive, and there's a shrill quality to it. Outside, there's a held breath. Inside? It's suffocating. It is like feeling suddenly like there's no breath at all, none to take, but it turns out to just be that one has to actually use willpower to force a breath. The body just forgot how to automatically /breathe/.

The inside of the church's main space is wrecked, a burned shell. Burned bodies cluster to either side of the entrance hall, one big door fallen and charred, lightly burning in black embers. All of the people are huddled defensively. One figure is protecting another with its body against a wall, but both are charred and blackened in death. Everyone clearly fled the main chamber, but the heat got them here. They had time to feel terror, to hide here in an attempt to get clear.

The main larger worship chamber is strange. It is gray ash, cloudy, as the supernatural wind of the fire shield that pants and churns at the windows flushes more ashes inside. It's stifling, but not hot enough to cause those deaths: whatever heat did that is not present inside.

Shapes in the pale ash and flecks of black make odd patterns on the walls, the flung lecturn, the collapsed piano. Weird ashy-gray, burned feathers litter the entryway, their blades curled and twisted from heat.

A light tink-tink of keys from the piano centers where Lucifer is - he's seated on one of the low stairs by the collapsed piano, and is not untouched. He lacks suit jacket, his deep burgandy button-up is hanging loose and open, and patterns of ash cling to his body and hair. They fall into odd spirals and runic clusters, as if finding those shapes out of the invisible, supernatural space and sticking to those vibrations.

"Normally I would have something witty to say, but my mood just isn't there," Lucifer's thoughtful tone rises above the crackle of fire outside.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Within the hellish, once holy place, Amanda gasps for breath. Her don't-look-here spell shatters and the runes woven into her clothing blaze briefly, activating to protect her from the heat and sear. Choking, she coughs out a shielding spell that gives her bearly enough room to breathe. It's not much, but it's enough to ease her own lungs so she doesn't have to concentrate on *that*. Concentrating on the spell is, oddly enough, easier.

She looks around as she hears Lucifer's voice, finally locating him through the smoke and ash. Her footsteps send up clouds of dust as she makes her way carefully towards him. "What happened here?" she asks. A beat. "What *is* happening here?" Because it feels like something is still going on.

Her blue eyes take in the damage to the bones of the church and the flesh of the people who were inside it when all Hell broke loose. Or, at least, what appears to be a piece of Hell, anyway. "Gods, this isn't good. No wonder it's so crazy outside."

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer remains seated where he is, though he draws his hand off the collapsed piano, to use that arm to prop himself up on that side. He's seated basically on the floor, but on the raised platform used for the performances and speeches, which sets him up a few feet from the main floor area. Still, with her standing, he's lower than Amanda is. But it doesn't reduce his presence, to be low or seated. Whatever is reducing him now is his own intention.

Lucifer sighs a little - no breathing issues for him in this place - and his dark eyes move up to rest on her face, even if his tone is more airy.

Deliberately disassociated, in some way.

"A disagreement which escalated. I often...." Lucifer pauses, and stretches one hand, as if the wrist were a little sore. Maybe he took a hit. "..../react/ when my brothers push me." He lifts one knee some, resting the forearm against that knee. "I didn't request your presence here for me, though, but for those that were caught up in this."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda looks around, swallowing faintly as the meaning of his words settles across her shoulders. She doesn't give voice to the expletive in her mind. Nor does she outwardly react when Phillis chides her for it. "<<You got a better word, Sister?>>" she replies inwardly, saying nothing aloud even now.

Her eyes alight on the bodies and her expression tightens. "I can't raise the dead, Lucifer. Your messenger said healing magic. I've got lots of that but..." She glances over to him and up to the burnt and fallen crucifix. "I'm not Him."

She turns in a small circle. "Is there anyone at all, aside from us, alive in this place?"

Lucifer has posed:
"No." All are dead. Lucifer watches her gaze move, even to the fallen crucifix. He looks at her thoughtfully for a pause, then looks down at his fingers, curling them slowly, almost musically, an unseen piano.

"I will raise them," Lucifer says, simply, tone even, without much intonation to suggest anything other than factual. "But they will be in great pain when I do."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda blows out a tight breath from between her lips, as Phillis rants about the improbability of the *Devil* being able to raise the dead -- not with their souls intact, anyway. With deliberate calm, a fist curling tightly by her side, she pushes the spirit away, walling her off behind more pleasant memories. The former poltergeist will doubtlessly light into her about it, later. She can deal with that.

Thus, free of distraction, she studies Lucifer's face for a long moment, absorbing his tone and the knowledge that he has purposely diminished his presence here... despite how strong it still is. "Alright," she agrees. "If you can bring them back, bring their souls back, I'll try to heal them." A beat. "But my power requires... payment, too. There's not going to be much that's not human-sized or bigger left alive around this building when I'm done." There are enough people outside, she knows, that she could steal small amounts of lifeforce from each of them and not greatly affect them. Most of them are young enough, they will replenish what they lose to her efforts in here. But landscaping isn't going to rejuvenate nearly so quickly. (Fortunately, fire insurance will likely pay for the re-landscaping that will be required, anyway.)

Lucifer has posed:
"There are limits here on my end. I am not 'Him' either," Lucifer says, though his tone is not said with humility, but with a fanged scorn. There's no fangs visible, but Lucifer's in a mood that set this church on fire, probably. His feelings are saturated into the location, a piece of him splintered and fluttering in all of the flames around. It's like being very close to him, there's a sort of strange intimacy to it. And that is perhaps the largest part of what drew some of the zealots outside. Those sensitive to it FELT something.

Lucifer shrugs indifferently about things not surviving. He doesn't seem to care or mind at all. She can destroy all the plants she needs. "I can call some payment. But still.... If you'd rather walk away, you can." Lucifer remains where he is, but rocks his head back, eyes upwards towards the enflamed ceiling, reflecting the flames. There's a raw, weird tension in there, betraying his real mood - a dreadful unhappiness.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda can tell Lucifer is not in a good headspace. She's not surprised. She doesn't imagine a fight between archangels is going to put *anyone* in a good mood. "Let's do this thing," she tells him quietly. It's not soppy gentility or pitying sympathy in her tone. It's a practical encouragement. She has some sympathy for him; compassion is in her nature, likely because of her healing talents. But she won't coddle him.

Thus, she's not backing out. And the sooner they're done, the sooner he can retreat either to lick his wounds or salve his spirit. If she can help, she will. But until then...

"You'll know when I've reached my limit." Mainly because she'll have drained an awful lot of her own lifeforce to compensate for what she's trying not to take from others. Thus, she closes her eyes to center herself and draw her power in. But, until he commences the raising, it's little more than a meditative exercise.

Lucifer has posed:
"What does your magic feed on? Life force?" Lucifer asks. He still hasn't gotten to his feet, but he does sit up more properly and drop his knee. He breathes in slowly and evenly, and there's a dip in the sensation around them, like a heart dropping to stomach, a low, downwards pull.

A call, to the creepy crawlies in the earth below, calling them upwards. The burrowing hornets under the front stoop, shielded from the flame by the cement. That done, Lucifer finally sleekly stands, crossing down to the main center of the church, heading up between the pews, clouds of ash twisting and spiraling in his wake of dark clothes. He's going to go stand among the dead in the front room.

It's ghastly, though, the burned dead, and the ash-toned Lucifer, his mask over his nature askew. He reacting, but it's from some well of resentment and anger, there's a sorrow twisted by that deeper thing. Anger displaced.

"They will scream. Are you prepared?"

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda nods. "Life force," she agrees. "Most people can replenish it, in time. But not if I take too much at one time." A soft, golden glow has come to her eyes, glimmering across her finger tips.

She turns to look at the corpses as he strides through the ruined church, and pushes doubt from her mind. Though she does hope what they're about to do is a good thing... she has no real way to know for sure. The best she can do is send a prayer up to the universe to honour her intention, if nothing else... and hope what this ends with are not some kind of twisted revanants in human skin.

As he mentions the screaming, she gives a somewhat fatalistic smile. "As prepared as I'm ever going to be." Short of deafening herself, first, mind. She doesn't, though. Sometimes, you need to hear the screams, just to know when the pain finally fades.

Lucifer has posed:
"Prayer doesn't help," Lucifer comments. He may just have guessed, or may have said it anyway, unrelated to her quiet prayer. He could be talking to himself. Either way, he spreads his hands down and out, and unexpectedly yanks. Hard.

There's a pull throughout the church, a heave of gasped breaths suddenly pulling in air, like they were drowning and just suddenly choked. The spirits that were trapped .... trapped by those supernatural flames... have been hauled back home, back into their husks, in a sudden horror as their souls rebel and orient to their burned bodies, immediately in shock and starting to die again. The torture of it is thick as the shells twist in agony. This is stuff of hellish nightmare.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Terrible, agonized screams rip out of scorched and twisted throats. Amanda moves towards the nearest of them, her golden-lit hands laying against burnt skin. She can feel their pain, though it's only an echo in her mind. But her touch is necessary, which means her empathy is strong. She reaches out, drawing energy from whatever small creatures and plants yet remain within the reach of her power, and pouring into the body beneath her fingertips. It's laborious work.

Outside, the people on the street may not notice the browning and gradual blackening of the grass, the wilting of the flowers, or the fading of the trees. They may not even notice the silencing of the birds, until one or two fall from the branches. Whether or not they hear the screams? Amanda doesn't know. She does know, however, that the small critters will not be enough for these souls so close to death. And as she moves methodically from one to another, tears soak her cheeks and run ignored down her cheeks. The golden aura of her healing energies suffuses the air around her, lending her blonde hair a brilliant glow even mundane eyes can perceive.

She begins to draw slender threads of energy from the strongest of the bodies beyond the building, at the limits of her perception, feeding it into blackened, agonized bodies. Skin knits, wounds close, seared tissue reinflates with moisture, air, and life. She begins to grow weary, but has been judicious with just how much of her personal energy she has added to the mix she uses to heal the victims of the angelic battle. This means her fatigue will not kill her, at least. It means there's a chance she'll manage to heal them all at least well enough to stabilize them enough to allow them to walk out of here, to someplace they can recover the rest of the way naturally.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer is present, in the center of all of it, his fists down and out, tensed, holding the souls hostage into the shells as Amanda works to mend them enough to stay without the chains of the hellish jailer holding them in their flesh prisons.

Lucifer does not release even as they stabilize; they collapse and stay down, under his continued heavyhanded hold on those spirits. And it is intentional: they can't handle the pain levels, and having them unconscious but stable on the floor is safest for them, instead of up and moving to where they could harm themselves or others.

Lucifer doesn't mind the screaming - aside from that it feels a bit like home. A place he does belong, for a variety of reasons, even if he resists and fights that fact. He'd rather stay traveling, on vacation, pushing that home away, kicking it away like a grasping hand at his feet. It's not denial: he knows.

As Amanda works towards the last of the people, Lucifer has less to do, and he moves, one arm out to support her lower back, if she allows him to physically hold her up as she gets to the last ones. There were eight in total.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Eight is a lot. It pushes Amanda to the edge of her strength, which means she is grateful for the touch, the sense of support. As each screamer falls silent, unconscious and healed enough to suffer no lasting harm once doctors have seen to them, she seems to sink a little deeper into herself. A rising sense of relief when each voice fades almost palpable about her.

Within her mind, Phillis is torn between horror and amazement. Even walled off as she is, she can hear the screaming. And there is simply no way she can exist this close to Amanda's soul without feeling the light of her bouyant, healing energies. Perhaps, on some level, it soothes even her troubled soul... at least by proxy.

When the last of the bodies is hale enough for her to stop, Amanda sags to her knees, hair curtaining her face as her head falls forward heavily against her chest. She's still conscious. She hasn't collapsed. She's just bone weary. Soul weary.

She inhales a deep breath and lets it out slowly, laying a hand that is no longer surrounded by magic on Lucifer's arm. "They still need medical attention," she says softly.

Lucifer has posed:
"Going to give everything....?" Lucifer asks, drawing other hand up and across, free hand near her heart. The fingers contain strands of the power just executed to shove souls back into their forms. The tendrils of that may well pass over her own soul. He's not grabby: not phyiscally or on any other plane, but his proximity is right there.

And there may be aftereffects of this, of having the hand of the Devil this close and weaving power right adjacent to her own. Lucifer has a way of lingering well after he has moved - his 'blessing', or something darker.

When Amanda stops short of killing herself to entirely heal the people, Lucifer doesn't judge. Her choices: people make choices. And he supports that, always. She's brought herself to a brink, right up to it, to collapse but no further. There's respect for it.

"Perhaps," Lucifer agrees, noncommittal, squatting into her collapsed form to pick her up. The flames still beat around them, but filter and adjust as Lucifer's mood moves. "They'll survive to hate me," chuckles Lucifer, his tone amused and playful but also upset. Still, he moves to carry her towards the rear of the church, into the back and upstairs towards where the burned upper tiers are, angling to turn her face towards his shoulder or neck. "Safe to rest your eyes a minute. If you trust me." Unhappy maybe, but still kind, as there is nothing present to directly rile him into boiling over again.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda has learned the hard way that, sometimes, you have to make sacrifices. Painful ones. And it could be that, one day, she makes the ultimate sacrifice. But it won't be this day. Not when there are options. She hates leaving healings undone. But there are too many practical reasons, in this case, to stop where she does. First, those people will live and will recover without further help from her. Second, if they walk out unscathed, it sends the wrong message to the people outside. They saw the fire, after all. There should be consequences to that. And, thirdly, she's got enough unfinished business of her own, there's no point sacrificing her physical agency when it'd just impede her later. There's only so much ghosts can do in the material plane, after all... even the ghost of a witch.

Even so, she leans back against Lucifer, accepting his support. She doesn't even protest when he picks her up. "I know," she says softly, turning her face against his body at his urging as he makes the bitter comment on the truth of his situation. "I'm sorry." Sympathetic, yes, but not maudlin. She can't change it, after all. And, perhaps, neither can he.

She closes her eyes and nods faintly against his shoulder, allowing him to take her away from this place. It's probably just as well. Enough of the tortured souls will probably remember her face, or at least her aura, enough that it will only add to the crazy stories they'll tell later of angelic battles in the old church.

She's not sure she wants to see the place rebuilt, given the shrine it may become.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer doesn't feel like being a spectacle, and so when he moves, it is very rapidly. There'a burst of flight and motion, a leathery sound, and a pulse of his supernatural nature during the movement. He can't use his wings without showing it, but it will be just another piece of things Amanda has already witnessed. Still, he did prefer she not look, for whatever reason he doesn't feel like sorting out within himself right then. More anger than shame: but then, everything he feels can turn into anger.

Then things stop moving. He chose another roof, a sheltered one: well landscaped, exterior lighting mild - a hotel, looks like. Lucifer moves to put her in one of the deck chairs. In the distance, the cone of smoke is obvious, but there's no flame anymore. The fuel left.

"I earned it; I killed them." Rueful, maybe, but darkened. He attempts to move her hair back some. A comforting move, but it lacks pity. It's non-sexual, that's not at all where his manner is. This is coming from some other place in the broad tapestry of emotional threads Lucifer pulls and rips at. "But it's done."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda isn't exactly in the headspace to register a come-on right now, anyway. She can accept his touch as concern of some form -- whether it is or not. Whether its for her or not. Even if it's perfuctory. She doesn't respond well to pity, anyway. So, it's just as well. Nor does it matter. She doesn't look for anything more behind it.

She does, however, relax against the deck chair. It's a far more comfortable piece of furniture than one might initially think. Of course, that could be her fatigue talking. "You did," she agrees, though not vindictively. But, yes. He's earned his reputation; she knows it. She doesn't usually shy away from hard facts. "And it is." Done. One way or another. "But you made some small restitution." Likely not enough to be counted in the grand scheme of the Great Plan, whatever that may be. She knows that, too. But that's not her judgement to make, and she's just as happy about that.

"Humanity is resilient," she notes needlessly. "They'll bounce back." And so will she. A good night's sleep... or three. And probably a rejuvenation potion or two at home. Maybe a cup of tea or two with a good friend who isn't wrapped up in magic. That'll work.

"I will say, though," she says, testing a small smile. "You never bore me."

Lucifer has posed:
"Oh, they'll enter some sort of deep denial about all of it, smoke inhalation, whatever it is," Lucifer says, cleanly, almost dismissive with his self-assurance. "Usually people do not cope with supernatural encounters, let alone brushes with death, and shut them out. They won't remember the death." There's a pause. "I have experience."

In blasting people into smoking husks and dealing with the outcome? Lucifer doesn't specifically elaborate on if he does mean that, or just in people's encounters in a more broad way.

Lucifer rolls over onto the deck chair next to her, lifting both arms to stretch them behind his head. He's still covered in ash, splattered with something else of a burning ichor, that streaks his upper chest, and what remains of his shirt. He looks a bit like a model or actor that did some bizarre shoot in the desert and is between shots. His body is weirdly sexual in tone but his mood isn't. It's a little clashing.

"No, being /dull/ or quiet is not one of my sins," Lucifer says, with a lift of laugh.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda has, sadly, perhaps, had similar experience -- even in her far shorter blink of an existence. For her, the supernatural is as much a part of the normal world as the mundane. But she's learned... mundanes don't see it that way. They rationalize and deny and outright lie to themselves on so many levels... it'd be funny, if it wasn't often so tragic.

She glances over to Lucifer, an easier smile on her lips. "I could use a drink," she tells him. "There's an old single malt in the liquor cabinet at my apartment. Give me a lift?" Because her magic is spent and she hates public transit. "The balcony's open." Or, at least, him showing up on it won't blow all her wards to hell.

She pushes herself up into a more upright position. "Besides... I want to make sure your messenger isn't messing with my neighbours." Because that would be a problem.

Thus, she gathers herself together, preparing to depart. Because it's time. The church will recover. It's time for them to do the same.