9118/What are the odds

What are the odds
Date of Scene:	15 December 2021
Location:	Queens, Jonathan Sims' office
Synopsis:	Lucifer seeks a therapy session with Jon about anger issues, but the topic is that of truth.
Cast of Characters:	Lucifer, Jonathan Sims
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

---

Lucifer has posed:
"No smoking? ....Hm."

As if it were bizarre to be asked to not smoke inside a place of business, let alone a private office area. The sleek, immaculately dressed blonde male draws back a little at the door, to actually take in any no-smoking signs that he entirely ignored on the way in. He's not much for being observant of rules he doesn't care to follow. However, he doesn't put up a fight today directly -- though he does linger in the door, holding it open to the rush of freezing winter air -- to finish what's left of the cigarette and pitch it onto the street. He returns to the front area to linger and chat with Rosie, at close range.

Particularly when close, Lucifer can be a 'lot'. He's human enough, but there's an edge of 'off', like the result of too much plastic surgery. His perfect is uncomfortable. That, and he has an aura that can impact people in a variety of ways. Some people get more relaxed, some get very chatty, others more tense or defensive - it really depends. But it's subtle enough to sneak in under the radar unless someone is paying attention, like sitting in a warm pot that is heating over time: so slow, that one gets boiled before realizing the temprature was going up.

"Not too much longer, I hope?" Lucifer's smooth british tone hopes.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    It's funny, those 'no smoking' signs, because the psychiatrist who comes in certainly smells of cigarette smoke himself. Jon had been intending to go right over to Hell's Kitchen after getting off the plane to Ecuador, but instead gets the message that his appointment is waiting for him. Which is when he remembers that, yes, there was an appointment made, and so he hurries over to Queens, taking the time to smoke before he gets to the office. He's wearing khakis and a heavy brown sweater, pulled on after getting off the plane, and looks /just/ a tad distracted.

    Rosie had been chatting amicably--she's clearly the sort to gossip, and confides that Dr. Sims isn't taking many patients anymore since 'that whole business with his family issues' and speculates on why he'd agreed to take on Lucifer. Probably the aura affecting her. And she's just about to reply to 'not too much longer' when Jon himself comes in, letting in another blast of cold air as he does so.

    "Ahh, yes, sorry about the delay." He smiles agreeably, his own accent Southern England, deliberately unsoftened after his decade of living in America. "I'm Dr. Sims." He offers his hand to shake, looking the man over. No sign of mystical power, no sense of angelic or demonic presence... it's a relief, truth be told, if a bit of an irritation.

    After all, the main reason he'd even agreed to an appointment was the name. With his luck, it /would/ have been some Fallen Angel or something. But, no. Evidently just a normal, if... slightly odd man.

Lucifer has posed:
"Come by the club sometime, Miss Rose. Have a drink on the house," Lucifer says brightly to Rosie, fishing a card out of somewhere (sleight of hand, not magic), and gives it over to Rosie's possession. It's a card for Lux, the nightclub Lucifer owns, with Lucifer's name on it. Which may clarify a lot for Rosie -- this is some sort of stage name for a nightclub owner. That seems to make his name more palatable to many: having a real reason for it.

"Dr. Sims, excellent. No apology necessary, I assure you. I was hardly waiting a moment -- or rather, I did not notice, as your lovely assistant kept me quite entertained," Lucifer says brightly, sunny. He adds a warm smile, entirely willing to return the handshake. Lucifer doesn't bother with a harsh squeeze, or anything else - his handshake, really, is forgettably normal. Just another handshake.

Lucifer's smoke scent is weird, it wasn't a cigarette. He smells more like a magical ritual, like he was smoking an exorcism herb set. But probably not.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Rosie grins brightly and takes the card. "Need anything else tonight, Dr. Sims?"

    "No, Rosie, I'll lock up. Do me a favor and re-sync the calendar? I think my new phone didn't get the updates." With that bit of housekeeping out of the way, Jon turns to lead Lucifer into the other room that is his actual office. "Right this way, then, ahh... Lucifer? Or is it 'Mr.' Lucifer?" One never knows; he's met enough people who go by odd names to have see most of the possible variations.

    The inner office is lined with bookshelves, full of both the normal sort of books on psychiatry and also more esoteric volumes--everything from ethnobotany and ancient shamanic practices to Egyptology and Western occult traditions. The framed credentials on the wall are an MD from Columbia, internship at Arkham, residency at Metropolis General. There's a winged chair facing the door and a comfortable couch next to the door. Not the stereotypical "lie down" sort of couch; this is a couch more meant for sitting on, though one could presumably lie down on it. There?s a window with potted flowers hanging in front of it, and more plants on and along the tops of the bookshelves.

    "Please, have a seat," Jon says, gesturing to the couch as he goes to check the lock on the window and then sit down in the winged chair, himself.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer's gaze moves directly to the books, and he passes by them with an alert, scanning quality. There's no attempt made to mask that he is curious and reading the titles with a pointed interest. It follows with a slideways slant to gaze to Jon, as if judging Jon by his library selection. It's a thoughtful, if a bit overly penetrative, in stare.

Lucifer doesn't sit. After he slips from his coat and sets it aside.... He drapes his body onto the couch. It's obnoxious, shameless, and comfortable at the same time, as he makes himself at home. He releases a very deep breath, with one arm drawn up behind his head to support it slightly, and observes Jon without any shred of nerves. It could read as just bold, or a bit psychopathic.

"Lucifer is fine. Mr. Morningstar is, admittedly, a great many syllables," Lucifer comments.

And then his aura becomes a bit more tangible. Anyone with magical sight would sense it. It's asking everyone to relax, and be comfortable. And it's very supernatural in origin.

"So, where does one start? I came across your posted flyer, suggestive of your /interest/ in supernatural problems. Well, technically one of my employees brought it to me when I commented that I was dreadfully frustrated lately. I wonder what sort of supernatural troubles you often resolve," Lucifer wonders. His tone is warm, friendly, curious, but not intrusive. There's no aggression to Lucifer.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon raises a brow but doesn't comment at the attitude or the movements or the way Lucifer drapes himself on the couch. He notices the aura, and actually takes a moment to imagine a mirror in his mind, nothing he conjures up but a ward of sorts to keep the aura out. He doesn't trust 'relax and be comfortable' auras, just now. That way has lain trouble, the last week or two.

    "Many of my patients are... different in one way or another. Superheroes, touched by gods, wizards--or just people who have to deal with such things. Unlike many of my colleagues, I... well. I do not believe /everything/ I hear, but my first reaction to hearing of magic and demons will /not/ be to presume one is hallucinating." That's what he does in this office, at any rate. The Archivist, the SHIELD agent, all the rest... that's not a hat Jon has on, just now. So it's not immediately relevant.

    He smiles. "I am, therefore, able to listen to the details of a life full of the 'supernatural' and focus on what may be an otherwise entirely mundane depression--or just general frustrations at life." He folds his hands in his lap, letting his fingers twitch in lieu of fidgeting. "I suppose my first question would be what felt so frustrating that you made an appointment with a therapist?"

Lucifer has posed:
"Well, many of those in this city are far more open-minded these days, I suppose, considering the magical assault of Loki, and the variety of other things following that. Certainly enough to crack open some closed minds. And yet sometimes it does cause cracks, deep fissures, which can lead into insanity. So it is a mixed bag, I think. Too much can break. Not my intent."

Lucifer did pay attention to Jon's question, and goes to it immediately. "Internalizing my frustration has been problematic for me in the past. I have anger issues. I would like to make, and be open to /change/ in my coping mechanism -- not burn my house down," Lucifer laughs. His laugh is open, infectious, though someone shielded would only be as influenced as they might normally be.

Lucifer's gaze drops to the bracelet Jon wears. He's angled his head, attempting to see more of it. There is no subtle quality here: Lucifer's staring, and it comes with a wide flare of his eyes. "Therapy with or without judgement?" Lucifer suddenly wonders aloud. There's a sudden grin, as if he wouldn't mind it anyway. "I say judgement, as --- Is that not jewelry of Thoth, the judge? May I have a closer look at the inscription?" Lucifer asks, extending one hand, palm up as if inviting Jon to extend to allow Lucifer to touch or rotate the bracelet, to read it.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I was a therapist before I served Thoth," Jon says in a wry tone, but he leans forward and shakes the bracer free of his cuffs, so the man can get a look at it. The bracer holds power, though not its own as such--it's more of a switch connected to Jon, than anything power in and of itself. Useless to anyone else, really. Still, it means something, clearly.

    "I do try not to judge. That's not my place--not /here/ at least." Implying it might be elsewhere? "I prefer to help, regardless of the source of the problems. And I have to ask--did you /actually/ burn your house down, or is that a metaphor?" He quirks a brow. "Anger issues I can help with, regardless."

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer looks at the bracelet, without looking up. He's clearly listening, as there's a pause as he takes in what Jon says, and then reads off the inscription in a very dead language. ~'Oh my heart that I had in my days upon this earth, pray do not rise up to bear witness against me; pray do not accuse me before the great god.~

There is an intensity to the reading, and a sort of pleasure to Lucifer's voice. He enjoys artifacts, and is pulling in what he can sense from it. Curiosity thing.

"Lovely piece," Lucifer compliments, language flipped back. "I am excruciatingly judgemental. But I'll keep it contained," Lucifer teases, with a broad wink. It's 'too much', with a taste of showmanship, as if Lucifer enjoyed his personal joke.

"I rarely use metaphor, but in this case it is a simplification," Lucifer says, honestly and evasive in the same breath.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon carefully pulls the cuff of his sweater back over the bracer. "I don't know many people who can read the inscription in the original tongue." He sounds impressed, but not surprised, per se. "Anyway, it's a family heirloom of sorts." Evasive, himself. "Feel free to judge me as you like, if that's your nature. I am... not one to ask that people go against their natures."

    He settles back in the chair, regarding Lucifer quietly for a moment. "Alright. So... what has you frustrated, then? Enough to burn down a house, metaphorical or otherwise? What prompted the outburst that had your employee hand you my flyer?"

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer smiles brightly, but it isn't flattered. It may feel more like Lucifer intended the inscription reading to be something for Jon to enjoy. Whether or not it worked is another thing, but the aim was, it seems, an attempt to please Jon. And Lucifer decides it was successful, as he relaxes back. In a way, he feels they are bonding.

"Yes, quite. Well, first you must understand, I am on /vacation/. I'm taking a break from a loathesome job, but there's just no one else with the proper skillset to take over. There's inadaquate ...redundancy," Lucifer gripes. There's a shift in his manner, as he starts to actually tap into things he cares about, not just small talk.

"Anyway, I am constantly being bothered on my vacation, and /now/ my extended family is dropping in all over the place. We often fight. It's a mess, they are hardly subtle, and I get blamed. I'm just /trying/ to have my damn vacation."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon snorts softly. "I... can certainly understand the sentiment. There you are, having a perfectly lovely time in some tropical locale, and a ghost pops up just begging to get punched in the nose." That sounds like an actual thing that happened, from the specificity. "One's family popping in must be... even more frustrating."

    He thinks that through. "So... you're trying to enjoy yourself, and your family drops in on you, and you're tempted to... burn something down, metaphorically or otherwise? You're angry with them, and you want to deal with it more... rationally?"

    He tries /very/ hard not to think about whose 'family' someone named 'Lucifer Morningstar' could be dropping in, just now. It's probably not that. It's hopefully not that.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer sits up /very/ fast, with a lot of energy, with a snap of fingers and a bright, energetic, "Exactly!" Exactly like having a ghost appear that needs nose punching, and Lucifer is right on that same page... and emotionally conveys it.

"They usually want to fight me. Sometimes deserved, sometimes not. A month ago a church was leveled. Hmh. I'm angry about the whole situation, as a whole. I should be able to have a vacation without constant pests. I only get peace when I'm at work, which is hardly any existance. I have every right to want to burn things." Lucifer laughs a little bit, but there's an undertone of irritation. And it leaks slightly. It crawls into the fiber of the room.

Lucifer notices and draws it back in, with a rueful little apologetic half-smile. "I suppose I'm here to vent. Venting is supposed to help."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Venting helps, sometimes, yes." Jon's mind is still going tick-tick-tick, putting pieces together, because that's what it does now. Can't leave well enough alone, can't just help the person sprawled on the couch, who--if they're human enough to come to him for therapy, deserves the help whatever they might /actually/ be--but no, it has to try to put the puzzle pieces together. Mostly trying to decide if he has enough evidence to make the obvious conclusion, and what the less obvious one might be.

    "Sometimes... well. Sometimes, it's less helpful to vent than it is to learn how to process anger differently." He glances around, rolls his shoulders, takes a moment to reinforce that mental ward. To not let the irritation that had seeped out affect him. "But, usually, I recommend starting with the venting. You say a church got leveled?"

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer has reclined back again with a grunt and deep breath. He lifts one hand to smear his palm over his face. "Sure. Processing anger differently." Lucifer sounds a little put out, but not negative. He probably wants a quick answer, a quick /fix/. As if there could be some easy way out, some loophole. He may not have a lot of faith even in what he's doing here - or may not even know why he's there, not truly.

"Yes." He lifts one hand to smear his palm over his face. "Wherever a family member drops in on the warpath doesn't survive the impact. I can't just roll over."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Tick-tick-tick... oh, fine. Jon will bite. Because maybe Lucifer's not really here for normal therapy at all--or if he is, if he's what Jon thinks he might be, 'normal' therapy isn't going to work anyway.

    "Would 'family members' in your case include, say, angels of the rank of... I want to say Seraphim, but possibly higher? Summoned by mortals and running around causing craters in Manhattan?" He says it in a remarkably calm tone, eyebrows raised. A tropical vacation really did do wonders for his nerves.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer doesn't jump or react too much, at least at first. He turns his head, and considers Jon with a gaze that probably registers as maybe gentle, which has an awkward read on Lucifer's expressive face. He sighs and relaxes one forearm on a raised knee, curling and relaxing the fingers a few times. He gives Jon a weighing look.

It's a tiredness, or some other emotion. "What answer do you prefer, I wonder?" Lucifer asks. And puts some weight behind it, a swell of the aura. It's not forceful: Lucifer doesn't /force/, but he's trying to draw the information from Jon to see if he's ready for the truth, or not. Extract the reality.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "The truth," Jon says, firmly, and a man who wears a bracer emblazoned with, among other things, the feather of Ma'at, surely means what he says. "Not that I am implying you're lying or obfuscating for any nefarious purpose... but that I cannot help you, however I am /supposed/ to help you, if I don't know the truth."

    He sighs, shoulders slumping /just/ slightly. He's more worn than he lets on, but the therapist role does let him hide a great deal. "In addition to being a psychiatrist, I am the Archivist. I don't know if you know the name or what the role means, but... I exist to know, and learn, to further the ends of... balance." He shrugs. "It doesn't change that I can listen to one vent, and provide advice, but I can also... well... maybe guide you to a potential source of the frustrating interruptions in your vacation."

Lucifer has posed:
"Despite rumors to the contrary, I do not, in fact, ever lie; I am who I said I am," Lucifer says, with a firmness, his head angled down now, as the serious, direct look needs to come with a trace of the full wattage that Lucifer can summon. He can command hosts of demons, and he's letting some of that surface as he expresses this stance on truth.

"I will withhold information or allow others to believe whatever they will if it seems less harmful than truth, but lie, no," Lucifer says. He runs his fingers into his hair, eyes moving around the room slowly. He nods briefly at the statement about being the Archivist; if he knew or didn't know, he doesn't clarify either way.

"Those that point me at things can sometimes suffer considerable backlash. I think it fair to warn you of that," Lucifer says, with a weird humility to the tone. "Though obviously assisting me could reap signficant benefits."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon regards the man--being?--across from him for a long, long moment. He crosses his legs and rests folded hands atop them, hesitating a moment, feeling out what he can feel. An aura of power, at least a little bit. He /needs/ to know, if for no other reason than he can't figure out how to proceed without the answer. So he cracks open his Sight just a little and looks more closely in the way he does, a gaze one can almost /feel/, a gentle probing at the mind.

    What he finds there makes him sit back, not least because it isn't much at all. A firm block, enough to make him blink rapidly and then make a noise of irritation.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer's there, that awareness. It's like opening a curtain and finding someone RIGHT THERE on the other side of the closed glass window -- looking right at you. Lucifer's full attention is on Jon, and this is a mirror of that.

"Sorry, Doctor, but... the night is dark and full of terrors," Lucifer says teasingly, with a soft slyness, a laugh under it due to his personal amusement at quoting Game of Thrones, of all things.

"/I/ don't want to see all is in my sight. I sense you are looking for proof - but it won't be done that way. And I'll assume you don't want a gate to hell in this office. Safe assumption?" Lucifer sounds tired. "If I do something, it will soak into this place. But I don't expect anyone to just believe on /faith/ alone. That's the big guy's bullshit."

Lucifer gives Jon a steady look. "We /can/ part ways now. The blue pill, or the red pill?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I might argue I've already been red pilled," Jon remarks, drily, though that dryness is surely covering for other emotions he's hiding. "But I would take it again, every time. I serve Truth, in every sense of the word. Like it or not." It's not a choice, really, it's just... what he is. He has to know.

    He takes a deep breath. Lets it out. Takes a moment to adjust his mental wards. Not a mirror--he doesn't need to /hide/--but just a barrier. A shield, of water, like the ones he's been using to protect his body. Flexible enough to absorb impact, while still letting him see. It might let something press on him, but it's less likely to shatter and allow the full brunt of whatever Lucifer might do on through.

    "Go on, then. I'm curious. And I think it might be important." Afraid? Oh, yes, but stubborn in pursuit of an answer.

Lucifer has posed:
"I'm not going to burn you," Lucifer says, reactive to the shift in barriers, his read on the magic nearby. He tuts his tongue once. "I have far more control than that. At least, while calm. We all have our flaws."

Lucifer doesn't even get up, he just relaxes there a bit more... and adjusts his aspect.

The shift is clean, as the mortal shell he had been using in front lifts away. Magical senses will start to ping off of his presence. Something deeply unholy, deeply entrenched in the seething mass of low, hellish influence. It's not heat, and it isn't a demon -- it's that essence that separates a hellgate from a gate to another dimension or place. A piece of whatever /that/ energy is, that element, exists. Magical sight can 'feel' the sense of the crown of horns, even if it isn't visual.

Lucifer then decides, "Enough, I think." And pulls things back into place. The recovery is slower, and he's still sweating with this weird essence - like the coil of energy that would rise off an unholy vial of water. This couch might make people have visions of nightmares from now on. A price is always paid.

But it would be hard to argue what exactly that was, if not something anchored directly in hell's roots.

Lucifer starts to get up, then, but is hawkishly side-watching Jonathan. Lucifer anticipates leaving Jon to decide what he believes without Lucifer staring at him.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon has to take a breath, though not as much as one might expect. It doesn't... bother him the way it does most. Or perhaps it's better to say that it bothers him, but then so does the pure magic of creation. They're both a /lot/. His eyes narrow for a moment, ever-so-slightly, as Lucifer pulls the aura back in. His gaze flicks to the couch, noting the residue left behind. He makes a mental note to get a new couch--and to find a good place to put this one.

    Maybe he'll keep it around for research purposes. The Unholy Couch, for when one needs a good nightmare.

    "Water is my element," Jon says after a moment. "As destructive in its way as fire. The flood destroys, but it also brings life to the desert." He eyes the man as he gets up and begins to leave.

    "There's an angel bound in the back room of the Laughing Magician," he says. "I don't know if you watch the news, but it was killing people in Hell's Kitchen, Manhattan. We're going to exorcise it--but I have reason to believe this is only the beginning of something much, much larger. Seals are breaking. Archangels are using me as a messenger. The Lance of Longinus has gone missing, and the Medallion of St. Maurice melted its container in a vault."

    A pause. "Maybe directing you at the problem will bring backlash, but the universe might be ending, so I'll take what I can get and bollocks to the backlash."

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer is collecting his coat, but he stops, and gives Jon a steady look as he goes through the summary of all the issues. Lucifer gives a little huff of breath through his nose. "I just explained I wanted to enjoy my vacation," Lucifer says, in a very put-upon voice. Stupid angel family members.

"Which is not to say that I agree with a berserk angel doing murder on innocents," Lucifer clarifies, lifting one finger. "But /fine/. So, you said water.... Mmm." Lucifer draws out a flask from his interior pocket, drinks /all of it/, and offers it over. "Fill with water, if you would?" he requests. The attitude is more of someone that is ready to leave work, but will help the last customer out of obligation.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smirks, and stands. "If you'd rather enjoy your vacation, feel free. We can handle things. Call Rosie if you'd like to make another appointment." As if he hadn't just had proof of what Lucifer /is/. Not that he isn't scared. He is, but also, it's /precisely/ what he expected at the outset, and that's oddly comforting. "I thought I'd let you know, at least--and then you can decide whether to get involved or not at your leisure."

    He takes the flask, and concentrates for a moment. Whispers a word, pre-dynastic Egyptian. An old, old word for water. There's a pouring sound and then he hands the flask back over. "There you are, then. Water from the Astral Plane, for however long it lasts. The water I conjure tends to be good at healing and mending things, if you've need of that."

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer looks suddenly, positively charmed by the water creation, as if it was a fun magic trick done for his amusement. He switches quickly into a sort of pleasant, upbeat mode -- a lot like someone just determined to have a great vacation and see the sights no matter how terrible the other tourists are.

"Well, then /this/ might be terrifying," Lucifer observes, and curves his other hnad over the top of the flask. A warped, thick magic curls into the flask, corruptive, pollution -- a pus of liquid revulsion. Lucifer screws the cap on, and tosses it towards Jon.

"This is for /you/ and your angel-busting escapades. That'll be about like acid, so. Maybe also don't drink it. I think the Astral plane part might be particularly corrosive now, might resist healing efforts due to your water. A fun experiment." Right. 'Fun.'

"I /am/ good at exorcism, but please don't bug me. Vacation respect, and all that."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks as the water's handed back, and then laughs softly. "Thank you," he says, and genuinely seems to mean it. He peers at it for a moment, as if curious--magic's fascinating to him, so now he /does/ wonder if a touch of the water might resist healing. A thing to check on.

    He tucks the flask away in his pocket for safekeeping. "We've got a couple of experts working on things. As I said--we're handling it. This actually /is/ my job, evidently. And I do mean what I said--give us a call if you need another appointment. If you're enough of a person to come to my office in the first place, you're enough of a person to deserve help." This /after/ he saw the crown, and everything. Either he's crazy, or he sees the world /very/ differently than most people. Or are those the same thing?

    "I hope you can relax. If nothing else--the Justice League Dark will handle the angelic incursion, so feel free to find a beach and sip at a mai tai. Metaphorically or otherwise."

Lucifer has posed:
"The price of /that/ is worth ... mmm. Probably a number of sessions. But we'll pay it forward in terms of my contribution to battling obnoxious angels," Lucifer teases. He's aware he SHOULD contribute, perhaps, and he did -- in his way. He may not want to have to bother, so this is really the least he can do. ...Probably literally the least....

"I already paid Rosie, actually." He did, in fact. Cash. Easier that way, in case he did something like storm out of the session. It's happened.

"Good luck, really. You DO carry my blessing." A smirk. "Make the most of it. Banish some twits."

Lucifer's tentatively optimistic about the new friendship, though he'll remain a skeptic for a time. Some people melt down and sob in their showers AFTER he's left and the influence of 'everything is awesome' leaves. But he can be optimistic, and wave as he heads out.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon might melt down and sob in his shower after Lucifer leaves, but he's been doing that a lot recently anyhow. It's not a thing that will taint a desire for some kind of relationship--far from it. Meggan scares him, too, when he thinks about what she is for a minute or two, but he can't help but think the girl's great. And anyway, the blessing of the Morningstar might just help his current endeavors.

    It kind of puts the whole 'Seven Deadly Sins' themed college band in a new light, though. Oof.

    In truth, though, there's something far more terrifying waiting for him in Hell's Kitchen. There's an angel to interrogate, and he's not sure how that's going to go. So he checks the flask in his pocket before he goes to turn out the lights and lock up. Maybe it will help. One can only hope.