Angels and Demons Art Event (In conjunction with THE MAFIA event)

Moving away from the small, round table he left behind his always charismatic, if not perpetually smug, lunch date with a foul taste in his mouth. Pushing through the diner doors, our unlikely hero walked along the sidewalk with a purposeful gait.

"Troubles, my Lord?"

His guard, Violet, appeared at his elbow with nary a sound. Her grease penciled eyes and blond curls was another stark contrast to how the humans viewed them. She was not only a demon, but a pale demon. Powerful in every sense of the word in both her physical appearance, ability, and with a grin he thought, her sexual prowess. She also had an uncanny ability to calm him down with just her mere presence.

Stopping he turned his eyes toward her, but his body stayed rigid. "He's at it again."

"He is?" Violet blinked her baby blue eyes slowly. "His games usually do not prove a problem."

"I suppose not. This time is worse."

Violet looked down in thought and then back up into his eyes. "Is today the day of Judgment, then?"

"Maybe," finally Lucifer turned toward Violet, basking in her soft glow as a slow smile stretched across his lips, "maybe not." Hooking an arm out, Violet returned his smile and together they continued down the sidewalk.

“How long do we have?”

“Two hours, give or take.”

“And the destination?”

Lucifer nodded across the street behind him at the large US Bank.

“How appropriate.”

He watched with warm brown eyes as His old foe left the diner. The wake of his anger ebbed out, touching the remainder patrons in the Diner who hadn’t run out during the earthquake – the bond of their agreement’s side affect. It left a cold shiver in the air. Crossing a trousered leg, He waited patiently for His next lunch date.

Angela, as always, was prompt.

A long, manicured finger ran electricity along the length of His shoulders, causing His smile to deepen. Reaching up, He took her hands in His and kissed her fingers gently.

“Is it done, My Lord?”

Her voice tinkled like bells, soft and sweet. Her long black hair was gathered in curls, swept up into a ponytail and her widows peak touched her forehead like a crown. Standing, He took her into His arms and kissed her deeply before answering.

“Not yet. Luc put up a fight.”

“He hates it when you call him that.”

“I know,” He practically purred. “Time is wasting – we must prepare.”

“I heard. Across the street, in the capitalist symbol of these…humans,” she said it as if it disgusted her. “They’ve had their time and wasted it. Why waste ours?”

“I shook on it.”

Angela huffed as He wrapped an arm around her curvy waist. “You’re too good to them, ” she grumbled.

“I try.”