IMDb flu straggler

[i_am_your_host]

The last thing Dr. Dylan Reinhart remembers, at least vaguely so, is going to his room to sleep off an oncoming cold.

When he wakes up, he feels worse. Ugh.

Groggy and miserable, he changes out of his pajamas and into the tailored suit that's been laid out. Shirt, tie, sweater vest. None of the patterns or colors match, but oddly enough he makes it work in an elegantly offbeat way. Italian leather oxfords round out the ensemble.

He comes downstairs into the main bar, adjusting his pocket handkerchief (he has a feeling he'll be needing it as the sniffles, sneezing, and coughing persist). After ordering some tea and chicken soup, he tucks a cloth napkin into the collar of his vest, and settles down to eat.

As demure as he is, as engrossed in his meal as he is, and even as ill as he is, he still keeps his wits about him, observing who is in the room and where, the exits and windows (including the really Big Window). He can't exactly recall why he's like this. His memory is rather muddled at the moment. Which is annoying. And it's making him feel more ill than necessary.

[OOC: Have Emcee thinking he's Dylan Reinhart from Instinct.]

Comments

[i_am_your_host]

After a second or two, he draws back, shaking his head a little. "I apologize if I'm being too inquisitive. I teach psychology, you see, with a focus on abnormal and psychopathic behavior, so it's not often that I'm face to face with the Devil and get to ask him questions."

[wayward_sun]

Lucifer looks at him.

He is quite a fascinating subject, he'll give Emcee with the sudden alternate personality that.

"It's okay. I get that occasionally. Mostly here though."

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee/Dylan tips his head in a curious bird kind of way.

"Why do you think so? Don't people in your world find you interesting on a level that isn't carnal?"

[wayward_sun]

"Yes. Of course they do."

Right?

He's got - depth.
Depths.

"They just don't- believe I'm the Devil. Even when I tell them."

A pause.

"I have to show them. And I'd rather not."

[i_am_your_host]

"And you'd rather not because...?" he asks, prompting him to go on, genuinely fascinated.

[wayward_sun]

"Because seeing my face tends to drive people mad."

Literally.

[i_am_your_host]

The crease between his brows deepens. The Devil doesn't want to cause harm to others?

"Huh!" he muses for a moment.

"So... This-- Emcee fellow you speak of. You've never shown him your true face?"

[wayward_sun]

He shakes his head.

"No. Just this one."

[i_am_your_host]

"You don't think he could handle it?"

[wayward_sun]

"No."
He shakes his head.

"You can't. Humans."

[i_am_your_host]

"Try me."

It's what Dylan would say. Is it an actual dare? Is it a bluff? Risk-taker, thrill-seeker that he is, never one to pass up a challenge that might even threaten his life. That side of him still exists--he's seen and done a lot in the CIA, and that sort of thing never really goes away.

[wayward_sun]

Lucifer looks at him.

"You'd go insane," he says, flatly.
"So no. But I can -"

He leans in -

"- show you this."


It starts as a faint, red glow round the ring of his iris and in the corner of his eyes.

[i_am_your_host]

He's about to egg Lucifer on when the dare gets stuck in his throat. Lucifer's eyes glow like embers, unholy and un-human, and he gasps, abruptly pulling back. His head starts to swim and suddenly nauseated he grasps the edge of the bar to keep from sliding off the stool.

"Scheiße..."

[wayward_sun]

"It's mental hiccups," Lucifer says, delightedly, as the red glow dies.

"You just needed a 'boo."

[i_am_your_host]

"Mental...what...?" Emcee whimpers before a coughing fit hits him. He is aware of Lucifer, but now it's like wading through a messy soup of memories that aren't his own. Gulping down a mouthful of tea, he clutches at the Windsor knot at his throat.

"Oh, no, it's happened again."

[wayward_sun]

"It's a recurring thing? Have you thought about seeing someone about it?"

The fact that it's a Bar-wide affliction had completely bypassed Lucifer.

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee sniffles into a hankie and orders a fresh cup of tea.

"No, it's-- it's some kind of flu that makes its way around Milliways every year," he explains miserably. "It causes people to believe they are someone else entirely. I don't always remember what happens, but I always seem to think I am someone who wears far too many clothes." He tugs at the expensive silk necktie and pulls it loose.

[wayward_sun]

"It's a nice tie though," Lucifer remarks.

[i_am_your_host]

"Yes, but I feel like it's choking me," he sighs.

"Anyway, thank you, darling, that was quite an unexpected shock to the senses but apparently one that I needed."

[wayward_sun]

"Good thing I didn't do as you asked," Lucifer says, brightly.

Very brightly.

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee blinks at him, frowning a little. His senses are too muddled at the moment to remember what happened a few minutes ago.

"What did I ask you to do?"

[wayward_sun]

"To show you my face," Lucifer tells him.

[i_am_your_host]

"But that would--"

Emcee trails off. Because what the fuck kind of psycho would ask Lucifer to show them his real face??

"Well, I'm-- I'm glad you didn't either. Did I say anything else that was...uncharacteristic of me?"

[wayward_sun]

"Well, you didn't remember me. At all."

And he is not going to pretend that it didn't hurt, Emcee.

"And you tried to psychoanalyse me."

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee does hear how stung Lucifer sounds, and it surprises him a little that Lucifer could care about that sort of thing. Then again, he does have a huge ego.

"Well I'm sorry, darling, I think forgetting your acquaintances is part of this strange illness. And I hope I didn't make you too uncomfortable."

Ugh, he hopes he didn't ask him about his daddy issues. Emcee is not the type to purposefully dig into people's psyches unless they do want to talk about their...feelings. He would rather ignore the baggage instead of dragging it all out.