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]

"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.

[wayward_sun]

"What? No. No, you didn't. If was just some nonsense about narcissism and self-mutilation as a way to come back at family
Absurd really."

The brightness of his smile intensifies.

[i_am_your_host]

That smile is just so intense, that Emcee can't even look at Lucifer directly without feeling a bit woozy. It's like staring into something as bright and beautiful as the sun, knowing that it'll blind you.

Emcee winces at the notion of actually having said those things to Lucifer's face and rubs his aching temples.

"Oh...yes. Completely absurd," Emcee agrees, somewhat flat and dry, though he doubts Lucifer would notice.

[wayward_sun]

"Never mind. You weren't yourself," Lucifer says, patting his hand consolingly.

"Do you want a rum toddy? They're excellent when it comes to colds."

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee pauses, blinking blearily. There's a mug that's been mostly drained of its contents, but he doesn't remember drinking it. He picks it up and sniffs it, smelling rum.

"Yes, please, I'll have another," he says more eagerly than Dylan had responded.

[wayward_sun]

"That's the spirit," Lucifer replies happily and orders refills for the both of them.

His preferred ratio is pretty heavy on the rum. To no one's surprise.

[i_am_your_host]

"Mmm, thank you," he murmurs as he takes a sip, inhaling the rich fragrance and savoring the warmth of it. It goes straight to his chest and head.

"Oof. Darling, would you be a gentleman and help me to the couch? This is going to make me sleepy and I don't want to doze off at the bar."

[wayward_sun]

"Of course," Lucifer says, sliding off his stool and offering Emcee a hand.

He gentlemans very well. Everybody knows that.

[i_am_your_host]

He does gentleman well. When he wants do. And Emcee appreciates it.

Grasping his hand, he carefully slips off the stool--checks to see that the room isn't spinning--then takes his rum toddy and hooks his other hand in the crook of Lucifer's elbow. They proceed to one of the couches where Emcee sets his mug down on the coffee table before shedding his jacket and pulling the sweater vest over his head in an almost petulant way.

"I don't know how some people wear so many layers."

[wayward_sun]

"Because unwrapping is fun?" Lucifer suggests and flops down opposite him.

[i_am_your_host]

It's a sexy flop. Emcee wishes he didn't have a cold right now.

"I don't think 'fun' was very high on this particular personality's agenda," he remarks, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. Settling down next to Lucifer with his rum toddy, he puts his feet up on the coffee table.

"...The shoes are nice, though." Italian leather brogues. "I should get to keep them."

[wayward_sun]

"They are,"Lucifer agrees, leaning forward to study them closer.

"Hand-sewn I'd wager. And you're right. He didn't seem like much fun."

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee slumps down into the cushions, cradling his mug and sipping from it. "He was a university professor, and I think...an ex-CIA agent." Frowning, he looks up at Lucifer. "What does CIA mean?"

[wayward_sun]

"Ooh, C.I.A. Central Intelligence Agency. He was a spy," Lucifer says, delightedly. Which is a bit -
Someone likes his pop culture.

[i_am_your_host]

"A spy? I can't remember anything about him being a spy. But it's probably best that I don't. It's disturbing to have someone else's memories, to say the least, especially his memories when he was so fascinated by homicides."

Emcee huffs a breath and takes a deep drink of his rum toddy.

[wayward_sun]

"Really? He seemed rather pedestrian. Despite the nice shoes."

Homicide.
Hmm.

[i_am_your_host]

"Yes, I can't quite place it now but there was this kind of...eagerness to see dead bodies and find out how they had been...murdered."

Emcee shudders and takes another sip of his drink. "I can understand why he wouldn't want to lead with that in conversation."

[wayward_sun]

"He certainly didn't hold back with other things," Lucifer says with a sniff.

[i_am_your_host]

The corners of Emcee's lips twitch and he pats Lucifer's thigh.

"I'm sorry about that, darling. You know that I would never pry unless you wanted to talk about something."