(no subject)

[giftedthom.livejournal.com]

*Thom hurries into the bar and sits down at a table, clutching a hand mirror.*

Comments

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

Could.

*Lucifer isn't moving.*

But I'm sort of comfortable here.

[guiltyassin.livejournal.com]

Bastard.

*Never let it be said that Schuldig allows minor obstacles to impede him. He takes this as a sort of backhand, inverse invitation because it suits him to do so, and slides off the table to climb into Lucifer's lap in a pliant straddle of warm limbs. When he speaks again, his tone is highly sardonic.*

Comfortable enough?

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

*Coldly -*

I preferred it before I became furniture, thank you.

[guiltyassin.livejournal.com]

*Schuldig sighs, irritably, and his eyes turn as cold as Lucifer's voice as he shoves himself off, standing with only a hint of unsteadiness. He's thinking something along the lines of: fuck this.

This is too much like Crawford, anyway.*

Yeah, whatever.

*He snags the dagger from where it dropped, tests it carelessly against his finger.*

Did you want something earlier, or were you just bored?

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

*A shrug.*

Thom's always good for entertainment. Though not so much when he's half-dead of overuse.

[guiltyassin.livejournal.com]

Mm.

*Non-committal murmur. Schuldig feels tired, all of a sudden, and dull with something like undirected resentment or bitterness.*