divinetree | Mom says it's my turn with the Alastor

"Oh, don't you worry, the taste for blood in every swing of the blade is something I'm reserving just for you, my dear. Important enrichment."

Alastor's practicing, himself, attempting flourishes he's seen from the King himself and practicing his own nimble dodging - he'd much rather not be caught off guard again, the way he had been with Adam.

But he did wave off the minion - go on now, get in position!

"A little bit of blood splatter simply adds to the unease and the mood for the evening. Not that I'll let you have it so easily!"

He laughed his delight and his wings retracted. 1v1!

"Put your literal sweat and blood into this place, eh? You're nothing if not dedicated to your craft, you madman! But that's what has me so hooked on you!"

He definitely noticed the maneuvers. Alastor was adapting, and he felt that flutter of pride. He'd love to see him putting an opponent on the ropes sometime, get a view from the outside.

Lucifer moved in with a flurry of thrusts. Let's see him get wiggly!

Oh, what fun! Lucifer is already quite aware just how nimble Alastor could be, but the Radio Demon is nothing if not a complete showoff and a ham. Dodge this way, that-a-way, duck under a swing and retaliate in kind with a side-swipe. Lucifer may have had centuries of practice ahead of Alastor, but he wasn't going to let this old charmer rest on wilted laurels.

As they shimmied and dueled, Al went ahead and took moments to add little extra touches to the maze, a few more fun traps, and...!

"HAH!" Alastor finally missed a step, getting the sharp end of the blade stabbed into him and splattering oh so perfectly on the floor. "Well! I suppose you had to catch me eventually," he chuckled, completely nonplussed. It was painful, sure, but this paled compared to so many other pains. And knowing that this was just a regular blade, and that his wound would seal up in minutes, he really didn't see a need to fuss. "Very well! What do you want for your prize, Sha?"

There was a surge of satisfaction in getting a hit, and it squashed that flutter of concern that he'd drawn blood, that urge to apologize. He hadn't used anything blessed, and he knew Alastor would sooner chide him for being soft than anything else.

Besides, the fella always seemed to enjoy it. Again, madman.

Still Lucifer dismissed his weapon. "I get a prize now?? Ooh~ Must've been a good hit. The finest swordplay you've ever seen...!"

"At least until I've learned all your little tricks and outplay you myself. Don't think your head start will keep you in the lead forever," Alastor teased, clapping away the blade he'd had. Squeezing some of the blood out of the fabric, he let it make a proper mess, as well as leaving a few ominous bloody hand streaks along the wall as if he were struggling to stand. Perfect.

"But, yes, it's the finest yet. I'll allow you to fluff your feathers over it, as it's deserved."

"Hoohoo, don't mind if I do~" He made a show of opening his wings and rousing, letting the feathers fluff before he shook them. Red and white plumage spread, then settled into place.

With the movement, however, small feathers fell and not just one or two. It was a few. It was enough that after a brief flash of shock across his eyes, he closed and dismissed them, and cleared his throat.

"RIGHT! So!" He clapped. "Nice blood prints, haha- let's... let's take a break, get something to drink!"

"Distracted already? My, you're incorrigible," Alastor teased, plucking up a feather off the ground before melting into shadows. He'll meet you at the bar, of course.

Thankfully, he did the spooky shadow thing. This granted Lucifer a moment to curl his claws into half-balled fists before him and snarl: "Was that REALLY the time to start a seasonal molt? A late one, at that!? In my moment of triumph!!"

He had a fit of frustrated temper by ruffling his own hair, his hat hitting the floor. After his little five-second fit, he huffed, fixed his hair, slapped his crown back on...

...Okay, one more breath...

He snapped his fingers and cooked up a portal. Cool. Calm. Collected. In his lane.

A casual step on through to go meet him at the bar, that's the ticket.

Alastor was already seated... well, not at the bar, but on it. He kicked his legs in amusement as he sipped at some of his favorite rye, having a bit of enjoyment by twirling the feather he'd plucked from the ground in his fingers.

Red on one side, white on the other. All it was missing was some blue, and twirling it would've looked a bit like a barber shop lamp. These bi-colored feathers were becoming his favorite fidget.

"The shadowy buck ruffled those feathers, hmm? Or was it the pleasure of causing me pain, Cher?"

"Huh? Wha? OH. Yeah that- that buck and his rider didn't really like me calling them cute, huh? It's a good thing feathers grow back, or I'd have to send you a s-strongly worded letter...!"

HAHA. Ha. Heehee. Hoho. He marched behind the bar to go fix himself a little bourbon, god damn it-

Hah! The King of Lies has a terrible poker face. And he's so terribly proud of those wings.

Alastor just smirked and kicked his legs in amusement, setting his drink down as he watched. Once Lucifer poured himself his bourbon, the Sinner leaned closer and ran his finger under Lucifer's chin.

"Are you plucking again? Don't torture yourself, Lucifer... that's my job~" he purred in a flirtatious tone, the radio crackle popping warmly.

He needed to take this edge off. Fortunately, this tasty little bottle's contents would do just the trick- he found he enjoyed this maker's stuff.

He rose and... momentarily forgot what it was he was concerned about with a touch beneath his chin, enough that he was slightly leaning into it by the end. Torture... torture him, please, give him sweet agony-

Lucifer sucked in a breath and stood upright, cleared his throat and raised his glass to drink. But it never touched his lips. His eyes averted.

"Er, no- no, it's... not that, I assure you. Just some..." A vague whirl of a wrist. "...Obnoxious seasonal thing I lost track of."

Now he'll drink. Let it burn.

Hmm...? Ah, hah! Recognition clicks soon enough, and Alastor laughs jovially, leaning back and looking at Lucifer upside-down.

"Molting season, then! Why, Husker has just wrapped up grousing about his wings, as well. Do I get to see your naked little chicken wings~?"

He grumbled at the words 'molting'. He was glad he didn't need to elaborate, but he hated that some things were applied to all the birds of the human world. Was it a joke to make birds itch, to suffer, humiliate them because angels had to endure such things themselves? Was it supposed to be humbling somehow?

The look he gave Alastor's upside-down face at the mention of 'naked little chicken wings'-

"My amazing, wonderful beauties are not naked little chicken wings!!"

"Not yet~"

Alastor snickered, rolling over and sliding into a seat at the bar - though he trailed his fingers down Lucifer's arm and to those slender knuckles teasingly. It was always funny to get that face all cranky and wrinkly.

"Mm, such indignities one must suffer for fresh feathers, alas. Shall we ruffle them all out? Perhaps in a soothing bath? Or a bit more play-fighting to really tussle them out? Why, I can make a whole new stuffed doll with them, since you have six molting wings!"

He sighed quietly, dusted off. "Ah, I usually just go for a couple of long soaking baths. Tussles might encourage broken blood feathers."

But he rolled his shoulders. "Eugh, and then I get shoulder aches and associated headaches and it's not a good time at all! So the path of least resistance makes me a happy guy surviving the stupid... thing. But at least my wings are a hundred times more handsome when they're done!"

"You need to eat more for it~" Alastor chuckled, leaning back over the counter and walking his fingers closer. You know you wanna hold that hand. "When I was helpin' miss Marnie with her chickens, late fall we always made sure they had plenty of protein for making new feathers. Maybe a bit of salve to soothe the skin, an extra pair of hands to ease the tension in your shoulders~"

Pampering didn't come naturally to Alastor, but with their intimate moments and his attempts to practice preening, he's gotten much more open to it. (And the other residents have consequently become targets for his mischief more often.)

"It'll be bringing in your winter coat, hoh hoh."

"You must have missed lunch, because that's two comparisons to poultry in my direction in fifteen minutes, Bambi. Get 'em out of your system."

He turned to his bourbon for a little soothing, and idly watched him walk his fingers along. The salve and an extra pair of hands did sound nice, though... and despite feeling a little bitchy at the moment- he was already itching a bit- yeah... yesfineokay he wanted to hold that hand.

"...Oh. Really? I get snack-y during a molt and I figured it was stress-eating."

"I thought you liked birds. Or maybe I'm just quackers," Alastor teased, taking his grumpy king's hand and running his thumb along those knuckles. "You're growing six wings' worth of feathers! Now, I'll just make sure to feed you right. Extra rich shrimp and grits... mmm, maybe a pot pie, it's been a minute since I delved into dough making. Pulled smoked meat with beans and rice. Blackened gar. Fried greens."

A playful little drumming of his fingers on the inside of Lucifer's wrist.

"Double to fatten you up for the winter hibernation."

Wordplay. A corner of his mouth twitched, but he smoothed it out. He never really shared anything like this with anybody, opting to stick it out himself until the process was over and have some sort of appointment to have his wings professionally groomed and prettied up.

This one just... caught him by surprise by being very late and all. The weather was weird this year. Thanks, climate change.

Those dishes all sounded really good. His touch was comforting. Lucifer's expression softened despite not looking at him, but it paused, brow quirked at the end there.

"Puh, I wish I could hibernate all winter, skip the big meeting. Anyway, if I eat all that I'm going to need to be carried everywhere until I wake from the calorie coma."

"A peking duck fattened up and set to snooze on his comfortable throne! Sounds like a winter fit for the morning star indeed," Alastor hummed in amusement.

"Not to worry, my dear. After we have a good laugh at the maze antics, I'll make sure you're properly basted in a bath."

"Thinking only with your stomach, are you? What if I wanted a little venison? Some carnitas? A steak that melts in the mouth, comfort food, huh?"

"As you wish," Alastor hummed, brushing his knuckle against Lucifer's cheek. "It'll be your days to be spoiled."

The color rose in his face and he scowled. "Of course I walked into that..."

But with a minute shake of his head, he added: "Look- I don't really talk openly about the molt. It sucks, it's the worst and I can't fly..."

"Well, of course not, you'll be missing feathers. I imagine that makes it quite challenging. But I'm no stranger to having to lock oneself in for a week or more for the sake of appearances," he agreed with a hum, going back to simply holding Lucifer's hand and sipping at his own drink again.

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