Lucius was being petulant. A child. The irritating young brother that he had spent much of his life acting as. He was angry at himself, for a multitude of reasons, and lashing out at—
Dori. Who was the last person Lucius really should’ve lashed out at, because she lashed back just as quickly. Suddenly, there were her fingers digging into his skin, her deep black eyes shimmering in rage. Lucius felt himself jerk once, stiffly, like a muzzled horse, but then…sedated.
Because this was familiar. Pain. Authority. Obedience. At a certain point, Lucius became comfortable in discomfort and now he caved in. Felt sharp again. Felt purposeful again. Felt a little less lost.
At the end of the day, Lucius was just a dog that needed a good tug on the leash to get his tail-tucked loyalty. Because she was right. He wasn’t the same starry-eyed sin-riddled burned-and-bruised pilot Cherubim had saved once. He was changed. And he needed to accept that. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes adverting from hers now. “What would y’have me do, then?”
She felt the change in his demeanor and the inkiness gave way to the deep blue of her human guise. Her grip loosened, became something almost gentle, thumb brushing along his jaw. He was hers, no matter what he said or how much he fought it. He belonged to her and they both knew it.
A soft smile tugged her lips, anger seeming to have melted away into nothing. She stepped just a little closer, fingers never leaving the edge of his face. She knew he would eventually push her away or move back, but for that moment, she was going to let her touch linger.
"My sweet," she purred, enjoying the fleeting moment of submissiveness from him. Dorian didn’t think Lucius would ever be fully broken and it delighted her in a sense. "To start with, I am getting you out of here before you get the both of us killed."
Dailey shook her head, a light shrug on her shoulders. Feeling things again was doing funny things to her, making her mood switch in ways she didn’t remember happening. Maybe it was time catching up with her. She hoped not. Her eyes sparked with interest at the offer, though, focus sharpening. “What will that cost me?” It was likely getting clearer - Dailey wouldn’t accept anything without at least asking what would be owed in return. It had been her existence for a long time, to trick people into taking something for what seemed like nothing and then ripping the rug out from under them as rudely as possible.
An exasperated sigh fell from his lips as he set about bandaging the small wounds. He never cared much for money or what the other person had to offer, especially with the way he ran this place. “If you’re so concerned about such things, how good at cleaning are you? Could always use help keeping the place up to code,” he finally answered, going for a clean towel and fresh water to start on the deeper, more severe injuries.
"You say that as if I never leave this place," she mumbled, knowing it wasn’t too far from the truth. Occasionally popping in to New Orleans or going to bug the reaper didn’t really count, even she had to admit that. "When have you ever known me to be fun?"
"Normal social call or social call in the way Tricks pulls her bs?" She lofted a brow at the flowers, confusion clear in her eyes as she took them. "Thank you?"
The voice was familiar and the demon groaned, head dropping as she shoved back the sleeves of her coat. “This better be a social call,” she grumbled under her breath before opening the door and leaning against the frame. “What do you want, fuzzbutt?”
In life, Lucius was, what they called, uneducated. Simple as that. Schooling hadn’t been readily available in Aerilon—at least, not as available as recruitment centers. But he learned a thing or two in the army. Like, for instance, debts were always settled. One way or another. You won a battle? Great. Now hunker down and prepare for the strike back. Because there was always a reaction for every action. And Lucius knew that his action—killing a godsdamned angel—had not finished punishing him. He’d feel it again. No doubt, by the hands of Cordae. One day.
"I don’t forget it," he said, shortly. There’s no venous in his voice, but no joy, either. The angel was all the humanity he had left and now—well. Sometimes, he wishes Dori hadn’t been there to save his ass. “If Cordae wants to settle this, he knows how t’find me.”
Had she known then that he planned on just tossing in the towel, she wouldn’t have bothered. She wouldn’t have wasted so many years on the man before her. The more he spoke, the more Dorian just wanted to smack him or drag him back to hell and toss him back on the rack. Demons were not meant to feel guilt and the last thing she needed to deal with was one in the midst of a moral conflict.
Reaching out, she gripped his jaw roughly and pulled him closer, eyes shifting black. “You better knock this lemming shit off, boy. I have spent far too much of my time on you to let you get yourself killed now,” she growled, nails digging into the flesh along his jawline. “Do not make me regret everything I have fucking done for you.”
"Jackass, you’re my little brother and I will never quit caring about you."
His lips curved up into a smirk when her gaze turned to something that wasn’t him. But it returned to a flat expression when her eyes lifted. Charlie was such a little shit about Cordae.
"Sorry, I-I need to get some air. I’ll have one of the other bartenders come in," she mumbled, moving towards the door as her resolve began to crumble. Strangers shouldn’t have to deal with her dissolving.