Who: Lucifer, others When:December January shhhh Where: Thorne, the Horizon What: Closed for the moment; will open more later Warnings: Wrathful teenagers, discussions of violence... Not in the same thread.
There's a cluster of ravens higher up in the branches above where Lucifer's stretched out lazily across the bough of an unusual tree. He's mostly out of sight unless one were to specifically look up, but staying the course is hard enough without getting distracted.
Wanda's domain is a commonplace for him. Here if he wants to mimic a fresh-air, "open" space. Istredd's domain if he just wants to be an extroverting introvert, sharing someone's space without necessarily associating with them in that moment. He could easily use his own domain, but this is just... right. An unspoken reminder for both him and Wanda.
A raven-guide lands near him, calling out back the way it came from. Someone's traversing the path through her domain; likely someone new, or simply not yet familiar with the strange maze. The rest of the ravens make some commotion at the guest but Lucifer keeps his idle almost sleep-like state until the guiding bird moves again, and only then does Lucifer squint an eye down to the forest floor. And then he blinks, stunned.
Sam Winchester.
"Well," he says airily, "aren't you Free City's best-kept secret." Because while he knows he and Michael have a constant rocky relationship, he doesn't think Michael would have kept knowledge of Sam from Lucifer. Petty revenge is Lucifer's style, not Michael's. Which only leaves Free Cities.
It's perhaps fitting that Sam's appearance in Wanda's space is some combination of curiosity mixed with the same sort of open air desire as Lucifer. Since arriving Sam has had trouble fully finding his bearings — Dean being a year on and from the past, Jo dead-but-not, Cas and his son (from what Sam's been told) — all seems inexplicable but genuine, and yet...
And yet the disquiet within him is the same as ever.
Sam reeks of distance. He wears his arcana well, keeping to himself in the same ways as always: share a concern, share a smile, say and do what's needed and then retreat. A book, an odd job, a walk — whatever it takes.
He's enjoying the spiraling solitude when he invades the territory of those vocal crows and soon finds himself under the devil's purview. His skin crawls the moment the realization hits him. For a moment he's not sure the voice isn't in his head, but the soft crush of greenery heralds the presence above of something from below.
Stilled, hands already balled into fists without even realizing, he lifts his gaze and can feel how he's breathing carefully out of his mouth in anticipation of a fight.
"That tells me a lot about your influence," he counters as he takes several steps more in order to get a better view. He shrugs, plays it off. Tries to, at least. "Personally, I've been avoiding you," Sam says.
He straightens out of his slouch and throws his legs over the branch to dangle back and forth, but he doesn't leave his perch. He has no fear fighting Sam, certainly not in the Horizon, but he does fear Wanda's retribution if she has to deal with another of Lucifer's problems in her own domain. The ravens with him have yet to scatter. He wonders if he can beg them without saying anything to not rat him out.
He offers an easy sigh. "Everyone thinks Free Cities versus Thorne is the bigger problem. I don't care about that place. Solvunn is what matters." He tilts his head, observes Sam. Wonders how much Dean and Geralt have told the man. Wonders how the hell long Sam has even been here. Long enough to have more than likely been on the boat.
More than ever he's actually happy it was Michael to find him when the pain from the Singularity attack had slammed through him.
For Sam's part, he has no fear of fighting Lucifer. Wanda's domain aside, there's a tentativeness he doesn't doubt appears in all Summoned that prevents the worst of the petty grudges from being actively played out. That had been why the boat altercation had only remained that and not transformed into an incident as far as Sam's concerned.
"The truth hurts," he offers, mildly. "I don't see a point in lying about it."
Nevermind that he was anticipating this moment. The creeping skin, the sparking brain, the urge to pick up a stone and act out a little aggression for the sake of— well, his whole damn life, not to mention the rest.
Sam gestures. "I'm going this way." A fact that he demonstrates immediately; however, it's not not an invitation. Lucifer, after all, is an inevitability at this point as far as Sam's concerned. He can't possibly bypass this opportunity.
He reaches out to the conspiracy around him, specifically towards the raven that had been Sam's guide and makes a little clicking sound, cajoling it towards him. He grins when the bird moves and he tilts his gaze back towards Sam, brows raised. "You're not going to get very far through these woods without a guide."
He kicks his legs back and forth.
"How's Big Brother doing, Sam? Any accidental murder yet?"
Sam stops. He considers this, watching as Lucifer controls the crows that were pervasive but had seemed otherwise incapable of taking sides before now. The breath that escapes him might be a tad longer than necessary — not a sigh, but a hair closer than before.Turning to look around, he wonders how far he'll get despite Lucifer's assurances, but decides instead to take the obvious bait.
He thinks about Dean, the Mark of Cain and the First Blade and frowns. He'd come this way seeking a little clarity and wonders now if this wasn't some kind of inelegant trap he's walked himself right into. Then again, he can leave at any time, can't he?
"None that I know of, no," he finally answers. The tension is ticking up and Sam's jaw tightens, the muscle twitching. He watches Lucifer's legs swinging and he can't help but imagine a pathetic pigtail pulling playground bully.
"What, did you want me to thank you?" He leaves that sit, a timestamp for Lucifer to confirm Sam was, in fact, on the Arcanis as he'd suspected. It had gotten back to him quickly what Lucifer had done and it only solidifies Sam's thoughts regarding Lucifer's bleeding gums: Abraxas pulled his teeth just like everyone else.
He doesn't imagine he can keep the ravens put for too long, free-spirited and flighty as they are, but he's been in these woods enough with them that they will definitely side with Lucifer for the time being.
"Oh, that you 'know of', very reassuring. You're letting him walk around without a shadow? Ah, no, I suppose that would be Castiel's gig, trailing at his heels." He thinks of dinner with his brother one of the nights on the boat and makes a face.
"A thank you would be nice, actually." He puts a hand to the side of his face and sniffs. "Just a little bit of acknowledgement from time to time." Says the guy like he doesn't get heaping amounts of indulgence to keep him leveled on a good day. "But no," he says, sounding serious for the first time, "as much as it disgusts me I'd prefer your brother not be a walking murderbot. Even if he is a faction away."
He's not so petulant as to walk away, but he considers it again if only because of how Lucifer plants himself familiarly in the back of Sam's mind. Worse yet is to be on the same page — a fact that Sam is bemoaning amidst what amounts to a stomach grumble.
(How can he be hungry at a time like this? Did he imagine himself that way or is it just the churn of upset expressing itself as something recognizable in this landscape? Couldn't he leave? Why doesn't he just leave?)
"Glad we're on the same page. Did you follow me here just for that?" he asks, assuming. It's easy to assume when Lucifer's involved because even if he's wrong, Sam doesn't feel bad about it.
"Follow you here?" Lucifer blinks. Tilts his head. Laughs. "Uh, no, Sam, contrary to whatever goes on in your head," which the 'not a lot' is implied, "I do like to get out. I like this place."
And he does not know what a Winchester is doing with Wanda, but there's a cool protectiveness--so impossibly rare--that smooths over Lucifer, his body motionless as he watches Sam with a deadly gaze.
He can't help but think about his short conversation with Jack Townsend, how he'd sort of alluded to being friends-but-not with Lucifer. And would he be surprised? No. The angel has a way of insinuating himself into lives, existing in such a way that you think you might want him around, or maybe he just looks too lonely to leave be.
Is that the reason Sam's still here? He convinces himself it's little more than morbid fascination, if anything at all.
He is Absolutely Not Friends-But-Not with Jack Freaking Townsend.
Mentorship through necessity is the closest thing they are!
"She does. And before you go off with your Winchester Hero Complex, she also knows who and what I am." He's not going to reveal how similar he and Wanda are; that's not fair at all to Wanda. Doesn't know if Sam even knows Wanda is a witch. "And really, you'll just annoy her if you think you can make decisions for her."
"I'm glad she's the master of her domain," he says, rueful in the way a person can be only if they've had issues with mastering their own domain, so to speak. And the fact that the issue particularly relevant to that happens to be dangling like a limp dick over his head at present doesn't help.
Sam sees the words between the words, he knows the way Lucifer works. It's misdirection and deceit around every corner (unless the truth is more cutting). "Have you told her what you've done?" Maybe he has. Maybe she doesn't care.
Despite Sam's dubiousness about everyone, he hasn't given Wanda nearly the same grief he'd given Geralt, and Geralt's vetted. They are somehow generally analogous in his mind and that's equally sobering considering how little leeway he's given. It's an uncomfortable situation and all Sam can do is hope that Lucifer's been deceiving Wanda, that Wanda's none the wiser to how truly awful he can be.
Hilariously while Lucifer is more or less a master of his own domain--with some flaws--he's not a master of his own appearance.
"She knows why I was Caged," he says. It's close enough. There's some part of him that despite going off the deep end, he still won't quite lie to Sam. The problem is he doesn't entirely know how much Wanda knows, recognizing much later on that she very likely gleamed a lot from him while his mental defenses were shaken.
He tilts his head. "She knows alllll about my family drama." Whether or not she wanted to get involved. Sorry, Wanda. "It's funny to me that you think I have to lie to the people here. Maybe you should try it, Sammy. Opening up to people." He waggles his eyebrows, but his tone remains neutral. "Telling them all your naughty secrets." He laughs.
Similarly, Wanda has found Sam on several occasions when his defenses were low, and while he hadn't detected any kind of obvious probing, there had been more than a few uncomfortably prescient thoughts that had made Sam wonder. Even here and now he suspects that they aren't entirely shielded, like the crows will take back word anyway.
"I don't need to lie," he lies plainly (perhaps also thinking that omission is, as always, inadmissible). And he doesn't consider himself closed off (although his Arcana suggests otherwise) but still he folds tightly around himself and leans all six-and-some on a gnarled root, content enough (apparently) to share this quiet moment with an all-too-familiar face.
Sam sighs. "Is there a reason you're up there? Please, don't let me interrupt your— creeping," he says, gesturing. But he's certainly not moving on, is he?
'I don't need to lie.' Spoken like a liar, and Lucifer's true vessel. Who're you trying to fool, Sam?
"Thorne is suffocating," Lucifer explains. "I prefer the illusion of breathing room instead of a gilded cage." He clicks his tongue towards the ravens. "And her birds like me."
But he finally leaves their presence, a rustle of wings and a disappearing act, to be standing in Sam's immediate space. "The real question," he continues, if Sam doesn't try something inane like stabbing him--not going to be effective in the Horizon, "is why are you here?"
Sam wishes he was surprised, but after a thousand acts just like, he's not anything but perturbed to find Lucifer within striking distance. He sure does love to tempt, but that's the nature of the Devil, isn't it?
"That's certainly a question," Sam agrees obtusely. There isn't any reason he needs to reveal his intentions, although now that he has the opportunity, it crosses mind to lead Lucifer on a wild goose chase. He disregards the feeling, bit only just.
"Does it matter?" he asks, but there's no part of him that wants Lucifer to be interested. He knows better — the guy's obsessed — and in asking he's only trying to bait Sam into more of this bullshit. To his credit, it works. And Sam hates it. "My reasons don't involve you."
"Of course it matters, it has to do with you," and he his definitely obsessive. He waves it off like it's nothing, but it's still stated pointed and matter-of-fact. Which of course means Sam isn't going to tell him, but hey. He's the honest one of the two of them.
He paces away a few steps. Without Lucifer's presence in the tree, the birds look restless, and bored, some of them already moving on to different parts of the woods. He almost tells Sam that Wanda doesn't much like Dean, but opts not to. He doesn't know her relationship with Sam, and he's not about to tarnish another of her interactions with other people.
Look at him. Growth. Cancerous, ugly, friendship growth.
Sam watches, feeling the shift in the surrounding wildlife. He wonders who controls the birds, Wanda or the Singularity. Whether they have a free will or if they're little more than figments. Could a person get lost in these creations? Or lose themselves? And what's their purpose? The concept feels a little too much like your own slice of heaven for Sam's tastes.
"I just needed to clear my head," he finally relents, compelled as much by loneliness as he is by spite. He didn't come here looking for Lucifer and he doesn't want him thinking for even a second that was the case. Not when he knows exactly how to get under Sam's skin.
(He's better at fighting it, he tells himself. He's getting better, at least. Like a road to recovery for any other... affliction, there's bound to be bumps in the road as it stretches ahead.)
Sam wets his lips and asks, "Why Solvunn?" Lucifer hadn't pointed it out for its color alone, so this time Sam takes the bait.
He'll allow Sam his out, if only because there may be some truth to it if Lucifer is here for similar reasons.
"They preached non-interference."
He rolls his eyes. He has so many opinions about That.
He folds his arms and leans against a tree.
"The 'neutral' party, though that's started to finally lose some recognition. Thorne and Free Cities focuses on their constant hatesex and ignores Solvunn. Even though Solvunn was actively trying to lay claim to the contested Badlands, which would give them territory near the Singularity--despite believing it should be left as it always has been. Maybe they simply want to keep a closer eye on it because of the rest of the factions," he jeers. "Reeks of suspicion to me."
It's not even getting into the rest of it, but there's your Mini Lesson, Samuel.
There's always that moment of uncertainty where Sam has to decide if Lucifer is telling the truth or winding him up. Maybe it's always both. The words roll out the same way, anyway, and the part that really unsettles Sam is how he's never quite disinterested enough to stop listening. Worse yet if he agrees, as if Lucifer can't be right.
Unfortunately, Sam knows otherwise. It haunts him in a way and it's moments like these that he wishes he would have brought along some company so he'd be too ashamed to engage so willingly. Jo, if anyone, because she's less likely to act. Dean probably would have blown his top by now.
"I guess some things are universal," Sam says, not wanting to agree or disagree even if it sounds plenty plausible. All he knows of Solvunn is what he's told and even that suffers without context.
Sam picks at a piece of bark, breaking off pieces and tossing them away. Diverting, he asks, "How long have you been here now?"
Always falling into the same natural patterns, again and again, inescapable. If Sam fought against it more, he'd just find himself closer to Lucifer's machinations. Really, Lucifer doesn't even have to try. He knows that eventually that Sam will find his way back to him.
One day, maybe Sam will accept that.
In the moment though, Lucifer sighs like the rest of his grace is escaping his body. His complaint is loud, immature, and like he's communicating with an old friend. "Seven months! Can you believe it!"
Sam huffs. There have been days, certainly, where they're easily old friends, just not the kind of friends that are good for each other.
"Seven months, wow. And you've settled somewhere provincial and made friends," he says, unable to keep himself from taking the opportunity for a short jab. But it certainly does highlight for Sam how Abraxas has taken out their teeth, their nails, whatever else it pleases. Never mind the supposed gifts. He almost asks Lucifer what he's been bestowed but realizes he doesn't want to know lest they have to discuss someone believing in Lucifer enough to reward him.
Clearing his throat, Sam gestures vaguely. "Did you make one of these for yourself?" And how does Sam ensure he doesn't stumble his way into it?
Maybe a few months ago Sam's jab would've impacted him. Maybe a month from now it would be able to land a different blow entirely. That's the way of Abraxas.
Or maybe just Lucifer.
He gives Sam a look like he's an idiot. "Uh, the ability to create? Something that, oh, my kindest Father didn't think his children deserved?" Please, Sam. "Of course I have a domain. What, don't you? Or did you, like your brother, also steal that blonde's establishment as yours?"
Of course. Why is he even surprised? The sins of the father have always been the same, an old theme, rote in its application through all things. Lucifer helped invent the (religious) constraints of the parent/child relationship so it's unlikely he needs reminded how much it sucks, but when it's all you have, it's all you ever think about, he supposes. Sam wonders briefly if Lucifer finds reason to blame God for a split stream when the piss hits his own boot, knowing as he does that Lucifer often applies reason to others but excuses this in his own relationships. Certainly, when it came to (and still comes to) Sam, his reason has been lacking.
"Honestly? I don't trust the process. Maybe I've had a few too unwelcome visitors," Sam says, indicating his head. "So, for now? Yeah, sure, I'll suffer the discomfort of being uncreative in exchange for family and security." It's kept Lucifer out, hasn't it? So, mission accomplished.
"I have seen and experienced the Horizon corrupted more than once," he says, almost like a teacher acknowledging a student for a good thought. His manipulations of Sam Winchester is something, by this point, that he simply can't turn off, the different angles to come at the man.
And anyway, Lucifer's basically claimed partial ownership--with permission--over another person's domain. He's a hypocrite, as always.
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Sam Winchester / The Horizon
Wanda's domain is a commonplace for him. Here if he wants to mimic a fresh-air, "open" space. Istredd's domain if he just wants to be an extroverting introvert, sharing someone's space without necessarily associating with them in that moment. He could easily use his own domain, but this is just... right. An unspoken reminder for both him and Wanda.
A raven-guide lands near him, calling out back the way it came from. Someone's traversing the path through her domain; likely someone new, or simply not yet familiar with the strange maze. The rest of the ravens make some commotion at the guest but Lucifer keeps his idle almost sleep-like state until the guiding bird moves again, and only then does Lucifer squint an eye down to the forest floor. And then he blinks, stunned.
Sam Winchester.
"Well," he says airily, "aren't you Free City's best-kept secret." Because while he knows he and Michael have a constant rocky relationship, he doesn't think Michael would have kept knowledge of Sam from Lucifer. Petty revenge is Lucifer's style, not Michael's. Which only leaves Free Cities.
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And yet the disquiet within him is the same as ever.
Sam reeks of distance. He wears his arcana well, keeping to himself in the same ways as always: share a concern, share a smile, say and do what's needed and then retreat. A book, an odd job, a walk — whatever it takes.
He's enjoying the spiraling solitude when he invades the territory of those vocal crows and soon finds himself under the devil's purview. His skin crawls the moment the realization hits him. For a moment he's not sure the voice isn't in his head, but the soft crush of greenery heralds the presence above of something from below.
Stilled, hands already balled into fists without even realizing, he lifts his gaze and can feel how he's breathing carefully out of his mouth in anticipation of a fight.
"That tells me a lot about your influence," he counters as he takes several steps more in order to get a better view. He shrugs, plays it off. Tries to, at least. "Personally, I've been avoiding you," Sam says.
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He offers an easy sigh. "Everyone thinks Free Cities versus Thorne is the bigger problem. I don't care about that place. Solvunn is what matters." He tilts his head, observes Sam. Wonders how much Dean and Geralt have told the man. Wonders how the hell long Sam has even been here. Long enough to have more than likely been on the boat.
More than ever he's actually happy it was Michael to find him when the pain from the Singularity attack had slammed through him.
"You shouldn't say such hurtful things, Sam."
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"The truth hurts," he offers, mildly. "I don't see a point in lying about it."
Nevermind that he was anticipating this moment. The creeping skin, the sparking brain, the urge to pick up a stone and act out a little aggression for the sake of— well, his whole damn life, not to mention the rest.
Sam gestures. "I'm going this way." A fact that he demonstrates immediately; however, it's not not an invitation. Lucifer, after all, is an inevitability at this point as far as Sam's concerned. He can't possibly bypass this opportunity.
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He kicks his legs back and forth.
"How's Big Brother doing, Sam? Any accidental murder yet?"
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He thinks about Dean, the Mark of Cain and the First Blade and frowns. He'd come this way seeking a little clarity and wonders now if this wasn't some kind of inelegant trap he's walked himself right into. Then again, he can leave at any time, can't he?
"None that I know of, no," he finally answers. The tension is ticking up and Sam's jaw tightens, the muscle twitching. He watches Lucifer's legs swinging and he can't help but imagine a pathetic pigtail pulling playground bully.
"What, did you want me to thank you?" He leaves that sit, a timestamp for Lucifer to confirm Sam was, in fact, on the Arcanis as he'd suspected. It had gotten back to him quickly what Lucifer had done and it only solidifies Sam's thoughts regarding Lucifer's bleeding gums: Abraxas pulled his teeth just like everyone else.
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"Oh, that you 'know of', very reassuring. You're letting him walk around without a shadow? Ah, no, I suppose that would be Castiel's gig, trailing at his heels." He thinks of dinner with his brother one of the nights on the boat and makes a face.
"A thank you would be nice, actually." He puts a hand to the side of his face and sniffs. "Just a little bit of acknowledgement from time to time." Says the guy like he doesn't get heaping amounts of indulgence to keep him leveled on a good day. "But no," he says, sounding serious for the first time, "as much as it disgusts me I'd prefer your brother not be a walking murderbot. Even if he is a faction away."
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(How can he be hungry at a time like this? Did he imagine himself that way or is it just the churn of upset expressing itself as something recognizable in this landscape? Couldn't he leave? Why doesn't he just leave?)
"Glad we're on the same page. Did you follow me here just for that?" he asks, assuming. It's easy to assume when Lucifer's involved because even if he's wrong, Sam doesn't feel bad about it.
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And he does not know what a Winchester is doing with Wanda, but there's a cool protectiveness--so impossibly rare--that smooths over Lucifer, his body motionless as he watches Sam with a deadly gaze.
"And Wanda?" His voice is low. "She's a friend."
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He can't help but think about his short conversation with Jack Townsend, how he'd sort of alluded to being friends-but-not with Lucifer. And would he be surprised? No. The angel has a way of insinuating himself into lives, existing in such a way that you think you might want him around, or maybe he just looks too lonely to leave be.
Is that the reason Sam's still here? He convinces himself it's little more than morbid fascination, if anything at all.
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Mentorship through necessity is the closest thing they are!
"She does. And before you go off with your Winchester Hero Complex, she also knows who and what I am." He's not going to reveal how similar he and Wanda are; that's not fair at all to Wanda. Doesn't know if Sam even knows Wanda is a witch. "And really, you'll just annoy her if you think you can make decisions for her."
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Sam sees the words between the words, he knows the way Lucifer works. It's misdirection and deceit around every corner (unless the truth is more cutting). "Have you told her what you've done?" Maybe he has. Maybe she doesn't care.
Despite Sam's dubiousness about everyone, he hasn't given Wanda nearly the same grief he'd given Geralt, and Geralt's vetted. They are somehow generally analogous in his mind and that's equally sobering considering how little leeway he's given. It's an uncomfortable situation and all Sam can do is hope that Lucifer's been deceiving Wanda, that Wanda's none the wiser to how truly awful he can be.
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"She knows why I was Caged," he says. It's close enough. There's some part of him that despite going off the deep end, he still won't quite lie to Sam. The problem is he doesn't entirely know how much Wanda knows, recognizing much later on that she very likely gleamed a lot from him while his mental defenses were shaken.
He tilts his head. "She knows alllll about my family drama." Whether or not she wanted to get involved. Sorry, Wanda. "It's funny to me that you think I have to lie to the people here. Maybe you should try it, Sammy. Opening up to people." He waggles his eyebrows, but his tone remains neutral. "Telling them all your naughty secrets." He laughs.
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"I don't need to lie," he lies plainly (perhaps also thinking that omission is, as always, inadmissible). And he doesn't consider himself closed off (although his Arcana suggests otherwise) but still he folds tightly around himself and leans all six-and-some on a gnarled root, content enough (apparently) to share this quiet moment with an all-too-familiar face.
Sam sighs. "Is there a reason you're up there? Please, don't let me interrupt your— creeping," he says, gesturing. But he's certainly not moving on, is he?
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"Thorne is suffocating," Lucifer explains. "I prefer the illusion of breathing room instead of a gilded cage." He clicks his tongue towards the ravens. "And her birds like me."
But he finally leaves their presence, a rustle of wings and a disappearing act, to be standing in Sam's immediate space. "The real question," he continues, if Sam doesn't try something inane like stabbing him--not going to be effective in the Horizon, "is why are you here?"
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"That's certainly a question," Sam agrees obtusely. There isn't any reason he needs to reveal his intentions, although now that he has the opportunity, it crosses mind to lead Lucifer on a wild goose chase. He disregards the feeling, bit only just.
"Does it matter?" he asks, but there's no part of him that wants Lucifer to be interested. He knows better — the guy's obsessed — and in asking he's only trying to bait Sam into more of this bullshit. To his credit, it works. And Sam hates it. "My reasons don't involve you."
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He paces away a few steps. Without Lucifer's presence in the tree, the birds look restless, and bored, some of them already moving on to different parts of the woods. He almost tells Sam that Wanda doesn't much like Dean, but opts not to. He doesn't know her relationship with Sam, and he's not about to tarnish another of her interactions with other people.
Look at him. Growth. Cancerous, ugly, friendship growth.
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"I just needed to clear my head," he finally relents, compelled as much by loneliness as he is by spite. He didn't come here looking for Lucifer and he doesn't want him thinking for even a second that was the case. Not when he knows exactly how to get under Sam's skin.
(He's better at fighting it, he tells himself. He's getting better, at least. Like a road to recovery for any other... affliction, there's bound to be bumps in the road as it stretches ahead.)
Sam wets his lips and asks, "Why Solvunn?" Lucifer hadn't pointed it out for its color alone, so this time Sam takes the bait.
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"They preached non-interference."
He rolls his eyes. He has so many opinions about That.
He folds his arms and leans against a tree.
"The 'neutral' party, though that's started to finally lose some recognition. Thorne and Free Cities focuses on their constant hatesex and ignores Solvunn. Even though Solvunn was actively trying to lay claim to the contested Badlands, which would give them territory near the Singularity--despite believing it should be left as it always has been. Maybe they simply want to keep a closer eye on it because of the rest of the factions," he jeers. "Reeks of suspicion to me."
It's not even getting into the rest of it, but there's your Mini Lesson, Samuel.
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Unfortunately, Sam knows otherwise. It haunts him in a way and it's moments like these that he wishes he would have brought along some company so he'd be too ashamed to engage so willingly. Jo, if anyone, because she's less likely to act. Dean probably would have blown his top by now.
"I guess some things are universal," Sam says, not wanting to agree or disagree even if it sounds plenty plausible. All he knows of Solvunn is what he's told and even that suffers without context.
Sam picks at a piece of bark, breaking off pieces and tossing them away. Diverting, he asks, "How long have you been here now?"
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One day, maybe Sam will accept that.
In the moment though, Lucifer sighs like the rest of his grace is escaping his body. His complaint is loud, immature, and like he's communicating with an old friend. "Seven months! Can you believe it!"
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"Seven months, wow. And you've settled somewhere provincial and made friends," he says, unable to keep himself from taking the opportunity for a short jab. But it certainly does highlight for Sam how Abraxas has taken out their teeth, their nails, whatever else it pleases. Never mind the supposed gifts. He almost asks Lucifer what he's been bestowed but realizes he doesn't want to know lest they have to discuss someone believing in Lucifer enough to reward him.
Clearing his throat, Sam gestures vaguely. "Did you make one of these for yourself?" And how does Sam ensure he doesn't stumble his way into it?
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Or maybe just Lucifer.
He gives Sam a look like he's an idiot. "Uh, the ability to create? Something that, oh, my kindest Father didn't think his children deserved?" Please, Sam. "Of course I have a domain. What, don't you? Or did you, like your brother, also steal that blonde's establishment as yours?"
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"Honestly? I don't trust the process. Maybe I've had a few too unwelcome visitors," Sam says, indicating his head. "So, for now? Yeah, sure, I'll suffer the discomfort of being uncreative in exchange for family and security." It's kept Lucifer out, hasn't it? So, mission accomplished.
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And anyway, Lucifer's basically claimed partial ownership--with permission--over another person's domain. He's a hypocrite, as always.
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