[ Adam’s used to people scrambling to pick up after him. Angels, demons, whoever. Just... not a Sinner Overlord. That’s a new low. Or high. Whatever. The point is, the mask can stay on the damn floor for now. He’ll shove it back on when he feels like it. He doesn’t exactly enjoy being seen without it, brand recognition and all that, also he feels vulnerable as fuck being seen, but Lucifer being a wreck kinda overrode his usual "look untouchable" policy. ]
Yeah? Cool. Awesome. That shit sounds like a fantastic little trauma dump we can circle back to literally any other fuckin’ day, my guy. Because I would absolutely loooove to hear every fuckin gritty, emotional detail. Riveting stuff. Surviving the exterminations, let's make a fuckin TV show of it...
[ He’s gotta hand it to Vox, though. The guy doesn’t rattle easily. That’s... rare. Impressive, even. Plenty of angels have folded under Adam’s glare alone. Vox? Barely blinking. Huh. Mental note taken. ]
...Fuck.
[ He squints at him, trying to decide if he even means the next part. Hard to tell when it’s him talking. ]
You think you could pull that same stunt on me?
[ Is that a challenge? A joke? A genuine question? Even Adam’s not totally sure. He exhales sharply through his nose and eyes the lineup of bottles like they're something he's never seen before. Wine’s usually his speed, classy, ancient, very "first man on Earth" vibes, but whatever. He slumps against the bar beside Vox, shooting a glance over his shoulder to make sure Lucifer’s still... there, still breathing. Still stubborn. ]
You actually gave him an out, and he didn’t take it? Man, that’s— that’s just... that shits brutal. Damn.
[ He drags a hand back through his messy chestnut hair, then down over his face with a long groan before side-eyeing Vox like the guy just proposed something insane. ]
Whiskey. You said it first, so that means it’s the best one, right? That’s how this works.
[ In Adam’s head, the logic is airtight. First man? Best man. First drink mentioned? Obviously top-tier. Duh. ]
no subject
Yeah? Cool. Awesome. That shit sounds like a fantastic little trauma dump we can circle back to literally any other fuckin’ day, my guy. Because I would absolutely loooove to hear every fuckin gritty, emotional detail. Riveting stuff. Surviving the exterminations, let's make a fuckin TV show of it...
[ He’s gotta hand it to Vox, though. The guy doesn’t rattle easily. That’s... rare. Impressive, even. Plenty of angels have folded under Adam’s glare alone. Vox? Barely blinking. Huh. Mental note taken. ]
...Fuck.
[ He squints at him, trying to decide if he even means the next part. Hard to tell when it’s him talking. ]
You think you could pull that same stunt on me?
[ Is that a challenge? A joke? A genuine question? Even Adam’s not totally sure. He exhales sharply through his nose and eyes the lineup of bottles like they're something he's never seen before. Wine’s usually his speed, classy, ancient, very "first man on Earth" vibes, but whatever. He slumps against the bar beside Vox, shooting a glance over his shoulder to make sure Lucifer’s still... there, still breathing. Still stubborn. ]
You actually gave him an out, and he didn’t take it? Man, that’s— that’s just... that shits brutal. Damn.
[ He drags a hand back through his messy chestnut hair, then down over his face with a long groan before side-eyeing Vox like the guy just proposed something insane. ]
Whiskey. You said it first, so that means it’s the best one, right? That’s how this works.
[ In Adam’s head, the logic is airtight. First man? Best man. First drink mentioned? Obviously top-tier. Duh. ]