The last time he'd been surrounded by this much white powdry fluff, it had been a snowstorm in Aspen and he truly can't recall where the cocaine ended and the snow started. This time, he's chilled right down to the bone and his clothes are utterly soaked from trudging through it without seeming end. Taking advantage of the nearest warm looking home, Lucifer ducks inside in a hurry and begins to strip without a moment's hesitation to get out of those wet clothes.
When he's down to nothing but his underwear, he discovers his audience. It is rather a tried and true pornography situation, which is actually charming when you get right down to it. Without absolutely any shame, he drops the underwear and gives his company the benefit of a look. "You're not going to let a man freeze to death, are you?" As if such a thing could be possible, and yet, by the look on his face, one would think it impending if not for a swift intervention.
"Aren't you going to try and warm me up?"
Cold Call
This whole affair in the snow is like a bad joke told a hundred times over. Hell isn't necessarily hot, but Lucifer does prefer a balmy Los Angeles heat over this. Dear old Dad's sense of humour clearly has fallen down over the centuries if he's sticking Lucifer in a snow-covered winterland as punishment for daring to turn away from his heavenly sent blessing.
He's only trying to get his miserably cold self from one place to another, but he keeps getting pummelled with snowballs. When the third one hits him in the back of the head, his patience snaps, and he whirls on his would-be-attackers. "There are special places in Hell for people who start snowball fights and then hide like the cowards they are! I should know!" He'd built them, peaked in on them, and made sure to torment the poor bastards the whole of the time. True, it was more about the cowardice than the snowballs, but he's still not lying.
"Show yourself!"
Network
[ Yes, you have just opened your device to a dick picture from the devil, shot from above. ]
No need to thank me, just appreciate it. The Renaissance artists surely did and if you've never seen their marble evocations of my abs, then you truly are missing out.
Lucifer Morningstar | Lucifer
The last time he'd been surrounded by this much white powdry fluff, it had been a snowstorm in Aspen and he truly can't recall where the cocaine ended and the snow started. This time, he's chilled right down to the bone and his clothes are utterly soaked from trudging through it without seeming end. Taking advantage of the nearest warm looking home, Lucifer ducks inside in a hurry and begins to strip without a moment's hesitation to get out of those wet clothes.
When he's down to nothing but his underwear, he discovers his audience. It is rather a tried and true pornography situation, which is actually charming when you get right down to it. Without absolutely any shame, he drops the underwear and gives his company the benefit of a look. "You're not going to let a man freeze to death, are you?" As if such a thing could be possible, and yet, by the look on his face, one would think it impending if not for a swift intervention.
"Aren't you going to try and warm me up?"
Cold Call
This whole affair in the snow is like a bad joke told a hundred times over. Hell isn't necessarily hot, but Lucifer does prefer a balmy Los Angeles heat over this. Dear old Dad's sense of humour clearly has fallen down over the centuries if he's sticking Lucifer in a snow-covered winterland as punishment for daring to turn away from his heavenly sent blessing.
He's only trying to get his miserably cold self from one place to another, but he keeps getting pummelled with snowballs. When the third one hits him in the back of the head, his patience snaps, and he whirls on his would-be-attackers. "There are special places in Hell for people who start snowball fights and then hide like the cowards they are! I should know!" He'd built them, peaked in on them, and made sure to torment the poor bastards the whole of the time. True, it was more about the cowardice than the snowballs, but he's still not lying.
"Show yourself!"
Network
[ Yes, you have just opened your device to a dick picture from the devil, shot from above. ]
No need to thank me, just appreciate it. The Renaissance artists surely did and if you've never seen their marble evocations of my abs, then you truly are missing out.