dadbeatdad | Seasons - Lucifer's Voicemail

Lucifer wants to say something about being the devil and behaving is not his style but he doesn't. First because it is a request from Macaque so he'll behave. Second because then Choco goes into her description and elaboration of those objectives and there is a through line to them Lucifer sees. Praise, neck touches, scruff grabbing, biting, violence, and bloodshed. It feels grotesque.

Sinners and Overlords would do things like that to each other. The cruel ones. The ones that enjoyed the suffering and subjugation of their subjects. The Hellborn weren't much better at times either with the Sins. Lucifer, once upon a time, wouldn't bat an eye at something like this. After all, he lived in Hell for so long.

Choco Korone didn't deserve that. She wasn't in hell because of her own deeds. She was dragged to these Hells for nothing more than selfish and greedy desires. He shifts out of his rabbit form and pulls himself off Macaque's lap. Not much in the mood for cute cuddles right now. He sits, crossing one leg over another, and he breathes out a little fire, his horns growing on his head.

"I have many a word for all of that but none of it directed at you. Thank you for telling me all of that. I am sure it was hard for you."

Macaque listens to her list, progressively getting angrier and angrier. Yes, he recalls the jar muzzle, and he's also thinking about bites from her datemates and that impact, and revealing her scars... how dare they.

If Choco reciting her list hadn't made Lucifer behave, Macaque's demeanor would have. Although his expression only darkens a bit, since he doesn't want Choco to think he's angry at her for whatever reason, bunny Lucifer will absolutely feel Macaque's hackles go up to near maximum before he shifts. Not the time for playful bunny kisses.

Lucifer's empathetic words drag Macaque back from the brink of needing to go to the training room and beat the fuck out of something.

"I'd like to see you free of those in general, and also some of them specifically are..." he trails off, trying to think of an adjective that doesn't make his anger show and coming up blank.

Edited 2025-04-17 20:57 (UTC)

[ Macaque and Lucifer's reactions may be tempered — for her sake? — but their anger and disgust are palpable all the same. For … her sake?

It's a lot. It's … it's a lot. Not scary, there's nothing here for her to flinch from, but there's a weight to care. There's a weight to seeing, knowing, that what she's saying — what she's been through, who she is — has meaning. With meaning comes feeling and it's —

It's always a lot, and this is more than most. ]

[ She nods. Drags her hand away from her neck and gives her plush cat a tight hug. ]

Nn. Thank you for listening. [ She just about manages to hold back the apology that tries to follow. ] … In a way, the objectives — some of them, at least — are as bad as the taboos, if not worse.

Speaking of which … um, there was … and maybe kind of still is, but as far as I can tell it's not really active anymore? a taboo against wearing scarves. And one against haircuts. Then there's, um …

Not eating for twenty four hours or more; not sleeping for forty eight hours or more; breaking a promise; anyone breaking a promise they made to me; self-sacrifice, which can but doesn't have to include mortal peril; all of my team nicknames … [ she pauses ] Lott's usual nickname for me is fine. Wash-nii's hurts, if it's in reference to me specifically.

And our birth name.

Lucifer is sure Macaque is about one bad revelation away from needing to destroy things or needing to fight a monster and kill it in a bloody fashion. He nods to Korone as she thanks them for listening. Then she continues with more. Scarves, not eating, not sleeping, breaking promises or having them broken, cutting hair and self-sacrifice. Finally, her name.

The more Lucifer hears, the worse this gets. They controlled her completely and took from Choco her birth name. It's like an unwilling soul contract. The completely domination of her person, her mind, and her soul. The terrible worlds she came from did all of this to her and for what? Entertainment? Sustenance? Shits and giggles?

"That is a lot you have had to deal with for a long time. If you do not mind me saying, it is very much long past due to remove those from you, indeed."

Lucifer isn't wrong, but Macaque calms down as he listens to his daughter talk. She dealt with these with aplomb, mostly -- shouldn't have had to, but she has -- what right does he have to get angry? And what good would it do?

He draws a breath, slow.

"I agree. It'll be much better, and much safer, without those weighing you down."

N-No, it's — um, I don't mind. [ Korone smiles briefly. It's genuine enough, though it's also something of a bandaid smoothing over that momentary stammer. ]

[ Squishing Ringo transitions to fidgeting, tracing small circles across the toy's fur with her thumbs. 3 clockwise, boop, 1 anticlockwise, 4 clockwise, 1 anticlockwise, 5 clockwise… ]

Being able to hide the list has helped? But it doesn't — it just, all it does is slow down people like Relius … [ who saw everything the moment he deigned to look at her, and used it, and please hold: there's been a minor oopsie on the Thought Process Monkey Bars. A missed ring. A fumble and a slip. She trails off, both words and fidgeting left hanging, incomplete. ]

Edited 2025-05-14 18:18 (UTC)

[Lucifer gently reaches over and squeezes Macaque's arm. Just a small confirmation he understands his feelings and is here too. Then Korone talks about Relius and trails off. Oh. Uh oh. Okay. He reaches out slowly to wave not too close to Korone's face to see if she would react.

Then he gently moves his hand to settle on the nearest hardest surface and starts to tap a steady sequence on a four beat. Tap tap, tap tap. Tap tap, tap tap.]

The arm squeeze helps a little. He reminds himself that this is done, in the past, and nothing to be angry about. The point is to get them gone.

He reaches out and stops Lucifer from waving his hand, saying "just wait" mildly enough, then stops Lucifer's finger from tapping. "The Fibonacci sequence is better." He taps the floor himself: one, one, two, three, five, eight...

[ Like Relius.

Three simple words.

Two. That's all it took. Two. One. Just one. Her name. The true name, true blue, too blue, shattering into ones and zeroes and shrieking static static static and that — that's where they're stuck. A voice that isn't their own caught strangled and silent in a throat they do not have. Lines of code. They don't. They don't breathe. Computers don't breathe. They don't feel. Can't feel. There's nothing to feel, nothing to feel with, only memories and it hurts.

Glazed blue stares past them. Through them. A minute passes. Two. Are the lights on? Is anybody home? Every breath, any breath is a thin, hitching spasm, too tight for comfort, skipping like a broken, forgotten thing. Shadows flicker. Little things, wisp-like; gentle as fallen feathers and sharp as knives, coiling close around her.

(Maybe it's a good thing Macaque stopped him?)

(one, one, two, three, five, eight)

They don't tap back.

(one, one, two, three, five, eight)
(one, one, two, three, five, eight)

Chest aches. (one, one, two, three, five, eight)

The shadows settle.

Fingers tense. (one, one, two, three, five, eight)

A faint twitch, slow as molasses. Fingers. (one, one, two, three, five) (four plus thumb) Four fingers and a thumb on a hand. Flex. Curl like they've forgotten how. Chest aches. (one, one, one, one — one, one, one one — one, two, three, four — one, two three, four) Remember to breathe. Remember how to breathe. Four count. Box breathing.

C'mon. Unstuck. Breathe. Four count. Fibonacci.

Lashes flutter. Glazed. Teal bleeding into blue one drip (one, one, two, three, five, eight) at a time. Th…ey? … They waver — too heavy, unsteady and unstable and fuzzy, listing dazedly in their … seat?

Their seat. Chair. Table. Seat on a chair at a table.

Lashes flutter. Teal eyes open, unfocused, focusing. Close again. Open. Fingers curl, uncurl, still so slow, and — still, still slowly, so slowly — they find the table-top. With their fingers. And also their forehead, a wobbling waver slumping into controlled crumple.

Tap. Tap. Tap, tap. … Tap, tap, tap … Following the sequence. The sweet, sweet Fibonacci sequence.

Chest aches. Tight. Loosening. Can't find their tongue. They definitely have one, where is it? Give them a moment.

… The shadows stir again.

But this time it's to pulse 'hiiiiii hello hi' in morse code. ]

Seasons - Lucifer's Voicemail

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