This level does. [ Elio concludes, looking around as Lucifer waves his hand at the windows, revealing Hell beneath the glittering lights of London. It's just a brief glimpse, obviously, to see how much of the loop is resisting, why it is, too, but as soon as the theory has been tested, the other man eases the illusion back into place. Gently, carefully. Elio looks at him while he works, feels a deeply rooted sense of gratitude. Lucifer always cares for him. For what is his.
Elio's father watches it all happen with a unsettled calm about him, a tremor to his shoulders, but the same expression. His eyes following Elio every step of the way as he walks back to the bed, looks him over, his rumpled clothes, his gray-streaked beard. Would he have looked like this, had he lived to be in his 60's?
Guess they'll never know, will they? A frown. ] But not the next. Or the next.
[ To his father: ]
Papa, what are you waiting for?
[ It seems obvious to Elio that his father is waiting for something in particular to click into place and unlock what lies beneath. The strength, somehow, to delve deeper. Elio has tried everything he could think of, but of course, until now he hasn't been able to just ask the question directly, has he? Maybe his father knows, maybe he doesn't. Maybe, like Elio, he only senses what it will take, but then they'll go from there. His father folds his hands on his knees and looks away from Elio finally, fixing his gaze on Lucifer instead, the tremor returning to his shoulders. My Lord, he says and it's obvious whom he's talking to, right, no one addresses Elio Lord, it's Lady or Queen with him. Elio's father continues, softly: Don't you think Elio should play something?
There's a brief second in which Elio can't really breathe, where his immortal lungs lack all air, but then he gasps softly and looks automatically over his shoulder at the spot where his armchair would usually manifest. A grand piano ripples into existence, pushing the walls a bit further back to make room.
It's their old instrument from the summer house, the one Elio has played a thousand times, early morning practice, late night entertainment. Home, he thinks. Is that where they're going? ]
[ He doesn't reply, letting Elio's words float in the spaces between them, his question to his father making something hurt in Lucifer's chest. Many thousands of years ago, he had periods - long periods - during which he'd over-reflect on the nature of this place, the depressive implications of it. The base idea of humans, trapping themselves with their biggest regrets for all eternity, adding torture to the mix because nothing less could possibly do it. He's grown wiser, since. He doesn't think about it.
The questions don't make anything better. He's reminded of that now, looking down at his own feet, trying to think about a way to advance Elio's father from this point and failing. After all, if he'd known... well. Hell would be empty, wouldn't it? He was created to punish people but surely, punishment in general shouldn't be...
It should have an end.
He feels the old man's gaze on him and looks over at his soft, My Lord, hating not for the first time how his titles come so natural to people down here, souls, demons. It makes him feel like the master of an empty house. He stares at Elio's father as he asks him whether Elio shouldn't play something and seconds later, a grand manifests in the room, pushing the walls apart to properly claim its space. It's beautiful, old-looking, and it reminds him of something he's seen before, once, many years ago. Swallowing, he looks over at Elio, feeling wrung-out for reasons he can't properly articulate. He's tried to create music down here for such a long, long time but it never comes to fruition.
He can't bear to hear Elio's music turn to ashes, too. ]
Music isn't the same down here.
[ He crosses over to the piano. Staring at it intently, he presses down one of the keys, a small, distorted echo wailing out from inside the instrument as the key disintegrates beneath his finger. It comes back, of course, right away. This is Elio's manifestation, not his. He sighs and looks back at Elio, shrugging slightly. ]
[ Music isn't the same down here, Lucifer says and Elio watches him for a long moment, quietly, respectfully. The King knows his realm, of course, Elio isn't going to question that, but he questions why music can't belong to Hell like it belongs to any other state of being, music is integral, after all, if it isn't here, it's because something is standing in its way. And as its sole and authoritarian ruler, who would you imagine that is? Walking over to the piano, Lucifer presses down one key to demonstrate, how the sound echoes, distorted, while the key itself disintegrates beneath his touch. Even on Elio's creation, Lucifer won't let himself. Because that is the issue, he won't allow himself the music he loves so much, not here. In the place he uses to punish himself as much as he does everyone else.
Like he can't touch Elio's salt pitcher. Or anything Elio doesn't acutely need. But it's just that, Elio needs music now, doesn't he? His father is asking for it. For him to play.
It'll work. He's sure of it. It belongs, if not in this realm, then in this loop. Lucifer might shrug it off, not know what to do with it, but Elio knows. In this moment, he knows. ]
The worlds are overlapping now, Lucifer. Or I wouldn't be here at all.
[ Following close behind the other man, he moves up next to him, looking down at the old, well-known piano. Then, he sits down on the bench slowly, leaving Lucifer close by, feeling his presence like this, a little bit out of touch. He twists slightly and looks back at his father who's smiling now, as if seeing them like this, side by side, Lucifer and Elio, pleases him.
It pleases Elio, too. He smiles back. ]
What do you want to hear, Papa? [ His father replies after a second, no hesitation, Moonlight Sonata, 1st movement, he requests. Elio's smile widens a little bit as he turns back towards the keys, placing his hands on them, feeling the familiarity of it. The width of the instrument, the weight of it. He hasn't played in ten years now, so he jokes, softly: ] I'm not warmed up, you've been warned.
[ He breathes in deeply, then comments, only partly for his father's benefit, but also because he remembers. He remembers the first day in Lucifer's penthouse, how he'd butchered this piece out of nerves and Lucifer had picked it up, played it for him. How they've played it back and forth between each other ever since. No matter what it's going to sound like, the Beethoven, now, it's fitting. ]
The Moonlight Sonata is Lucifer's and my piece. [ Without looking up at him, he remarks to Lucifer: ] It's as eternal as you are.
[ Then, he starts playing, the sound of the piano soft and clear, the tempo meditative, even. Every key he strikes performs to perfection, and so does Elio. ]
[ Elio follows his his manifestation this time, rather than Lucifer's underlying dismissal and it feels, for a second, like something shifts, as if the realm re-asserts itself, another piece of a much-too-complicated machinery falling into place. Lucifer frowns and watches as the other man seats himself by the piano, asking his father (Lucifer's father-in-law) what he wants to hear. Moonlight Sonata replies the old man, 1st movement, because - like his son - he knows exactly what he wants to hear, what's called for and what isn't.
Lucifer sighs. Shifts a little in place, from foot to foot, feeling out of place and out of time simultaneously. He's the ruler of Hell, sure, but Hell isn't what it used to be and he's... struggling to understand what it's trying to become. He thinks about a Hell with music, with touch, with warmth and smiles and the scent of newly-baked pancakes. Sounds wrong, doesn't it. Sounds like something else entirely.
When Elio tells his father that the piece belongs to them, to him and Lucifer (eternal as you, he says, and oh, how is he like this, how can he even exist down here at all?), something inside him breaks. He listens for a couple of seconds as Elio strikes up those achingly familiar rolling triplets, sending him hurtling backwards in time, hundreds of years, to one of their first nights together when he played it wrong and Lucifer, consequently, became aware of how to love him.
Even down here, it sounds...
It sounds...
Something cold slams through his system. He straightens, lips thinning for a second before he reaches out, forcing himself to be gentle, and runs his fingers across the back of Elio's neck, his curls tickling his fingertips. Thank you, it means. Please, forgive me, too, and I don't know what this is about, except that it isn't you and then, wordlessly, he turns away and stalks towards the door, past Elio's father, wrenching the door open and exiting the loop.
The door falls shut behind him, quietly. The tones of the Moonlight Sonata follow him, echo-like, as he flees. ]
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no subject
Elio's father watches it all happen with a unsettled calm about him, a tremor to his shoulders, but the same expression. His eyes following Elio every step of the way as he walks back to the bed, looks him over, his rumpled clothes, his gray-streaked beard. Would he have looked like this, had he lived to be in his 60's?
Guess they'll never know, will they? A frown. ] But not the next. Or the next.
[ To his father: ]
Papa, what are you waiting for?
[ It seems obvious to Elio that his father is waiting for something in particular to click into place and unlock what lies beneath. The strength, somehow, to delve deeper. Elio has tried everything he could think of, but of course, until now he hasn't been able to just ask the question directly, has he? Maybe his father knows, maybe he doesn't. Maybe, like Elio, he only senses what it will take, but then they'll go from there. His father folds his hands on his knees and looks away from Elio finally, fixing his gaze on Lucifer instead, the tremor returning to his shoulders. My Lord, he says and it's obvious whom he's talking to, right, no one addresses Elio Lord, it's Lady or Queen with him. Elio's father continues, softly: Don't you think Elio should play something?
There's a brief second in which Elio can't really breathe, where his immortal lungs lack all air, but then he gasps softly and looks automatically over his shoulder at the spot where his armchair would usually manifest. A grand piano ripples into existence, pushing the walls a bit further back to make room.
It's their old instrument from the summer house, the one Elio has played a thousand times, early morning practice, late night entertainment. Home, he thinks. Is that where they're going? ]
no subject
The questions don't make anything better. He's reminded of that now, looking down at his own feet, trying to think about a way to advance Elio's father from this point and failing. After all, if he'd known... well. Hell would be empty, wouldn't it? He was created to punish people but surely, punishment in general shouldn't be...
It should have an end.
He feels the old man's gaze on him and looks over at his soft, My Lord, hating not for the first time how his titles come so natural to people down here, souls, demons. It makes him feel like the master of an empty house. He stares at Elio's father as he asks him whether Elio shouldn't play something and seconds later, a grand manifests in the room, pushing the walls apart to properly claim its space. It's beautiful, old-looking, and it reminds him of something he's seen before, once, many years ago. Swallowing, he looks over at Elio, feeling wrung-out for reasons he can't properly articulate. He's tried to create music down here for such a long, long time but it never comes to fruition.
He can't bear to hear Elio's music turn to ashes, too. ]
Music isn't the same down here.
[ He crosses over to the piano. Staring at it intently, he presses down one of the keys, a small, distorted echo wailing out from inside the instrument as the key disintegrates beneath his finger. It comes back, of course, right away. This is Elio's manifestation, not his. He sighs and looks back at Elio, shrugging slightly. ]
It belongs to another world.
no subject
Like he can't touch Elio's salt pitcher. Or anything Elio doesn't acutely need. But it's just that, Elio needs music now, doesn't he? His father is asking for it. For him to play.
It'll work. He's sure of it. It belongs, if not in this realm, then in this loop. Lucifer might shrug it off, not know what to do with it, but Elio knows. In this moment, he knows. ]
The worlds are overlapping now, Lucifer. Or I wouldn't be here at all.
[ Following close behind the other man, he moves up next to him, looking down at the old, well-known piano. Then, he sits down on the bench slowly, leaving Lucifer close by, feeling his presence like this, a little bit out of touch. He twists slightly and looks back at his father who's smiling now, as if seeing them like this, side by side, Lucifer and Elio, pleases him.
It pleases Elio, too. He smiles back. ]
What do you want to hear, Papa? [ His father replies after a second, no hesitation, Moonlight Sonata, 1st movement, he requests. Elio's smile widens a little bit as he turns back towards the keys, placing his hands on them, feeling the familiarity of it. The width of the instrument, the weight of it. He hasn't played in ten years now, so he jokes, softly: ] I'm not warmed up, you've been warned.
[ He breathes in deeply, then comments, only partly for his father's benefit, but also because he remembers. He remembers the first day in Lucifer's penthouse, how he'd butchered this piece out of nerves and Lucifer had picked it up, played it for him. How they've played it back and forth between each other ever since. No matter what it's going to sound like, the Beethoven, now, it's fitting. ]
The Moonlight Sonata is Lucifer's and my piece. [ Without looking up at him, he remarks to Lucifer: ] It's as eternal as you are.
[ Then, he starts playing, the sound of the piano soft and clear, the tempo meditative, even. Every key he strikes performs to perfection, and so does Elio. ]
no subject
Lucifer sighs. Shifts a little in place, from foot to foot, feeling out of place and out of time simultaneously. He's the ruler of Hell, sure, but Hell isn't what it used to be and he's... struggling to understand what it's trying to become. He thinks about a Hell with music, with touch, with warmth and smiles and the scent of newly-baked pancakes. Sounds wrong, doesn't it. Sounds like something else entirely.
When Elio tells his father that the piece belongs to them, to him and Lucifer (eternal as you, he says, and oh, how is he like this, how can he even exist down here at all?), something inside him breaks. He listens for a couple of seconds as Elio strikes up those achingly familiar rolling triplets, sending him hurtling backwards in time, hundreds of years, to one of their first nights together when he played it wrong and Lucifer, consequently, became aware of how to love him.
Even down here, it sounds...
It sounds...
Something cold slams through his system. He straightens, lips thinning for a second before he reaches out, forcing himself to be gentle, and runs his fingers across the back of Elio's neck, his curls tickling his fingertips. Thank you, it means. Please, forgive me, too, and I don't know what this is about, except that it isn't you and then, wordlessly, he turns away and stalks towards the door, past Elio's father, wrenching the door open and exiting the loop.
The door falls shut behind him, quietly. The tones of the Moonlight Sonata follow him, echo-like, as he flees. ]