Capítulo 51: Chapter 47: Where's my Money!!
"Who needs therapy when you have ducks?"
— Some Demon King Probably!!
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[2:00 PM]
A few hours later after his nap, Lucifer found himself in his enormous cinema room, sprawled out on a velvet couch that could comfortably seat a dozen people.
Surrounding him were stacks of steaks, a huge tub of candy apple-flavoured ice cream, and a bowl of Hell's finest chips—extra crispy, lightly salted with the tears of the Screaming Hell Peppers.
On the screen in front of him was Hell-Diaries. The quality of the show was abysmal, the actors were amateurs, and the plot was so disjointed that it made little sense. But Lucifer loved every minute of it.
As he scooped another bite of ice cream into his mouth, he watched the male lead—a demon with a suspiciously human-like face—stare longingly at the female lead." I don't care what you think or how you feel...I Love her, as long as..." The dialogue was stilted, the music overdramatic, and Lucifer couldn't help but laugh.
"Seriously? 'I don't care if we're in the Ninth Circle of Hell, as long as I'm with you'?" Lucifer mimicked the actor's voice, shaking his head. "That's the best you could come up with?" He scoffed but kept watching, not able to tear his eyes away from the train wreck unfolding on the screen.
Another bite of ice cream, and suddenly the female lead was crying, lamenting some tragic backstory that Lucifer couldn't care less about. But something about her tearful expression struck a chord in him, and before he knew it, he was crying too.
"Sniff, you do deserve to have a life, Gabrielle; you do deserve it." Lucifer cheered, hoping Gabrielle would fulfil her dreams that her father said she would never accomplish.
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[4:00 PM]
Back in his office, Lucifer was seated at his ornate desk, his brow furrowed in concentration.
The normally cluttered desk had been cleared of everything but a single sheet of paper, a quill, and a bottle of ink. The King of Hell was trying to do something he found infinitely harder than ruling his domain—writing a letter to his daughter, Charlie.
"All right, Lucy boy, you got this," he muttered, twirling the quill between his fingers. "You're the king of Hell, the original rebel, the guy who invented sin—writing a letter to your daughter should be easier than sneezing out a lightning bolt."
He dipped the quill into the ink and began.
Dear Charlie...
"Ugh, no. Too stiff. She's gonna think I'm about to give her some royal decree." He crumpled the letter and tossed it into the basket, grumbling. "Damn it. Why is writing a letter harder than staging a coup?"
He tried again.
Hey, Char-Char! It's your favourite dad, Lucifer—just checking in...
"Wait, 'favourite dad'? As if there are *other* dads competing for the title. C'mon, Lucy." [Forshadow count:1]
Another crumpled paper, another failed attempt.
Lucifer sighed and leaned back, glaring at the quill-like it had personally wronged him. "Satan's balls, why is this so damn hard?! I've literally destroyed worlds with a snap of my fingers, but a two-page letter? Nah, too difficult. Why don't I just summon a ghostwriter or something?"
This was his seventh attempt, and frustration was starting to set in. Lucifer leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Come on, Lucy. You're supposed to be the master of words. Why is this so damn hard?" He glanced over at the stack of baby photos on the corner of his desk—the same ones he'd looked at earlier. One picture, in particular, caught his eye, of a younger Charlie on her first trip to the park.
The memory brought a smile to his face, and suddenly, he felt like he knew exactly what to write. He picked up the quill and started to write, the words flowing easily this time:
"Hey, Char-Char~ remember that day I took you to the park for the first time? You were so excited, and I was terrified you'd hate it. But then you laughed, and it was like the whole world brightened just for a moment. I miss those days..."
He continued writing, pouring his heart into the letter. By the time he was done, he was smiling again, proud of what he'd written. But then, as he folded the letter, his smile faded.
He folded the letter, staring at it with a sinking feeling. "Not like she's gonna read it anyway," he muttered bitterly, tossing it into a drawer filled with similar letters, all of them unsent. "Lucifer Morningstar, master of avoiding heartfelt conversations. Put that on my tombstone... if I ever die."[Forshadow count:2]
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[5:45 PM]
Lucifer retreated to his workshop. The room was exactly as he had left it earlier, though he had fixed a few things from his earlier battle with Cthuck.
He spent hours working on a new batch of ducks, this time focusing on a set of angelic-looking ones—tiny halos and all. He hummed quietly to himself as he painted, the repetitive motion of the brush against the rubber soothing his frayed nerves.
As the hours passed, Lucifer found himself sinking deeper into his work, the outside world fading away. He only stopped when the grandfather clock in the corner chimed ten times, signalling the end of his workday.
Lucifer looked around at his finished creations, a small smile of satisfaction on his face. "Not bad for a day's work," he murmured, putting the last duck on the drying rack.
---
[10:30 PM]
Lucifer's dinner had been prepared and eaten without much fanfare, as his thoughts were already elsewhere.
He retired to his bedroom with a bottle of Apple-scented Beelzewine, a strong drink that could knock out even the sturdiest of demons. He took a long sip, savouring the taste as he relaxed on his bed.
In his hand, he held one of the ducks he had finished earlier that day, turning it over in his hands as he admired his work. "A masterpiece, as always," he said to himself, his voice tinged with pride.
After a few more sips of wine, he reached for his phone, hoping to see a message from Charlie. His heart sank a little when he saw nothing. "Of course," he muttered, setting the duck down and turning off the lamp on his nightstand.
He was about to put the phone away when he noticed a text from Tucker. Lucifer's eyes lit up with surprise, and he quickly opened the message.
"Hey, I finally made it yesterday. Sorry for the late text. I found this nice bakery. Wonder if you're available tomorrow?"
Lucifer stared at the screen for a moment, his mind racing. He immediately sat up, his previous fatigue forgotten. "He's here? Tucker's here?"
Fumbling with the phone, Lucifer quickly typed out a reply, his fingers moving faster than his thoughts. "Tucker! You're here?! Of course, I'm available! What time? Where? I can't wait to see you, buddy!"
He hit send and waited, staring at the screen in anticipation. A few moments later, Tucker responded with a thumbs-up emoji and a time for their meeting. Lucifer giggled to himself, feeling a wave of excitement wash over him. "Ha-ha!!!... My friend wants to see me. Take that, depression!" he shouted, jumping out of bed.
But then, his excitement quickly turned into overthinking. "Wait, what am I going to wear? Should I go casual or dress to impress? How should I introduce myself? Should I be serious? No, that's not me. But what if I'm too goofy? Ugh, what if I embarrass myself?" [Forshadow count:3]
He immediately launched himself and bolted to his massive walk-in closet—a space so large it could double as a nightclub.
"Okay, so... should I go with 'sexy bad boy chic'? Nah, that's too 'I just conquered a small nation' and not 'I'm totally chill but secretly devastatingly handsome'." He tossed the leather jacket aside.
He pulled out a flamboyant Hawaiian shirt covered in flamingos and tiny martini glasses. "This is a power move. Bold, daring, definitely says, 'I'm the Devil, but I know how to vacation like a legend.'" He held it up to his chest, but then his face twisted in disgust. "Nah, too Jimmy Buffett. I'm trying to catch up with a friend, not serve daiquiris."
Finally, he settled on an outfit—a black silk shirt that clung to his thin muscular form in all the right places, paired with dark jeans that were tight enough to highlight his "assets" without crossing into stripper territory.
He gave himself a once-over in the mirror, smirking as he adjusted his collar.
Lucifer turned back to the bed, where one of his ducks was now perched on the pillow, staring at him with its beady little eyes. He picked it up, considering it for a moment.
"You think I should bring this to Tucker as a gift? You know, like, 'Hey buddy, I made you this duck. Also, I haven't seen another person in a while so I might be overcompensating with weird handmade presents.'"
"..."
"Yeah, that should work..."
.
.
.
Lucifer spent the rest of the night agonizing over every little detail, his mind racing with every possibility.
He tried on different outfits, rehearsed his greetings in the mirror, and even considered bringing one of his ducks as a gift.
By the time morning came, he hadn't gotten a single wink of sleep, but for the first time in a while, he didn't care.
He was too busy grinning like a kid getting his first birthday card with money...of course, before the whole 'I'm gonna save this far you until you're older'.
.
.
[A.N - I Never Got My Money Mom!!!]
[A.N 2 - God I'm tired, just got back form a soul crushing 12 hour shift, but as promised here's the second part. Godnight, crashing out now.]
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