DADS DADS DADS DADS. (Read below for a short written scene to add context)
Lucifer purses his lips, echoes of his daughter's words jarring daggers from behind his mind's eye.
“They’re our people too, dad. People with—with hopes and dreams, and—and fears. Like you, and me. I have to do something."
That had been months ago. Same day she left home, along with most things in her room and the knickknacks that had innocently scattered around the house. Once overlooked, now the fractures that chiselled the crack in the wall.
From the corner of his eye, the man’s brow tightens. Lucifer watches shoulders stiffening under a black suit, a red beak pulling into a frown. The imp's eyes remain cemented in the same spot of the table, however, an empty murkiness tredging the edges. Too recognizeable. Too familiar.
Lucifer closes his eyes. Fine. Okay. Okay.
“Uh.” He clears his throat. “Hard day?” Perfect.
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"Doesn't count," is the first thing Jimmy says when he opens his eyes again.
YOU WILL FIND I DECIDE WHETHER OR NOT--
"Nope! Doesn't count," Jimmy says. "Fuck you--I can swear no one's watching I'm dead--fuck you, doesn't count, I wasn't first, baby!"
WHAT? NO, AS I SAID, I AM THE ONE WHO DECIDES WHETHER IT COUNTS OR NOT. AND YOU WILL FIND--
"Doesn't count! And don't try to--I'm not sad about it. I mean I am, I'd have preferred not to get obliterated by a warden, but like, as I said, fuck you, it doesn't count."
YOU'RE DEAD.
"Yeah well, I mean, that part counts, sure. Pretty familiar at this point, right? And--man okay now that all the, the game is wearing off, I do feel a little bad about Lizzie. I really didn't mean to kill her last session. Except I don't feel that bad. Because it doesn't count baby."
The figure standing next to Jimmy shuffles its incorporeal feet. I ADMIT I AM VERY CONFUSED RIGHT NOW. YOU ARE DEAD.
"Yep."
YOU ARE NOT ARGUING THAT.
"I mean, sort of hard to at this point, right?"
WHY DO YOU KEEP SAYING IT DOES NOT COUNT. IT DOES. I AM HERE WITH THE SCYTHE AND EVERYTHING. I HAVE DRESSED UP TRADITIONALLY. MOST OF THE TIME YOU'RE SCREAMING ABOUT HOW IT'S NOT FAIR AND YOU DON'T WANT TO DIE AND ALL OF THAT.
"Yeah, well, it doesn't count, so I'm not going to do that."
IT DOESN'T COUNT AS... DYING?
Jimmy shrugs.
THAT ISN'T--YOU KNOW THIS ISN'T HOW THIS WORKS?
Jimmy laughs, and all at once, it's bitter and exhausted and everything else he's been feeling for two years, since he stepped into a circle with Grian to start a game and stepped out again the first casualty on a battlefield. He's not sure he can name what the emotion is. He just... does.
"Doesn't count," he says.
VERY WELL. THAT DOES NOT CHANGE WHAT MY ROLE IN THIS IS, EVEN IF YOU ARE... EXTREMELY CONFUSING.
"I want to go say thanks to Lizzie. Maybe apologize for the whole accidental murder thing but mostly thank her for being bad at the game." Jimmy pauses. "Is that mean?" He pauses again. "No she'd totally do that to me in my place. So yeah. Here you go. Take me away, big man."
The incorporeal figure shuffles its feet again. I. AND THAT'S IT? THAT'S ALL YOU'RE GOING TO SAY?
"I mean, yeah," Jimmy says. "It doesn't count. I don't have anything else to say because--well, it was unremarkable, wasn't it? That's the good bit about it."
MOST PEOPLE PREFER DYING REMARKABLY.
"Most people are stupid," Jimmy says, and he grabs Death's hand, and they leave.
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