How to Become a Millionaire, For Dummies.

Atlas wondered why books that professed they could make you rich cost so much. 15.99, were they out of their minds? He could practically buy a new nose for that.

Not quite, but the thought was nice.

He put the book back on the shelf and grabbed another.

Lose Weight, Feel Great!

Scoffed, put it back. He was never fond of those kinds of books—the plot lacked and the endings were always so predictable.

Customers were giving him nervous looks, and the sales people were flat out fucking staring at him. He ignored them, figured it was probably because of his grin. It was probably pretty nerve-wracking to see a man staring at self-help books and smiling in a way that could crack a mirror.

You're Smart, You're Cool, And Doggonnit, People Like You!

Yes, thank you.

A pair of green eyes peer into the bookstore, and a man's figure follows in after that. He stands about five feet six inches, and looks to be about, say, twenty one? Of course he was only nineteen, but he could live with that.

Why he was interested in the bookstore at this time of day, he doesn't know, but it just strikes his interest for some peculiar reason.

He is wearing a clingy red tanktop, and some old blue jeans that look like they belong in the garbage. They are obviously his work clothes, because being a carpenter, he doesn't care to dirty his nice ones.

His shoes are old, torn, and beat up black combat boots that he rather fancies, and he knows that they are comfortable. To anyone else, they might've looked like a pain in the ass to fit in, but as a matter of fact, they weren't.

He walks along the bookshelves, spotting the man and giving him a quick glance, but otherwise pays no attention. He doesn't smile, nor look interested in this store at all, but he is.

His bloody red hair casts a fine shadow across his face, and thick, bleached white strips shine through the light.

He walks with no intent of paying attention, and is not very casual at all.

So to speak, this is probably Lucifer.

Atlas was ignored. Atlas was usually ignored, so he didn't really mind. Instead, he gave a wan grin at red haired stranger and picked up another book.

How To Make People Like You.

Chapter One: Smile!

He laughed. Out loud. Startled a browser who suddenly became interested in the exit. He'll smile. By damnit, he'll smile.

In fact, he'll smile at the red head. Widely.

"So, is it working yet?" Do you like me?

Amusement made his eyes glitter. He himself looked professionally perfect—an appearance that screamed, yes. Armani pants that were cut straight and hung from his hips. A pale shirt striped and a gray scarf. He smelled of style, money, and expensive cologne.

"What?" Only someone like Lucifer asks that question in a store. He is rude and loud in stores, only because he has the ability to do so. Because he could.

He turns his attention towards Atlas finally, staring at him like he was some kind of... freak. He looks nice, but certainly not Lucifer's taste. He smells too much like cologne, and he looks a bit too... rich? Yes, that was it.

Realizing he looks like an idiot, he gently returns the smile. He is just trying to be polite.

He continued to smile. One of the most common complaints about Atlas was that trying to return his smile usually made one's face hurt. It was like trying to return the favor to the Cheshire cat.

Atlas wasn't surprised by the look of disregard. Disgust, maybe? Some people just couldn't handle perfection.

"I said, is it working yet?"

What could 'it' be? Poor kid, probably had no idea what Atlas was talking about.

"Is what working?" He asks, slightly confused. This guy is more or less scaring him. He continues to look at him as if he were some kind of lunatic. He does not notice any of the books Atlas picks out, and has no idea in hell what he is talking about.

"Do you like me yet?" A friendly bat of his eyelashes. He was holding up a book. 101 Ways To Improve Your Pores.

He wondered if he was freaking the boy out yet.

He continued smiling.

"Uh, right." Now he understands. He was trying to read those damn self-improvement books that never worked. "Not quite," He offers a friendly smile now that he knows what the hell he's talking about

"Well, that's certainly unfortunate." The book was placed back, turning around.

How funny. The Love/Sex section was right across from the Self-Improvement section. The grin widened (was that possible?). He picked up a book—woah nelly! He would have to find someone that flexible somewhere down the line. The book was put away—in the wrong place, but at least not on the ground.

"What if I tried to start an idle conversation with you?"

It was amusing how he had done these two before he was suggested to do so. Hell, everything was amusing. He could just die laughing.

He understands that he thinks he is amusing, but he doesn't see how anyone could smile so much. It almost sickens him. "What if I put poison and your food and watched you die?" He asks. He hopes Atlas gets what he is saying.

"I hope it would be a very entertaining death," said he. Atlas knew what he was implying.

He smiled.

"But I'm guessing that this isn't a very entertaining conversation."

He smiled.

"Do you have anything interesting you would like to discuss?"

He smiled.

He quirked a brow. "Not with you," he says, making his way to another book shelf. He picks out a fantasy novel, and since it isn't very entertaining, he places it back. He's not as interested in the book store as he was wearlier. He actually isn't interested at all now.

Atlas had that effect on people. He laughed under his breath and made his way to the cooking section. Hm. Pasta. He always liked pasta. Angel hair pasta and devil food cake. He opened one—mmm. That looked pretty good, actually.

He smiled.

Lucifer passes the aisle that Atlas is in, politely(if that's even -possible-) flipping Atlas off as he walks by, and pulls out a book from the other aisle about the human behavior (ironically). He opens it, flips through the 'Soul is a Nut' chapter, then decides it's a piece of crap, and shoves it back where it belongs.

He was flipped off. Hm. He never quite could understand why people would be so offended by such an action. Then again, he was Greek.

He threw a vague two fingers up in response. Moved to another section. The classics. Picked up Romeo and Juliet, flipped to the end.

They died. How tragic.

Leave it to Atlas to not know the ending to Romeo and Juliet.