Lucifer sat, on the steps of some person's apartment, in the rain. He wasn't just damp, or a little wet, he was soaked. And it was cold out. He looked as if he had been out here in the rain all day, and indeed, he'd been sitting here through most of the downpour, looking sullenly at the streets as people walked by.

People who didn't care at all about him, but simply scuttled off, holding their umbrellas without a word to him.

Did I mention it was cold? Lucifer had a good potential of getting a number of diseases, sitting out here like he was. He didn't care. His clothes stuck to him, and would be impossible to pull off later. But who said anything about later?

It wasn't even a day after his encounter with Jehovah, which made his heart sink and confused as hell. He hadn't even changed clothes. Or gone into his apartment. He'd thought about it, but he'd been hanging around in the rain since Jehovah left... and of course it started raining.

His pants were still the ruined blue green ones that looked like they belonged on a woman and not Lucifer, and that hunter green sweatshirt.

His dark brown hair was soaked, and dripping. It looked black it was so dark, actually, and the sopping, tangled mess got into his eyes. Of course, Lucifer didn't mind. With the rain and the cold, and his hair in his face, there was no way to know he was actually crying. Because the cold made his cheeks red, and the rain made his whole face wet.

He didn't know what to do but just stare, and continue to absorb the rain, whcih didn't look like it would stop any time soon. His body protested against staying out here, as it grew later. Jehovah had left a few good bruises on him. Or at least, would be bruises. Especially by his jaw.

So he stared. Another empty, green-eyed stare.

She was wearing her pink outfit.

And it was raining.

Her mood could be encompassed in a sigh.

Veronica Baker trudged along the sidewalk in foul humour. Her white shoes were wet. How annoying. Most of the time she could take dirt. When she was in her dirty clothes. This was not a dirty outfit.
She sniffled unattractively and fished a squashed kleenex out of her bag.
Fucking retail store was killing her. SHe had folded two hundred little pink tank tops today. TWO HUNDRED. And now all she wanted to do was go home, punk her ass in front of the TV, get out her knitting needles, and watch Queer As Folk. New episode this week. She hoped Brian and Eric would get back together and have wild monkey sex.

So she was a stereotype. She liked mainstream gay shows. She could live with that--even though normalcy in any way was like a pea in her bed. Artsy shows had never been her thing, though, so she guessed she would just have to square with the idea that she had the taste of a gutter-tramp.

Veronica looked up and watched the rain slide off her black umbrella.

There was something comforting about being under something in a day like this, she mused reluctantly. Oddly comforting.

"Fear me, for I am microcosm!" she muttered to herself, not really caring if anyone heard.
A Beatles song was playing in her head. Something about all the lonely people. Where did they all come from? She knew where they came from--crappy relatinoships. Crappy relationships meant that people got hurt and never wanted to date again--thus producing masses of lonely people. Lonely, sucky, semi-violent people like herself.

She tried to get a cigarette out of her pocket with one hand. It failed. She tried to grab it on its way down, missed, cursed, and it landed in a puddle.

Veronica stared at it.

The paper immediately expanded, got mushy. The tobacco inside got weird. It lost its shape. It looked forlorn in the gutter.

Metaphor for my life. Veronica sighed, squelching her naturally immediate fury.

AT this point she noticed a guy onthe stairs. Looking as if the world had reeled back, kicked him in the ear, and then stepped on his face. He was cute, though, in a pretty way.

While she wasn't a huge fan of melancholy, broody males who waited in the rain for whatever sorrows fate would soon award, she felt a twinge of something where her heart used to be.

Teh umbrella wavered over her head. Well, fuck it.

Her steps were casual and sure. When she stopped, she stared at the water dripping off the rooftops. The boy was next to her, like he was on another planet.

But now the rain fell on neither of them.

Lucifer could've cared less. Not like the word 'care' was actually in his vocabulary, since after so many years of neglect, it seemed to delete itself, but it's just easier to put it that way.

He looked as if he didn't even notice that the rain had stopped pelting him, and he just seemed to stare, the expression written upon his face like that of a wounded puppy's, though his eyes remained blank. He didn't move, just stared. Everything was so...empty.

The running of water through the streets could be heard, mingled with the sound of the downpour hitting pavement.

Lucifer was dirty. Puddles were splashed on him, mud was on his clothes from before he was wet... he was just dirty. As dirty as one would expect for someone sitting out in the rain. He was previously bloody from a fall he'd taken, but the rain seemed to wash all of the blood away. He was still bruised, however. He was still hurt.

Maybe he just didn't want to be bothered. Maybe he was asleep with his eyes open. Maybe... he wasn't even alive in the first place.

But he didn't seem to acknowledge her presence. She just added to the emptiness, it seemed. Another meaningless person in a meaningless world full to the brim with people just as meaningless. Just like Lucifer; he was meaningless.

If Veronica had been a mind reader she would have slapped him. But, being sadly stunted in that area, she was merely content to stand there and be ignored.
At least for a few minutes.

After that, she paused and looked down at the guy. "Hey," she said. "It looks like you just lost your best friend." The rain continued to patter down around them, dampening everything, blending the world into a wash of city-grey. She handed him the umbrella. "I gotta smoke. Hold this."

She might have been more understanding if she'd been paying attention to the boy's expression, but her nicotene fix was buzzing in her head so much that her fingers were twittering.

She didn't know precisely what she wanted the boy to do. She wasn't sure. Really, she didn't care. She was tired, yeah, real tired, but standing here wasn't so bad either. It wasn't very often that she was out of the house but not engaged in some form of work.
She only hoped Del would be home when she got there and not at stupid fencing practice. There had been a girl in the store today who was wearing her ex's perfume. It had nearly killed her.

She was a sap. Dear God, why was she such a sap?

"Mmm," was his measly little mono-syllable reply, as he took the umbrella in one hand. It was the first sign of life he'd shown these past few hours, instead of just staring. Lucifer was used to being told something, and doing it.

"You could say that," he murmured, continuing the watch the rain beat down on the pavement, in a constant motion. He didn't exactly know what had happened to make him want to get soaked in the rain, and just stare at nothingness for a long while. It probably had something to do with his half brother, and the beating he took on. He was tired, too. Maybe as tired as she. After all, he'd been on his way home from a long way of work, shot himself in the finger with a nailgun, and a number of other things, then kidnapped and beat up. It was odd, too, how he didn't even know what possessed his older brother to do that.

But anyway. At the mention of smoking, he sighed, silently. He missed his cigarettes. Bomani, his roommate, however, had banned him from smoking, and if he caught him he'd said he'd break his German fingers off. So he tried to quit smoking, cold turkey. And it wasn't exactly working.

The lonely green eyes stared up at her, empty of anything. Soulless green eyes.

Veronica breathed the smoke deep into her lungs, eyes half closing in bliss. The sweet nicotine soothed the tightness in her chest.
The cigarette hung off her lip as she re-adjusted her pink fedora cap. Smoke curled out of the side of her mouth.
She should perhaps have been unnerved by the obvious emptiness in her companion's gaze, but Veronica was having another kind of quiet revelation. One she wasn't even aware of herself.
"Guess you're not much of a talker. That's okay. I've been told I talk enough for three people," she said with a sardonic smile.
"I'm a Baker. The name's Veronica. Tell me your name, sweet cakes."

The smoke made him crave a cigarette, so much that the fingers on his free hand twitched slightly, and the hand holding the umbrella tightened into a sort of death grip. They were so used to holding that little cancer stick, and just his body in general was used to having that nicotine. He ignored it.

My name? You ask as if you don't know I've long since been trying to forget it. Then again, most do...

"Lucifer," he murmured.

Veronica laughed.
"Morning Star, you sure have creative parentage." She shook her head, took another drag. She squinted at the street and blew a plume of smoke out her nose.

"Are you always this morose or am I just lucky?"

Lucifer gave a meak, humorless laugh as well. "You don't know the half of it, hon." Even his voice lacked humor, and pretty much life in general.

"Hard to say..." his stare drifted off to a random passerby, far away from the area he was sitting in. "Maybe you're just lucky."

Veronica snorted. "If I was this lucky all the time, sugar-plum, I'd have conversations with trees." She rubbed her hands together vigorously and tried to blow some warmth back into them. She gave up and took another drag. She leaned down and blew a smoke ring near his face.

"Want some, tree-boy?" she said with a half lidded grin.

Veronica's gaze sharpened. Bruises. She'd dealt them up enough to know em. The guy was small enough, pretty enough, to be beaten around by the big cats in this jungle.
Her heart gave a little wrench. Hayley would have had sympathy for this boy. Lots of it. Oodles of it.
Veronica took a drag on the cigarette like a drowning woman and held it in her chest. She wasn't sure she felt sorry for tihs boy. Not because she was a bitch, but because she was still busy feeling sorry for herself.

Lucifer stared back at her, with those wide eyes, and they glowed with a small amount of emotion, instead of being empty. He gave a small laugh, surprisingly. But that was no good... it was just as empty as before.

"no. I quit." he would've accepted, if he hadn't been threatened by his room mate.

She smiled, one corner of her mouth quirking. Inside, she quaked.
She rallied.
Veronica hated personal weakness. It was one of her pet peeves. But it seemed to keep following her around like a fucking chihuaha.
"I know I'm supposed to say, good for you, old buddy, keep on that wagon. But right now," she said, taking a full breath into her lungs, "I just feel sorry for you." The smoke billowed out in her exhale.
"I've been trying to quit for years. You know how the saying goes. I said no to drugs, but they didn't listen."
She looked down at him and paused.
"My girlfriend left me last week for a man. I feel shitty. What's your excuse?"

"Yeah, I know how that goes." He shrugged. "I quit a million times. Maybe if my roommate wouldn't break my fingers, I'd start again." You know, Lucifer kind of felt sorry for himself, too, despite being one who hated self-pity, or just pity in general.

"If I told you, you'd laugh. It sounds ridiculous."

"Honey," Veronica said, waving her cigarette at him, "You just told me quite seriously that your roommate has broken your fingers--" that sadistic fuck!"--so I doubt anything you say would be worth a hearty guffaw."

Laughter indeed was not a part of Veronica's vocabulary at this moment. The fuck was this boy doing with a roommate like that?
Veronica had never stood for shit like that. When somebody hit you, you hit them back. If they were stronger, you went away and got a bigger stick. It was just that simple.

She cocked her head at him.
"So spill it, Lucie."

Well, he wasn't that bad. Of course he'd done some things, like made him sick and threatened to do violent things to him, but he was better than nothing. He, at least, tried to help him... a few times. Stopped him from killing himself, and caught him before he dropped out the window. All in all, Lucifer didn't think he had it too bad.

"My half brother got mad at me..." he looked down, swallowed, "he's sort of... a rapist, and a murderer... but he's a cop, so he can get away with that kind of stuff. He investigates murders and all that good stuff, which is really... ironic. Idon't exactly know him that well, but I know that he stalks me, and..." hah, this part's embarrasing, "watches me in my shower when idon't know about it... and he reallyjust... waited for me to go home, kidnapped me inhis truck, and hit me."A pause. "hard. And that's my excuse."

Needless to say, Veronica dropped her cigarette.

She stared at him from beneath her fedora, brown eyes blank. For a moment she was completely unable to form words.
"Lucie..." she began. She licked her lips, found them dry, and decided that a new cigarette would help that problem. It took marginally longer than usual to get the cig out of her pocket, and she was not pleased with how her hand refused to light the end, but she managed.
She'd taken two quick puffs already before she spoke again.

"You know, I'd like to think that what you just said was a horrendeous lie. That you just made it up to scare me and make me feel sorry for you. So that you'd get some kinda sick attention to satiate some murderous psychosis." She took another long drag and coughed.

"But I don't think anybody would come up with a story that stupid if they were trying to pull my leg." She suddenly had a moment of vertigo. She put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

"I...ah...right...um," she said, unable to catch herself. She bent her head and looked into his eyes with a glazed expression.

"Really?"

"I wouldn't lie... but then again, how would you know? I'm just a wet kid on the street looking completely morose, is all. There's no sense in believin me, right?" Another shrug, although this time it was only a shru with one shoulder. His right one, to be exact, which was also the one she hadn't put a hand on.

"But honestly, I don't even think I could ever make up a story so damn ridiculous for kicks. I don't want pity, or attention." He looked longingly at the cigarette. Ah, fuck. it wasn't worth having his fingers broken. Stupid addicting cancer stick.

"And you know, I just realized that I'm going to smell like smoke. Not that it matters, anyway." He just couldn't win, could he? Even when he didn't smoke, and simply hung around people who did, when he got back into his apartmnt he'd smell like smoke and his roommate would assume he'd been smoking again. Just what he needed.

His shoulders slumped, unintentionally. He didn't know he did it.

"Matters?" Veronica sputtered. "Of course it matters. I mean, I'm sure its just great spending your time here getting pnemonia and looking pretty but--" she found her fingers were shaking. It was cold. Damn cold.
"--I'd like to think that you don't enjoy it." She smoked some more, briefly uncaring about the smell.
"Masochism," she said with a trailing puff. "You must like masochism." She closed her eyes and wiped a hand over her face. What the hell was wrong with her. Why was she feeling so weird!
SHe removed her hand from his clammy shoulder, feeling like a cad. He looked like he'd just been kicked in chest. She wasn't exactly being comforting.

"Come home with me," she said abruptly. The words came out suddenly, without thought. She didn't care. She hadn't known she'd meant to say them until they came out.
She stared at him blankly, hardly believing she'd just said it. Then she stuck out her chin a little and tightened her lips.

"Yeah. I said it. Any why not? Obviously your roommate sucks. Come home with me. At least I won't beat you," she said, her last words laced with venom.

"And you'd be right in your thinking that I don't enjoy it," he admitted plainly, eyes staring at nothingness once again. "Masochism? I know I told you all those things, Veronica, but don't get me wrong... It's not like I asked for things to turn out the way they did." Despite his words, he didn't sound the lest bit offended, or defensive.

"Come.." he paused, slightly taken aback by her offer, "come home with you? Now you're the one sounding ridiculous."

"No I'm not," Veronica said, eyes ablaze. She grabbed his hand. "My house is only twenty minutes away. Get your ass off the stairs."

Take him home? Yes, there were only the two of them living there. Del wouldn't mind. Hell, she might even be pleased that she'd brought home a boy. And she wouldn't be home for a while anyway...hopefully...but Veronica just knew her big sister. She'd be gruff and mean and then she'd see things Veronica's way.

She'd be damned if she let him go back to an abusive house!

"But," he protested, even as he obeyed and made his way to his feet, "you've only just met me." Not like he was declining her offer, it was just that it seemed odd that she wanted him to comehome with her,after he'd only known her for a few minutes.

"If you want to, go ahead. Nobody's stopping you from taking me home with you." This is spoken like a boy who is used to being pushed around, and doing what he's told to do, wthout question.

"Of course there isn't," Veronica agreed, already pulling him along.
"Its fucking ridiculous that you live with psychos. I won't let you go home to that. Its stupid." She frowned threateningly at nothing in general. The rain was such a pain.

"But if you think for an instant that Del is going to stand you moping, well, hah hah, you have SUCH another thing coming!" Veronica laughed at the thought and tried to quell the brief surge of uneasiness in her guts. What if Del didn't actually want him there?

Well Veronica would be damned to a hell's half acre before she let that stop her. She hadn't worked two jobs for this long to be awarded with nothing.
This boy was going to be awesome.

He'd followed along with her the first few steps, but then stopped. He didn't particularly care if she kept moving along and dragged him with her. He paused, to speak. "They're... they're not that bad..." The fuck? He was defending them, despite the things that happened to him? He must've been really messed up in the head.

He blinked. Once, twice, three times. The name didn't register in his head. "Del?" Like he was supposed to know who she was? Yeah, sure.

Veronica had another thing coming if she thought that he'd be in the least awesome. Maybe she didn't know what she was doing by bringing him home with her? He was just... slightly insane.