Morose, once a silent, solemn man has lived the past few months as a depressed and suicidal vampire. Twice in nearly six months he’s tried to starve himself, once now he’d killed, and nearly killed himself for it, and now the worst of all that has haunted him. He’d bit Jex. The only person he’d cared for in the past nine years of his life, the man he’d taken great measures to nurish back to health, and he bit him. Not on the neck mind you, on his arm, but he’d done it nonetheless.

And were it not for the fact that Jex would never forgive him, Morose would have been sitting outside waiting for the sun to rise on him that morning. As it was, Jex would hate him if he did that and Morose knew very well that he could not just turn around and leave Jex alone.

So here he is, walking the streets in the dark, bringing to mind the term ‘creeping.’ He’s an imposing figure in his height and basic appearance by itself but more so with the makeup and the style of clothing. He’s taller then the average, and appears to be as thin as bone, but as recently discovered, despite his vampiric strength, he happens to hide a good layer of toned muscle beneath his clothing rather then skeletal thinness. His skin is deadly pale as are his eyes, and this is strange because he’s a red head and red heads are often dark eyed. His hair is short, long in the bangs, and tonight he’s wearing pants that fit his waist but bell all the way down his legs, growing wider until in the end of those forever long legs, the pants engulf his booted feet.

The stitching of the pants is red and he wears a red fishnet shirt beneath a tight black one, but this can’t be seen beneath an unecissary for him black hoodie sweater. Tucked behind his ear is a long stem thorny rose with the redest petals, the flower sealed to life in clear wax. His lips are lined and filled with black liner and his eyes heavily lined with black. Beneath his red eyebrows is red eyeshadow. He hides his fangs tightly beneath his non-smiling lips.

What might be more shocking for anyone who finds out that he’s a vampire (once they get past that little detail) is that he wears a black granite cross hanging around his throat by a tight leather strap, above that thin cord of a strap is a thick black leather collar that hides the mark of the vampire.

He’s alone, he’s hungry, very hungry, and he’s weiry. He’s not slept in days because the nightmares won’t go away. And the only thing keeping him awake right now is three things. One, he’s walking. Two: he’s concentrating on breathing even though he doesn’t need to. And three, He’s smoking a cigerette that he can’t feel in his throat or lungs anyways.

What was he supposed to do now?

Nothing, that's what. Lucifer was a nothing, no matter what anyone said. No matter what Ilea or Bomani had said, Lucifer didn't matter, and was left unloved. It seemed, lately, the kid was making up excuses for being unhappy, but really, he hadn't meant to come across like that at all. That's just the way he was, and Lucifer was never happy anymore with anything in life.

Bomani had worked so very hard to build back Lucifer's trust, and to protect and care for him, but it seemed he didn't want him to protect him anymore. He sucked at it. Lucifer figured it was just because he wasn't paying the guy, and Bomani, despite what he said, secretly hated Lucifer. But who wouldn't hate Lucifer? He was whiny, created too many problems for people to handle all at once, and was recently always trying to kill himself one way or another. It was pathetic, and it screwed Bomani over so badly sometimes...

And speaking of screwing Bomani over... despite his warnings, and despite his attempts at trying to make Lucifer healthier, he'd failed. What Lucifer's actions said right now were 'fuck you, Bomani'. He also had a lit cigarette dangling from his lips, but unlike Morose, he could actually feel all the toxins rush through his throat and to his lungs, destroying them, like he'd been destroying them all these years.

At least he didn't drink anything. At least he wasn't staggering home drunk, like he usually was. No, Lucifer was unfortunately sober, so no surprise passing out on Bomani when he got home...

When he got home...? If he ever got home, tonight. Maybe he'd just skip out on returning to the apartment tonight, like he'd been doing lately. He'd made it a habit. He went to work, didn't eat, ended up walking aimlessly out here for hours, and never returned to the place he called home. But he never felt at home there, even if it was his home. He felt like it was Bomani's house, and he was just a stupid, useless, waste of space, and was always in his way. It didn't matter if Bomani told him otherwise. Nobody could stop Lucifer from feeling the way he felt, since he was stubborn as a mule.

Lucifer wasn't dressed for the cold. He had a crimson-colored sweatshirt on, with sleeves that were torn and had holes in them, and nothing under it but flesh... not even a short-sleeved shirt. On a silver chain, Lucifer also had a cross, which was in plain view, although it usually wasn’t. Lucifer wasn’t religious like Morose was, though.

To go with that, he had a pair of old jeans that looked like they should be thrown in the trash. They had extremely large holes in the knees, were frayed at the bottom, were torn at the seams, and were stained with bleach, drywall compound and blood. The blood was recent, though. He'd cut himself on something at work, and hadn't bothered to take care of the wound, either. In fact, if one cared to notice, his hand was still bleeding. And of course, Lucifer wasn't one to stop the steady flow of blood. Let himself bleed, no matter what it stained. He could care less about clothes... never mind work clothes.

His walk was slow. Too slow, like he didn’t intend to get anywhere, and he was just wandering, looking for a place… any alley would do, to collapse in. But, honestly, it was because those were actually his intentions. To collapse in an alley, and go back to work in the morning, if he ever woke up from sleeping… that was a nice thought, but that was just wishful thinking. Lucifer knew he couldn’t sleep, much less sleep forever, like he wanted to.

He wasn’t finding anywhere sufficient enough to fall in for the night, though. If it was possible, his slow walk got much slower. It couldn’t even be called a walk now, though, since he was barely moving, and barely paying attention to anything.

In fact, he stopped completely, and would’ve whined that he just wanted to sleep…

Just wanted to sleep. He took the cigarette from his lips and blew out, frowning. A couple more steps, and stop. Couple more steps, stop… that went on for a while, until he stopped, to try and make out a figure.

The figure had stopped to. But when Lucifer had begun to walk a few steps and stop, a few more steps and stop, a few more and stop again, the figure didn’t go and stop and go and stop in his pattern. Instead, the Morose seemed to have turned into a statue for that long moment. He wasn’t moving, not even to flick the ash from the end of the cigarette. The only part of him that seemed to make any movement at all was the glowing end of the cancer stick making it’s way closer to the filter.

He could smell the blood. Like when he’d been asleep and bit his only friend, Morose was starving hungry, but unlike the night when he’d sank those devilish fangs into his only friend’s arm, the blood was actually drawing his attention. Only a night ago he’d been practically swimming in Jex’s blood and felt no pull of interest, no need to taste that blood. But right now, the smell, so strong he could taste it on his tongue, it was drawing, enticing. Tempting him to images that he didn’t want to have in his head.

He didn’t want to think about the blood and the effect it had on him, the need he felt. The amount in which his surviving depended on it and Jex’s trust in him surviving depended on his own surviving. If he died, so would all of Jex’s respect, trust, his friendship. Morose didn’t want that. He didn’t want to picture the man’s body on the ally floor, not bleeding in the least because he’s the one that took all of his blood, left him dead.

He closed his eyes trying to close them from the images he was seeing only to strengthen the memory. Jex’s blood had covered him so thouroughly. So sickeningly. And now the smell wasn’t far off, and it didn’t belong to Jex. And it was just one, skinny, lonely man. Who would miss him.

Finally Morose moves. He shakes his head once, riding himself of those thoughts, of the vampiric instincts that seemed to have been bred into him the night he was turned, the instincts he’s been fighting against so hard.

No. Everyone is always missed. Even the lowliest of bums and the most friendless man on the earth would be missed by somebody. And you don’t really want that. He didn’t want to hurt or kill or feed off of anyone. Maybe he should go back to the slaughter house and feed. It might keep these thoughts away for a while. Suppress them for a while at least.

His hand raised to take the cigerette from between his black lips, blowing out, and flicking the ash from the end. He simply watched the other figure. He should walk away now before he’s tempted again. But the still-too-human part of him wants to help.

Lucifer didn't want to think that that man was a vampire. So he didn't. He was just another lost soul, in the night. Just another guy with no place to go, just like him... but nobody was just like him, no matter how similar. Still... there was nothing to worry about... even if somewhere in the back of his mind there was something nagging him, telling him that he wasn't just like him... but he just pushed it away as irrational paranoia.

Was it true, that Enyo was the only vampire that was different from the rest? Was it true, the story about the man she turned into a vampire, and felt bad about it? Was it true, that Enyo didn't want to hurt him...? Was it true that she wouldn't have bitten him in his sleep? Was it true...

Mentally, Lucifer shook his head. Just one lone man had stirred up so many thoughts about vampires. But why should he be so paranoid now? He'd walked the streets alone in the dark so many times before, without worry. He shouldn't have to worry...

He drew the cigarette from his pale lips and blew out, glancing down at his bloody hand... and wondering.

'Look at you, you could've been a bloodsucker's favorite drink!'

He faintly remembers those words... even if he was drunk at the time. Bomani had said that to him, when he'd been slumped against a brick wall, smoking, waiting to die...

but it was true, even now. He was so careless... was Bomani worried for his sake? Was he worried that he'd never see him again? Nonsense! Bomani wouldn't miss him... nobody would.

Lucifer supressed a sigh, and walked on, absently flicking the ashes off the end of his cancer stick.

Telling himself that the other was a vampire physically might have been more then appropriate. But he defiantly was not one of the species at the heart. And the man might not think such when he came closer. Hidden so well were the fangs, and flat on his chest was a cross. This was not a normal attire of a vampire.

It was probably true that Enyo would not have bitten him while he slept. She’d crooned to him soothingly as she’d done so, explaining what was happening to him. Had he been asleep, she would not have been able to explain and he would have reacted with more violence, if at all possible, then he had while awake. But Morose didn’t often think about Enyo. He didn’t often visit her either. He was attempting to be more excepting of her. But then he’d killed a man. Since then, he’s not returned to her.

Ha! He could have been an bloodsuckers favorite drink. Morose didn’t know if this man was uninitiated and just simply stood watching him because he was strange, wore make-up, was a freak. Or was he initiate and suspicious of Morose. Suspicious of anyone they came across? Never would Morose think though that this man would suspect him to be a vampire. At least one reason was that he was bleeding, and Morose wasn’t stalking or attacking, and here he stood in plain view, trying to show no threat.

(I don’t know about Bomani but the shadows worried sick right now about it’s friend).

The other man began to walk again but Morose didn’t move. Was he walking to him? Or was he simply continuing to walk on?

Upon closer inspection (though it seemed he wasn't paying attention anymore), Lucifer shooed away his suspicions of the man. He knew it was just irrational paranoia... he knew that if he was a bloodsucker... or vampire, whichever... that he would've attacked him by now. Would've been all over him at even the slightest hint of blood. No... he wasn't a vampire... couldn't be... Lucifer's suspicions died down, almost complately now, at the sight of the cross... not something he would expect someone of his kin to be wearing.

So he was just another man, out in the dark, like he was... there was nothing wrong with him, he wasn't freaky, he didn't want to hurt him... he could just pass by him.... just another face in the city, and soon forgotten afterward. Just another nobody, like Lucifer... just another human being, trying to carry on with his life...

Lucifer's walk didn't quicken, however. The weary man continued to trudge down the sidewalks, hoping to get no where in particular...

but he wondered if he could just fall into the sidewalk now... without waiting to get to an alley... without waiting to get anywhere in particulare.

Lucifer bent down and smothered the last ashes of the cigarette into the sidewalk, and then stood, tossing the butt of it away into the dark, empty night.

Then he continued to walk. Was he walking to Morose? He was nearing him, but that wasn't the intent. He'd simply been wandering and...

it could've been all these exhausting days at work, or so many days starving himself, or the toxins finally getting to him, but he couldn't find the will to walk anymore.

He let himself fall to the ground, carelessly... and he hardly made a noise.

Just a man. He wished that he could once again be just a man. Morose wanted more then anything to be that faceless nobody that was never noticed, never given a second glance or thought. He would pay dearly to be just like everyone else, to be a nobody just wandering around in the dark with nothing wrong with him.

But that was not possible. No one knew this better then Morose. He would always be something different now, to live on dead while his friend died into a real death, to lay peaceful and undisturbed while he was left alone on the earth. No one to love him because they feared him. No one to hold him because he feared for them.

But this didn’t mean he could not pretend to be normal. He could force himself to breath like a human, to smoke a cigarette that, unlike a normal human, would have no effect on his dead lungs. But he was smoking it like a human at least.

And he could pretend to be worried like a human. Wait. The other man stopped and fell onto the street, making no noise of pain or protest. He didn’t have to pretend to be unworried. He really was.

Morose tossed the cigarette to the side, letting it smolder away on the street and walked to the other man’s side. He pressed the toe of his boot beneath the mans shoulder and rolled him over. He then squat down beside him. Was he dead or faint?

And, just for a day, Lucifer wondered, what it would like to be dead... to not live. He'd give anything to be dead, like Morose would to be alive again. He just didn't want to live, anymore...

maybe it was the cold, getting to him. Maybe that's why he felt so tired... and had no will to go on...

or was that just how he always was? Lately, he couldn't remember. Couldn't remember which day happened when, what happened on which day, and... he couldn't remember why he wanted to die, in the first place... Was it just the lack of will to go on?

Everything went around in a circle... a big, confusing circle...

but he wasn't dead, no...

his eyes were still open, big and green, staring up at Morose, with a blank look.

Maybe he'd died with his eyes open..?

No. He’d not died with his eyes opened. People who die with their eyes open hold one of two expressions, fear, because no one really expects death to take them the moment it does, even when they’ve been expecting it, or peace. Life is over, they’re going to be gone now, and there isn’t anything else to worry about. But whether it’s fear or peace that is seen in those eyes, there is always that empty, glassy, glazed look that no living person could ever imitate.

This other was very much alive. He may not wish to be, but he was. Now, you must know that only a few months ago, Morose would have taken this man somewhere more private and let him die as he wanted to. If a man wished not to live any longer, so be it. But in the last few months, since being turned, he’d learned a great deal. And one of those lessons is that no matter how alone you think you are and that no one will care if you die or kill yourself off, someone will always hurt when you are gone. Morose should know. He wants to die, but it would kill Jex if he died. But this isn’t the Morose from a few months ago. This is the vampire, the man that’s learned his lessons and keeps them close to his mind.

Morose knelt beside the man’s body and put a cold, thin hand on the man’s cheek, patting lightly and holding another finger in front of the man’s eyes, trying to see if they were still able to focus. Meanwhile, his eyes strayed down the man’s arm and to his bloodied hand. Supressing yet another instinctual urge, he inspected the cut.

“Look. Can you see it?”

See what? His finger. His voice was deeper then it had once been, hollowed by crying and screaming.

Sorry Arcy. That was me.

Unfortunately, no matter how much he wanted to die, he just couldn't. It was like, by some strange power, he was being kept alive. But Lucifer didn't believe that... he didn't believe, despite what people said, that they cared. But somewhere in his heart, he did. Lucifer wasn't that selfish. He saw how the shadow reacted to him when he said that he would still be her friend. He knew, somewhere, that Bomani cared for him, so much that he would keep him from doing stupid things...

Despite this, Lucifer still wanted to die... still wanted to get rid of himself. Despite their efforts, Lucifer hurt too much to just let those things go... he was a broken, useless human being...

Can you see it?

See... it? There was a man kneeling beside him, now? ...what? Oh, he'd fallen, right.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

((S'okay. Whenever there's a reply, I just assume you typed it.))

”Of course you’ll be fine.” For now. But how long will that last?

He dropped his finger away from the other man’s face and his hand ran the length of the other’s arm, to the source of the blood that smelled so tempting. His voice was gentle, however raspy and deep it may be, and his touch, with long thin fingers, hands that dominated all of the other’s arm, was light and nearly as gentle as his voice.

As Morose’s hand slid over the other’s arm, he noted the thinness, the lankiness that always seemed to accompany thin people. It reminded him of himself, only, beneath that thin lanky appearance and beneath his clothing, there was muscle. Not much mind you, and it was strengthened by the fact that he was a vampire, but it was there, however bony he may appear. His fingers slid over the other’s hand, clearing blood from the wound. So tempting. So needed.

The cut wasn’t too terribly bad but it would become infected if it was not properly taken care of. And he told the other so.

“You need to get this fixed up. And you shouldn’t be lying there. Do you want mugged?”

Of course not. He wanted to die.

What was it with Morose? He seemed to be a magnet for people like this. He’d found Jex in much the same condition, only Jex, he was dying, and he didn’t want to die. But always, Morose seemed to find the sickly people lying in the streets, and always, he felt the need to help them.

"No, no. Damn it, it's fine, it's fine." It wasn't fine, though, because Lucifer wouldn't make it fine. But he'd like to think everything would be fine… that everyone could be at peace, for once. But somehow… he knew that he was disrupting the peace… breaking the calm, with his wishful thinking… hoping to be ran over by an oncoming train, however unlikely that was.

“I don’t need to… I can take care of myself.” Not that he would, what with all his health conditions he neglected to take care of… and neglected to at least even eat once in a while. He couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself, because in all honesty, you can’t care for yourself if you don’t care about anything at all.

“And please don’t touch me.” He doesn’t like being touched. Not by strangers, sometimes not even by Bomani. It’s a thing he’s developed, after everything bad happened to him…. He just doesn’t like to be touched.

“…I can take care of myself,” he repeated, as Morose mentioned that he shouldn’t be lying around here.

(Blah, short post. Sorry it took long to reply, my muse kinda died.)

Yeah. I rather like to think that an on-coming train is very out of the question. Maybe a car or a really big truck and he can pretend it’s a train. But as long as Morose is here, he won’t be getting hit by anything.

“Of course you are.” It was spoken in a tone of a man who obviously was being sarcastic and was doing very little to hide the sarcasm from the other person. He lifted Lucifer into a sitting position by himself. Strong man, even if Lucifer is just a little spit of meat that doesn’t eat.

“If you could take care of yourself then you wouldn’t be lying here like this.” He indicated all of Lucifer, meaning not just the hand or the fact that he’s lying in the road. Morose knew a man that wasn’t surviving properly when he looked at them.

Morose went on to move down and squat beside the other, long legs folding like the baggy folds of the pants. He was still inspecting the wound, his lips pressed tightly together so not to be tempted. Though, the more he realized the man didn’t want to live, the less tempted he really was.

Morose didn’t reply to his plead of no touching except to lay Lucifer’s hand gently back down and dangle his hands between his own knees, long fingers relaxed, scared from little cuts.

“I believe you could take care of yourself. If you really wanted to.” He looked over the other with a slow blue gaze. “you could have been hit by a car or become some night crawlers midnight snack.” Heh. Ironic? He’d gotten the phrase from Enyo. He shook his head, pointed at the hand. “I can fix that for you.”

You could have been hit by a car or become some night crawlers midnight snack.

That was so similar to what Bomani had said to him, it had almost scared him. But, that didn't mean he didn't want to be hit by a car, or become a night crawler's snack. In fact, he'd be perfectly content if that was the way it went.

"Isn't that what everyone wants?" And there's a small, depressed, smile. It wasn't even meant to be a cheery smile, and even if it was, it would still look melancholy, coming from Lucifer.

"I do that I want." Yes, he does... although it might seem funny that he wanted to be lying here on the pavement. Or not so funny, if anyone knew he wanted to die as badly as he did.

"And I don't want it fixed. I can take care of it myself."

If Morose knew that the words had almost scared him, for any reason at all, he’d be pleased. That was his point. Morose cocked his head at the man’s next statement, horror flashing through his eyes. Such intense, painful memories. His eyes looked as though he were pained, being bitten at that very moment.

“No. It isn’t what everyone wants.”

His blue eyes turned away from the man to look down the street. Any vampires here would not bother feeding on the bleeding man. Not with Morose here. They would assume that this vampire was toying with his food. The thought disgusted Morose. And no car would be hitting him either. Their headlights would catch Morose’s white skin, his red hair, two figures sitting in the street. The most that Lucifer would get out here with Morose around is swore at for lying in the street.

“Of course you need it fixed and you obviously can’t take care of yourself.” He shook his head, turned those sad eyes back on the man. “Do you know what dieing feels like? It’s painful. It makes you wish you’d never wished to die. Just a taste is enough to make you not want to die.” He should know. He’d not cared about life either. “Don’t you have anyone that loves you? Why would you want to leave them?” He shook his head again. “It’s selfish.”

Hand in the pocket he found another cigarette, the lighter, and he put the unlit stick between his lips.

There was no need to yell, or to argue with him, because, in a way... he was right. More than just 'in a way', but that was all that Lucifer would admit to that he was right. He shook his head, bringing his knees up to his chest.

"You know, I won't waste my breath arguing with you." The seemingly saddening smile had faded from the young man's lips as quickly as it came, and now he simply looked up at Morose. "Because, you know... I guess you're right. I guess everyone else is right. I guess I'm wrong... the world's just like that." He was wrong to think that death would save him, though. He was wrong, in almost every aspect of his life. He was just... wrong.

"I know... it's selfish. But that's what we human beings are, isn't it. Most people want what they want, without care for other people's wants or needs. And in the end, we all still want something... whether it be children, marriage, money, power... it doesn't matter.. we're all selfish." Though the concept made little sense, that was Lucifer's view of the world.

"And, some people just never quite get what they want... because there's always something, or someone, no matter what their intentions are, in the way. Whether for good or for bad, out of love or selfishness, they just won't allow people the things they want..."

"And I guess I'm wrong. I guess I'm selfish. I guess I should care more, but I don't."

I won’t waste my breath arguing with you.

“I hadn’t expected you to.” The words were gentle again, not the ‘your stupidity is giving me a headache’ tone that he’d used a moment ago. Morose knew he was right, didn’t need the man to tell him so. But in doing so, the man was acknowledging that he understood, so Morose didn’t interrupt any more. He let the other have his say, leaned back onto his heals, fingers lacing between his knees, his blue eyes never wavering from the others green eyes.

He was more then right. All humans are selfish somehow. He had been. He’d cared for no one else, wanted attintion from no one and in return gave no attintion back. All he’d cared about was finding a grave of someone that he wasn’t sure had been dead, and then dying himself.

Funny how being bitten can wake someone up. Or shut them down. Both had happened many times to Morose since he’d been turned.

Morose brought the lighter to the cigarette and lit up, blowing a steady stream of smoke from the corner of his lips, pocketing the cigarette. He inhaled again and held the smoke, finally exhaling involuntarily. He didn’t need to breath. He had to think about it to make himself do it.

“Yes. You should care more. And your right. There is always someone in the way. An d in this current situation, I happen to be that someone.” His tone had changed again. Still gentle but assertive. He’d don this with Enyo too. She’d bitten him and he’d reversed the role and become the dominate figure of the pair. He had his ways. “So if you really want to die, you’ll just have to plan for another night because letting someone wallow in self-pity and pretend to commit suicide by being run over on a street where there’s been no cars for over an hour wasn’t on my schedule tonight.

Was that an actual smile, sans Lucifer's general sardonic nature? It might've been, but who knows with him. It didn't last long at all, though. Probably about a split second, and since his head was tipped downward, his hair covering his face now, it'd be hard to see.

He shook his head again, his nearly black colored hair swaying slightly with this motion.

"I wasn't actually planning to die tonight, you know." There was a touch of almost wry humor in his voice, but he was frowning.

Morose smiled, slightly. Crookedly. Then chuckled.

"Then your body seemed to have it planed for you." He began to stand up to his full height, breathing in cancer causing smoke, greeting it with uneffected lungs. He nearly was at his full and unusual height when he slowly dropped back down, cigarette dangling between his lips.

He reached up and removed the cancer-stick from between his lips and let his hand dangle over his knees, guestureing at the man's hand.

"I'd shake your hand but..."

So tempting but so far he's done good at pushing away the scent, the taste, the urge. He frowned.

"Are you certin you won't let me fix that for you. If you don't plan to die tonight, you don't want to be snacked on tonight. And with that, your a target jumping up and down just itching to be noticed."

He seems to disregaurd the innish shouldn't tell the uninitiate about magic. If he can get a non-magical person to believe in vampires 1. at least someone will be more cautious and 2. he must be really fucking convincing..

But? But what...? Lucifer had already passed off the idea he was a vampire since, for one, he was breathing, and secondly, he hadn't bit him yet. He wasn't what Lucifer would consider a vampire...

"Perhaps..."

He was still frowning.

Then there's that melancholy smile again.

"I said I didn't plan for it to happen, don't mind if it does, though.. and damn, you remind me of my roommate.."

But there's blood on his hand. No normal human non-vampire would shake a man's hand with his blood all over it. And Morose didn't want to be tempted to lick it from his own hand if it smeared onto his palm in the process.

Then the roomate comment. He sucked on the cigeratte, tipped his head back, blew smoke. Thought about that comment. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad. He was going to take it as good.

"Good. He probably cares if you die too then."

Stubborn ass.

"You should mind. I used to think like that."

Theres that incredibly sad look again.

If he did shake his hand and smear blood over Morose's palm, he'd be very... disturbed if he were to lick it off.

"...probably." That was the closest Lucifer would get to realizing that ornery, stubborn Egyptian who called him a camel cared in the slightest for him, or had a heart. He often thought of him as a killer, and had been afraid of him... but he knew he cared, somewhere...

And there was always Ilea. He felt bad for even thinking of death, after thinking about her... after agreeing to be her friend. With how excited she'd been that he accepted friendship, he'd think he was her only friend or something. That made him feel guilty.

Stupid guilt.

Lucifer almost winced. He looked so sad... probably had a reason to be sad... to be hurt... more of a reason than Lucifer. And that made him feel even guiltier. He was such an asshole. He frowned, again. He didn't like it when other people hurt... he didn't want them to hurt.

"You look like you've been shot, pushed down in the mud and trampled... And I bet you had more of a reason to think like that than I do."

I wouldn’t blame Lucifer for being disturbed. Morose himself would be disturbed. Just the very thought...it made him sick.

Guilt was a human quality that people can’t escape. Morose should know. He felt guilty nearly every day. Guilty for letting Andrew be taken away, guilty for taking life for granted, guilty for shunting out Enyo, guilty for killing a man, guilty for biting Jex. And he was still adding to his list. And every guilty feeling hurt more.

Morose blew out another stream of smoke. Too bad it couldn’t destroy his lungs anymore. Or maybe it was a good thing. He almost scoffed at the man’s next words.

“That would have been a little better.”

Opps. Not meant to say that out loud. Or in such a wishful voice. He blinked, looked at the stars, turned the sad blue eyes everywhere, then finally rested his gaze on the man again. The cigarette smoldered between his fingers, producing more ash then smoke in his lungs.

“Sure I did.” Subtly sarcastic tone. “I just wanted to die because life sucked and I didn’t think anyone could love me.” Ironic. Same exact reason Lucifer wanted to die. He’d blamed himself for everything bad. He’d convinced himself he wasn’t loved. The only thing was, Morose wouldn’t let people love him. Not after being dropped by his parents. Not after Andrew was taken away. He’d not wanted love. And he’d not wanted life. Now that it had been taken away, he’d give anything except Jex to get that life back.

In some ways, that was exactly how it was with Lucifer. But it wasn’t the fact that he didn’t want to be loved… he shut out people because he didn’t want to hurt them by what he did. In fact, he wanted to be loved, but it was impossible to let down that barrier he’d been building up… it wasn’t that easy, although he would’ve liked it to be. It’s funny how many contradictions make up Lucifer, the man who now considered himself damned in so many ways. What he didn’t realize, though, was that no matter just how screwed up he got, there would always be someone who loved him, and cared if he died. And that someone, only that one person, might’ve changed Lucifer’s mind. If only he weren’t so stubborn, and would listen, and realize… that more than one person would miss him if he were gone.

“Isn’t that how it always is…” It wasn’t a question, really... it was just something not meant to be said, and was rather murmured, sadly.

Lucifer put his elbows on his knees, and his chin in his palms, staring out at nothing in particular. “Life sucks, and then you die… and who knows what happens after that.” Morose probably knew. He was dead, after all.

“But isn’t it funny… we get what we want, and then suddenly it doesn’t seem so great anymore? I mean, just for one second, or maybe an eternity, you wish things could be back the way they were before?”

It was just a random question. Lucifer had wanted Erik. He got Erik, and now Jehovah hated him. Now he couldn’t trust anyone anymore. He wouldn’t. Now, it wasn’t that he didn’t want Erik, but with everything, now… Bomani, Jehovah… Ilea… it was just complicated. He wasn’t sure who was friend or foe anymore, and what was going on. He just wanted things to be back the way they were, when he knew how to deal with them… he didn’t want to be hated, and he didn’t want to hate anyone.

And it wasn’t just Erik, in a case where he got what he wanted and it sucked. It was a lot of things.

Morose had also gotten a great many things and wished that he could give them back, make them normal again. None of what he wanted in his life had turned out what he'd expected it to be like.

He rolled the cigarette between his pointer finger and thumb a few times, watching the red, glowing tip creep towards the filter slowly as if it were the most interesting thing he'd seen all week. Then, in a swift and sudden motion, the cigarette swooped towards the ground, stubbed out on the concrete with such force that the remains of the cigarette had bent at the joint of the tobacco and the filter.

"Hell."

His eyes returned to those big sad green eyes.

"Hell comes next."

This coming from a very religious man. Er, Vampire.

But yes. Morose knew what happened after you died. You got barried under a few feet of dirt, your loved ones visit once or twice, then never come again. And then the cemetery keeper stopps cleaning up, gets lazy, and your headstone gets covered by overgrowth and weeds and your forgotten forever. Take it from someone who spent nearly every night in a cemetery.

Hell? Lucifer would've laughed at the idea. He didn't believe in hell or heaven... he didn't believe there was a better or worse place from this current state of life. But instead of laughing, he shook his head gently.

"No, I believe this already is hell.. anything after this would seem like nothing."

Ouch, that could hurt the steadily decreasing... acquantinceship(?) the two strangers had. Lucifer wasn't religous... no, he was far from religious. You see, he only believes things people can prove, with evidence... everything else is, just as all religions suggest... a belief.

"It doesn't matter what you believe, though... we're all damned, in one way or another. So I guess hell could be an option."

I don’t think it would. Ruin the acquaintanceship forming. Morose is very open minded to the thoughts of others. After all, his only friend before Jex had been an Atheist. A complete non-believer. And if you could prove it somehow, he still didn’t believe it. He would say If there is a god, why would he have done this to us? (while they talked about being orphaned). But Morose always shook his head and sighed. He didn’t have an answer. Why would God do this to them? A test?

“This certainly is hell on earth.”

He would know.

“But trust me. It can get worse.”

He would know that too.

“And you don’t want that. No one does.”

His voice had grown raspier with that last part, his eyes only sadder if it was possible. The hand that had attacked the street with the cigarette wandered up to his throat, two fingers rubbing a short length of the leather collar.

Under the collar is the reason he would know.

(what a depressing pair.)

Those are certainly along the lines of what Lucifer would ask. He'd once believed there was a God, for a short time... but as his life situation steadily declined, he lost faith... not that there were a lot of faithful people back in Germany... in fact, most of the churches were empty... and there were only a small portion of Christians there. Needless to say... he never really got a chance to believe. Besides... I don't think Lucifer could believe... in anyone, or anything, anymore.

"Worse? ...No, I'd never want that." He shook his head again, sadly, and closed his eyes.

"What I want is..." a long, silent pause.. "I don't even know anymore."

(Indeed.)

Morose hadn’t been raised with religion either. His family, which he didn’t know, were Jewish, which he also doesn’t know. Morose happened upon his religious vigor because he’d devoured all of the other books in the small selection that the orphanage called a library and finally came to the New King James Bible. It interested him. No one else believed the stories. You could say his religious life actually started as a part of trying to rebel against everyone else. Now you couldn’t make Morose not believe.

He watched the sad man in front of him. He would feel bad for the man, except that he’s hardly got room to spare to feel bad for anyone. But he had enough left to spare a bit of rough handling.

“Let me fix that for you.”

You look like a mess and someone walking by is going to think that I did it to you. Besides, it’s becoming unbareable, that open wound being flaunted in my face.

Lucifer didn't really read books. It wasn't that he didn't have time, it was that he just... didn't like to read. Plus, here in Canada, they didn't offer books written in Germany... which was mildly depressing, since speaking English was enough, but... reading and writing it? That was hard... Sure, they offered the Bible in German, but... Lucifer never bothered to ever read the damn book.

"I already told you, it's fine, and I can fix it myself. Or Bo can." Bo being the nickname he accidentally created for Bomani.

He supressed a sigh.

"He worries too much. It'll get taken care of."

Either that, or Ilea could take care of it for him. She probably would've been glad if he asked her.

He frowned, red brows knitting togather, crinkling the skin between the brows, then his skin, complexion, face was smooth and unlined again. He rolled a shrug off of one shoulder.

"Have it your way."

Vampire snack.

No. He couldn't allow himself to think like that. It was dangerous to his self. He shook his head, hard, as if trying to knock water from his ear. He looked longingly at the cigarette he'd crushed on the pavement. He had a full pack ready to light up...but it wouldn't give him that wanted throat burning, lung seering result.

He tipped his head back, rubbed pale hands on his pants, stood. Dropped a hand down. We're going to shake hands anyways because it's proper. But instead of dropping the appropriate right hand he offers the left. He hopes to receive the unbloodied hand.

"Morose Riddle."

Resisting the urge to counter back with some remark like 'I will', Lucifer wrapped his arms around his knees, now... the infamous position that seemed to be the only one he was comfortable in these days.

Lucifer should be glad he was still alive. He was capable of doing so much more... and feeling so much more. It was too bad he wanted to end life so badly.

He shook his head, slightly, at nothing at all, and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened his eyes, the hand dropped down confused him. Then the though registered. Oh, handshake. Thought you didn't want one? Oh, left hand. No blood.

He, reluctantly, offered up his left hand, which wasn't bloody.

"Lucifer... Valentine." It's ironic, isn't it.

Yes. But what strikes me as more ironic is Lucifer and Jehovah. And their mothers didn’t even know each other.

Morose shook his hand. Even some of the larger men with larger hands seemed small in comparison to those large thin hands and long boney fingers. So Morose’s hand basically swallowed Lucifer’s. And yet again, one might notice that big calloused hand had a unusually gentle touch, as though he’s used to touching fragile things.

Lucifer is defiantly rather fragile.

And Morose defiantly notice’s his name. Being Christian.

“Lucifer?”

Inquisitive but not insulting.

But their father probably had a similar idea in mind for both of his children.

"Yeah. Luc, Luci, Lucifer, whatever you wanna call me." He looked, almost sadly, up at Morose's hand, which did indeed seem to swallow his own small, delicate hand. Yep, Lucifer is definitely fragile, if anything was.

"I suppose it's fitting."

Every other person he told usually had a weird reaction, or said something like, 'your parents didn't really like you, did they?'

Morose had similar reactions. How could a parent name their child Morose? But then, you think about the fact that they dumped him in the orphanage, most people would say they hated him. Not really though.

He smiled at Lucifer’s list of names. He himself had no nicknames, no pet names. He was simple Morose Riddle.

“How is it fitting?”

When Morose pictured Lucifer, he pictured a tall, strong angel that god cast out. Not this skinny, fragile, sad man. Mortal man. Lucky.

Lucifer usually told them something along the lines of 'no, they didn't.' just to shut them up. Because that was partly true... his father never cared about him. His mother, though... of course she cared.

What Morose pictured as Lucifer could've been wrong. In one of the scriptures, it said, in the end, when he is cast out, everyone shall see what he is, and look upon his face and ask... 'this is it? this is what caused all the havoc and mayhem?'... or something along those lines.

He shook his head. "Don't know. Pain in the ass, I guess. Always fucking things up."

Morose shook his head. He’d never though of himself as fucking things up. Only as wanting to be left alone. But he was willing to bet that this man before him didn’t often fuck as much up as he thought.

“I doubt that.”

He shifted his weight, fingered his shoulder, then his collar again, both of which had bites under them, one from Enyo, one from himself. Maybe his parents should have named him Luck instead of Lucifer. Just like his own should have named him Michael or Mitchel instead of Morose. But who knew why parents picked the names they did.

If they were to have named him Luck instead... well, they should've named him 'Bad Luck' is more like it. After all, he never meant to get beat up, or raped, or do most of the things he did. He didn't plan to have things happen to him that did.

He shrugged, again.

"Most people do. But I doubt they would even know."

"Even Know what?"

He kicked one foot at the cigarette butt on the ground. Why was he standing here talking to this man still? Tempting himself with the smell of his blood?

Oh yeah. Because Morose is a sap.

"Want to er get some coffee?"

Sa I can sit it in front of me and pretend to drink it. Because coffee, though he'd never liked it anyways, was bitter in comparison to blood.