The club was loud, crowded, stuffy, and over all entirely too hot. It was obvious just from glancing at the inside that the club had met it’s number capacity and far beyond exceeded it. It was one of those modernized buildings, two huge rooms with a second floor, like a walk around level that you could peer over down onto the dance floor, the neon lights lining the railings and stairs. The first room was a club/bar style, the second another bar, but this one set with seats and tables, a stage dividing the center. The entire club catered to the seventies/early eighties style.

She’d spent half of the evening on the stage, dancing her adolescent heart out for dirty men who went to the clubs because they couldn’t get any anywhere else. She’d collected a good tip tonight, and a good pay check. Finally working six nights a week from seven to two AM was paying off. She exited the club from the side exit into an ally where several men stood cooling down, throwing back a beer, smoking. Cat-calls and a short howl followed her to the sidewalk. Salem is used to walking around looking like bait. And tonight, that’s exactly what she looked like.

She was wearing a short top that may have once upon a time been a halter-top attacked by a lawn mower. It’s stretched tight over a plentiful chest (plentiful for a seventeen year old girl). Her skirt is short, the kind that clings over narrow hips and butt. A long length of muscular, shapely tanned legs shows between the short skirt and the top of knee high boots. They’re leather, an inch platform and wide, rubber heals making them easy to walk in. Her purse is small, black, hangs of her shoulder by a long thin chain, and holds no cash. All of that is stuffed into her boot. Her hair is spiked sharp and high, the bangs falling over the right side of her face, allowing only one half of the pretty face to be seen. Her eyes are wide, green, and artful make up does something to draw your eyes to her’s even though with such a livid green, they needed no help.

It’s currently two-forty five in the morning, the air is suffocatingly humid but still no rain.

Click. Click. Click, click, click.

No luck.

Click. Click.

Finally flame greeted the end of the cancer stick, licking over the paper and tobacco for a minute before looking like it died down, the only thing left of it the smoke from the end of the cigarette.

The lighter was carefully discarded into the back pocket of his jeans as he took a slow drag, blowing out smoke from both his nose and mouth, the smoke flowing down his throat and into his lungs.

Lucifer looked over the streets with wide green eyes, those identical to his half-sister walking just across the street. His dark brown hair pulled into a lazy ponytail, bangs hanging in his eyes also resembled Salem’s.

His clothing was really nothing much. A pair of black jeans and a gray button-down shirt unbuttoned all the way. He was just out for a walk, couldn’t sleep, so was having a cigarette, the stick dangling between his lips as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

He offered a glance to Salem as he passed her, stopping for a moment, giving that ‘you look awfully familiar’ sort of look, but not quite as dramatic as it should have been. Rather, it was actually very subtle.

She may not have noticed him as he is if he hadn't stopped and looked at her. She would have seen a man, on the street, and the pepper spray disguised as a keychain found it's way into her hand. Then she noticed the look and in turn, raised one slim, brown eyebrow.

Odd. She didn't recognize him but he seemed firmilar too. Probably just someone who frequented the crowds of the club while she danced. She offered a polite smile with full lips and no teeth. A beautiful smile for simply offering it politly. Maybe her flirtatious smile was dazzling.

"Morning." She continued to walk.

"Guten Morgen." His accent was clearer when he spoke the German words, eyes trailing her as she walked. It was funny... she almost reminded him of... him? Especially even with the smile that sported no teeth.

"Do you mind if I ask your name?" He asked, trying to be as clear as possible, but that damned accent still lingered in his voice. He sounded just like his father.

He took another drag, just standing there.

He cocked his head to the side a little, drawing the cigarette away from his lips and blowing out more smoke.

"Hello," she replied. Well, she understood him. Or guessed what he'd said. Try the later. Salem's never been very interested in other languages, especially not since her father happened to swear often and loud in another language. She always thought her mother said it was greek or german or something along the line.

He sounded like dad. And she paused again, her finger and thumb twisting the lock off of the mace spary keychain. He's not big enough to be dad, he can't be Chris and your being paranoid. Yeah. That's it. She turned around to meet his gaze, and froze. He sounded so much like dad, had eyes like dad...and her.

"Smoking is terrible for you," even though she breaths second hand smoke in the bar. It's the only thing she could say for a moment. Then she blinked. Her smile was gone. "Salem."

Second-hand smoke was different. Second-hand smoke you had no choice but to breathe in, and she had no choice but to breathe it in where she worked. Though she did have a choice in where she worked.

"Everyone tells me that. I've quit a million different times." With his free hand currently not stuck in a pocket, he pushed away hair from his eyes, cigarette still in between his fingers.

"Salem... Salem... Wie schade... I do not know anyone by that name.”

He took his other hand out of his pocket and wrapped it around his chest, frowning slightly.

(trans= what a shame.)

She let her eyes drift over him once, then tilted her head to the side just a little, a curious expression coming over her face, her lips parted just a little as if thinking prevented her from closing them entirely. Not only did he sound like dad, he had eyes like dad. She suddenly became very curious and resisted the urge to circle him.

“Yeah well smoking’ll get you dead in just a few short years. What’d you say?” I told you she doesn’t speak German. Then she stepped to the side and began to circle around him with curious green eyes, despite her attempt to not do so. She reached up and almost identically mimicked his gesture by pushing her bangs back from her face, only to have them fall back, then be pushed back again and tucked behind her ear. There’s a scar on her eyebrow, just a diagonal slant a half an inch above her eyebrow and hanging a little below it too.

Does her circling you remind you of...lets say...Jehovah?

"Das tut mir.. ah, damn. I mean I'm sorry about that. Wie schade, it means 'what a shame'." Why should he go through the bother of explaining? Because she asked?

His eyes traveled her as she bega circling. That reminded him all too much of Jehovah. And that hair, and those eyes...

"And it's better to die young than to live a full, miserable life." After all, Lucifer's had enough misery for his entire lifetime and more.

"What's your last name?" He asked, finally. He was almost thinking Jehovah was the father, but wasn't he too young to have a kid so old?

Actually, if Jehovah had spawned her then he'd have been only 12 years old when he'd done so.

She smiled when he started to speak in german again. "Why a shame?" Still circling him. Skinny fellow.

"Don't give out my last name to strangers," she replied, because five years of basically street life taught her well. Live without a last name and no one can hunt you down. "What's yours?" She's holding the keychain in her hand so that her finger is over the lock, easy to unlock, her thumb over the button that ejects the burning subject. He's asking a lot of questions. But then, so is she.

She paused in her circleing to frown sadly at him. "Is your life that bad that you'd rather throw it away then try to fix it?"

I wouldn't doubt he'd do something like that.

"Because... you look so familiar. I thought I had to know you, somehow. But it's a shame I don't."

Drawing the cigarette back to his lips, the corners of his mouth turned down into a slight frown. "Fair enough," he managed through the object in his mouth, mumbling only slightly as he took another drag, drew the cigarette away again. Such a common practice.

"Valentine. Lucifer Valentine." He said softly, coughing for a minute on the smoky substance.

"And yeah, it is." Sure, there were some good points, but not enough of them where he'd want to keep on living this way.

"Oh." He started to cough and she turned the corners of her turned down just a little into a frown. "See what I..." She was going to say told you so but then he'd introduced himself and she actually stumbled backwards two steps, her heavy boots making two loud sounds on the side walk. Her bangs fell forward to cover the entir right side of her face again.

She stared at him for a long moment, then dropped her green eyes down then up his body and smiled nervously. "Are...." Lucifer was the name of one of the triplettes. Her mother used to tell her 'if Chris said they were the devil kids they are, they're probably little angels. Fucking bastard.'

"Are you a..triplette?"

'See what you... what?' was what he was going to say, but stopped himself before he asked because she apparently had something better to say.

Green eyes focused on her, then looked away as he crouched down on the sidewalk, smothering the ashes of the cigarette into the ground and throwing the butt away. Then he stood again.

"I am. Or I was... why...?"

"Was? What happened?"

Because was means they're dead. Because you can't be a 'was' just by being disowned. Then your just a 'yes, but they don't want me'. She shook her head. She was being rude, asking questions before she answered his.

"Because my..." she twitched her lip once. "My dad's name is Valintine." She stared at him for a long minute. "My mom said he told her he had triplettes. Alis, Lucifer, and Keith." No, she never forgot the names.

"Suicide." It seemed a simple enough answer, didn't it? But Lucifer never actually could figure out why they did it. Were their lives... that horrible?

He sneered at the name, at the remembrance. Not her. "...bastard." This made his lips twist into a rather distasteful frown. "Chris? He hurt you, didn't he?" He knew the answer was going to be yes.

"I'm sorry." She would have liked to have met them too...maybe. Had they been as skinny as him? Or had he made himself this thin? She dropped her hand, removed her finger from the lock gaurd on the mace spray. Did he hurt her? All the time.

"When I fought back." She repiled simply, not hurt, no sarrow, no anger. "Did you ever fight back?" Because she already knew, or at least, she and her mother had suspected, that Chris beat his other children and wife and girlfriends if he could beat them.

He waved a hand in a gentle and seemingly passive hand gesture. "It's all right. Not your fault." He still wasn't over it, but he didn't need pity or sympathy. Which was funny, because that's what he seemed to be lacking all of his life.

"I tried." His voice held no hurt either, but rather was almost... emotionless? "It was useless. I guess I can be glad I'm still alive." He shrugged simply, crossing his slender arms over his thin chest.

"Sorry, you had to..." have that bastard as a father, he was going to say, but he couldn't manage to finish the sentence.

She smiled just a little and seemed to be searching his face. "Don't be. You had him too." She knew what he'd been about to say, or at least, she thought she knew. She stepped forward again from where she'd stumbled backwards and held out one hand, several braclets (the kind popular in the seventies) jingled and clinked togather.

"Salem Griffith." Now she knows who he is. Now he isn't just anybody. "Did...you know we had more?" Siblings that is. "Did you know about me?" Because I got the bastard when he left your mother.

But he had to be sorry. Had to be sorry for anyone who had Chris for a father, as nobody, no matter how horrible they were, deserved that fate. He held out his hand as well, a hand perhaps as small as hers with wrists just as thin as hers, and took hers.

"A pleasure to meet you." Even though it might have been better if they'd met under different circumstances for different reasons, but.... well, beggars can't be choosers.

"No, I didn't. Not until recently. Chris just up and left one day, and I've never seen him since." He'd only heard from him when he'd killed his mother.

Strange. He’d killed her mother too.

Her eyes went a little wide again when he said ‘until recently.’ That meant he knew another one that she didn’t. She smiled then, shook his hand, let it go with a little effort. She was fighting not to toss her arms around his shoulders and hug him and kiss him. That would be childish. And she was not childish.

“So you know them? Have you met them?” She sounded a little bit excited by this new. Tucking her bangs back behind her ear again, now that scar is self-explanatory if you know who the father was. She wanted to meet them, her brothers. The others that suffered.

He gave a little smile, too. Weak, faint, subtle, but at least it was real and not sad.

"I do, and I have. His name's Jehovah, and he rescued Chris' newest child. Her name's Jocelyn, but she's only just started talking." He returned his hands to his pockets after she shook his hand, shaking his head. "I don't know if there are any others." He almost hoped there weren't, but it was something that was useless to hope for. "But I'm assuming there are, sadly."

He looked up a little, looking at her face. Pretty... beautiful, even, like most of Chris' kids were. But that scar. Scars on the face seemed to be a trademark of his father's. He didn't even have to ask how she got it.

Jehovah would be happy to know that Lucifer said he 'saved' the child instead of doomed it by taking it in. Though he'd never admit that.

"Jehovah." She smiled. "I've heard about him. His mom named him. Chris said they were both ingrates. I bet they're great." If only she knew. "There are more," she confirmed. "But I always assumed I was the last, so maybe theres more then even I thought. Joceyln. Jehovah." She smiled again. This was exciting for her. "Pretty names." They all had pretty names. Lucifer, Krisstopher, Salem. Alis and Keith.

"Yeah. His mother had to have done so. And Jehovah's... well, he can be... okay, in his own..." fucked up, insanely logical way, "...weird way." he settled for after a moment, smiling faintly. It was a funny thing to think about.

"More? You know?" He didn't know about Krisstopher either, and probably neither did Jehovah. But Lucifer wouldn't know.

"Jocelyn, yeah. Jehovah made me name her." After his mother, you know, as Jehovah was going to name her Rebecca after his. It was funny, though, since he got attached to her even when he didn't want to.

"Mm, yeah. They're unique, too." He smiled just a bit more.

"How old are you?"

She laughed a little at his explination of Jehovah. "Weird? But you like him?" Or is he scary and mean like dad, like a lot of men she'd met since dad. She sounded just a little timid to ask that question. She seems to be accepting this very coincidental, very unusual meeting rather well.

"I should say I know of more. I knew about Jehovah. And Krisstopher. And I bet there are more that mom didn't mention or he didn't tell her about." She shifted a little uncomfortably. She didn't usually like when people questioned her age, if too many knew, her boss would have to let her go and she'd be jobless again.

"Ninet..." Frown. Not nineteen. This is you brother. Or Half way. You can tell him the truth. "Seventeen." She said it a little quieter. "Your ninteen. Or twenty. I know the year you were born. That's all."

"Sort of. It'll take a little more time for me to know for sure. You know, he's just... he can be mean. He was mean, when he first met me. I can't say I blame him." After all, he had reason. Chris had told him that Lucifer killed his wife, his own mother. But it was a lie.

He shook his head a little, remembering the memory, recalling it with... what's that? A smile? Shouldn't that have been a frown? Ah, well. Lucifer had already forgiven him, it looks like. "But he's all right if you get close enough to him."

"Kriss...topher? I haven't even heard of him. Dad didn't say anything. I hadn't known about Jehovah, about you, about Kriss... it makes me want to go look for all of them. All of his spawn." But he knew he could never find them all. Isn't it ironic that all five of the kids are in Bayfield, though?

"Seventeen." So he was just a little bit older than her. That wasn't exactly surprising.

"Yep, nineteen. Will be twenty in only a handful of weeks."

Yes. Seventeen. And dressed like that. Tch. But the fact that they're all in Bayfield and none of them intentionally looking for eachother makes since when you think about the fact that Chris happened to have lived here. So had Jehovah and Salem's mothers.

"Mean?" Timid again. "Can't blame him? Why not?" Being mean was never excusable. Not to her anyways. Forgivable, but not excusable. 'But he's all right if you get close enough to him'...."Can...." Swallow. "Can I meet him?" Timid still, but very obviously excited. Like a three year old at a pool party.

"He didn't say anything to me about it either but the trailer walls are thin and...Mom told me stuff. She used to tell me that....you and...and your brothers. You guys.." She rubbed her bare arm. "You were all possessed demons and...Jehovah beat him and his mom up and Krisstopher was a monster." Well....all of it had a little truth to it. Jehovah did indeed beat Chris up, Lucifer eventually got possessed for real, and Kriss was (of sorts) a monster.

"Spawns?" She sounded offended in a way. "I don't know about you but I don't think of it like that. I'm my mother's daughter." Not my father's spawn. Even if it is what she was.

Lucifer would have said something about her manner of dress, you know, but he really wasn't her father, and as he'd just met her, it wasn't his place to say. But their acquaintance had to be stronger since he was more than a stranger... he was her brother, or half-brother in any case.

It just seemed ironic that Lucifer and Kriss lived here with all of them, since Kriss was originally from Britain, and Lucifer from Germany, his father's homeland.

"Mean, because he thought I beat my mother, because anything that was Chris' had to be bad... because he grew up with Chris all of his life." Not 'my father' most of the time, but 'Chris', because he didn't deserve to be a father... didn't deserve to have kids.

"I'm... not sure about that. I could ask him, if you want. So it's not a surprise?" Lucifer liked Salem so far, and didn't want Jehovah to attack her because she was his half-sister.

"Monster? Demon-possessed?" Oh, come on Lucifer, you didn't expect that? He lied to Jehovah too. "Surely, Kriss couldn't be that bad, and I'm not... well, I wasn't.." possessed, that is, but he didn't say that. He didn't say anything. Instead he shook his head.

"I'm... sorry. I hadn't meant to word it like that." His father was all that he had left, his mother and brothers were all dead, and he refused to think about any of them.

She stared at him again, her eyes a little wide. Her bangs fell forward to cover half of her face again like a curtian. She ignored it, giving a little shake of the head to untangle hair from her eyelashes.

"Chris said a lot of things." She dropped her eyes to the ground then. Such as that Lucifer's mother had been ungratful, lazy, and kicked him out. "Jehovah Lived with him? I couldn't even stand him for..." her lip twitched a little, the smile faultering. "I left after eight years. I couldn't take that anymore."

She at least had the pleassure of knowing that Lucifer, Alis, and Keith hadn't had to deal with Chris past six years...unless Chris had gone back to them after he killed her mom. "Five years ago...did he come back?" To them? "That would be awful." Because she'd run away. It was her fault her mom was dead, it would be terrible if they'd had to deal with Chris again because of her.

and I'm not... well, I wasn't To little Salem's uninitiate self this was a rather weird thing to say and she didn't make the connection. Then hadn't meant to word it like that "How had you meant it?" She thought he might have meant it in some context with his wanting to die.

She looked at her watch, rubbed har arm again, managed to bring back that bright smile. "Wanna go get coffee or tea or..." She trailed off. Or something?

He surprisingly stared back into her eyes, but he found it was easier as she was related to him. This also made conversation much easier on him.

"I don't doubt it," he commented softly, with only a little bit of a frown tracing across his pretty face. "That's what he told me... I only lived with him for seven years, and after that he just... left. No goodbyes, no... nothing." Aside gfrom a few more scars to remember, that is.

"But... he came back, recently, to fulfill his threat. Should've been more careful and observant of his whereabouts." In other words, he blames himself for his mother's death. He could have saved her if he'd watched over her, stayed with her, knew where Chris was.

He shook his head. "Mm, never mind. I don't think there's a right way to word it." He turned a little, smile flickering back across his lips.

He looked back up into her eyes. "Sure."

"That's when I got him." she commented when he said that Chris had left with no goodbyes. See, she'd been born but Chris booked. Then he'd come back after he left Lucifer's family alone. She didn't sound remorsful about 'getting him'. She'd learned over time that there was absolutly nothing she could do about it and there was no reason to go through life regreting something that you could not change and was done and over with.

She'd learned a lot of things. And really, aside from being a dancer, she'd turned out very smart.

When he said 'never mind' about the whole possession thing, she dropped it without a hesitation, though her green eyes remained very curious. That would be another thing that sets her apart from her brothers, she just drops a subject when she's told. Or maybe that's one of the very few left over child-like qualities she possesses. Someone says stop, you stop. Mostly.

"What do you mean fulfill his threat?" She turned and started walking, her skirt swishing around her butt. "Do you know anywhere we can get tea? I have to go home and change first though." She said touching the short skirt. Her other clothes weren't much better.

"I figured something like that. I'm sorry." He says sorry a lot, perhaps too much. Thatr's about the fourth time he's said it to her, isn't it? But he really is sorry, you must understand that. And there are perhaps more things different from each other that are more apparent.

He was glad that she left it alone just like that, however. Jehovah picking and prying and asking questions, interrogating him... all of his behaviors were just starting to destroy all of the last little fibers of sanity left in his mind. He needed all of the sanity he could get.

"Finally decided to finish the job and kill my mother. I almost knew it was going to happen sooner or later.." he tried not to sound remorseful and it almost worked. He wasn't trying to be a martyr, you know.

That flickering smile returned again, and he looked down. "I think they have tea at that coffee shop, mm, Half baked bean...?" Yes, that was it. "Have anything... less revealing?" It was a gentle joke, you must forgive him.

She paused, looked down at her skirt and shirt at his gentle teasing and then back up. Then she smiled. "Does it embarass you? I can try to find something if you like." And she continued to walk. She only lived a block from the club and around one corrner, which they were currently turning. It was a good place to live...well...not really, but it was conveinent for the girls. A block from work, two from a mini mart, and three from a gym.

"How?" Gentle, soft. She's good at asking sensitive questions with a carefull tone. "I think he killed my mom too. He wouldn't have if I hadn't left either, I expect." She sounded a little saddened by that comment. It's the first time she hadn't sounded at least mildly cheery. Then as they neared a brick building, crumbling and dirty, she smiled again.

"You can come up if you want." She climbed the steps to the building and held the entrance door open wide for him.

"That would please me." If she could at least put effort into finding something that didn't make her look so much like a hooker, or something of the sort. She deserved something softer, less revealing but still pretty... it'd make her look gorgeus, as his mother did. He almost managed to smile at the thought, but didn't.

"I don't know. I don't think I ever want to know, either. But I might've been able to save her." If he hadn't been so focused on his life, he probably could have stayed with her and protected her... protected his brothers from their own foolish demise.

"You don't mind?" He asked, taking a step or two to follow vaguely behind her.

"Then I'll try." She was already trying to think if she owned anything that she wouldn't wear to work. She kept the door opened for him and waited patiently. "It's Chris. No one can save anybody once he's decided." (It's where Jehovah's stubborness comes from.) She again sounded breifly disappointed, then smiled again. "My mom had to have been unconscience most of the time." That's the little hope she clings to anyways.

She shook her head at him. "I don't mind at all. You're my brother. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it." So trusting. Not. "Jas might be up there though. He gets a little protective just ignor him. But I think he's working." She abandoned her post at holding the door to trot up one set of stairs to a landing, skirt swishing. Nice veiw for Luc. If he dares to look.

Unconscious, hm? Lucifer would've liked to think that of his mother as well... such a smart woman, he'd figured she'd call the cops sometime, file a divorce, say something to somebody, but she just took the beating, and he knew that was not the case. He should've shot him when he had the chance... he just didn't have the guts to do so. He couldn't kill someone, no matter who it happened to be. Someone always misses them, right? Right? ..right...? Well, at least that was the only little voice of reason left in Lucifer's head not to do so.

"Okay." And he climbed up the first set of stairs, holding the door just as she had abandoned her spot in holding it for him.

No, in fact, Lucifer doesn't dare to look as he follows her up the next flight of stairs. It's just not... right. And he's not attracted to females, anyway.

She took the key, attatched to the pepper spray key chain, and unlocked the only door on the landing. The building was three stories, Their trashy little dump was two flights. The appartment and then the loft, a rickety spiral stair case leading up to a square entrance.

The room was wide and open enough with three doors leading off of it, one a bathroom. The wood all looked worn and the paint was peeling, falling apart. There were two sofas, the ends connecting to make a corner, a TV, a coffee table, and a kitchenette along one with a little bar island that made it look cramped. There was a man in just greasy jeans slouched down on the sofa with his boots up on the coffee table. He had a beer in his hand.

She walked in and slapped his shoes off the table. "Getcher damn boots off of the table. Where's Victoria?" He shrugged and mumbled she was probably sleeping. "Oh. Well look, this is Lucifer Valintine, he's my brother. Lucifer this is Mike." Mike raised his eyebrows, then nodded, then returned his attintion to the TV. Salem started up the rickety spiral steps. "You can wait there or come up, I don't care. Help yourself to anything in the fridge too."

Lucifer followed her in, gaze slinking around the room in a vague attempt to take in his surroundings. The apartment was trashy but it didn't surprise him. He leaned up against a wall as Salem spoke to the man on the couch. He watched silently, his eyes nor his lips never moving.

"I'll wait here, I guess. And no need to offer me anything." His shoulders raised slightly then dropped into a gentle shrug.

"Hi Mike." Small talk. He buried his hands under arms carefully folded across his chest. The man seemed to be more interested in the telivision than anything else.

Salem shrugged and bounced up the spiral stairs. Her very small, light build made the stairs shake a little, even creek once. Jas turned his hollowed eyes to Lucifer when spoken too. He slowly and pointedly put his feet back up on the coffee table top and smiled.

"Hey." Sip of the beer. "So yer her brother?" Another raise of the eyebrow. "You a Shepiro or a Valentine?" Chris Valentine. They'd never met him but everyone in the apartment knew about him. Every few months Salem would wake up screaming and falling out of the bed because of the bastard.

When Salem came back she'd traded the shred of clothing for something that covered her just barely more then that. A pair of combat work boots, very short, blue jean shorts, and a man's shirt, tucked into the shorts to show that she was wearing them (because the shirt covered them entirly). It's neck was cut out too, hanging off both shoulders but beneath it she had on a black muscle shirt, covering everything. So really, she'd covered all except an indecent amount of leg.

"Get your damned shoes off the table," she slapped his boots off the table again. "We're going out, I got my key."

"Whatever," any interest he seemed to have had in Lucifer was hidden or disappeared when Salem had come back down, now his eyes were back on the television. Salem walked over to Lucifer with an apologetic look.

"Sorry, it's the best I have." Meaning the short shorts. Nope. All her jeans are in a storage unit awaiting winter.

"Valentine." He answered easily. When he spoke his sentences or words were short and to the point. Concise. He stared off at the wall, waiting for Salem to come back down the stairs.

His gaze lingered there for a minute before drifting back towards the stairs when he heard footsteps. He watched her come back down and slap his boots off the table again. He knew that when they left he'd just put them up there again.

He slipped his hands into his pockets with a nod.

"It's okay. Better than what you had on." He offered a shrug, pushing himself off the wall. "Take it you're ready?" He questioned.

Of course he'd just put his feet up again. But try, try again. Maybe one day he'd get the point. Ashley slapped his feet off the table too, now if only Victoria would too he'd be living with three women who hounded him about it. But he thought it was ok since Victoria didn't bother him about it.

Better than what you had on.

She wasn't even insulted. Wouldn't normal people be? But she's not normal, Salem's too happy, to opptimistic to be called normal. And it wouldn't do to be insulted by the brother you just found, right? She pulled open the door and led him down the stairs again.

"Tell me about you mom? And Jehovah." She wanted to absorbe information about Lucifer and Jehovah. She tucked bangs back from her face again and looped her thumbs over the edge of her back pockets.