Ｌｕｃｉｆｅｒ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
castdown) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entranceway2013-04-23 01:44 pm
castdown) wrote in entranceway2013-04-23 01:44 pm
Entry tags:
- dead like me: george lass,
- doctor who: martha jones,
- final fantasy vii: sephiroth,
- sanctuary: helen magnus,
- supernatural: castiel,
- supernatural: dean winchester,
- supernatural: gabriel,
- supernatural: lucifer,
- supernatural: meg,
- supernatural: samandriel,
- the three musketeers: d'artagnan,
- the three musketeers: lord buckingham
[001 » Video/Action » Open]
[ It goes like this: Gabriel is dead, and Lucifer is still holding his blade.
He shouldn't have it, should have destroyed it, but perhaps it says something that he didn't. Perhaps it means something that, when he spreads his wings to leave his brother's body and winds up buffeted into a mansion instead of Detroit, the first thing he does is draw a blade not his own.
(It means he's sentimental, he tells himself, and he stows the blade with a scowl and a twist in his Grace that calls him a liar. It's not sentiment, it's regret.)
It doesn't take long for Lucifer to discover the device, and even less for him to realize that, archangel or not, he's not going anywhere. This place is foreign, oppressive, and it resists all of his attempts to escape, and that alone makes cold fury ripple through his Grace; he doesn't like being held. But there's no information to be had outside, and eventually he turns to the network.
To most, he looks remarkably average. Slightly scruffy, bedhead, wedding ring... but the look he gives his surroundings is almost chilly, and he is drenched in blood. A lot of it. It's in his hair, spattered across his face and down his clothes, and it's fresh. Even stranger: he's not even fazed by it.
But then, none of it's his.]
This is a curious little cage, isn't it?
[ There's something distinctly dangerous behind his detached curiosity; the Devil doesn't appreciate being caged. ]
He shouldn't have it, should have destroyed it, but perhaps it says something that he didn't. Perhaps it means something that, when he spreads his wings to leave his brother's body and winds up buffeted into a mansion instead of Detroit, the first thing he does is draw a blade not his own.
(It means he's sentimental, he tells himself, and he stows the blade with a scowl and a twist in his Grace that calls him a liar. It's not sentiment, it's regret.)
It doesn't take long for Lucifer to discover the device, and even less for him to realize that, archangel or not, he's not going anywhere. This place is foreign, oppressive, and it resists all of his attempts to escape, and that alone makes cold fury ripple through his Grace; he doesn't like being held. But there's no information to be had outside, and eventually he turns to the network.
To most, he looks remarkably average. Slightly scruffy, bedhead, wedding ring... but the look he gives his surroundings is almost chilly, and he is drenched in blood. A lot of it. It's in his hair, spattered across his face and down his clothes, and it's fresh. Even stranger: he's not even fazed by it.
But then, none of it's his.]
This is a curious little cage, isn't it?
[ There's something distinctly dangerous behind his detached curiosity; the Devil doesn't appreciate being caged. ]