[The facts are these: the Pie Maker was minding his own business in the eighth floor diner, grinding another cup of flour onto his marble slab to prepare his pie dough, when he felt a sudden draft. It was a draft he had felt before, on more than one occasion, and before he could put two and two together (or six, six, and six would be more apropos), he found himself clutching a lump of raw dough in front of a familiar face.
Teleporting.
That's...new.]
Lucifer.
[It isn't accusatory, but Ned's mouth twitches and he looks distinctly uncomfortable. For this reason, his gaze wanders.]
1/2
Teleporting.
That's...new.]
Lucifer.
[It isn't accusatory, but Ned's mouth twitches and he looks distinctly uncomfortable. For this reason, his gaze wanders.]