Chapter Text
In hindsight, it had been a fairly probable outcome that Vox would show up to the Overlord meeting.
The Vees had taken to alternating their attendance like the meetings were an undesirable shift at work instead of a brief news update that barely lasted longer than five minutes. This, at least, was what Alastor had explained while the demon and cat strolled towards the meeting place.
Because rather than renew his wards around the hotel, Alastor spent the morning walking Lucifer through the streets of Pentagram City, engaging in a spirited debate about how long Lucifer had been planning to pretend to be a normal cat (“A brief amount of time;” “How brief? For the next century?”) until Lucifer felt sufficiently embarrassed to switch the topic to where they were even headed towards to begin with.
Alastor responded with several red herrings (the tailor’s, to finally get Lucifer some kitty-sized clothes; the circus, to leave Lucifer where he truly belonged because he was an utter buffoo–) before responding with the truth, which Lucifer couldn’t help but feel intensely curious about.
He hadn’t maintained a particular interest in Pride Ring politics, but he did want to know more about Alastor’s role in it and his place among the Overlords. The radio demon was, after all, purportedly somewhat of a big deal.
Not that Carmilla, or many of the other Overlords, paid much heed when Alastor waltzed into the meeting room right on time, twirling his cane with a lighthearted jazz standard playing from his microphone. Only the Overlord with a large feathered hat gave Alastor more than a glance. By Alastor’s near-imperceptible ear twitch, the lack of attention seemed to annoy him.
Lucifer chuckled lowly as the two of them settled into a chair, Lucifer curling onto Alastor’s lap like during their mealtimes. He felt rather vindicated at the demon’s ego getting a long-overdue check and opened his mouth to whisper about it when Alastor put a hand over his face.
“Now, now, you mustn’t speak here. This might be the worst of all places to be recognized.” Alastor murmured, tugging on his cheek just so in the place that Lucifer hated.
(Reason, or whatever modicum that existed in his otherwise bereft head, stated that he shouldn’t transform back into the devil because a stray cat sitting in the radio demon’s lap was one thing, but the literal king of Hell doing as such would cause a public uproar the likes of which he never had the misfortune of experiencing.)
Thus, with some amount of regret, he conceded to Alastor’s point. Still, it wasn’t like he couldn’t do anything.
Just as Alastor succeeded in dodging a clawed paw aimed at tearing his pants, Lucifer felt a new presence enter the vicinity, smelling of the ozone left after a lightning strike.
The heavy iron doors to the meeting room slammed open, and a sinner with a TV-shaped head sauntered in.
And indeed, it seemed that Lucifer and Alastor happened to lose the 66.66667% odds of not having a certain televangelist horror in their company that day.
“Vox,” Alastor muttered under his breath.
Concerned by the static-laden warble in Alastor’s voice, which hadn’t been present when Alastor had only mused on Vox’s presence at the meeting as a mere possibility, Lucifer straightened up and squinted at the entrance.
Meanwhile, Alastor cleared his throat, Lucifer feeling the rumble of his chest against his whole body. “Vox, what a displeasure it is to be seeing you today. Or at all, for that matter,” Alastor grinned largely, predator-like.
“A-Alastor,” Vox’s antennae twitched in surprise, seeming to scarcely believe what was in front of him.
His eyes flickered down to Lucifer, still comfortably nestled in Alastor’s lap. “I– I never knew you were fond of cats.”
“Well, that’s certainly not the only thing you managed to miss.”
“For Hell’s sake, keep personal business out of this meeting,” Carmilla growled.
And that was that because Vox seemed to be shocked sufficiently into submission, for now.
Alastor gave Lucifer a gently exaggerated scritch behind the ears. Lucifer found that he didn’t quite mind being used for the sinner’s showboating in this way, but he noticed that Alastor’s palms were, oddly – not trembling, the opposite of it, like they were being forcefully held still.
He refused to meet Lucifer’s eyes, for some reason that was decidedly not because staring at your cat in the middle of a highly exclusive business meeting was, well, kind of weird.
Because this was Hell, and there was a literal dinosaur and a flaming beetle in attendance. And said flaming beetle was delivering a surprisingly well-put memorandum about the economic state of their domain, which was an interesting picture that threw Lucifer into wondering if the sheer absurdities that pervaded in Hell were of God’s design, or if Lucifer’s own silliness had somehow created a contamination, an infection of sorts. That particular line of thought continued in the back of his mind while the other Overlords droned on about updates (few) and petty complaints (many).
No one other than Vox seemed to want to provoke Alastor; he apparently carried at least that level of seniority among the sinners. The deer demon seemed rather content with listening, his hand moving down to rub errant circles into Lucifer’s fluffy back.
Vox, for his part, was developing well on track from surprise to vexation. Brilliant sparks of electricity started to dance in the air surrounding him. Lucifer had barely met the guy, but he could tell that it was something of a small miracle that he didn’t blow a gasket until fifteen minutes into the meeting, when Vox sprang up from his seat and pointed at Alastor.
“What do you see in that cat anyway?! Do you know how much I’d pay to be in your lap like that right now?”
Alastor sighed, uninterested, like Vox was nothing but a fly on the window, “Do I even need to bother answering that which you’ve already answered yourself?”
Growling, Vox transformed into lightning, rapidly closing the distance toward them. As he was reforming, his claws were coming dangerously close to gripping Alastor’s throat.
Alastor was still grinning, likely having some plan of action prepared, but Lucifer, well, he had had enough of it. He refused to take another moment of this, of seeing someone he cared about being provoked and prodded at like they were a thing, and treated like they were worth far less. He wouldn’t stand for it with Charlie, and he most certainly wouldn’t for Alastor either.
Even while maintaining his cat form, he could still send a warning.
Lucifer unsheathed the claws on one paw, infusing them with a little demonic power so that the blow would be just a bit more damaging, and jumped from Alastor’s lap. As he soared through the air towards Vox’s face, Lucifer could see Vox’s expression incrementally shifting from anger to confusion, then to shock, with a sliver of fear.
A thrill, and more prominently, vindication coursed through him as his claws screeched against liquid crystal.
(And somewhere, in the tangle of emotions bouncing around in his head, there was a question: since when was Alastor even at Charlie-level of importance to him?)
But the question remained unanswered, lost among a hailstorm of other angry emotions, while Lucifer landed on the ground. His work done, he hopped back onto the table beside Alastor, standing alert.
“Okay, uh, that didn’t even really hurt but what the fuck-” Vox started speaking, only to freeze when he ran his claws over the scratches, the four long marks that raked in a complete diagonal over his face. “How did a cat even–”
The Overlords, who had long since gone quiet, broke out into furtive whispers. Some had even started to… laugh? Alastor began guffawing himself, and Lucifer figured it out himself once he took a step back.
Because to the others, Alastor’s random stray cat just managed to inflict not one, not two, but four very visible scratches on one of Hell’s most lauded Overlords. If the cat looked small and harmless and normal, then that meant that Vox was weaker than a cat.
The dinosaur demon immediately took out a phone and started snapping pictures of Vox, who stood still for a moment before shooting out electricity and frying the phone, shouting at everyone to stop, or else he and VoxTech would have their revenge (and drawn out legal battles in court), but the damage was already done.
Still chuckling, Alastor nudged Lucifer’s head towards a window overlooking the city, at the electronic billboard outside. Lucifer wheezed as he saw the billboard outside switch to a picture of Vox with a scratched screen and the caption, “The TV Overlord: Truly Powerless Without the Other Vees?”
Word traveled fast in Pentagram City, but libel almost certainly traveled faster.
Especially if Alastor was involved, apparently.
The rest of the Overlords were either on their phones or peeking over another’s shoulder to look at the rapidly appearing posts online. A second picture, with Alastor seated nearby with Lucifer-the-cat, was evidently flooding people’s feeds, as sinners simultaneously laughed and cooed over the kitten that did the fearsome Vox over.
“This meeting looks like it’s just about finished being productive, I suppose,” Carmilla didn’t even bother schooling her smirk. “Meeting adjourned.”
Lucifer and the Overlords left Vox kneeling somewhere in a corner, scrolling through his phone and muttering, “That was no ordinary cat, it couldn’t have been. There’s no way…”
If Alastor had been uncomfortable when Vox showed up, he appeared fully recovered, nearing practically radiant right now, actually. Alastor was cradling him in his arms as they left the building, which while certainly welcome, prompted Lucifer to remember his questions about Alastor’s initial adverse reaction to Vox.
Once they were far away enough from any of the Overlords who might have recognized his voice, Lucifer nudged Alastor’s chest with a paw. “Soooo what’s the deal with Box?”
“Hmm?”
“Y’know, uh, you seemed to have some history with Pox, the TV-head, and Carmilla said it was personal…?” Lucifer trailed off awkwardly.
“Ah. That,” Alastor poked at a bit of Lucifer’s fluff, fidgeting and smoothing out the fuzzy wisps while he continued walking towards the hotel. “We used to be business partners, but he never saw me as anything more than a tool. First, as a means to rise to power in the entertainment industry, and then as a…”
“A what?”
“A romantic interest,” Alastor’s tone turned aggrieved, as if the very word represented a grave insult to himself. “He’d leave me, well, dozens of roses and letters and persistent date invitations at my desk.”
“Huh.”
“And that’s not even to mention the rampant stalking.”
“The WHAT,” Lucifer bristled. He hadn’t meant for his blow to deal any lasting damage, but maybe he clearly should have.
“It’s not like he ever managed to do anything, calm down.”
“Eugh, whatever, he still sounds like a nutjob.” Lucifer winced and tried for a softer tone, admitting, “Besides I, uh, I wouldn’t really want to get any of the other stuff from anyone, not even the roses. ‘Specially not from someone I already disliked.”
“You’re telling me,” Alastor deadpanned, then grinned in amusement. “You know, given the duration of your last relationship, I had expected you to be more of the starry-eyed type.”
“Yeah… I gotta admit I haven’t really been into romantic stuff for a while. For a couple thousands of years really, give or take.”
“Hm,” was all that Alastor replied. They lapsed into a comfortable silence as they left the outskirts of the city.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware of these kinds of things–” Alastor started.
Wryly, Lucifer cut in, “Yeah, I’m usually not aware of anything, but go ahead and–”
“As I was in the middle of saying, I can connect to the same radio waves that feed into Vox’s wiring. So. I often like to send him nightmarish scenarios while he’s asleep. I don’t think he’s figured out that they’re from me, but I need to thank you for giving me the perfect fuel for future nightmares.”
Alastor must have mistaken Lucifer’s pause for something else because the deer demon rolled his eyes. “What. Can’t a sinner have a little fun every now and again. As a treat?”
Lucifer shrugged. “No, yeah, that’s fair, I was just thinking–”
“Oh golly, I hope that my dearest majesty didn’t find my entertaining antics off-putting in any shape, way, or–”
“As I was in the middle of saying, thank you very much for interrupting me, by the way! I was just wondering, well,” Lucifer extended his arm, “If you needed more nightmare ideas to feed him, I could help. If you wanted?”
Blinking at him before breaking into a cackle, Alastor shook his paw. “It would be my pleasure.”
With Vox’s nightmare brainstorming sessions getting slated for some time in the future, Alastor led Lucifer upstairs, up and up, past several broken vases that Lucifer reminded himself to fix later, until they reached the entrance of Alastor’s radio tower.
Lucifer usually didn’t follow Alastor up here, figuring that he’d want his recording booth to be empty and free of any noises that his microphone might pick up, but this time Alastor ushered Lucifer in with him.
Apparently, through his own bursts of excited monologue, Alastor was about to begin a rare evening broadcast, in celebration of the growing infamy of what had occurred during today’s Overlord meeting.
As Alastor set up his recording session, putting “I’m Just a Lucky So And So,” on the air as an introductory track, Lucifer noticed a sort of buzzing elation filled the room. Even the song sounded happier, more upbeat.
The broadcast went swell in every regard. Viewership rose to a pleasant high for the week, and Lucifer and Alastor broke out into incessant giggles during a song break, when Alastor started setting up a tiny microphone stand — which was, apparently, going to be for Lucifer’s use.
What followed was an exclusive, publicly broadcasted interview between Alastor and the bodaciously suave kitten who injured the TV demon with a single swipe of his paws.
Alastor would ask a question like, “How did you manage to get your claws to such strength? Do you, by chance, work out?”
And Lucifer would respond in some combination of meows and hisses and purrs, while Alastor would encourage him with something like, “Oh, you’re an absolute hoot,” or, “What a witty conversationalist, you.” It never failed to get Lucifer to blush a little behind his furry coat because the scritches that Alastor gave alongside his remarks – which no one saw besides the two of them – said that his affection was genuine.
The interview was, in summary, lightly embarrassing, but absolutely fun. Lucifer couldn’t help but perk his ears up when Alastor told the audience that his cat was clearly such a scintillating guest, he might make a repeat performance.
After he ended the broadcast and before he moved to get up from his seat, Alastor asked, “Do you mind if I lift you up?”
“Sure.” Lucifer said automatically before backpedaling, “Wait, lift me up to where–?”
Alastor was already gripping his hands underneath Lucifer’s arms, and there was a brief moment of weightlessness, of Alastor fully bearing Lucifer’s weight and holding him aloft. Finally, Alastor placed Lucifer at his destination which was – apparently – the top of his own head.
Alastor’s hands still supporting Lucifer from behind, bumping him up to explore and secure purchase atop crimson hair. It was there that Lucifer found himself nosing at Alastor’s ears. The deer ears were about double his height, but surprisingly soft, and pliant, and after a brief argument with Alastor, eliciting a few choice words about cowardice and finishing what one started, Lucifer was allowed to bend them down into a miniature sort of tent around him.
He took refuge in the ear-tent while Alastor settled back into his easychair, carefully balancing his head so that Lucifer had no risk of falling off.
This too must also paint a fairly ridiculous image, for a tiny cat to find shelter beneath the furred awnings of two particularly large deer ears. Yet it was fuzzy and warm to the point where Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to feel too embarrassed, or uncomfortable, or well, willing to make any sort of movement at all. He did, however, absently come to the conclusion that he was, overall, more fond of than disturbed by the oddities in Hell. In regards to the train of thought he had while tuning out the Overlord meeting, perhaps he would rather credit them to his own doing rather than Heaven’s.
(The comfort in his current situation with Alastor played a, well, non-negligible factor in the decision.)
With the warmth of Alastor’s head beneath him, and the velvety fluff of his ears above, Lucifer felt… safe in a way that he never had felt before. He felt protected. Even though he knew that Alastor’s strength was probably not much compared to his own, he felt, somehow, that everything would turn out okay.
“This…” Alastor started, then trailed off into silence.
Lucifer couldn’t catch a glimpse of Alastor’s face from this angle, but his deer ears flattened more closely against Lucifer, the pressure feeling a bit like a weighted blanket, and the sinner continued whispering, “This might feel to you a bit like how I felt this afternoon, when you stood up to Vox on my behalf. I… I hope so. Do you like it?”
“I do,” Lucifer murmured back. “It feels great, thank you.”
They stayed like that for a while, Lucifer examining that strange feeling he was having, that wasn’t romantic but somehow not platonic either, until Husk knocked on the door, brusquely telling Alastor to answer his damn telegrams for once and come downstairs for dinner.
Alastor ushered Lucifer off from his head and into his arms again, like usual, like always, and hopefully for forever.