You know the type...he was the cocky, good looking motherfucker back in high school who was convinced he was God's gift to all the girls. The hot-bodied obnoxiously arrogant teenaged stud who thought his fucking shit didn't stink.





.…





And then, later on, he became the wife-beating sonofabitch or the coldly heartless rapist bastard who thought slapping around defenseless women enhanced his misguided sense of masculine self-esteem.
A prick? A first-class jerk? An impossibly overbearing asshole of the highest possible magnitude? Yeah...you bet your ass...he was all of those things.
....
The peacock-proud man was dressed in tan cargo pants and a tight black shirt. Forty-six years old and he looked as smacking good as his twenty-something, who the fuck could remember their own boy’s age anyways, son. Old his ass.

Parris, as he’d begun to go by when he found out that three of his boys lived in this city and two of them were in good shape, not to mention graceless pigs (cops), looked half his age and could probably have passed himself off as both Jehovah or Krisstopher (with long hair) if he dressed like them and started acting like them. Not to anyone close to them, of course, but perhaps to a business associate or a local bar tender. He sat at the coffee house nursing a cup of black, American coffee, strong and steaming hot, and an incredibly annoying hangover that he could handle if it weren’t so damned persistent.

In front of him was a file folder and some pictures that could make squeamish people loose their lunches. He is a surgeon, after all. He can’t help it if people in a coffee shop can’t stand to site of open bodies.

((Arcy wants this thread, and will make pitiful puppy dog eyes at Em until she gets it. And will most definitely post very soon, but wants this thread so nobody else takes it.))

*Em-ness changes the title from Open to "Reserved for teh Arc-ness*

((Em, you are the bestest. <3))

Lucifer didn't usually have coffee here. He wasn't much of a high-class coffee drinker, plus the prices here were highway robbery. And that was putting it nicely. The prices here were totally ouch for the wallet. But it wasn't as if he were forced to be here.

His son was the very picture of a dead man walking. He carried himself with a sort of slouch (which made him seem about two inches shorter than he was) and his walk was in between a stagger and a limp. His eyes, though beautiful, had a sort of hollow appearance to them, as if you could stare into his soul just by looking into them. His brown hair was slightly tousled, hanging just about everywhere, cut in long, jagged layers.

His dress was simple. Just whatever he happened to pick out from his dresser while he was pretty much in a stupor. Crappy, faded blue jeans with stains and holes in the knees and a black shirt with a black jacket tossed over that.

He'd been waiting for a long time, and being inside made him wish he were outside, however weird that might've sounded. He wanted to smoke. He felt oddly uncomfortable here, for some reason...

Finally, he was being served. And he simply ordered his coffee black, because it was better that way.

He paid and said thank-you and took his coffee and headed toward a table and then stopped right in his tracks.

"G-g-g-Gott in Himmel."

God in heaven? (Blame Remus if the translations wrong. ^^ I had to ask him.)

The accent, the voice, the...overall startled sudden-ness of it...oh the fear. It brought Chris', or rather, Parris' face out of his hands to look up and meet the identical green eyes that his son inherited straight from his side of the gene pool.

Too bad he hadn't inherited the balls as well. Scrawny little bitch.

A smile drew across Chris' lips, that knowing smile full of smug-ness and obnoxiously arrogant, the one that makes the strong ones want to slap it from his face in a stroke of false man-pride and the weak ones shiver in a corner and just wait for him to be finished.

"You mean father. As high and mighty as God sounds, his job is too big." Whose the high and mighty one again? "Come here, Lucifer." That was not a question.

God in heaven indeed.

"Du...du..-du-."

Scrawny little bitch didn't have the guts to deny his father, but he didn't want to come to him.

He didn't move anywhere. He dropped his coffee and it spilled all over the floor and onto his shoes.

"A-ah! Scheiss! Gott!"

"Sie Schwein," he sneered. Such a loveing, caring father, eh? His eyes grew hard. "Anständig rauf ihrer verfluchen schlamassel."

He slapped a hand down against the table in a demanding way that made a loud thud. People in the coffee house turned to look, but Chris had a friendly, excited smile on his face at that point. But his gaze on Lucifer was merciless and hard.

"I havn't seen you in forever!" And people stop paying attintion because...well friends that haven't seen eachother in forever do tend to get overly excited like that.

(yep, again you can blame Reme if the translation sucks...better then I can do. ^^))

Lucifer looked around frantically, snatching some napkins from the counter, kneeling and mopping up the hot, sticky mess that was his coffee.

"Stay away," he hissed, his whole body shaking as he tried to clean up his mess.

Just clean it up and get the hell away.

Chris raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I move?" In fact, he hadn't budge even an inch from where he was sitting. His head hurt too much and there isn't much he can do with all of the people in line there.

But one was comming from this morning. Now he knew that, not only was Julianna here in this city, so was Lucifer.

Mocking him. Chris was mocking him.

"Shut the fuck up."

He'd said it right in public, too. He didn't care.

This mess just wouldn't go away... it seemed the more he mopped it up it just slid around the floor more. Oh, hell.

It probably didn't help that Chris happened to bump his cup with his wrist that moment, adding to the puddle on the floor around Lucifer. Convient, this magic. His cup hadn't moved from the table and...oh it just looks like all of that mess on the floor was Lucifers and he just drank all of his coffee.

Poor Luc.

"You dare speak to your father in such a tone?" And the ice in his voice isn't magic. "So help me when we get home..." What a firmiluar phrase, eh Lucifer? And is he indicating that...maybe he knows where his son lives?

He doesn't. But Luc doesn't know that.

Wha... Where the hell did all this other stupid coffee shit come from? Lucifer stood to pick up more napkins and knelt back into the mess, making him wet. He slipped on it with his hands, making his sleeves dirty with coffee.

And people were staring.

And Lucifer is still shaking.

"Y-y-you the f-f-f-fuck aren't coming home with me."

And he abandoned the mess and tried to bolt away, once again slipping and falling.

Chris, of course, notices most everything around him, including the people staring, and the muscles that tense before Lucifer tries to dart away. Come on, he's been having these kids try to run from him for years. He knows what a sudden dart looks like.

And by that time he's scooped all the gorey pictures into his folder and tucked it under his arm, stood, and is advancing on Lucifer, hand on the collar of his shirt and pulling him to his feet from the wet floor.

"See. This is what you get for drinking so early in the morning. Your making a fool of yourself in front of all these nice people." He is patronizing you, by the way. He smiled apologeticlly to the other customers.

"Thank you so much," he commented to the clerk when he came out with a mop. He started to pull Lucifer to his feet. "Come on Luc. Lets get you cleaned up." His gaze was dark, serious. The 'I am going to slap you into next friday' look.

"I... I am not!" Just like a kid throwing a tantrum in a store. Except Lucifer wasn't throwing a tantrum. He was having a panic attack. Though, he could easily be confused as a kid. He looked about fifteen, after all...

Lucifer was scrambling to get away, even as Chris had a hold on the collar of his shirt.

Then his knees gave way.

He looked like a little kid, with that 'please don't hurt me' kind of look.

Chris made a slightly dramatic sigh and wrenched Lucifer to his feet.

"Stop making a scene. Your embarassing me." That one should be firmiluar too. Lucifer does look like a child. And he looks so much like Chris that few are likely to do anything about all of Lucifer's protesting. A father and son squabble, most likely. "Come on." The force behind his words are like a blow to the face and his hand tightened.

He stepped towards the door, pulling Lucifer with him, shoving the door opened and exiting the coffee shop. There's a nice little sports car sitting there half way in a no parking zone. It's the same one he drove when Lucifer was a child.

Lucifer didn't want to be hauled from the coffee shop. He didn't want to be near Chris. And he was full of fucking coffee.

"I didn't do anything to you," he whined, struggling as much as he could.

"W-why don't you leave me alone?"

He didn't answer.

Of course Lucifer hadn't done anything to him. He never had, but it had never stopped Chris from singleing him out and picking on him now had it? He pulled Lucifer towards the car but he didn't shove him in. It's the middle of the morning, he's got a hang over, and anywhere he could take Lucifer to beat on him (even if he was in an abusive mood) was packed full of people at this hour.

Besides, he just got a thrill out of hearing the sniviling bitch whimpering again.

Just like little Juli.

"Shut up." He didn't raise his voice but he may as well have. "Your as bad a slob as your mother was." Ouch that's below the belt.

"You shut up!" All sensibility has gone to the wind, see. Lucifer was nearly in hysterics. And he wasn't exactly mentally stable in the first place. He squirmed wildly.

"She was the best fucking person on earth, until you killed her! You stupid fucking whore!"

Luckilly everyone's inside the coffee shop and not in the parking lot...

Lucky? Who for? Cerntainly not for Lucifer. Actually, it's rather fortunate for Chris that while Lucifer's sitting here shouting about murder, accidentle or not, there is no one around to hear it. He's just lucky I guess.

"will you shut up?" It's not so much a question really. He rolled his eyes. "Think what you want, schwein." Did Luc ever forget his nickname, by any chance? He probably won't now.

Chris pushed him against the car door, not so nicely, to make his point, then abruptly let go of his shirt.

Your free.... unless you stick around too long.

You see, this hangover really has taken the spirit out of things for him.

"I hope you die," he hissed, being pushed against the car knocking the wind out of him. It was enough to bruise Luc's small, frail body.

When he was free, though, he bolted again. And collapsed not too far away from the car, but at least he'd put some distance between himself and his father.

Just leave me alone...

Chris rolled his eyes upward and pinched the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. He'd shown up with a mild hangover but now he had a migrain. He turned on his son in a whirle of furry. And we're back to blaming absolutly everything wrong on the brats. Or in this case, just one brat.

"Now I've got a headache." And he's advancing on Lucifer with his fist balled, looming like a dark shadow. Remember this Lucifer?

I thought the hangover took the spirits out of it for him?

Lucifer just wanted him to go. And it seemed like it would've happened, if only for a moment. Lucifer could picture him getting in his nice car and driving away...

but the reality was he'd always come back.

"It's not my fault..." that was half-way in between a murmur and a whimper.

Lucifer was already struggling to push himself back to his feet.

They did, until they turned into migrains. And then it just pisses him off. Really he has a temper problem if you havn't noticed.

He reached down and grabbed Lucifer's shirt, tightened the neck of it around the throat, then scowled.

Damn daylight with people in the coffee shop and cars driving past. Damn it.

He dropped Lucifer, literally. "You've gotten to be one lucky sonofabitch."

Lucifer cried out in pain at getting dropped. He wasn't made to be so carelessly tossed aside like that.

He had a flash of memory. It was Jehovah, telling him he should've filed a report on that guy... Kastler. Why hadn't Jehovah killed Chris yet?

"Leave me 'lone. Just go."

He wasn't going to get up any time soon.

Probably because Jehovah is taking very special care to avoid both Jehovah and Krisstopher. He happens to know that of all of his children they both inherited the most from him...including the bulky muscles and some form of anger issue. He also knows what their careers are and it's just stupid to not avoid two cops who have a little bit of bitterness towards you.

He glared at Lucifer for a long time. It figured the pissant would show up at the only time of day that he really couldn't do anything about it. His eyes narrowed this. "Your sister's going to get beat tonight because you're such a whimp." His lowered his face so their noses were almost touching. "Does that make you feel good?"

He pat his cheek and turned to walk away.

He happens to know four sisters. One was with Jehovah, not much he could do about that. And he didn't know where Sheela's kid was, but he knew where Juliana was...and she had Christa floating around somewhere. It's not such an empty threat.

Oh, hell. That wasn't fair. That was a low fucking blow. That hurt more than any physical torture Chris could throw at him.

Forget just lying there. When Chris turned to walk away, Lucifer somehow got the strength to dive after his ankles, clinging to them.

"Don't fucking touch my sisters! I'll do..." swallow, "anything."

No. It wasn't low, it was satisfying.

Chris shook Lucifer off of his ankle with as much ease as he had when he was five years old and continued to walk, his smug smile in place once more, pulling the keys from his pocket.

He'll have to trade in his car now...you know, now that Juli's seen it in the dark but Luc's seen it in the day. Damn. He liked that car too.

"Damage is already done, Lucifer. Too late to take it back." He opened the car door. Somehow his migrain didn't feel so terrible after all.

"Don't go! Please don't hurt them!"

Now Lucifer was lying, sprawled, in the middle of the parking lot. The dive for his father's ankles had taken the rest of his strength, and now he could do nothing but watch him walk away.

"Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkk," it was a strangled sort of whine as he began to cry.

"Don't make such a fuss, Lucifer. You'r going to draw attintion to yourself. Some people aren't as nice as I am." Yeah, he's being a prick on purpose...but when is he not?

Chris got in the car and started the engin, with a huff, he pulled away and set off to find a car dealership.

Fucking A.

Maybe a corvette next then. This time In Parris Valentinus Kalbfleisch's name.

Hell why not?

Montrez had only seen the car pull away. Actually, it was only by chance that he saw the smaller figure sprawled on the ground at all. When he did, though, he ran right to it because a person laying down in the middle of a parking lot when a car just peeled away is normally a very bad thing.

He sent his mind ahead of him, checking for other people, obstacles, and most importantly, checking that the person on the ground wasn't seriously harmed. Torn, old tennis shoes thumped the ground as Montrez reached Lucifer and when he got to his knees, M.C. nearly tore a hole in his already worn canvas pants.

"Hey, you OK?" It was a soft voice, not overly masculine or feminine but still recognizably male, that sounded used to quietness. Montrez gently laid a hand to the person's shoulder, but until he got a reaction wouldn't do anything else.

Lucifer had been crying before and was crying now. It was that soft, sort of empty cry that didn't make a sound, which left tears streaming meaninglessly down your cheeks. Yeah, that cry.

He had been shaking only a little, but when Montrez touched a hand to his shoulder he jerked away and snapped his head up.

Oh. It wasn't him...

"I.. I think so."

That would be a no, actually.

So he was frightened of something. What was he frightened of? Or whom? The car had been awefully close to him, but Montrez won't make assumptions because he knows he's wrong most of the time.

"Here," in his hand was a handkerchief and he held it out to the crying boy.

Lucifer took the offered handkerchief, wiping his eyes.

"I..." frown.

"I... need cops," he told Montrez, his voice quiet, low, sad.

Montrez still didn't touch him, just stayed kneeling next to him.

"D'you need me to help you get to the," blank, "There?"

Lucifer was struggling to try and get to his feet now, but it was hard.

"Help," his voice was shuddery, filled with German accent. "Bitte."

He didn't know German. French and Spanish he could handle, but German was one he hadn't learned yet. Well..he might have to begin.

"Hold on, hold on. Calm down, I gotcha."

Montrez put his arm around Lucifer's back, one arm under Lucifer's and the other helping to support his front. This way, Lucifer could put a lot of weight on Montrez until they stood and the weight became more evenly distributed. It didn't hurt that Montrez could also support a majority of the weight with his mind.

Lucifer relied mostly on Montrez to hold him up. He was still slightly damp, though, and smelled strongly of coffee. Wasn't that delightfully odd...

"Danke."

No, that wasn't right, was it...

"Thank you, I mean..."

Danke means thank you. See? He already started.

"S'ok. Now where do you need to go? I don't know the way, you gotta help me."

He didn't care about the coffee smell, it probably had something to do with why Lucifer was there in the first place.

Let's pretend, for a moment, that Lucifer knew where the police station was.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

"Ah... you... you wouldn't happen to know... where police station was, would you...?"

Not off the top of his head, no, he didn't. But letting the kid know that would probably be a mistake, so Montrez would find out and it'd be OK. Moving, though, he knew might be a problem. If this guy was having trouble standing, it would take a lot of energy and effort from our dreadlocked friend to get them anywhere. For the moment, he lends more support from his mind to keeping the boy upright and reaches for his cell phone to call the emergency number.

"D'you mind if I get them to send a car?" He didn't know how far it'd be, see, or even how this person would react.