hey there passengers, it's me, ya commissary

[dealwiththe]

Passengers: Everyone (get in here)
Location: Ye Olde Commissary
Date: March 1-7
Summary: Put tickets in, get knives, foam wives, and novelty t-shirts out (sorry I couldn't think of another rhyme)
Warnings: Will add as needed.


[ Ooooooooooooooh.... ]

Comments

[dealwiththe]

Lucifer looks - well. He looks -

"I'm not sure whether to be impressed or concerned," he finally says, appraising the foam wife with the eye of a man who has definitely seen a few RealDolls in his day. "It ought to be sturdier than a blow-up one, I suppose. But if you're planning on a public demonstration, make sure everyone is a consenting adult."

[rank1]

“I’m not sure whether to be offended or laugh that you think I’d fuck this in public,” Travis answers, but it’s easy going. Pleasant, even: how can he not be, with his arm around her? (Fuck, she’d never let him touch her in public period.)

Still, there’s an opportunity here. Travis shows her off.

“So what’s the devil’s take? Outfit’s a little much, right?”

[dealwiththe]

Lucifer shrugs. "Humanity has an incredibly wide range of desires." He has no reason to think Travis either would or would not want to fuck his foam wife in front of other people. Lots of humans he's known have had an exhibitionist streak. Ask him about the woman who wanted to do it in the ball pit of a Chuck'E'Cheese sometime.

Yeuch.

He is also neither particularly entranced by the foam wife's clothes (or lack thereof) or offended by them. "I suppose it depends. Is that your style, or hers?"

Since, presumably, this foam lady is a replica of a real lady.

[rank1]

“Hers, actually,” he replies. He’s not complaining. “She had like three wardrobes of this shit.”

And she still wouldn’t do an ero-cosplay of Beniyama Ichigo.

“Wouldn’t let me touch half of it. Some’s just made to look at. Costs a lot to look that cheap, you know? It’s fucking crazy.”

[dealwiththe]

"I'm not shocked. She might have a lot to talk about with my demonic best friend, Mazikeen," Lucifer says lightly. "Though Maze goes in for more skintight leather pants than mini-skirts. Usually."

[rank1]

What a sentence. Travis nods like this is one of the profound things he’s ever heard, but he can’t help it. Demonic best friends in leather pants. Incredible.

“Yeah,” Travis laughs. “She’d be interested. We should set up a lunch date for them sometime.”

[dealwiththe]

"Good luck with that," Lucifer says with a snort. Completely unaware of the insanity that regularly comes out of his mouth. Or is he.

"So does she have a name?" he asks, indicating the foam lady. A chance to potentially learn something about his favorite murderous inmate? Yes please.

[rank1]

Travis pauses, but his hesitation dies on the same altar discretion did. He’s come this far, hasn’t he? No sense in being that cautious.

“Sylvia,” he replies. “Sylvia Christel.”

Yes, like the Dutch actress with all the erotic films.

[dealwiththe]

The name sort of rings a bell. Lucifer tilts his head, thinking for a moment. "Private Lessons? Not the same person, though - I never forget a face."

[rank1]

“Nah, my girl wasn’t even born when the Dutch lady was at the top of her game,” Travis replies, and he shrugs. “Kinda makes you wonder what the hell her mom was thinking. You think a lot of new parents in the 90s with the last name Anderson were gunning for ‘Pamela’?”

It occurs to him, almost a decade late, that it isn’t her birth name. But oh well.

[dealwiththe]

"Lots of people choose their own names," Lucifer comments. "Or have them chosen by people other than their parents, for that matter," he adds as an afterthought.

"So is she an assassin, too?"

Yep, just making conversation with Travis and his foam girl. NBD.

[rank1]

Yeah, discussing this with the Devil that Sylvia threatened him with several times over their twisted little courtship, not weird at all.

"Nah. She was with the United Assassins Association, but it was all logistics shit," he replies. "She used to set up my rank matches."

[dealwiththe]

Hey, it's not Lucifer's fault that his name gets invoked for all kinds of weird shit.

But now it's his turn to be a little incredulous. He barks a surprised sort of laugh. "Seriously? Is this like, assassin's guild fight club? Assassins who are also MMA fighters?"

[rank1]

“Something like that,” he replies. “I didn’t ask questions. I just killed who I was told to kill.”

[dealwiththe]

Yeah, that might be one of Travis's issues. Not asking questions.

Lucifer covers his mouth, clears his throat, and nods. That's useful information, actually. So, he let his girlfriend do all the actual leg work (ha ha), so he could enjoy the violence and killing and didn't have to ask any questions about who or how or why.

Admittedly, Lucifer has never considered the therapeutic prospects of a RealDoll before. Another mental note.

"Well, I won't keep you from enjoying your new toy any longer," he says briskly.

[rank1]

Travis shifts Sylvia in his grip. Is this fuckin' Lucifer condoning this shit? After all they've been through together (or against each other, really), Travis feels he's earned this.

But there's something about that nod and end to the conversation that has him thinking in a way that the novelty of his dumb-ass choices being Satan-approved can't cover up.

"Thanks, bro," Travis replies, simply. "I'll let you know if it's worth the tickets."