maskormenace | Video; forward dated to the 6th

[ Okay, he's bored. Where are the tumbling heroics? Where's the challenge? Lucifer is here - back - whatever, taking time out from recording his show to hang out on the network with you fascinating examples of God's greatest mistakes. He sets up his camera, which shows off the back of a chair that reads 'Lucifer' in broad black writing. The background is a handsome looking church, with stained glass windows, long red carpets, and hanging red drapes that tumble down the broad pillars. Huge bouquets of summer flowers decorate the altars and tumble out of the planters beside the pews, and light pours in through the round feature window. For once, Lucifer - when he takes his seat - is groomed, dressed in a neat black on black suit, and finished with silver fish shaped cufflinks and everything. He looked the part of the villain, the businessman; the schemer. A charismatic cult leader. Or well...like a guy in a sharp suit. He counted off on his fingers: ]

Pestilence. War. Famine. [ And he touched his fourth finger, then looked puzzled at the camera. ] Well, would you look at that. Four horsemen, not three. No prizes to anyone who guesses the last one.

[ He reaches into his breast pocket, removing a simple silver ring very carefully, propped it on his thumbnail and then flicked it. Flicked Death's ring clean into the air, then snatched his hand up and caught it. ] One left.

[ He leaned very slightly forward, speaking as though he were sharing a secret. ] Don't worry your head about it, my darling. I wouldn't dream of giving this thing to just anyone, but its multiversal owner really will have to come fetch it back before I'm tempted. To do what? Who knows? I'm mercurial like that. Sammmmy, come on out to play. It's been forever.

[ Lucifer's attention was broken by his accepting a clipboard and signing off on something on it. ] Chicken soup again? [ A nod from the assistant. ] Good. It's wonderful for the soul.

[ And then he's left to continue with his video, and he rolls his eyes pointedly. ] The fault really lies with you, kiddos. All that anger and repression, it'll mess you right up. But for the sake of argument, I think it's fair to say 'I predict a riot'. Accurate? Why don't we talk it out, hm?

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[ I'd like you to.

That was what it came down to. It was about permission. People didn't simply close their eyes and become a demon without their say so, it took an act of willful acceptance, wide eyed and understanding. When Cain, for instance, had accepted the mark, he had accepted it knowing the consequences of his actions, that he was corrupted, and his death would mean eternal service to Lucifer. And with it had come an act, send Abel to Heaven himself; an act of conscious evil.

Eve had passed the apple to her husband.

Now Chilton had asked, it was one step toward the thorough corruption of his soul that Lucifer desired. Far better than trading it; sinful, corrupted, half baked thing as it was, its power didn't lay in virtue, or divinity, or love. But blackened? Blackened it was useful.

Lucifer took a slow, careful breath, the kind of breath a man took while he considered a passage in a book, giving his thought process some real gravitas. ]

It would take careful treatment. A targeted syllabus. Work. Reestablishing your center, raising your profile. After all you're playing second fiddle to a man with a burlap sack for a disguise, Frederick. It just won't do.

But you know that I can help you, and you know too that I find great interest in helping people achieve their full potential. It's not about the price for me, it's about the journey.

If you pay any price at all, it'll only be as steep as you make it, and buyer's guilt is fool's guilt, really--it really doesn't formally exist if you know what you want from the beginning.

[Second fiddle to a man in a burlap sack.

It was perhaps ironic that Frederick Chilton's grace would come from insults to his ego, his foremost defense; while he wasn't as cunning as Hannibal, nor was he as corrupted. While he wasn't the toast of International academia, nor was he so morally gutted that all human life meant so very little to him. That wasn't to say he had a functional moral compass, it was but a rusted and bent thing, its copper tarnished and radium dial paint faded. But it was there -- which is more than a select few could claim. Chilton's own cruelty and destruction was a storm brewing; he had condemned himself to this battle the moment he decided to psychological abuse Abel Gideon for his personal gain, for his relief of envy, his own glory. His Cain moment. But he hadn't been the one to kill Abel -- not intentionally. Not. Willingly.

But had killed other people willingly, through the damage done to Abel. Humanity was not equal in his eyes, yet he would not injure those who maintained a status equal to his; a parallel he shadowed to Hannibal.

And so this was the nuance of his dilemma: Chilton's soul was a distorted, disgusting thing, its humanity corroded by motivations that could not be justified. But it wasn't beyond repair, it wasn't yet damned. And Lucifer had pinpointed him at the exact precipice where redemption was about to expire as a possibility. Chilton could be so easily blinded by his own reflection, he could be so unwilling to step into the burning light when the silk of shadows proved so much more welcoming.

Second fiddle to a man with a burlap sack for a disguise.

Chilton wasn't in a professional sense. That claim couldn't be made with his public work, his extensive patients and selective projects, his elevated prestige. His social influence, which afforded Chilton more than he had at BSHCI. If Lucifer thought that, then he he hadn't been paying attention. And that was the point of impact, that's what made the mirror fracture: Lucifer couldn't have been speaking in a professional context. Those lovely, gilded promises, that grand vision -- Chilton took a gentle, quiet breath. Extraordinary doubletalk, wasn't it? Lucifer was an extraordinary mind, even among these glorious individuals that Chilton had at his disposal. That had almost hooked the man whose very blood measured out manipulation in quarts.

Second fiddle to Crane as a lackey, perhaps. As a useful tool to Lucifer. As a disruptive disciple. Crane was a man already wearing Lucifer's collar, and that cautionary tale was what frightened Chilton so much.

The psychiatrist smiled, softly, into camera. He knew better than to betray his startling logic, and the implicit intentions behind that. Lucifer spoke with the calculating pose of a doctor to a patient, and Chilton would be willing to experiment in turn. Questioning every step of the way, watching Crane as a reminder of what he wants to avoid. Learning, adapting. Eluding.

It was a matter of survival, and Chilton was Darwinian.]

I've never really been prone to guilt. [Which was true.] Perhaps we should meet. In person. Despite how much the camera flatters you, this really isn't an ideal medium for such profound discussion.

Edited 2015-06-06 16:56 (UTC)

[ His misstep was comparing Chilton to something that had already shed its humanity. That had always been his fault, his flaw. He saw the worst in the entire species, and the concept of someone grasping morality by its threads was nothing to him, just the same way as he had thoroughly dismissed Sam's experiences and the bond of family until it had become his undoing. Perhaps he might lose Chilton on his descent to darkness at this time, but that thread was still loose, and all it would take was a pull, or a push, and it would snap.

For now, though, he was oblivious of his mistake, and yet at the same time, should he be asked, he was content to watch the struggle. Animals in their snares always struggled, and Chilton had wound the rope about his foot long before Lucifer had ever come into his life. ]

Yes, I think you're probably right. But I have things to oversee here, Frederick. I think, perhaps this time, you can come to me.

[ Give him time to think it over, to consider it. And if he rejected the idea on deeper thought--well then, it would take physical action to instill that darkness in place. And oh, if anyone deserved it, it was Chilton. Cowtowing to greater evil, reveling in the scraps thrown his way, never acting for himself... ]

You know where the church is, I hope?

Your church, I presume. I've heard whispers. [He couldn't help but cringe at its location -- Miami. Another brutal joke. Chilton rolled his shoulders, glancing away from the screen only momentarily, captivated by thought. While Chilton hadn't grown up atheist, he had soon become one. There was a volcanic pulse of power, in declaring yourself untethered and unquenchable, and here was Lucifer tempting to challenge Chilton's self-selected manifest destiny.]

Unless you wanted a different denomination. Tolerance is a virtue, I'm told.

[He looked back at the camera, smiling again. Damned if he wasn't going to have a little humor about this.]

[ And yet it was what all the cool kids were doing now, wasn't it? Atheism didn't make anyone unique any more--now saying that you could believe in something. That was powerful. And if that powerful thing happened to be able to drop in and shake down your drug dealer landlord...well, the world became a fairer place.

For Lucifer's followers.

He smiled, all teeth, and inclined his head. ]

My church. I'm considering renaming it-Church of the Antichrist has a real 1970's horror feel to it. Church of the Morningstar sounds so much more inviting.

I'll see that you're treated well when you arrive.

Oh yes. I'll put that right down on my schedule.

[While Chilton's use of irony escaped many people's notice, this quip was handed down heavier. His invitation for a meeting was meant for neutral ground -- that was the calculation born into the risk. But into Lucifer's own church? That was asking for a Judas Cradle (metaphorically speaking). No, no, any endeavor to such a dark cathedral would require a battle plan.

Chilton believed in his own instinct, his own strategy. He understood this, and he anticipated that Lucifer did, as well -- which implied that if Lucifer wanted to forge Chilton anew (heretical as that would be), then he would first need to break down the psychiatrist. It would require retraining, recalibrating. Recontextualizing.

That's what frightened the psychiatrist; after all, it is what Chilton would do. Has done. To others. ]

Until then.

Edited 2015-06-07 00:11 (UTC)

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