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✵"Just, think of her like a small bunny caught in a trap. Approach her slowly, cautiously, and just...don't ask about anything too personal."✵ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
"WAIT WAIT WAIT, SO YOU'RE saying that this girl"--Charlie points at you while you sit across the room uncomfortably on the couch--"came to you for your help, and you PROPOSED to her five minutes after meeting her? Just because it was convenient?"
Jeez, sounds pretty bad when it's spoken aloud, Lucifer thinks to himself as a small pang of embarrassment hits him in the chest.
Of course, Charlie's point is very much valid...but it being explained in such a way makes it seem worse than how it really is.
Lucifer groans under his breath, a single hand tugging harshly at the bowtie around his neck that begins to feel too tight for comfort, while his gaze darts over to you, watching intently as you sit and avoid everyone's curious and almost freaked out gazes.
She just had to barge in, I told her to wait! Damn it. This is so--
"Dad?"
Lucifer's train of mindless thoughts gets broken, and he glances at his confused daughter.
She's waiting for an answer, an answer that Lucifer fears will make him look like more of a jackass than he already is.
"It's complicated," he says simply, "look, the point is, I've gotten complaints that Hell hasn't had a queen in seven years. And since, you know, SHE"--Lucifer points at you--"showed up, it seemed like a win win! She needed help with some demons, and I needed someone to play a role sooooooo...just--just consider this acting, okay Char-Char?"
Charlie's brow furrows, baffled.
"But how does she feel in all of this?" She asks through a soft whisper, hoping you can't overhear the conversation that's being held about ten feet away from you.
Though without anyone knowing, you can hear every word. You've trained yourself to listen intently without making it seem noticable.
After all, one obtains more when they listen and speak less.
Lucifer looks at you again. "She seems...fine," Lucifer replies awkwardly. That's a question he can't particularly answer truthfully, for even he himself doesn't know how you feel.
You haven't shown any sign of being...too uncomfortable. You haven't raised your voice against something. You practically just...go along with anything thrown at you.
Like a pushover.
"Charlie, I swear to Hell that this isn't anything," he points between him and you, "this is strictly convenient. A favor for a favor. And when your mom shows back up, I'll divorce her. See? It's...it's not bad..."
