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“Er… black coffee for a mister Gardener?”
Adam hums, adjusting his guitar case strap as he reaches into his pocket for the right paper notes. So many papers, these kids…
Green is good for uh… Hmm. What’s the name? Ah, they change so often. He rolls his eyes to himself, thankful the shading lenses work to stop the little ones from seeing his rudeness.
Oh, if these bad boys had been in Eden, things might’ve gone a whole lot smoother.
The girl behind the counter seems nervous. Whoops. Wrong notes?
“S-Sir… this is a lot for a tip—”
Oh. That’s better than he thought. “Yeah, sure. Just keep it and don’t think too hard?” He grabs his cup and makes for the door. His lower left flank is aching fierce. That’s not good.
Not good at all, he gasps as he staggers into an alley. His second rib is flaring horribly. He’d done a bad job crafting a copy coming out of that Fall, but…
Oh.
Sweat runs down his brow in droves. The rib is ice cold. Not even the root of Eve, for all her distance, is that numb. That means…
Any second now…
“ADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!”
Michael’s roar fills his ears like the scrape of flint on ore, and Adam isn’t about to stick around to find out how pissed the sword can actually get.
He hoofs it down the alley, shaming any stallions that his poor copy could compare to in his uncouth ways. His hair whips behind him, tail undone by the haste and the pull of magic. He’s gotta move quick. Just a little more—
The landing is… a landing.
Hell’s landfills aren’t all that bad, once you’ve dug through them for a bit of special twine or wood that Lucifer didn’t care to re-purpose. Gotta get the supplies while they last, he thinks. His baby is fine, thankfully.
Unfortunately for him, illusions don’t last forever. Sure, you can anchor them inside a homunculus. But sooner or later, the truth will out.
Lucifer’s curls are bouncing to and fro as he whirls through the air, barking actual orders for once. The copy is dead in a ditch, some small cyclops staring around with a sharp frown. You’d think she’d been robbed. Staring at the angelic steel she’s holding… about right.
Still, just gotta mozie on down—
Cold shadow surrounds him. “Ah, and where would you be off to, my absent minded little fellow?”
Adam sighs, drooping. The Radio Demon. Of all the ones… it had to be the Radio Demon. Couldn’t it be good old Vincent and his vain speeches? Those were funny.
Everyone’s eyes are on him. First time since… the Apple? Chancing a glance, he sees fire engine red flames in eyes bulging from cutely spotted cheeks, and…
Runs.
I mean, if it ain’t been broke for the last however many millennia, why fix it now? One flashbang to keep the shadows off him, a few jigs of the old knees, and he’s nearly cleared the craters!
But uh… he ain’t got no wings.
He kinda figured that even with that missing half meter (look, Lucifer got his wives, he can be petty), that overhyped twunk wouldn’t be able to lift a bear such as himself.
He thought wrong.
One embarrassing, suspiciously bark adjacent sound later, and he’s dangling… way too high.
Offering that good old smile (alright, maybe a lot less smug), he chirps. “Yo. Luci. How uh… How’s the wife and kid?”
Lucifer stares at him. The fire’s fading. Oh no. He’s thinking. Can’t have that.
Good thing he’s learned a couple tricks. Trick one; always carry an emergency porter. Trick two; no self respecting theater kid expects the old homophobic jock to lay one on him first.
Adam throws in a bit of tongue, too. Mostly for distraction. Definitely. Huh. Is that mint? How’d he squirrel that away in—
Breaking off with a not too shabby line of spit between him and the gobsmacked devil, Adam kicks him right in the dick (again, petty privilege). Diving straight down, his hand stretches out. Crystal meets ground, Adam meets grass, and devil meets black-n-blue ball city.
Not too bad for another daring—
“I told you he’d run here.”
Adam barely lifts his chin before an angry, one-armed woman has a spear under it.
Lilith tuts, “Still running home to daddy’s house?”
Adam sighs, “You know, this place was a lot nicer before you got that tacky glitterball in it.”
Lilith raises an eyebrow.
Adam scoffs, leaning up. “Hey! The mullet-hawk is a classic!” He hisses as the blade digs in. “Yeesh, milady. Easy on the scruff, yeah? Adds to my roguish charm.”
The woman stares at him, entirely unreadable. That ain’t good. Drifters gotta know the lingo, ya know?
Later on, he’ll swear up and down he knew the knock out swing was coming.
Too bad no one’s buying it, though.