here we go.

[twotwelfths]

dear-player | how we get started
random scenario | the definition of will

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[twotwelfths]

[ It's a quarter past midnight when he clocks out, still in his dark uniform as he shrugs into his jacket, because he can't be bothered to make the change into the faded jeans and the white t-shirt he's brought from home. Anyway, he'll get naked when he gets back to the Hokusai wave house, he'll probably get fucked, too, if either Oliver or Noah's still up. Sounds nice, actually. He's still kind of... raw's the best word, from his encounter with Mr. Morningstar. Like, he couldn't imagine anything better than a hard cock just about now.

He smiles, zips up his jacket and is about to swing his bag over one shoulder when Diego comes out into the back room and nods upwards, unspecified, but the implication pretty clear. They all know the way. Who lives on top.

Boss wants to see you, he says and gives James a sideways glance as he turns away, not a lot of guys get the invitation, so consider yourself lucky. In the meantime, James only has time to slide his bag off his shoulder again before the bartender's out the door, returning to work. His shifts are always long, he won't be off until five.

That's how you earn a living around here, supposedly.

James doesn't know what he's earned, comparatively. Apparently an invitation to Lucifer Morningstar's private apartment. A frown. His bag goes back into his locker while he hangs his jacket away once more, leaving him just in his waiter's uniform. He exhales deeply, then heads for the lift that'll take him where someone, in this case, maybe the devil, wants him to go. He thinks about the other man's features, the way he'd leaned in close. Then, he thinks about free will.

Unconstrained and voluntary choice, yeah? While he'd no doubt lose his job, he can still just go home. Instead, James presses the button that says up and waits for the lift doors to slide open.

He was going to sin anyway, wasn't he? ]