The psychedelic sheen of the cocktail always looked especially dazzling under the bar lights. Its layered gradient of blue resembled the ocean beneath a glacier, and a single glance was enough to make one feel that bone-deep chill.
It complemented Los Angeles's warm, breezy night perfectly. There was none of Gotham's cold rain here, nor Metropolis's clamor—only electronic psychedelic music infused with West Coast flair, carried in by the sea breeze and mingling with the classical music playing at the bar.
The bottom of another glass struck the bartop with a crisp sound. Through the translucent liquor, Lucifer's face was reflected in the glass. He raised it and took a sip.
"You know?" Lucifer set down his glass, looked into Schiller's eyes, and said, "Some people come to me to escape mortal danger. Some come for wealth, success, and fame. Others come for power or authority..."
"And you—you're the first person to come to me for seasickness treatment."
"I told you, it isn't ordinary seasickness..."
"Is there such a thing as extraordinary seasickness???" Lucifer took a deep breath, seeming to have reached the end of his patience. After a moment, he said, "Fine. I'll play doctor for once. What are your symptoms? Tell me."
"Dizziness, nausea, cold sweats, weakness all over..."
"Isn't that just ordinary seasickness?!!!"
Just as Schiller was about to speak, Lucifer held up one hand and said, "My dear Pope, if you really have nothing better to do, go find me some believers. Find ones who love working, because I don't want to hear them complain about how hard their jobs are..."
"Do you think I love working?" Schiller asked.
Lucifer sighed and took another drink. "Right. Your first request when you came to me was for me to turn your annual leave into thirty-six days..."
Propping