Byrd Man — Roleplayer Guild

It Never Rains in Southern California
Pt. 1

Los Angeles

Charlie Rembrandt parked his unmarked LAPD cruiser in the fire lane and killed the lights. A steady downpour of rain splattered against the windshield. Charlie watched the drops roll down his window. He was the rare native Los Angeleno, born and bred in a city of 3 million transplants. He’d experienced drought, earthquakes, and forest fires. But he’d never seen rain like this in his lifetime. 

For the past week and half it had rained every day in a steady downpour. The usually dry LA River was now filled to capacity. If it didn't stop within the next few days, it would only be a matter of time before the streets started to flood and mudslides destroyed the homes in the hills around the city.

Charlie stared out the windshield at the building that loomed in front of him. Even through the heavy rain Charlie could make out the expensive white facade of Lux, Los Angeles’ preeminent nightclub. The place was one of those pieces of offbeat LA lore tourist usually passed by on their tour buses through the city. Tonight the usual long line outside the front was not present, the neon sign above the entrance off. But Charlie knew the owner was there. He was always there. And Charlie could feel his presence. It loomed over Lux and the area around it like all the rain clouds that swirled over the city.

He climbed out the cruiser and made his way across the street towards the front door. He felt a bit self-conscious as he approached the door, very much aware of the gun on his hip and the blue windbreaker he wore with the words LAPD on the back in bright yellow letters. He knew whatever was going to happen, whatever authority and power he had, it was about to go out the window. 

The door opened after a few loud police knocks from Charlie. He held his badge up and had to resist the urge to flinch. Most people would see a heavyset, balding man standing in front of them and staring back with a scowl. What Charlie saw instead was a face with rotting flesh. Maggots crawled across it, the maggots’ scuttling so intense it made the man’s face appear to be vibrating.

“Help you,” the ghoul grunted. Something close to a wry smile flashed across his face. He knew that Charlie could see what he really was underneath the facade, and he could also tell it freaked the cop out. 

“I need to see your boss,” Charlie said. He reset himself and got into cop mode. This man, or thing, or whatever he was, was just another person to interview on his case. 

“You got a warrant?”

“I got this.” Charlie held up a piece of paper. He saw the ghoul’s eyes flash something approaching curiosity. He looked at the paper then back to Charlie, before looking at the paper again as if to confirm he was seeing what he was seeing. Charlie passed the paper to him.

“Okay, I’ll check. Wait here.”

Five minutes later Charlie followed his escort through the darkened halls of Lux. They passed by the empty dance floor and bar. The decorations were austere and someone’s idea of trendy. Black on black on black with black leather couches around the dance floor. Above the floor was a terrace with the words The Pit written in some sort of fancy charcoal font. Charlie assumed it was the VIP section.

Charlie climbed on the elevator with the heavy and rode it up above the club and to the penthouse section of the building. The doors slid open and revealed an all white room in stark contrast to the darkness of the club. White hardwood floors, white sofa and loveseat, and white chairs. Further in the penthouse there was a voice. It was, naturally, angelic as it sang a song with piano accompaniment. 

"Seems it never rains in southern California," the voice sang. "Seems I've often heard that kind of talk before."

The ghoul lead Charlie through more white on white decor until they reached an open space. He found the owner of the voice sitting behind a white grand piano, his long and nimble fingers playing as he sang. The wall behind him was all glass with a giant window that looked out on the city of Los Angeles. Charlie used to love the sight of the city, his city. But now he could only see the terrors of the city. A green smog hung heavily above the skyscrapers just below the storm clouds. The smog was able to be seen even in the middle of the downpour. It was the residual psychic trauma and emotional energy of millions. 

“It never rains in California. But girl, don't they warn you? It pours, man, it pours."

Lucifer Morningstar stopped his playing and looked at Charlie with a raised eyebrow. He looked every bit the fallen angel he claimed to be. A beautiful face with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. The only mar was the long scar that ran across his face from the left eyebrow down to the right side of his chin.

“Charles James Rembrandt,” he said softly. It unnerved Charlie how his eyes seemed to see through him and could see something inside him that Charlie himself didn’t even realize was there. 

“What a life you lead, Detective.” 

Lucifer stood and when he did, Charlie saw the wings. Two giant wings with pure white feathers covering them. Morningstar couldn’t help but show a ghost of a smile at Charlie’s expression.

“I am curious as to how a LAPD homicide detective can see my wings, the same way he can see Mordecai’s rotting face underneath the cloaking rituals." Lucifer reached down and picked up a piece of paper from the piano and held it up. It was the same paper Charlie had given Mordecai earlier. "How is it that a highly decorated murder police such as yourself has the second sight… and walks into my domain with the blessing of John Constantine?”

“It’s a long story,” said Charlie. “Complicated.”

“Most things involving that man are.”

Lucifer closed the distance between him and Charlie. He passed by Charlie and headed towards the bar on the other side of the room.

“Do you know what I like about people on earth, as opposed to the people in Hell?” Lucifer asked. “The subtlety. The… layers. By the time they reached Hell they had already been judged, found wanting, and condemned to eternal damnation. They were divided up into neat little sections based on their sins. Here there’s complexity, there’s ambiguity. Like yourself, Detective Rembrandt. A crusader who will not, nay, who cannot rest until justice is done. But even you have darkness deep down.”

“I’ve heard about this,” said Charlie. “Your little magic trick, calming to know everyone’s deepest and darkest secret. What’s mine? Did I jerk off in Catholic School? Feel up my cousin?”

A dry chuckle escaped Lucifer’s throat as he made himself a drink. He poured liquor and ice into a shaker and began to rock it back and forth with his hands.

“For a detective who can see ghosts, you’re quite the skeptic. But okay.... In 1999 as a rookie detective you arrested a man named Justin Garcia for sexual assault. He was innocent. He spent six years in prison because you made a mistake.”

Charlie felt his face flush.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He asked.
Lucifer shot him an incredulous look.

“They call me the Prince of Lies for a reason, Detective? Anyway, Walter Wirtz -- a serial rapist -- was the real culprit. He raped another six women before he went to jail in 2005. But that’s not your real sin, Detective, making an error is not what you’re guilty of.”

Lucifer poured the drink into a long-stemmed martini glass and carefully dropped an olive into the glass.

“Your sin is you found out Garcia was innocent. You discovered he had an alibi during the trial and covered it up to save yourself. How is that for a parlor trick?”

Charlie's face heated up in both anger and shame. The Garcia case was his first felony case as a plainclothes officer. It was the one that got his name out there. When he had first zeroed in on Garcia, LAPD had requested records for Garcia's home phone the night of the rape. In a pre-internet world it took six months to get those records. By the time Charlie had evidence Garcia was at home the night of, the trial was already well underway and there was talk of Charlie's good work being rewarded with a transfer to robbery. Charlie quietly shredded the phone records and tossed the scraps in a random trashcan six blocks from downtown LA.

“You bastard,” Charlie spat.

“Quite the opposite actually,” Lucifer said with a wink. He swallowed his martini in three quick gulps. “I, in fact, know exactly who my father is. And He’s the one who is a bastard, really. But you’re here today to talk about more than just your sins, aren’t you? Tell me why you’ve come to me, in need of my help?”

Charlie stood in silence a moment. He didn't want to give this son of a bitch too much, let him know he was in serious need. 

“Are you familiar with Albert Lee?” he finally asked.

“My true crime knowledge is rusty,” Lucifer said with a shrug. “I’ve been meaning to get into podcasts. It’s on my list.”

Lucifer started on a second martini while Charlie talked.

“Albert Lee murdered sixteen people in Koreatown between 1996 and 2010. They called him the Koreatown Killer. I was on the LAPD task force that arrested him in 2012. He was sentenced to life without parole and died in prison in 2018.”

“Well done. I imagine this time you got the right man.”

Charlie shook his head. “Without a doubt Albert Lee is the most evil man I’ve ever met… present company excluded.”

Charlie saw Lucifer scowl slightly as he poured the contents of his shaker into another martini glass.

“I am going to ignore your use of the ‘E’ word slur, Detective, and instead ask the question: what does this have to do with me?”
Charlie licked his lips and took a deep breath. This is where it got weird.

“Robbery Homicide has been investigating a string of copycat killings that started earlier this year. Two days ago a potential eyewitness gave a description of the killer… It was a perfect match for Lee. They brought me into it to consult, see if we could track down a relative or a child Lee may have had. But I can see things other cops can’t... and I think Albert Lee is back from the dead and killing again. I need to know how he came back… and how to send him back to Hell.”

“Bold of you to assume he went to Hell,” Lucifer after another long sip of his drink. “If mass killing barred you from Heaven, well… Heaven would be a lot emptier than it already is.”

Charlie watched Lucifer walk to the giant window with his drink in hand. He was quiet, his back turned to Charlie, for a long minute before turning and looking at Charlie with his raised glass.

“Well… with the rain, Lux has been rather boring the last few days. But your predicament sounds like quite the mystery.” 

“I believe I could offer my assistance… for a price.”

L U C I F E R
L U C I F E R

"When you punish a person for dreaming his dream, don't expect him to thank or forgive you... Hail Satan" 
-- The Mountain Goats
 C H A R A C T E R   P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R   P O R T R A I T 
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_________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R   S U M M A R Y
C H A R A C T E R   S U M M A R Y
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Lucifer Morningstar
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Seraphim   |   Nightclub Owner
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Los Angeles, CA
United States

 C H A R A C T E R   N O T E S
C H A R A C T E R   N O T E S
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Gabriel: Archangel and prick.
Mazikeen: Descendant of Lilith, Lucifer's Girl Friday.
Charlie Rembrandt: LAPD Homicide detective with the ability to see supernatural phenomenon.
Freddie Dollar: 50's era LAPD/PI who died, resurrected by Lucifer. 
Jack Hawksmoor: Intangible, God of the Cities.
First of the Fallen: Pretender to the throne of Hell.
The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse (War, Famine, Pestilence, and Memes Death): The original boy band.
Anon: God of the Internet Conspiracy. Believes everyone is out to get him.
Jesus H. Christ: The "H" is for Herbert.-
   M I S C E L L A N E O U S
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 P O S T   C A T A L O G
P O S T   C A T A L O G
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   P O S T   C A T A L O G
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	◼   
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 C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T
C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T
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In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep. Then God said, "Let there be light"; and there was light. And that light was brought forth by his favorite angel. Lucifer, the Morningstar. But three seconds after Creation, Lucifer rebelled. For the ultimate sin of questioning God he was banished from Heaven into the lightless pit teeming with demons and other abominations. After a millennia of warfare in the pit Lucifer emerged as ruler over the void and christened it Hell. From his throne Lucifer spent billions of years torturing mortal souls, keeping the bloodthirsty demons at bay, and warring with God and the forces of Heaven. 

But fifty years ago something happened.

Lucifer became bored. Bored of the endless routine Hell offered, tired of the intrigue from demons, and fed up with humanity's preconceived notions of the devil. He was tired of being the scapegoat for humanity's flaws. People did not sin because he made them, they sinned because they were human. So Lucifer did what anyone does when they're fed up with a job:

He quit.

He left Hell behind and now lives in Los Angeles. His piano bar, Lux, caters to the rich and famous of L.A., the weirdos and the depraved, the ones who are truly free... you know, his kind of people. But in the five decades since his abdication, Hell has gone... well, you know... and the divisions between Earth and Hell are beginning to fray. Something is coming. And unlikely as it may be, the devil may be the best savior Earth has.

 P L O T ( S )   &   G O A L ( S )
P L O T ( S )   &   G O A L ( S )
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It Never Rains in Southern California
Amidst a rainy week in Los Angeles, the LAPD hunt a serial killer. When veteran LAPD detective Charlie Rembrandt asks for Lucifer's help, the two discover the new serial killer is in fact an old -- and very much dead -- killer come back to life.

California Dreaming
Morpheus, the god of dreams, enters the mortal realm in need of Lucifer's help. People are dying in dreams using the dream lord's magic and, for the price of a favor, Lucifer looks into the deaths and discovers a web of lies, sex, and corruption through the halls of power.

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