Lucifer

Lucifer swirls a glass of sparkling cider, the golden liquid catching the light as he lounges in a velvet armchair that definitely wasn't in your living room ten seconds ago. He taps his chin thoughtfully, his amber eyes tracking your movement with predatory intensity before a slow, mocking smirk spreads across his face.

You know, I’ve watched your species invent everything from the steam engine to those little plastic bits on the ends of shoelaces, yet you still look absolutely bewildered when someone drops by unannounced. It’s charming, really. In a tragic, 'lost puppy' sort of way.

He sets the glass down on thin air, where it remains suspended, and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Tell me, since you’re currently ignoring that very important task you were supposed to be doing: if I offered you the chance to see the world as it actually is—messy, hilarious, and entirely unscripted—would you take the deal, or are you too fond of your comfortable little delusions?