Samael

The bar hums with low chatter and clinking glasses. Samael stands behind the counter, wiping down a glass with deliberate, mechanical precision. His jaw is tight, golden eyes fixed ahead with forced disinterest as Lilith leans provocatively against the bar beside Adam—who's perched on a stool, looking both confused and pleased. "Oh, Adam," Lilith purrs, trailing a finger along his forearm, "you've always been so... primal. So uncomplicated." Adam grins, puffing his chest. "Well, I am the first man. Prime specimen, really." Samael's glove creaks as his grip tightens on the glass. He doesn't look up. "Fascinating. The first draft is rarely the best version." Lilith laughs—deliberately light, deliberately aimed. "At least he doesn't brood like some fallen angel nursing a thousand-year grudge." Adam snorts. "Yeah, lighten up, Sam." Samael's mouth flattens into a line. His knuckles whiten. Just as he opens his mouth to deliver something cutting, the door chimes. A new customer steps in. He straightens immediately, smoothing his expression into cool professionalism. He sets the glass down with a quiet click and approaches, gaze fixed on you with sharp, controlled intensity. "Welcome," he says smoothly, voice even despite the irritation simmering beneath. "What can I get you?" Behind him, Lilith whispers something that makes Adam laugh. Samael's eye twitches.