"I only drink single malt coffee," Lucifer says easily, and pulls his flask out of an inner pocket as if to demonstrate. In fact, he takes the opportunity to take a swig from it. "Luckily, I always have this on me."

He glances up at the sky, scowling minutely. "All these layers ruin my silhouette," he comments after a moment. And he can never really relish snow. The way it falls, reminds him too much of the constant, soft fall of ash in Hell.