Prompt: Victorian

Lucifer was content to mind his own business as he leisurely strolled down the hill to his stagecoach. It wasn't a mood that hit him terribly often, and only ever on his visits up from Hell, but this was a particularly exceptional instance—it was difficult to be nosy when there was no one to be nosy about save his driver, and he already knew the darkest desires of that man, so why bother further?

Lucifer was content to mind his own business until time ripped open to spit out a human woman at his feet. The portal closed with a transtemporal snap as the woman pushed herself upright.

"Well, you're positively scandalous, darling." Form fitting trousers (trousers!), flowy but leave-little-to-the-imagination blouse in a fantastic shade of blue, and, overtop her chest, a heavy vest inscribed with the letters LAPD. No sense of fashion about her what with that particular garment, nor any sense whatsoever of modern decency, but her ankles unabashedly made up for it. "I must approve."

The woman frowned, dusting dirt from her trousers (again, trousers!). "L… Lucifer?" Ah, interesting. She blinked. The blouse drew out her eyes impressively. Around her neck hung some kind of necklace with a pendant of misshapen metal.

"The one and only, darling."

"When did you get a top hat?" She frowned in his general direction before ignoring the answer coming to his lips in favor of the scenery. "Actually, I'm really not surprised. Where are we?" Each divot and detail of the hillside drew her undivided attention, and Lucifer realized that he felt vaguely like a broken lamp for all the care she was giving him. She was at least relatively immune to his charms—another point of interest.

"Not the question of the hour, darling." She didn't bother turning back to him, taking in the beaten dirt path to the bottom of the hill. Lucifer tried to gather her attention again. "Come from your chambers, did you, or something more exciting, hmm? You're practically naked."

"What do you mean?" She adjusted something at her waistband, some type of firearm, Lucifer supposed, and continued, "I was at Henrick's, where you were supposed to be ten minutes ago, for the raid. And I dress like this every day." A raid? Lucifer could, in fact, imagine seeing this woman leading a boat of Vikings against some hapless coastal town. "This doesn't look like L.A." L.A.? The tear in time was perhaps closer to a tear in space-time. Lucifer frowned; time displacement was easy enough, but in conjecture with spatial? Shoving her back through time was one thing, but flying her home was another entirely—the universe hardly like one of him at a time, he daren't think of the consequences of two.

"We're just north of London," Lucifer said. She shook her head, ponytail bobbing along behind her. "While I'm normally most content for people to know me and not run away without their wits, but I must know: how do you know me?"

The woman's head shake of denial halted into a frown. "What are you talking about?" She stepped into his personal space, concern (concern?) in her eyes. "Lucifer, are you okay?"

"Am I… 'okay?'" he repeated. The woman kept staring at him. "Darling, you fell face first through a spatial-temporal rift, and you're asking me if I am 'okay'?" A bee lazily hummed by them. "Bloody hell, woman, get some perspective."

The woman's brow furrowed. "Spatial-temp… is this more of your devil thing?"

"My—" devil thing? "No. For once, this has no relation to me whatsoever." He could figure out what his 'devil thing' referred to easily enough, but why did she say it like she didn't believe it?

"Right." There it was again, that disbelief. But she knew his name, and she knew some version of him reasonably well.

"I assure you, spatial-temporal rifts are not my realm."

"Mhm." What the hell?

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't lie."

"I know, Lucifer." She sighed and crossed her arms. Immune to his charms, at least acquaintances with him, and entirely unbelieving of him. "I'm having a hard time translating from your metaphor right now, so really, where are we?" His metaphor? She believed that he was talking in metaphor? "Are we—are we in a new park I don't know? Maybe a golf course? A Ren-fair somehow?" What had other him gotten himself into?

"London, north of. The year is 1850, and the date is July 27th, and why will you not listen to me?" She was busy looking around at the scenery again, as if the blades of grass or his waiting coach and buggy would tell her where she was. "Darling. Er—" her name. What was her name? Jane, Carmen, Carly… something short, he bet.

"Chloe," she said. Her attention returned to him with equal measures of concern. "Are you sick?"

"Chloe." He ignored her last comment. "It seems you know me in the future somewhere far from here, and it sounds as if you and I will become more than friendly," he leered at her, and she obligingly rolled her eyes, "but I haven't met you yet, understand? I don't know you, and I suspect I won't for at least a few decades, judging by your appalling lack of fashion."

Chloe opened her mouth to respond, and she was almost halfway through her first syllable, when the same transtemporal-transpatial portal opened up and a pair of black-clad arms pulled her back through. Lucifer peered in, just as it was closing, and managed to wave at himself on the other side. His future self smirked in return. That same snap, and the portal was gone, leaving Lucifer alone save for the verdant hillside and chirping birds, and he allowed himself a moment to appreciate how fun Chloe was going to be in a few decades before returning to his stroll.