There is so much irony going on right here that neither of them are consciously aware of.

And now Lucifer finds himself the subject of his driver's unrelenting inquisitiveness, and he is a captive audience. Unless, of course, he decides to just fling himself out the passenger side door, which is an option that becomes more and more tempting the longer he sits there. They're only going, what, about fifty miles an hour? He could survive that collision. It would hurt, but he could heal up whatever breaks.

Lucifer's hands shift, curling in his lap.

"None of them are in much of a position to help."