realityshifted | (no subject)

Entry tags:

*the twins

(no subject)

[Everyone will no doubt notice a new addition to the Plane: a giant Christmas tree. Yes, it’s decorated. Lights, ornaments, candy canes, the works. EVEN TINSEL. Tinsel rocks. Lots of tinsel, really.

There are also quite a few presents stacked under the tree. Each is addressed to a person on the Plane with hilariously appropriate - or possibly inappropriate - wrapping paper.

There is a sign near the tree which reads, “Thank you very much for helping us. Please accept a gift, completely and utterly free. It is our payment. We feel you’ve earned it! Did you know some trees stay green in the winter? But they‘re so prickly.”

At the bottom of the sign a small scribbled note reads, “We tried to bake cookies but even we wouldn’t eat those.”]

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[He swirls his glass gently] As well as can be expected. More nephilim all the time. I... worry that I'm making London a target by letting them know it's a safe place for their kind.

How is the city, these days? Probably not a decent sushi place left, is there?

[He sputters and starts laughing; it's not hysterical or pained, just honest laughter.]

[Crowley smiles]

No sushi, no yours truly...I don't know how your people thought this was a good idea.

Lucky for you, the kitchen here's probably got something decent.

I'll have to take a look, see what I can bring back. [He sighs and scratches his chin.] I don't know how it happened, Crowley.

Probably the extra scones at tea. Those things add up over the years, you know.

[He blinks] I have no idea what you're talking about, dear.

[Crowley holds his glass up and smirks]

Nor I you, so there we go.

[and takes a drink]

[Amusement again] Me. As-- well, whatever I am.

Well, you see sometimes, when two angels love each other very much....

[and the smirk has turned into a wicked grin]

[He chokes on another sip of wine and sputters.] Now, Crowley, you know perfectly well that wasn't what-- I mean, it wasn't what I was-- Don't look at me that way, you old serpent, I still have my sword about somewhere.

[he just laughs, still grinning] Same old angel.

All right then, tell me what you're talking about before I'm forced to make up my own interpretation again. Though mine are often far more entertaining.

[He tugs at the collar of his sweater and clears his throat.] A sort of. Well it's, you see. This sounds ridiculous actually having to say it--but a leader. Of a sort. More or less.

[Crowley shrugs]

I don't see what's so strange about it, really. They obviously wouldn't leave you to your books once the war started, and I'm sure the big boys have all found something better to do with their time than waste it on lesser lifeforms.

[He feels a slight pang at that and looks down.] It burned, you know. The shop.

...I'm sorry. [He briefly considers mentioning that the shop had burned in his own reality as well, but decides against it.]

Were you able to save any of it?

One of the Wildes. [He smiles a bit at that.] There's a young woman by the name of Margery who reads sections of it to the few children we shelter.

[Crowley's eyes roll—at the angle he's sitting in the booth, the action is visible over the top of his sunglasses]

Poisoning the new generation, I see.

Poisoning? I would say purifying.

[Crowley lifts his glass to his lips, and mutters something that sounds vaguely like "Well there's no accounting for taste" before taking a gulp of the Cheval Blanc.]

[Az takes a sip of his own, starting to feel the pleasant buzz of intoxication. Perhaps it's that, that lends the extra volume to his reply.] My taste is perfectly good. It's yours that I often find myself questioning.

[Never mind that he hasn't been around to question for twenty years or so.]

[Crowley holds his glass up, sort of curling his hand around it to point at the angel.]

Now just hold on a second, I'm not the one with a unhealthy fascination for nineteenth century hacks. Or tartan. My taste is perfectly modern, thanks.

[He snorts] Unhealthy? My dear boy, if you want unhealthy, you need look no further than your preoccupation with modernity.

And what's that supposed to mean, then? You'd rather I was more like the rest of the boys Downstairs? Medieval?

[He shudders] Certainly not. But you can have modernity without abandoning everything cultured.