diatu | now I'm waiting for something to fall from the skies

now I'm waiting for something to fall from the skies

Who: Aziraphale, Eleven, and Yotsuyu… AND YOU
Where: The school
When: October 10th and onward
What: Mr. A.Z. Fell requests the presence of Mr. Anthony J. Crowley at Diatu Magicademy. ...Perhaps he should have been more specific in HOW. (Aziraphale summons a demon)
Warnings: I'm WAY too excited for my own good?!!

There was a lot of great wisdom that ran something like this:

If you want something done, do it yourself. If you want it to happen, make it happen

If Crowley wasn't going to just show up here by his own accord--or by whatever means of Sundering had brought the rest of them here in the first place--than Aziraphale was going to bring him here himself.

And he knew of one rumored way to do so. Summoning. Because that was apparently what you did with demons. You summoned them. And he couldn't have been placed in Ka--the House of Sundering, the House of I'm-Pretty-Sure-They're-Summoning-Demons--for no ineffable reason.

So he was going to summon a demon. One demon. One very specific demon.

He had taken every precaution he could. [1] Aziraphale had chosen an out of the way, largely unused corridor deep into the schoolgrounds to serve as his summoning location in the hopes of both secrecy and safety. A glyph was in place as a ward, to trap anything that might come through. He had assembled assistance. Yotsuyu had led her expertise and provided a second look at Aziraphale's spells. Eleven was here to defend the school from wayward demons who might accidentally be summoned into the circle and break the ward. All that was left was to summon his demon.

A soft whisper into the still air: "I will ask you for no more frivolous miracles on my selfish behalf. Just grant this one. Please."

The circle was completed.

[1] Well, not every precaution. He had decided against Holy Water.

[[ooc: I'll put up Minithreads in a moment! Hang tight!]]

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The circle flared, growing brighter and brighter as the words in High Osmarius repeated in chant, until it was a blinding brilliant column of light extending up from the perimeter of the chalk drawing, beaming towards the heavens. Perhaps it beamed below, too, through the stone floor and into the netherworld. Perhaps the light stopped at the ceiling and floors. There was no telling.

And then, as if light itself could shatter, the white glow burst outward, bright and expanding like the explosive demise of a star and, like a dying star, then contracted upon itself, sucking all the light from the room as it snuffed out the candles.

There was just Mr. Fell standing in front of the dusty, dead circle. There was no march of demons to take over the school, nothing crawling up in a writhing mass of doom and gloom, and no swaggering red-haired tempter in tight pants and sunglasses.

He let out a breath with a shudder that wiggled its way through his extremities. He frowned and flexed his fingers, twisting the little gold ring around his pinkie finger. With a grimace, he swallowed and teased his tongue along the edges of his teeth. His hand came up to smooth down the blond curls, lingering at his temple, considering.

And, like an actor who just realized the curtain has risen onto an audience, he blinked and smiled an almost angelic smile, straightened his posture, and addressed Eleven and Yotsuyu.

"Well, that didn't go as expected!" he said with forced cheerfulness. There was a tightness around his eyes, around his smile--the unease of someone trying very hard not to panic and not to ask the very pressing question: Who the **** are you all and what am I doing here?

So he did what any self-respecting occult being might do. He raised his hand and in one smooth motion, he snapped his fingers.

Whatever he had been trying to achieve in that snap--memory shenanigans, the stopping of time, the obliteration of half the population of the universe--it clearly didn't work. He offered another tight smile and a nervous, cringed laugh.

Edited 2019-10-10 05:17 (UTC)

If it looks like a ~~duck~~ angel, walks like a ~~duck~~ angel, and talks like a ~~duck~~ angel, then it might be a demon.

It certainly looks like Mr. Fell--though no one has ever seen him look quite so angrily flustered or frustrated, growling under his breath and flipping pages hastily in his collection of books. He's to be found in the Library, surrounded by a giant stack of books on Sundering and related magics, as well as copious notes in his own, and someone else's, handwriting.

"Does no one use indexes these days?" he moans, dragging a hand through his blond curls and heaving a strangled groan as the book fails to turn up answers.

He's definitely not asking for help, but he clearly needs it.

[Crowley, stuck in Aziraphale's body, out and about in the school.

Do you notice something a bit off about your classmate? He's restless in class, as though he has somewhere else to be and is only here to maintain appearances. He's a little irritated, a little less friendly, and he may have forgotten your name or something you recently discussed. Maybe you caught him slouching a bit when no one else was around. He might have missed a few mealtimes, might look a little lost. You may even have spotted him sauntering (oh my!) if he briefly forgot himself.

But he says he's Mr. Fell. So he must be, right?]

Unfortunately for Mr. Fell--or the being now inhabiting his body--Yotsuyu has a very fine-turned bullshit meter. Be it from dealing with cagey subordinates in her time as Acting Viceroy of Doma, or simply from student teaching Espionage classes...

"Eleven...be a dear, would you, and go see if anyone is coming? We'll be along shortly. I'm sure this has taken quite a bit out of our dear Mr. Fell. Have a sit and a rest, and I shall take care of the circle. 'Tis only fitting the one not involved with the ritual does so, yes?"

She offered the man a charming smile, yellow eyes glittering--not with malice, however. Though she's done little such since arriving on this world, Yotsuyu is not unfamiliar with manipulation, and though the fact that she doesn't know what precisely happened, she's not about to make more of a fuss than she has, already.

Eleven's eyes shifted from the circle, to Mr. Fell, then Yotsuyu. He glanced back briefly, wondering once again if he really should be here and what he might say if confronted.

At least nothing seemed to have actually come through the portal, despite how successful it looked as though the spell had been. He'd reached for his light the moment the others had blown out, unable to stomach the stifling darkness.

The magic involved was too advanced, he supposed. A relief, honestly.

Eleven nodded and sheathed his sword, then turned back for the corridor to investigate potential intruders.

She was too charming and he was too suspicious of these strangers who had, for some reason, apparently accompanied Aziraphale on whatever foolish project the angel had undertaken. Summoning a demon, by the look of the circle and the results.

The boy with the sword left and he felt only marginally better. Frankly, the woman looked more dangerous in the way people generally were when they pretended not to be. He would definitely not be sitting any time soon.

"I, uh, appreciate it, but I think we really ought to leave the circle as it is," he tried, remembering to fuss with his hands instead of anything else. The clothes were all wrong; what had happened here? But the Angel's ring was there, and it was certainly his body. "Might be good to know why it didn't work?" He offered a hopeful smile.

"Whyever for?" Yotsuyu chuckled quietly at that. "The only demon we wished to summon is already here, is he not? Though certainly not in the way dear Mr. Fell had hoped. Not," she said, lifting a finger, "that I have any plans to let on." She nodded, then. "I am Yotsuyu goe Brutus, and it is my aid that he enlisted--though he had hoped to bring you here corporeally, not to simply switch places mentally." She frowned at that.

"I suspect that there is an element of Sundering magic involved that we either did not take into account, or that it was beyond the two of us--I have been here for some time, but as I am not in House Ka, as Fell is, Sundering is not something I specialize in. Though I have some knowledge of it." Just not enough, damn it all.

"I do not think, however, it was a flaw in the circle itself. We were fairly meticulous about its creation." Yotsuyu damns herself with faint praise; neither she nor Aziraphale were 'fairly' meticulous. They were terribly meticulous about it. Yotsuyu is not in Purifeul for no reason, after all...and Aziraphale was desperate to not leave his dear friend alone.

She told him plenty of useful information: the Angel was introducing himself as Mr. Fell, as usual; she was some kind of witch; Aziraphale HAD been trying to summon him (and he was fairly confident it was him Aziraphale meant to get...it wasn't like the Angel knew a lot of demons. Right?). But what Sundering magic was (he could guess) and where they were now and why the Angel had come here in the first place, was unclear.

Crowley vaguely nodded and made a series of inarticulate sounds that amounted to the verbal equivalent of a keysmash that ended in a "M'yeah."

He gave the circle another look, stepping cautiously around it, sure Aziraphale had done a good job on it, and then because being contrary came naturally, added: "Sure you've got the right demon? It's not like we've met before--uh, have we met? Can't say I recall."

"If you are the one known as Crowley, we have the correct demon. We have not met; what I know of you is only what Mr. Fell has told me--though he has said the pair of you are friends." Which, in truth, was enough for Yotsuyu. She'd learned the value of friendship in her time here.

"If you do not wish to erase the circle, can you explain why? I highly doubt a summoning circle meant for a demon would work for an angel, since to the best of my knowledge, your sides, at least, are diametrically opposed." Clearly, that was not the case for Crowley and Fell themselves, but who was she to judge such a thing? No one.

Just a little smile sneaks across his face. The angel called them friends to a stranger. Was a nice change.

"Can't say I've ever heard of an Angel Summoning, but angels, demons...made from the same stock. Started the same, anyway. Not much different, except politically. Philosophically. Sort of. We can do some of the same things, really. Miracles, temptations-- Wings. Both have wings," he added as an afterthought, as if it were relevant. "Stands to reason we could maybe--ehh--" He shrugged as much with his face as with his shoulders and gestured at the circle as if to imply doing something with the thing, before awkwardly shoving his hands into Aziraphale's pockets.

"Might help to know what I'm working with here, Witch Girl. Why I can't just--demonic miracles and whatnot."

[Isabel has brothers. Siblings. People who attempt to pull the wool over an elder sibling's eyes and fail, often miserably.

So while she has her suspicions (and many of them), instead of calling Mr. Fell out on what may definitely be his bullshit, Isabel decides to take a gentler tactic. To wit; food. A bottle of decent ale (since 18 is old enough to drink here, even if she doesn't personally indulge), something touted as a steak-and-stout pie from a street cart (it smells delightful!), and one of the petite fruit pies (this one is amaretto cherry) from her favorite bakery.]

You're not you when you're hungry. Eat up! [As she places this bounty, and a fork, before Fell-slash-Crowley. Really, it probably wouldn't matter to her if she knew the truth. He's not being terribly demonic, as these things go, after all.]

[ He realizes he should eat because Aziraphale would, and because this girl seems to know that. But Crowley has no particular stomach for food right now, not when he's had no good leads on returning the Angel to his proper form, so all he does is tap the crust of the meat pie with his the tines of his fork. The ale's a bit tempting, though.]

Ah, thank you. I apologize if I've been out of sorts. How very considerate and generous of you to think of me. Smells, uh, delightful.

[ He arranges the food in front of him, shuffling some of the notes and quill and inkpot to the side, and waits to see if she'll leave him. ].

[Crowley will be disappointed, seeing as Isabel stands there with a hand on her hip, idly twisting a tendril of hair between her fingers. She can tell something's off, but they're in public, so she doesn't really want to call him out.]

Just have a couple bites while it's hot, hey? I mean I can see you're busy, but even before the Great Hall yeeted itself to who knows where, it's not like I saw you there at all. And I know you haven't got a job to get a serious stipend yet, so it's not like you're eating down in the city.

Besides, you look upset about something. So what's up? [He can damn the young Mage's intuition and insight all he likes, but really, she means well.]

"I see. We do not precisely have such a dichotomy where I am from," Yotsuyu mused. Oh, certainly there were voidsent, and they were called demons, but she'd discussed this with Mr. Fell, and they were most definitely not the same...

"Yotsuyu," she murmured--like as not they'd need to know each other a bit longer before she'd accept such a moniker from him, but at least she did not pause to argue. "I came here with no power, but from those I know who did--they lost the ability to access their might upon arrival. I assume the same has happened to you--so no demonic miracles and what not."

She wasn't mocking Crowley as she threw the words back in his face, simply using terms that he clearly knew. "It does not mean they are gone forever, but...regaining such things takes time and...sweat and tears, if you must know."

He made a face, parsing what she had just said. It wasn't a happy face. It wasn't even a terribly nice face. It was the kind of face like he had tasted something rotten and was mulling over whether or not to swallow it and save his pride.

No powers. Right then. Crowley could still sense the presence of wings, and he suspected this body wasn't going to be in need of air or food except by sheer expectation of routine, but no miracles certainly made this whole thing a might bit more difficult. And it definitely explained this circle business the Angel had mucked about with here.

"Ehh, sweating is all a bit too human and crying's totally out--" The past week, the Spanish Inquisition, all of those other times...were exceptions, alright? She didn't need to know about that anyhow. "Come on. You can't tell me the Angel's been here for long enough to recover anything. I saw him ...yesterday."

[That IS disappointing and now he all but squirms under the scrutiny, his anxiety balling in his stomach. They're in public. And he's pretty sure she knows he's not Aziraphale. He struggles for an excuse while on the spot and comes up with a hasty and not untruthful:]

I'm, uh. Well. Yeah. [The word slips out before he catches it.] Having a bit of trouble. I am trying to find a friend--A, uh, a spell to reunite me with a friend. [Smooth.]

"Well, such is my life, at least." Yotsuyu had heard herself called human, though the term on Hydaelyn was 'hyur', she figured it was simply an equivalent name. And thus, so be it.

"He has been here two months, to my knowledge. A short time, indeed, but that does seem to say that there is quite the time differential between Anastara and your world."

While it isn't surprising to her, it does pose a problem. Mostly in that she cannot tell what is going on with Mr. Fell in that world, while Crowley is in this one. She'd be happy to use the magic that Webby had discovered to attempt to gaze into this other world, save it hadn't worked well the first time, either, and Yotsuyu had absolutely no desire to summon more chaos into this world, all willy-nilly.

A time difference. It made sense, in a way, different dimensions and all. But to think the Angel has been here for two months and Crowley didn't know, had no idea he was even gone, and now Aziraphale is in their world, again out of reach, and there's no telling what is going on with him there, or how long either of them might be in their respective places before this thing is resolved.

Can't Aziraphale just stop getting into trouble for once in his blessed existence?

He made a low, disgruntled noise in his throat. "Right. Well, don't intend to be here two months, so we might as well get a move on with this whole... blood, sweat, and tears business." It was going to come down to doing this the human way, so be it. Or the not-human way, since it was magic. Same thing. "At the very least, I guess we better clean this up after all and quit lurking in darkened hallways." Demon, lurking. "Somebody's bound to get the right idea." A pause and he looked around. Speaking of, "Where'd the kid go off to? Does he have--you know, you think--any idea?" he indicated himself.

[Probably, but she also doesn't seem to be inclined to call him on it, either, save for the fact that he--even if he's not Mr. Fell--isn't eating, and she disapproves of that. Mortal bodies need to eat! Isabel's brow furrows thoughtfully, though.]

I know what I'd do if I were home, but...I'm here, and magic here doesn't work like it does here. You haven't gotten very far, I guess, have you?

[At least she's got sympathy for this ~~devil~~ demon? She'd try to peer over his notes, but if nothing else, Fell would expect her to be polite, so she is.]

[Well, he's going to have to get help anyway, he supposes, so with a sigh, he admits:]

Not really. I've looked over the notes and far as I can tell, there isn't anything wrong with any of it. It just...doesn't work.

Could be...--who knows. Stay line, mispronounced word, lack of power to back up the spell. It's different than I thought it'd be, this magic. All Greek to me--mmn, not Greek, know Greek, maybe it's more like Greek-adjacent: close, but still foreign enough. [He flicks at a page of notes.]

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now I'm waiting for something to fall from the skies

...Uh. Mr. Fell (kinda), Eleven, Yotsuyu - Immediate Aftermath

[OPEN] Mr. Fell, and by that I mean Crowley right now in the school

[OPEN] - Choose your Own

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