To be fair, not the worst day he's ever had

[sauntereddown]

Who: Crowley and any unsuspecting bystanders
What: Arrival post, and subsequent settling in
Where: Somewhere on the Walk/later in the Great Hall
When: Sometime in early November
Warnings: Initially grumpy, frazzled occult being. Absolutely no knowledge of actual cars.


Temporarily out of gas
Crowley is going to struggle to find a metaphor for this later. The best he can come up with is if your talking unicorn suddenly changed into a blank-eyed goat. But the shabby version of a goat everyone knows, from some film you never got around to seeing. That's his general feeling about the car he's sitting in right now.

And also he's pretty sure he's got an idea of how the universe works, certainly of how the world works because he was there when they built the blessed thing. But now the feel's all off, so he's like a cat with mittens on.

And also, people are staring, when they're not leaning out of horse-drawn wagons and yelling for him to move. And not just sort of assuming they see something else and working their way around him. So there's that.

He snaps his fingers, and oh, that's what it feels like if they cut the miracle power. He always wondered. "Shit." Maybe he can still lean into it. He rolls the window down and snaps again, louder, at some unsuspecting bystander. "Hey, yeah. Yes, you - I'm going to need some directions."

Hey boy, where did you go?
After some more swearing and a crash course or two, Crowley's now a new arrival in the Great Hall. He's wearing sunglasses indoors, and he's nursing a mug of something strong-tasting and hopefully alcoholic. (No one knew what he was talking about when he asked if they had Isle of Skye, so he decided on a glass of whatever would "take the edge off a long day.")

He's notably not eating, though he is taking notes in between pulls from the mug. Anyone who sneaks a peek will see a mix of English words and a squiggly language they likely won't be able to read. Crowley is not an organized scholar, but in between his attempts to throw together a class schedule, there are some spur-of-the-moment questions and notes.

Notable bits include 'Different planet? Is space the same?', and a list titled 'Clever Enough to Exorcise Me Here' with every name crossed off.

Comments

[temptationaccomplished]

Aziraphale has given up all pretense of sleeping or keeping normal human hours since his deal with Tyzias. Last month taught him he almost can summon a demon, and the failure taught him he will have to study harder if he wants anything more than the tantalizing fruit of that mere possibility hanging just out of reach.

So he's between information gathering in the Library of Ash and Fire when he breezes into the Great Hall looking for a spot of something to nibble on. The red hair catches his eye first, peripherally and over the top of a dozen other heads and between movement in the Hall. His heart flutters excitedly and then he stamps down on the feeling. No, it can't be. Surely that hair belongs to just another Sundered student--they do have a penchant for rather wild natural looks.

But he stops despite himself, despite steeling himself for disappointment, and tries to catch that figure again. They just look so painfully Crowley, even from here, from behind, caught in snippets through a small crowd. The appropriate level of slouch (and oh, having dined with him and sat on benches with him, and visited the opera and plays and film with him... Aziraphale had a subconscious catalog of all the ways that Crowley could sit). The necessary ratio of coiffed/effortless hair styling. The way he raises that cup and--

Oh. That nose. Those glasses. That profile. It IS Crowley. It simply HAS to be. Aziraphale flutters out of the doorway to gather himself up for this meeting, fidgeting his hands and straightening his ridiculous school uniform and his fluffy hair and hoping he doesn't smell like he has been sitting in that hellish library. Contemplating his words... This world HAD to be playing tricks on him, after denying him the chance to properly pull Crowley in on his own. Maybe this is only temporary, like so many of their things, but Aziraphale will be damned if he doesn't at least go find out.

He hasn't decided yet if he wants to pretend my-oh-my this is such an unexpected visit, or to teasingly scold Crowley for being late. He slides into the seat opposite Crowley at the table, arranging himself as if this was planned, as if they are back home and have made an arrangement to meet, as if he hasn't been buzzing with nerves for the last minute.

It all falls apart once he sees his Best Friend's face.

"Hello, Crowley," he says, and his smile breaks a little tearfully.

[sauntereddown]

Oh thank God.

He doesn't say it out loud, thank something definitely, absolutely not Her for small favors. But he does say it, internally, for the first time in six thousand years. Under the sunglasses his eyes are probably screaming it. The only other time something has warranted the occasion, he was too soused and still expected to die within hours.

He's not going to die, and wherever they are, it's the right place.

"Hey." Casual, and far too soft to be as breezy as he's going for. He sets the mug down, a little shakily. "There you are."

[temptationaccomplished]

"Here I am," he says, with a funny sort of cheerful smile caught somewhere between laughing and crying. He squirms a bit in his seat and doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he folds them, lacing the fingers together instead of reaching out to touch, to make sure he's real. "And here you are. Of course. Only just arrived, have you?"

He made small talk with Crowley for centuries and here he is now, unsure how even to say hello.

[sauntereddown]

Crowley can see the awkward restraint, the way Aziraphale's eyes are glistening. The rulebook has recently been tossed out, so there's been some strangeness lately anyway. Nothing severe. Just a wobble or two in a millennia-old routine, like a small inner ear problem. This feels like something bigger.

Though of course, they've both got a knack for the unspoken. And yanked here by whatever's done this, Aziraphale probably felt just as at sea as he did.

"Yeah, last few hours. Caused a traffic jam, so I'm off to a fine start, I think. Though, funny story about that, not funny 'haha', more-"

Wait.

"Did I keep you waiting for long?"

[temptationaccomplished]

"No, my dear." He shakes his head too quickly and his expression, as much as he tries to school it into something less fragile, seems to suggest otherwise. What is a couple of months to immortal beings that have existed since before the dawn of time, though? No time at all. No time, but forever and eternity just the same. "No, I am just very happy to see you here."

He twists the ring around his pinkie finger.

"A traffic jam, though? Goodness, you're causing mischief already." His expression brightened with a warm smile. How wonderful to have Crowley running around, making a menace of himself for Aziraphale to thwart. "Does that mean you have your car here?" He almost wants to take a spin around the campus in it; he even misses that: just bottle them up in the capsule of their own comfortable little world and pretend it is just the two of them like always.

you good with tyzias begin able to read demon? she's been Around, but i don't want to assume

[tiredcharmer]

"Yes and yes." The table shakes with the weight of the food tray slammed down upon it, buckles as a greater volume of study materials tumbles out of Tyzias's hands and onto its surface, and the chair nearly breaks under the weight as Tyzias's noodly frame collapses onto it. Tyzias is normally content with taking lunch in the library, but after accidentally filling a bookshelf with hardlight bread while experimenting with spellcraft, that wasn't an option anymore. And since she's already developed a reputation as the local campus cryptid (just as she likes it, really), Tyzias isn't exactly welcome at most tables.

So she's here to greet the newbie. Kind of. Well, more like study since he looks like an interesting sort, but there is genuine benevolent intention there. Grabbing an apple from her mound of food, Tyzias almost unhinges her jaw and bites clean through half of it. While chewing, she explains, "Did some astronomy before I arrived to Diatu. I mean, on the road here. Didn't do astronomy back home, that shit's for dweebs that are dweebier than me. Anyways, Diatu is definitely on a different plane of existence than the one you're from. Er. Not plane, actually. Entirely separate reality. But that's semantics."

most Good Omens worldbuilding is super 'make it up as you go along' so go for it

[sauntereddown]

As scattered as his thoughts are, Crowley's pretty fixed on what he's doing, so at the sudden shaking of the table he glances up in abrupt confusion.

The quill crunches loudly in his grip before he realizes no, that's not Beelzebub, Beelzebub has less grey and more pustules. And would look more murder-y than - oh hello, her jaw's open very wide, that's interesting. To use one of several words.

"Hi." It is the world's most slow and cautious hi, trying to sound like an unconcerned drawl.

He drapes an arm over the paper, like a kid trying to cover doodling in his notebook. In the 'yes' column for potential classes, he has definitely written 'Astronomy.'

[tiredcharmer]

Crunch.

"Hi."

Crunch.

With those shades, the drawl, and the poorly-disguised nervousness, he almost seems like Dave. Tyzias can read the discomfort on Crowley's face, which is why she doesn't turn up the creep factor. Too much, at least. (Wow, that smile still has way too many teeth than is reasonable for anything mammalian.) After swallowing her apple, she extends a hand towards Crowley. "I'm Tyzias. Resident Queen of Dweebs. Don't worry, you're among friends here." Even though her tone is casually mocking—she can't turn it off, so sue her—there's an undercurrent of genuine warmth there.

"And you are...?"

[sauntereddown]

"Anthony Crowley." Crowley reflexively lifts his own hand and realizes it has ink and feathery bits on it. He flicks it on instinct, and when the mess doesn't disappear itself, he uses the other to shake.

The appearance is probably the most normal thing about her. He's turned into things at least as creepy-looking as she is, to say nothing of the cosmic forces he's been witness to lately. It's more that, with one notable exception, no one would ever describe a chat with those people as being 'among friends'.

"Completely multiversal, then. That's interesting." To say the least. He supposes this is one way to get rid of a problem you think you can't kill. "Were we summoned or exorcised, do you think? I'd expect to at least turn up in a magic circle, but maybe those are out of fashion."

(Oh Crowley, if you only knew.)

You are making it very hard to remember I am on Hiatus. This is going to be... wow.

[nobodys_puppet]

Xion has been snapped at before, but never quite like that. The young seeming girl's hands go for her hood as her eyes widen, like she is going to pull it over her face. But she promised Axel and Roxas. So... she was trying. She let her hands fall, leaving her hood down and face exposed. Which meant there was nothing to hide the fact that what had her eyes huge was the car. She'd never seen anything like it outside of the books Axel had given her. She had dutifully read them all, because it was Axel who asked. Herhomework, on the other hand, was still sitting beside her bed untouched.. where she bothered to bring it back to the room at all.

She almost missed his question, but she had spent most of her short life on a knife's edge where anyone who spoke to her could have had her Dusked. So even wonder and curiosity couldn't quite stop her from hearing. She looked away from the car, startled. "Directions...?" she asked. She... didn't give orders, she obeyed them. Well, used to obey.

omg well I'm flattered! and thanks for being patient while I respond to these!

[sauntereddown]

Crowley is happy to piss off some rude adults, especially when they refuse to forget he exists and go around him while he figures this out.

The small, wide-eyed girl shrinking in on herself, that's a whole other thing. Crowley winces and leans further out the window, his voice softening and losing its edge. "Er, yeah. Do you know the way to London from here? Or the nearest freeway exit?"

Did she see-? No, the sunglasses are in place. She's staring at the car, like most people who are staring. This does not bode well.

I'll be patient with you if you are with me... >.>

[nobodys_puppet]

"London?" she asked, then shook her head. "I don't know. Freeway exit?" So many new words, and they weren't in the books she had read. "I do not know that world, London," she said softly. "Or Freeway exit." Was that a place? A world? A pathway? It sounded like a passageway of some sort. She was still looking at the car, but made herself look at him for a moment. "Is it alive?" The book hadn't been quite clear on that. It moved and needed to consume fuel, so... yes? But the thing about a driver... she wasn't sure. And he was inside it. The book had shown cars, but not people in them. She didn't realize people sat inside.

[sauntereddown]

This is too specific for a Renfaire. If he's gone somewhere medieval, they'd better at least have basic medicine. Or printing presses.

The sunglasses might help her with the eye contact. But overall Crowley's probably doing nothing for poor Xion's nerves, scowling to himself, wondering just what would get him stranded like this anyway. Some thermodynamic fallout from the time-stopping? It was just that one time. And the other time, and sometimes as a small cheat when-

She's still talking to him. He frowns as he recalls her last question, glancing down unhappily at the DeLorean. "Not this one. 'Least I don't think so. They're just very clever machines, meant to take you places quickly." A beat. "Stupid question, but what year is it?"

And one more

[gender_neutral]

V did not often go to bars. Clearly, not not ever, but not often. So the small elf was perched on a stool, going through a rather large pile of tomes that had been pulled from a seemingly tiny pouch held about the belt. On the Elf's shoulder was what looked... well it looked like someone had dipped a macaw in oil and pasted a cardboard raptor beak over the smaller normal beak. The bird looked at Crowley for a long moment, then made a small noise that was almost a cough.

Irritated, the Elf glanced over, saw Crowley's notes... and was at once intrigued. "I do not have knowledge of that language, would a trade be amenable to you?"

[sauntereddown]

The ears and hair don't throw him, or even the bag. But Crowley does stare a moment too long at the bird, wondering if the wet and shimmery bits are typical or if it's having a bad day. In his defense, the bird stared first.

"Er, trade for what?" He leans his arm casually on the paper, like he's guarding a very interesting equation and not just some scribblings. Demons know the value of deals and trades, and Crowley's not about to make one straight away in a strange world. But will he try to make V sweeten the pot anyway? Absolutely.

[gender_neutral]

"I thought that was rather implied, for a language that I know that you do not. Perhaps I mistook a second language for a sign that you had above average intelligence, if I was mistaken I apologize, apparently overestimating the intelligence of my fellow sapients is a character flaw of mine here."

"Hey, remember how you wanted me to remind you to be polite..." the bird asked in a weary voice.

"I assure you, I was as polite as someone with my charisma score can be, I apologized and did not attempt to blow anyone up."

"It is sad that those are actually examples of how you have improved."

"Why would it be sad that I am showing results in my efforts?" V asked, perplexed.

[sauntereddown]

Crowley scowls at the insult. Partly because V doesn't seem to realize it's one, which takes all the fun out of a response. "No, mate, that's just a bad offer. I could know a hundred languages. I could have just grown up with the two. I could not care about languages at all, so then all you've done is tell me what interests you."

What he's telling this person, he realizes, that he's interested in the psychology of a deal. He suspects they're not going to care much, though.

He's also interested in the bird. "Ah, hi." He tilts his head at it cordially. It seems to have more sense than its master. "Didn't realize the familiars 'round here could talk. Thought they were just very bright."

taking forever but...out of gas!

[darkenedmoon]

Snapped at. So it's to be that way, is it? Yotsuyu looked down her nose at the man in his dark spectacles, and sauntered over. She'd seen a number of magitek vehicles in her time, but this one was definitely novel, as these things went.

"Directions?" she purred--anyone who knew her well might be sensing danger at this point, but Yotsuyu considered that she might be acting similarly to this man, were their situations reversed. "Directions, darling, of course! Where do you wish to go? And do you wish to take your vehicle with you?"

He might have to tell her what it runs on, but there was always a chance that she might manage to make it go...

[sauntereddown]

He likes this one. Not in the way a human would be charmed, feel flirted with. But he's got enough self-awareness to see how she moves, hear the performance in the purr of her voice, and decide that style should recognize style.

If he had a better supernatural footing in this place, he might be able to probe a little. Let his demonic instincts take over, see if she was putting on a show for the sake of it, or there was something bigger that she wanted. But he had a feeling that wasn't happening.

"Er, London." A pause, and then remembering some other people's reactions when he asked, "England. Earth. Late twenty-tens, AD. Are any of those things that you've got here? Because I'm starting to think not."

[darkenedmoon]

"No. I do not think I've heard of such things. Though you certainly speak like...a friend of mine." Oh, seven hells, whyever not. It isn't as if she has not claimed others as friends in the past, after all. May as well call a spade a spade, as the saying went!

"You would not know a Mr. Fell, would you?" She might hope beyond hope, just a little, that this fellow might be the one Fell had been...fishing for, so to speak. Oh, he'd be so glad, if it were!

Not that Yotsuyu was about to mention that to the man. Not yet. "So is there anything else you might need? If you've been displaced here, they do have a place for our kind, after all." Admitting that she wasn't from around here, either. Since she certainly was not.

[sauntereddown]

Crowley notes the pause before 'friend', not sure what the hesitation is about, but finding it interesting.

But not as interesting as the next thing, of course. He leans too far out the window, sunglasses bumping against his nose, and he grabs them before they slip and cause more attention. But he's suddenly riveted. "Az- Fell. Fell, yeah! He's - we go way back. You know him?"

That's one way to get Crowley out of the DeLorean. He goes to shift gears, lamely realizes the engine wasn't even running, and opens the door fully prepared to leave the vehicle there in the road. (Gullwing doors. All right, that's stylish, at least.)

[bearshermark]

Eleven made his way over as a matter of course and settled down at the man's table without so much as a 'by your leave'. An ordinary student perhaps, if not for the sword strapped to the back of his robes.

"Need help with anything?"

[sauntereddown]

Crowley's really not used to people being so friendly, so eager to enter his space. He usually is the one initiating with humans, when they're an assignment, or if it's necessary. Sometimes just when they're interesting.

A situation like this, though, they're probably used to helping each other settle in. He might as well have a go of it.

"Getting the lay of the land, mostly. Not where I expected to land when I woke up this morning." He eyes the weapon curiously from under his dark lenses. Not that a sword seems out of place in this world in a general sense, but he's pretty sure he hasn't seen the other students with one of those. "That's a nice blade. I'd have expected wands."

[bearshermark]

His smile turns a touch apologetic. "I have one, but I can't just leave the Sword of Light in my dorm tower."

He settles his books to the side and peers over at the class schedule he could make out from the man's notes.

"My name is Eleven. I've been here since.. well, eight months or so. If you have any questions about classes or houses, I can probably help."

[sauntereddown]

"Sword of-" Sure. Why not? Makes as much sense as anything else, though he makes a mental note not to get too close to it just in case. "Dorm security's not very good, then?"

"Anthony Crowley. Hi." He nods cordially, and then shrugs, moving over to allow Eleven a look at the budding schedule. The House Ka requirements are written down, and a slapdash list of others he might find interesting - Astronomy, Botany, Dialectical Logic. He's circled Fantastics, while Intimation has been crossed out more than once.

"I never really 'did' school before," Crowley adds conversationally. "But I got tricked into reading about a magic school, once." Someone had been going around claiming Harry Potter was Satanic. Crowley had taken a peek out of curiosity and somehow hooked himself into reading all seven. Part of him suspected it was some trick of Aziraphale's. "Lots of peril. Stairs that moved about, which seems impractical. That sort of thing."