Anthony J. Crowley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sauntereddown) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
diatu2019-11-10 12:29 pm
sauntereddown) wrote in diatu2019-11-10 12:29 pm
To be fair, not the worst day he's ever had
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.
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.
taking forever but...out of gas!
"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...
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.)