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.
no subject
She begins gesticulating wildly, clearly agitated. "Seriously. Fuck that guy. And not in the way that you do. Fucking... 'I will refuse to help you because you said a naughty word' and then he proceeds to watch me struggle for the next five minutes, acts like he's all high-and-mighty when he's just as petty as me, and- UGH! He's a good study partner, at least. Glad I sealed that deal. But I swear if I ever have to deal with him outside of research I am going to- ahem. Sorry." She calms down slightly, angry jabbing at her exceedingly rare steak and muttering under her breath.
no subject
"Yep, yeah, that's him. That's got to be him. Marvelous bastard, isn't he? You got the best bit, you must've needled him just right to - look, where is he?"
He looks more relaxed than he has in hours, and if Tyzias didn't have ideas before, she'd probably start circling around a few.
no subject
Releasing an unladylike burp, she shoves the dessicated corpse of her breakfast aside and begins poring through her own notes. "I can take you there if you want, but who fucking knows where the hell he is considering the kind of magic he's taken to using." Tyzias's few experiments with Sundering have had... mixed results. Although she will (begrudgingly) concede that Fell is much more experienced than her in that matter.
no subject
"If it's like that, better not or I might kill him," he mutters, still getting whiplash from all this information, in between the casual demolishing of what for humans would be a small buffet. And because he needs to distract himself from the mental image of Aziraphale earnestly teleporting himself into the Nine Circles of Hell, he asks: "Were you on a starvation diet or something, or is this just what mealtime looks like for whatever you are?"
no subject
Tyzias sweeps up her study materials into apparently nowhere, grunting with the effort. "Two... eh, kinda? Most of the food back home was. Er." Literal actual babies. "More nutritious than the stuff they have here." Because humans don't serve their young on a platter as a grim reminder to the rest of the population of what will happen to them should they fail in their caste duties. "So I make up for quality with quantity."
no subject
"Seems like an oversight, if they've got people showing up from all over like this." He shrugs. "Don't know if you've had lunch with A- with Fell, but have fun with that. 'Now this is all wrong, you're got to develop a palate for these things, how can you even appreciate the texture if you bolt it that way?'" It's exaggerated, but the tone and diction are a solid impression, like he's worked on it before.
no subject
Tyzias cracks up at Crowley's impression, wiping a tear from her eye. "Aight, let me try. Ahem. 'No no no no, you don't understand. If you play that dreadful noise while we're having Earl Assface tea, it'll completely ruin the texture! Here, let me put on some horrid ballroom that'll make you fall asleep instead.'" Her voice and diction are... surprisingly spot-on. Not as good as Crowley's, but passable nonetheless.
no subject
Off her excuses, Crowley gives her a raised eyebrow like 'is that the best you can do?', but he moves past it. No one who was a danger back home was ever this interesting. If she's not what she says she is, it'll play itself out.
Besides, roasting Aziraphale is much more entertaining. "'There, isn't that nicer than all that ridiculous bebop? Really, it's as if you have no standards. Now excuse me while I have a passionate affair with these cucumber sandwiches, there's a dear.'"