I want to break free

[sauntered_downward]

characters: Crowley and You
location: The Invincible or your wildcard of a location
date/time: October 5
content: It's been five days since the ferry incident. Crowley has been going into the last stores of the town's liquor.

Isn't it about time someone properly told the ringleader of this whole shebacle off? Isn't it best if that person was you?
warnings: Excessive drinking

Crowley is still feeling miserable. He can't believe everything went so incredibly wrong. People got hurt. Now, if he were just a normal demon, he'd probably be thrilled about this, but he's not and it matters and that is really just overwhelmingly annoying.

If he'd had the time, he'd just curl up and sleep this all off until he wasn't pissed off at himself anymore. In fact, the last time something went this pear shaped it was the whole business with the Archduke Ferdinand. If he'd known planning a simple assassination was going to cause a Great War, he'd have absolutely said 'No Thank You' and moved back on to simpler temptations. So he just slept through the War and his annoyance at the whole thing. He figured a twenty year or so nap would be plenty and he'd wake up feeling refreshed, but no, another War was already in progress by that point.

Now, he literally can't just sleep off a decade or two to get over his irritation at himself and the situation. He has to eat. He has to move, otherwise his muscles will decay. He's trapped in his own corporation, now. And with his leg propped up on a chair in the Invincible, broken and splinted, he feels especially trapped in it.

And also, this town smells horrific. Just when he thought he couldn't hate it here any more than he already does, everything smells like rot.

So, since he can't sleep, he's going to drink. There's only a limited supply of liquor left, and he feels more than a little entitled to it. He has a bottle on his table and one glass in front of himself. He's been here a while and appears to have no intention of going anywhere.

Certainly not to help fix things.

Why should he?



[OOC: Please feel free to come by and bother Crowley. Violent intentions and actions towards him are OK, just don't kill him without a ping in my direction first. You can meet him here at the Invincible where he is feeling sorry for himself, or elsewhere. Feel free to message me at rude_not_ginger with your wildcard, and we can make it happen!]

Comments

[lunchbreaks]

"Crowley, there you are," comes an exasperated voice, as Aziraphale helps himself to the seat next to Crowley's leg, though he doesn't help himself to any of his alcohol. "What on Earth do you think you're doing?" He had spent all day trying to look for supplies, and he was still a little damp, his miracling lazy and tired.

"How is your leg?" he asks, because that's the other thing he had been doing - trying to patch people up. Usually it'd be a snap of his fingers. He'd actually had to work at it, like a human. It had been mortifying, both for having to face these people and for his general lack of real, practical knowledge.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley looks over the rim of his glass at the angel. He hadn't been worried---or so he tells himself. Definitely hadn't been drinking to keep away the worry. Hadn't curled up at night holding onto Aziraphale's lantern like it might go out at any moment. He would never admit to any of these things, because they were too human, too soft.

"It hurts," he says, simply, bitterly. "I've heard it'll take three months to heal. Is that how it always is with breaks on a human? Three months?"

[lunchbreaks]

"Yes, I'm afraid it is," he replies. "Mind if I give it a look-over?" he asks, not waiting for an answer before he tries to inspect it. Quite difficult in a splint with Crowley's trousers on, so he'll have to look later. "Would it be more comfortable for you to wear a loose skirt?" he asks. "I can have a look around the shop."

[sauntered_downward]

He would never deny Aziraphale the chance to be himself---except when he did, back on the shore near the ferry. When he begged him not to go save people because he was putting himself in danger.

"Oh, I haven't worn a loose skirt since the Regency period," Crowley says. "And that was only because those dresses were basically see-through. All that talk about needing to be modest in the 21st century, but I remember how in-fashion it was to wet those dresses so they were more transparent."

He leans over, picking up Aziraphale's lantern.

"I suppose you want this back, then?"

[lunchbreaks]

"Yes, I'll take it. And you know, I could find you a nice dramatic heavy one in black. Certainly it should help you walk around, I think. How have you been getting around without a crutch?" he asks, concerned.

He has his arm in a sling now.

Surprise... it's tartan.

[luxoraculi]

Lunafreya has been a busy bee since the ferry incident. Several friends arrived on that ill fated boat, and she's found herself suddenly with a new purpose: though she may not be healing the masses of the scourge that plagued her star, she is able to relieve them of their injuries. Sort of. It's taking more than one healing session to heal everything, unfortunately, but she feels more blessed than ever to have these powers.

She's got three injured men at home that she's been trying to tend to, and those that she's been able to bump into again or meet. It was an unfortunate incident, and yet... she feels like she's got some sort of duty now. Some sense of familiarity.

She's come to the Invincible to get out of the house for a bit, though. Because though she loves her boys dearly, there is far too much testosterone in that house right now, and besides, she's got some things on her mind, too.

A glance around reveals, however, that she is not alone. Not that she'd intended to be alone, of course, in such a bustling area. But the man that sits with his leg propped up looks familiar... she'd see him during the incident.

Quietly, Lunafreya approaches, lifting a hand in greeting.

"Good evening," she begins gently. "Would you mind terribly if I joined you?"

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley had no intention of having company in the Invincible. He'd assumed everyone would be fretting about supplies and stay away and he'd get all sorts of privacy. He looks up over the rim of his sunglasses at the woman who has approached. Young, pretty----just the sort of person who should be off being a famous model or Instagram star, not dead and in a dark world with no chance of escape.

Whatever Plan this place is is literally bullshit.

Still, he can't see a single reason why he should tell her to leave.

"Grab your own glass, though," he says, gesturing to the bar. "I've only got the one."

[luxoraculi]

Unfortunately for poor Crowley, there will be no privacy for him. Well... not right now, at least. She smiles at him when he doesn't immediately turn her away, and she takes a seat across from him. Her eyes fall to the bottle of alcohol, and then the glass, before she shakes her head.

"That is very kind, but you need not worry about sharing with me," she replies, folding her hands politely into her lap. "I should ask your forgiveness, really. I just felt that, perhaps, you could use someone to talk to."

Because drinking alone and brooding don't usually end well, she's found. But her gaze moves over to his leg, next. "Are you in much pain?"

[sauntered_downward]

Someone to talk to. He notes the near-white hair and clear eyes. She looks nothing like Aziraphale does when he presents as a woman, but she definitely could be another one of those guardian-angel types coming to try to save him from himself. He lets out a long sigh.

"I've got plenty of people to talk to. Lots of people in this town really, really want to talk to me right now, thanks," he says.

At her question about his leg, he reaches out a hand to put on his thigh. His hand is trembling, and it's definitely not because he's had too much to drink.

Invincible

[worthallthis]

Right as he's reaching for the bottle for pour himself another glass, he'll find it being lifted out of his grasp. Instead, a glass of water gets set in front of him.

"You've had enough," says the Soldier. Its expression is bland, but not the same way it has been in the past. This kind of bland says "I think you're being an idiot but I'm not going to say so" rather than "I'm waiting for you to give me orders". It's a better kind of bland. "Drink that for a while."

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley looks up at the human soldier person over his sunglasses in surprise. A bold move, just taking the liquor away from him, and not something he'd have expected from him when he's usually so...well, complacent to Crowley's instructions and demands.

Maybe the human soldier person is starting to learn how to stand up for himself. What a fucking time to do that, though, because Crowley was really looking forward to another drink.

"Someone's got to finish off the store before we're completely out," he says, flippantly. "Might as well be me."

[worthallthis]

That's just what happens when you give the Soldier permission to be your friend instead of your tool. It gets bossy. (Well, sort of bossy. In a careful way that could back off at any time. But still! It's a step!)

"Or we could save it for when we need something to clean wounds with," the Soldier suggests. "Or when someone needs stitched up and would benefit from being drunk while we do it. Drink water." Then, to give Crowley some personal motivation, it adds, "Or you'll have a hangover."

[sauntered_downward]

"I don't get hangovers," Crowley says, petulantly. All the same, he takes the water and takes a drink from it. It's not what he wants, but he's not about to argue with one of the only friends he has in this whole somebody-forsaken town.

He gestures to the seat across from himself.

"How long until they all turn on us?" he says. "I hear we got 26 days worth of food from the wreck?"

[featherknives]

"If it isn't the mastermind himself," Xayah says, after finally managing to make her way through the crowd.

Now that there's actually a bit of light, her bird features are more obvious; her eyes are yellow and with narrow slits, she has marks underneath her eyes and tall feather ears are still there; the other thing it wasn't obvious before is that the cloak she was wearing was actually a lot of long, purple feathers, skull brooch on her right shoulder, covering her entire left side and left hand, protecting the lantern that she tied at her waist.

She probably shouldn't be up and around herself, but she's used to injuries, and right now they are nothing but a dull annoyance.

Her eyes glance at his leg then move to his face.

"How's the leg?"

[sauntered_downward]

She doesn't hide her eyes, something Crowley almost envies. His own slitted eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses. He used to just walk among humans with them, but they were always frightened, so he eventually started hiding them, keeping himself more hidden, more human among them. Now, they're just part of who he is, the flash bloke who wears sunglasses even in the dark.

"Still broken," he says. "Three months, you said? Working my way through the first week of it."

He gestures to the chair across from him.

"Plenty for two."

[featherknives]

There were times where others would be wary of her appearance- and not just only eyes. On her first trip, when she was way younger, people pointed at her, mocked her or even outright attacked her. But she still didn't hide her appearance and just kicked some ass in return. It got her in a lot of trouble.

"That's the minimum." But then again, Rakan always healed her broken bones and cuts so whether that's true or no she has no idea. The more time passes here, the more she realizes just how much she relied on him.

"I suppose I can kill some time," she says and slides into the offered chair, the elbow of her hand leaning on the counter.

[sauntered_downward]

He reaches over to grab another glass to place in front of her.

"Probably not the healthiest thing I've done this week, drinking alone," he says, pouring her a drink as well. "And I've made some spot-on decisions this week, as you can tell."

His leg aches. The town despises him. He's done a great job being here. How long has he been here, now? A month? Fantastic work, Crowley. Well on his way to the town discorporating him, or worse.

/slides in here late

[knifecollecting]

Jo recognized Crowley's voice as the ferry had taken off. She'd always been good with voices and the face they belonged to. It was a good skill to have as a bartender.

She was mad at him. Granted, she hadn't planned to seek him out. One, she'd only spoken to him a couple of times. Two, she didn't know where to find him.

However, when she comes to the Invincible and finds him drinking like nothing's wrong, she knows she's going to take advantage of the opportunity. She wasn't even there to drink. It's ridiculous that he is.

"What are you doing?"

Glad to see you!

[sauntered_downward]

"Nebraska," he says, extremely casually, leaning back to look up at her. She doesn't look happy to see him at all.

He holds his glass in one hand and lounges back against his chair. He'd look like the picture of pure casualness, if not for the broken leg he's got propped up on the chair.

He gestures to the seat across from himself. "Drink?"

Re: Glad to see you!

[knifecollecting]

Of the nicknames Jo has been given, she figures this isn't the worst. And hey, he remembered something about her. That's almost a good sign if one ignores his hijacking the ferry and possibly ruining their (un)lives.

She crosses her arms in front of herself, silently watching him for a long moment.

"You really think you deserve that?"

[sauntered_downward]

He looks down at the drink in his hand, then back up to the woman with her arms crossed.

"You think I don't, I suppose," he says. He takes a drink, as if daring her to stop him.

rolling in super late and starbucks is closed

[otrazhenie]

Had this been two days earlier, Elena would have been in a much fouler mood than she presently is. Admittedly, said mood is still pretty terrible, but some helpful souls around town have helped make things slightly more bearable for her in her apartment. Unfortunately, she's run out of her stash of alcohol, so she has to limp her way downstairs to the bar. But the limp is better than it was too, thank goodness.

Stepping gingerly over to the bar, the spirit gives her a look as she grabs a bottle instead of being civilized and ordering a drink to be poured for her. It's not the first time she's done it, though, so there are no protests or any real reaction at all as it goes back to doing... whatever it was doing. Turning back to find somewhere to sit, she spots the room's other occupant and decides why not — the clink on the counter has her sparing a second to grab the offered glass before heading over to that table and plopping down in the empty seat across from the man wearing sunglasses inside.

You ask for forgiveness, not permission. And sometimes not even that.

This is the city, Starbucks is 24 hours and you're always welcome

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley looks up at the woman over the rim of his sunglasses. She's got a bottle of liquor, too, so maybe she isn't here to tell him off as he's been expecting for a while. Well, there's a mercy, at least.

"Not the healthiest thing, drinking alone," he says, with a nod. "Always best to do it in small groups."

There's something a bit different about this one---something he can't quite put his finger on. All his senses are calling out that she's something else, something not human, like he is, but that doesn't make any sense. He figures it's just because he's already been drinking and everything outside of the bar smells horrific.

hell yeah, late night espresso shots

[otrazhenie]

There's something to his voice that seems almost familiar, the timbre or wayward accent tugging at a memory just out of reach. But instead of trying to pull it closer, which of course wouldn't work, she focuses on the man himself, propped up leg and all. She doesn't recall seeing him around before, but she certainly hasn't met everyone here yet, and the eternal darkness doesn't lend itself to meeting all the neighbors.

"I know some people who would agree with that," she comments, pouring herself a hefty glass of the amber liquid that is pretending to be whiskey. "Of course, they're also the ones who usually end up drinking alone, so."

[sauntered_downward]

Which is what Crowley was doing until about thirty seconds ago, so he supposes he should be grateful for the company. Though, to be fair, he was rather enjoying wallowing in his own misery alone. Now he's going to have to pretend he's a person and act remotely civilized, which is annoying. He refills his glass and takes a drink.

He watches the amount she pours and raises an eyebrow.

"Bad day?" he asks.