logsinthenight | We Are the Champions, My Friend || Closed

characters: Crowley and Aziraphale
location: The Village, Miner's Castle #3
date/time: Evening after the arrival of new people
content: An angel and a demon make excellent use of their time and several bottles of alcohol.
warnings: None

Crowley doesn't have any need of money. Money has never been something that's ever been a necessary point in his life. If he's wanted something, he's just made it available to himself. He has had a credit card with an unlimited balance that he's never had to pay off at any point, and that was useful when Amazon came around, but other than that, he's just never needed it. Therefore, no need for a wallet. He didn't have one on him when he woke up on that ship, either.

He can just miracle money, but he's a bit worried about being too flip with his miracles here. After all, he doesn't know how much he is allowed to do while he's here. He creates just enough money to buy supplies, but no more, just in case it's too much of a miracle. How much is too much? What are his limits? He certainly can't create more light, which is really, really disconcerting.

What's also disconcerting is hunger. Crowley has never been hungry before, and suddenly, that's all he feels. A gnawing ache in his stomach that he is hyperfocused on while they're in the general store, and focused on as he picks out a few supplies to eat back at their new residence. He also has purchased some alcohol, because that is what he definitely needs right now.

After all, he and his best friend just died today.

He holds up one of the canned peaches he's purchased and looks at it through the lantern light. The cabin is sparse, but it isn't dusty anymore, at least.

"So, what? You just eat it and you stop feeling this way?" he asks Aziraphale. Crowley has eaten many times in the past, but it was never out of hunger. It was because he was going somewhere with Aziraphale and the angel wanted to share a meal with him. He ate, and it was pleasant enough, but it never really meant anything either way to him. Now, he stares at the peach on the fork and can feel himself salivate. He takes a drink of the cheap wine purchased from the general store. No body, not a great year, and definitely not something he'd have picked for himself. But it'll do in a pinch.

"Is this how we're going to have to live? Eating?"

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Crowley reaches out and takes the bottle, putting it back on the shelves.

"No, angel, that's one of mine. You don't want it."

"Oh, do you? Oh-- one of your inventions. Crowley, honestly, what have you done?" He unscrews the top and gives it a whiff. "Awful. Truly awful, this is the worst-- Crowley, who is buying this?"

With a huff he opens up a few more bottles and selects a very cheap but passable aftershave-scented one.

"Mostly teenage boys," Crowley replies. "And the goal was more to create a sort of aroma that would keep women away from them at a careful distance...."

It works well, for the most part. But locker rooms will never be the same.

"Where do you think they get this from? From the ferry? Bulk shipping for Purgatory and all that?"

"Possibly. Ugh, awful," he says, putting it back on the shelf as if it might have been bat wings or other things to find in a cauldron.

"Well now, I can't possibly shave without aftershave." Technically, he doesn't have to shave at all, he just likes it. They don't even have a straight razor in the grocery, just a bunch of metal ones covered in plastic. Ugh.

He looks very off-put by all this. "Forget it, let's just get what we came for and leave." Infuriating.

"How do you think I feel? They don't even have the product I like for my hair." He could, technically just miracle it the way he likes it, but it never falls the same.

"Besides, we need to find cookbooks----did you say we can find them here? Or is there somewhere else?"

Do they have kerosene here, he wonders. Cause that could be very useful.

"Oh that's right, the cookbooks. I'm sure they have some at the library, but--" he starts wandering before he picks up a jar of something. "Honestly Crowley, what's wrong with vaseline?" He walks back over to Crowley with the jar, and surveys him, running fingers through his hair. "Well, alright, maybe not.

"But it still could be useful for other applications, like lubricant." A pause. "I'm sure Soldier's arm gets very creaky without some form of grease."

"So you're going to tell him to lube it up with vaseline?" Crowley says, raising an eyebrow.

"Might do better with a bit of mechanical grease----why do you think they gave him that arm, anyway? Seems completely impractical. If they were going for metal bits, couldn't they have made it his whole torso? Or just built a robot? Rather than attaching it to a man who they have to torture to keep compliant."

"I don't know. Wonder what happened to the arm he was born with. Or-- oh, maybe he wasn't born with one. And - I don't know, haven't you noticed a distinct lack of cars or engines or really, any machinery around here? Doubt there's any of the grease he needs. And besides, who really wants to cover their arm in that! He still needs to use it, you know. For things like eating and showering."

He places the vaseline in the basket. Actually, he goes and gets the biggest jar they have. It's a big arm.

"Now, I believe we were going to find a cookbook."

Crowley makes a distinctly pout-like face, the sort that one makes when one's parent has made the decision to treat one's pet in a manner differently than the child would. That is not, Crowley would tell you, because he is a child, the human soldier person is a pet, or because Aziraphale is a parent.

"We could at least try," he mutters. "Did we get him shampoo?"

"Ah, right, he can't just use soap. Yes, wolf berry shampoo, that sounds right for the soldier, perfect." He just tosses that in the cart as well. "Hopefully he likes it better than the Axe."

Otherwise, Aziraphale might be embarrassed for him.

Crowley mouths 'wolf berry' and then just shakes his head. They would have to accept it, it was what they had.

"Is there anything you can do with his memory?" he asks. "I know I can't----I could probably access some of his unpleasant memories, but I don't think he wants any of those."

"I can try, Crowley, but it's... I don't know if it'll work. It could make him worse. It could make him catatonic! He's very fragile in this state. And you know."

He tries to conjure light again, and manages only to make a glow. "Look. Look at the state of me." If his wings could droop, they would.

Crowley reaches out a hand to put on Aziraphale's shoulder.

"Light or no light, you're still one of the best," he says.

"Don't," he says. "I'll settle for this, but I'm not touching somebody's mind. It's tricky even when I'm operating well, and usually I've got God on my side, and She is watching over me." He frowns.

"And you know he already doesn't trust me or like me getting near him."

"No," Crowley admits. "But I think he trusts me." Which is probably just further testament to how messed up the human soldier person really is.

He offers Aziraphale a small and hopefully helpful smile. "And I trust you. We'll get him turned around somehow."

"I don't," he admits, softly. "Not right now, please don't ask me to do this. I know you never ask me for anything, I know I owe you, but please. I need time, Crowley."

Then after a pause he'll just. Stalk off to the cookbooks.

Crowley watches him go.

He's not sure how to do this without Aziraphale, but he's going to have to figure it out.

We Are the Champions, My Friend || Closed

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