logsinthenight | Pressure, pushing down on me, pushing down on you...

Entry tags:

Pressure, pushing down on me, pushing down on you...

characters: Crowley and Misty

shadowsran
location: Misty's A-Frame
date/time: September 8, evening
content: Crowley and Misty talk plants and survival
warnings: None

Crowley was supposed to go right to Misty's after the meeting but, well, he got a bit distracted. In his defense, he's been meeting a lot of new people and he's been trying to keep them all catalogued and controlled in his head. His new flatmate, in particular, who needs some sort of guidance for whatever is happening with him. And that Rosalind, who is intriguing and would probably make an absolutely excellent demon back on his world.

But he's been looking forward to meeting this Misty person. After all, Crowley's one real hobby, besides driving, was growing his plants back at home. And if this is an excuse to find time to grow plants, well...he's up for that, at least.

And it will make Aziraphale happy, if he goes ahead and actually talks to her.

He steps up to the A-Frame with his lantern in tow. Gives the door a knock.

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It swings open perhaps sooner than might be considered normal. It's less that she was waiting directly at the door and much more that there's been nothing to do but wait, and she does poorly with boredom. Her initial thoughts are as follows:

Leaving her lantern on the coffee table in the middle of the bottom floor makes perfect sense, but she'll have to find another place. It casts light upwards, and guests look unfairly dramatic.

And why is he wearing sunglasses in a place like this.

"Hi," she chirps instead, stepping back to usher him in. "Ignore the sad carpet, it'll be gone eventually. Meeting run long, or--?"

"Yeah, something like that." Crowley doesn't have the ability to look embarrassed or sheepish.

He steps forward, looking especially dramatic in the light. Does his shadow have horns? He'll leave that up for Misty to decide.

"So Aziraphale tells me you're planting?" Not the most dramatic of words, but it'll do.

He clearly needs to be shooed into a less dynamically-lit position, so she leads him back toward the corner that operates as a kitchen. "That's the plan, yeah. The boat brings supplies, but that's evidently the only thing doing that, which I don't trust. Even if it runs right, had rats last month, so it's got usual ship problems." She doesn't mind the rats themselves, actually. A little put out she missed them. But any insecurity ought to be treated more seriously.

"So I'm thinking specifically put out feelers for interest, set up a couple little plots for food. You put off much by the lack of sunlight?"

She's hoping someone will eventually come forward with a magical explanation so she won't have to, or at the very least give up on that perfectly rational concern. It can and will happen, but the game right now is discretion. Present as mundane human until necessary to demonstrate otherwise.

"There are other ways to get plants light," he says. "Plenty of very smart people, can probably get some of them to create something that produces artificial sunlight. And all of the plants in the forest seem to be growing all right without it."

Now, Crowley has a very specific way of growing his plants. Specifically, he bullies them into submission. But that being said, he does understand caring for plants. He understands that they need sunlight, care, water, and attention. They may fear the attention he gives them, but they need it. He used to grow an intricate selection of orchids in his flat during the 90's, back when they were fashionable and everyone complained about how hard they were to grow.

"I have a feeling the plants in this place won't behave like what we've seen before. Take a bit of work to figure out the balance." He doesn't fancy the idea of a group, though. Most people don't like his methods for cultivating plantlife.

"I don't think they'll need much by way of special treatment since there's already a forest, yeah, but that question's come up a few times and I'd rather it get squared away so I don't have to keep fussing over it." It'll grow regardless, she's certain, but he doesn't seem bothered and that's all that ultimately matters.

Her methods are the same that any person well read-up on gardening would employ, with the covert benefit of dive-bombing them with magic. They'll behave.

"Any preferences about - places, people? If you're not gonna be up to a healthy walk per day to get to a plot, anybody immediate out for your head, stuff like that?"

"Well, we shouldn't have it too far," he says. "Need to tend it every day, keep water close, that sort of thing. But far enough away that the shouting won't bother anyone. Course, I shouted in my flat and nobody minded."

That was probably because his neighbors were a bit frightened of him, but that's how Crowley usually prefers it. Keeps everyone in their place, especially the plant life.

He doesn't want to just say outright that he's only considering working with Misty because Aziraphale told him to. First of all, bit rude to say that, second of all, it makes him look like he'd just do anything the angel said. Which, yes, true, but also not something he likes to advertise.

"Don't know many people yet. Who are you thinking?"

"Shouted?" He's lost her there; unsure how to exactly interpret it, the knee-jerk mental image is that of someone who won't be very productive with others to start. Brows still raised, she answers, "Much the same position myself. Handful of people honed in on the idea, nobody I know well. Everyone seems nice enough, but that's always how it is to start. Have to roll the dice there - I'm figuring one in town for the bulk of people, one just across the bridge, probably one around back here," a vague wave behind her indicates her lack of a backyard, "For me, one or two other people. Greenhouse kit or two so we can do something through winter."

Edited 2019-09-14 12:47 (UTC)

"At the plants," Crowley clarifies, as if this is a perfectly normal way to handle plants. "Got to talk to them to make them grow."

Winter. Crowley has no intention of still being here in winter, but he supposes the people who are here will need something to get through. Especially if Crowley takes their only means of getting new supplies. He should feel guilty about that, he thinks. He's not going to, mind. But he should.

"Built a few greenhouses in my time. Shouldn't be too hard. We can take glass from some of the empty buildings."

Here she has to stop, falling into a chair with an expression that can charitably be described as...quizzical.

"Talk, yeah, I don't think anybody meant yell?" Has he ever had neighbors? Neighbors with any sort of backbone? She's not certain how much shouting will be tolerated by the current crop of settlers, given the already taxing circumstances. Really though, it's just weird.

"I'm going to try asking for one of those store kits to see if it's possible, but that's even better - how tricky are they, construction-wise? I've managed a lot solo, but probably best playing it safe with the supplies being what they are. Does Aziraphale....build?"

Three, if so, plus...Soldier Man. She's got to nickname him immediately, this is embarrassing.

"It's all in the way you talk to them. You can't let them get too comfortable, otherwise they start to get lazy," Crowley explains, as though this is all very simple botany.

He considers the greenhouses he's built for flowers, back before he got the flat in London. They were complicated, but that was how he liked them. Complicated and ornate, so he could be really, really impressive looking when people came to see them. Here, they'd need to go for sturdiness and security, not flash. Maybe a little flash.

"He could build," Crowley says. "Or, at least, he'd be able to research more on how to build. He's been through a lot of construction and...city-building in his time." Hard to explain that they watched the whole human race expand across the globe together.

"We could work on it."

"I've never had that problem," she replies, not bothering to tamp down the slight rising pitch toward the end that turns it into a question. Because this is not, she's certain, botany.

The dire circumstance and limited supplies are a shame, because between the pair of them Beacon could have an extravagantly extra end result. Tragic, but such are the times. She can at least brighten a touch knowing Aziraphale can keep involved.

"How soon would you both be up for starting?"

Never, he wants to say. After all, they'll be gone in only a few weeks.

But that's not what the angel would say. He'd want them to help as much as possible, to build as much as they could to help and get the humans where they needed to be before they left. He'd want to give them a head start so they didn't suffer, and then he'd want to help even more, if possible.

Damn him.

"We can start this week," he says, sounding utterly miserable about it.

The lack of zeal doesn't go unnoticed. Paradoxically, it's a shot in the arm, and she can nearly grin for the dose of pep.

"Great," she says, firmly, as if agreeing with whatever he might have resigned himself to. "We'll have another run with Aziraphale, and rope people in as they come."

Crowley looks even more miserable. "Great. Lots of people to help."

This is going to be terrible, isn't it?

Why did he agree to this? Oh, that's right, because he's physically incapable of actually saying no to that stupid angel.

There's the spirit!

"Well, grouped off as needed." She isn't particularly earnest to be in the thick of the masses, either. "I want one out behind the house here just for a couple. Aziraphale, me, 'Soldat'..." A roll of her wrist, to indicate he's at least potentially in on Aziraphale's behalf.

And to fill space that would otherwise be wasted trying to put a term to them in relation to herself. 'Friends' is tempting fate.

"Oh, the human soldier person wants in on this, too? That'll be interesting. Can't exactly see him having any sort of a soft touch."

That doesn't mean that he doesn't, of course. Just not one Crowley knows.

He sniffs, and gives the Misty person a brief look. "How did you get here, exactly? By ferry, I mean, I know that. But how did you actually..." He gestures, vaguely.

"Couldn't tell you about 'want', he seems pretty..." What the word? "Deferential? But he hasn't said no, and I think he likes keeping busy anyway. Good skill to pick up."

She's audibly a little surprised she knows him as well. Small space and limited population aside, Soldat doesn't strike her as overwhelmingly social. Her eyes narrow at the question, weighing whether or not to take offense. It would be functionally useless, she knows, but this is a perpetually raw nerve.

"Couldn't tell you," she admits, if begrudgingly, and only at all because it was so impersonal, "Bombs is my best guess. Felt like a lot of people dying, and then - nothing. Didn't catch light or sound, so quick." She doesn't sound particularly grateful. This is her fourth run, and she's...displeased.

"You?" Tit for tat.

"What do you mean?" he asks. "Felt?"

He finds the nearest chair and drops into it, lounging against it as though he owns the place.

"Me? Oh, executed. Happens where I'm from."

Shouldn't have said that. Should not have said that. Or, more accurately, he shouldn't have plucked it out that quickly. Stiffly, she shrugs. "Like animals get before storms hit. You get hunches, sometimes."

Much more importantly, allow her to widen her eyes at that answer. "What did you do?"

Crowley gives her a careful nod. He's seen stranger. Heard stranger. Good to know about this one, though. He wonders, idly, what she can feel about him.

"What sort of hunches do you get about this place?" he asks.

He doesn't answer her question.

Incredibly weird things, Crowley. Largely confusing things.

"It's not a place dead people are supposed to be," she says, breaking a pause with an air of finality. "Not natural. Less the end of a road and more like the ground just disappeared halfway there."

"Not like Purgatory, then?" he says. "Like a missing place in between?"

This makes sense to Crowley. It would explain why they're missing pieces of who they were, and why they're being filled in with other bits that aren't them.

"I don't know that I'd say it fits into that chain at all, but that's about the right concept." Really, no telling how many places someone can end up after they've expired in her world. "Something bigger, seeing as we definitely didn't have horned people or robots where I'm from."

Crowley rolls his eyes in a big, dramatic fashion. "Oh, don't tell me we've got robots here, now. That's the last thing I need. Robots. The human soldier person's arm is weird enough as it is."

"Haven't spoken with them, but I've definitely, definitely seen a robot."

Crazy times we're dying in!

"Which I'm getting is weird for the both of us, probably little past normal scope."

"And I've got a pretty wide scope, me," he says, shaking his head. "But this town broadens it every day."

He leans back, considering the person in front of him. Aziraphale said she was a good sort, but he thinks everyone is a good sort, so Crowley isn't sure at all. He isn't sure about anyone here.

"Is it dangerous, do you think? The robot?"

Her head shakes quickly, easily. "Seen them on the network? Pleasant."

If she sounds certain, it's because she's a good judge of character. It's in the blood.

He shrugs. "I don't look at the network unless it's about me."

Or Aziraphale. Or if he's really bored.

"It's sort of like twitter, except everyone is really, really serious all of the time. Not enough hashtags on the network."

"Not familiar enough to really get the gist of that, sorry." Never so much as held a smartphone, matter of fact! "Bad habit to be in. When things are flooding or snowed in or somebody's on a rampage, that's when you'd learn."

"Fairly sure if someone's on a rampage here, it won't be long until I find out," Crowley says. "And besides, it's like half the people here are superheroes of some sort. Sure they'll sort it out and take a selfie with the corpse."

Crowley, the inventor of selfies, would do the exact same thing if he were in the superheroes' place.

"It's also how the only people who have been here for awhile spread news?" One eyebrow lifts. She's distrustful, absolutely, but this seems a foolish thing to abstain from.

Crowley shrugs. Maybe he'll look at it more. He'll never admit to it, of course. Always better to look like he doesn't care at all. Suits his brand better.

"How will we get plants here? The right kind, the kind that'll grow without light?"

"Store ought to have something, can scavenge some right out of some foods, requests through Rastus - I'm not worried about keeping them once we have them or even how they'll grow so much as just starting with enough."

Spirits hardly seem meddlesome and human interference ought to be brought to nothing given that it feeds them, but it's wiser to worry.

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Pressure, pushing down on me, pushing down on you...

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sorry for the delay!!

Right back AT YOU AHHH

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