Crowley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sparkofgoodness) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
asgardchrysalis2020-01-06 06:49 pm
sparkofgoodness) wrote in asgardchrysalis2020-01-06 06:49 pm
Entry tags:
[Active/Closed] I've made a huge, tiny mistake
Who: Crowley, Aziraphale, possibly Odin
What: Crowley doing something he was told not to do
When: 4th/5th loosely
Where: Aziraphale's room and beyond.
Warnings: In which Crowley nearly dies, briefly.
Like many days before it, it's a slow day.
Crowley has, so far, gotten absolutely nowhere interesting with his research. He's draped backwards over Aziraphale's bed, reading the screen of his fancy not-quite-phone thing that works through the bracelet.
All he has achieved in the short time he's been here is:
- One, ironically align himself with a supposed god of secrecy
- Two, briefly get Odin's attention and a hefty supply of Aziraphale's wine
- Three, work out he can now use an annoyingly limited amount of magic.
He can still say, with extreme confidence, that he hates this. At the very least he might admit he's getting used to it, and having the wine around helps. Thing is, that'll run out. It'll run out and Crowley is running out of ways to distract himself from Aziraphale's reluctance to talk about... things. Things that he's trying to avoid thinking about, since he isn't allowed to talk about them.
The one thing he has going right now is a continued campaign to wear down Odin. Up until now it's been rather one-sided, since after the initial replies he'd largely told him no and ignored him. There's no real harm in trying, though, so for the four weeks or so since he'd first managed to get an answer Crowley has been trying.
Trying in several senses of the word, it might be said.
The rooms are small, Crowley is restless, and his entertainment in short illusions where he restyles himself has already begun to fade. What else is a demon to do?
What he hadn't expected, admittedly, is an actual reply.
He blinks at it -- no benefit? Whatever -- then glances down at his bracelets. He wiggles frantically to sit up and swing his legs off the bed as they start to glow.
"Aziraphale!" he exclaims, clearly excited. "I've done it! Loo-"
Then, in a flash of light, Crowley is gone.
Five minutes pass, and he's still gone. Ten minutes pass. In the arrival room Crowley is, admittedly, more focused on questioning Odin as much as possible than considering returning to Aziraphale. He's a little shaken, but also very indignant.
It did all seem like a good idea at the time.
What: Crowley doing something he was told not to do
When: 4th/5th loosely
Where: Aziraphale's room and beyond.
Warnings: In which Crowley nearly dies, briefly.
Like many days before it, it's a slow day.
Crowley has, so far, gotten absolutely nowhere interesting with his research. He's draped backwards over Aziraphale's bed, reading the screen of his fancy not-quite-phone thing that works through the bracelet.
All he has achieved in the short time he's been here is:
- One, ironically align himself with a supposed god of secrecy
- Two, briefly get Odin's attention and a hefty supply of Aziraphale's wine
- Three, work out he can now use an annoyingly limited amount of magic.
He can still say, with extreme confidence, that he hates this. At the very least he might admit he's getting used to it, and having the wine around helps. Thing is, that'll run out. It'll run out and Crowley is running out of ways to distract himself from Aziraphale's reluctance to talk about... things. Things that he's trying to avoid thinking about, since he isn't allowed to talk about them.
The one thing he has going right now is a continued campaign to wear down Odin. Up until now it's been rather one-sided, since after the initial replies he'd largely told him no and ignored him. There's no real harm in trying, though, so for the four weeks or so since he'd first managed to get an answer Crowley has been trying.
Trying in several senses of the word, it might be said.
The rooms are small, Crowley is restless, and his entertainment in short illusions where he restyles himself has already begun to fade. What else is a demon to do?
What he hadn't expected, admittedly, is an actual reply.
He blinks at it -- no benefit? Whatever -- then glances down at his bracelets. He wiggles frantically to sit up and swing his legs off the bed as they start to glow.
"Aziraphale!" he exclaims, clearly excited. "I've done it! Loo-"
Then, in a flash of light, Crowley is gone.
Five minutes pass, and he's still gone. Ten minutes pass. In the arrival room Crowley is, admittedly, more focused on questioning Odin as much as possible than considering returning to Aziraphale. He's a little shaken, but also very indignant.
It did all seem like a good idea at the time.
no subject
"I did," he confirms, idly rolling strands of hair between his fingertips. "It was written by one of his sons. Seems one of them happens to be here as well." That's what he says, but he isn't sure how true it is. Humans had a terrible habit of believing themselves to be someone they're not, but Aziraphale has been inclined to give merit to the idea that many of them who were here in Asgard as well had been plucked from whatever point in time the so-called gods saw fit.
More so now that Odin had given more weight to the idea.
He glances down at the way Crowley has strewn himself across his chest, looking far more comfortable than anyone should have any right to. It's really charming. He smiles down at him. "You know, this is quite nice. Having you here like this," he says, feeling like it deserved a mention.
no subject
"Uh," he manages, suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious about his position. "Yeah. Nice being here."
He settles his head back down, and tries to quickly bury the awkward feeling. Doesn't matter, because Aziraphale is enjoying it. That's the important thing. He likes this too. He likes Crowley, in fact, and likes being with him this way. So it's fine.
"You make a good pillow," he adds, because when in doubt try to be funny. Is that even funny? Unsure, but he's trying.
no subject
Not much, but enough.
Aziraphale elects to say nothing about it, instead offering Crowley a gentle pat against the top of his head. "I'm going to read now," he says, finally and opens up his book to glance over the words and find where he had left off at.
When he finds it, he begins to read the pages out loud for Crowley's benefit and consideration.