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text ; 8/10

right, cant say im much for mass communication without a character limit but needs must. im new in town, got a couple questions, figured i could crowdsource the answers

1. how have you lot not gone mental from boredom? there's got to be something to do around here that isnt poking about that miserable other island

[This is to say that while Crowley is, in fact, genuinely bored, he's also sort of eager to help around the island (he likes feeling useful, don't @ him about it) but if he actually admitted that out loud he'd immediately crumble to dust, because he's a demon, and demons aren't helpful.]

2. follow up to point 1, has anyone got a good grasp of what animals can be hunted? ive seen flowering sheep and furbies and i dont wanna waste energy on something thats not edible

3. bad idea to swim in the lake? yes or no?

4. ill trade my left arm for a bloody tshirt if anyones got a spare

[Not technically a question, but please, he's dying squirtle.]

cheers

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[The trick with the pants is that usually he'd just disappear them into the ether once he's done with them, without actually having to wriggle his way out of them.

Tragically, that isn't as much of an option here.]

Oh, it's alright, it wouldn't go with this get up anyway.

[He could be referring to the rest of his outfit, the pants and the shoes would look ridiculous with a coconut bra. But really he means this particular shape he's got on right now.

His attention is caught by the tattoo, though; he turns Molly's hand a little to catch a better look at it before releasing him.]

Fan of snakes, are we?

[ Magic skinny jeans. Oh, how unfair. ]

I mean, I could probably get you a coconut thong and you can wear that with the t-shirt, but they chafe horribly.

[ What even is this discussion?

The tattoo question is much easier to focus on, because how many times have people asked? How many lies has he made up about it? ]

Oh, you could say that. It's kind of a family story. My mother was bit in the hand by a snake when she was carrying me, so for a while that was the reason why I came out with horns. I figured I'd just make it mine.

[That gets a snort of laughter.]

I'll pass, thanks.

[Crowley might be pretty flexible about a lot of things, but he draws the line at thongs, coconut or otherwise.]

Is that so? Not that I'm an expert — [he is, he is very much an expert.] — but I don't think snake venom does that sorta thing.

[Honestly, he's just being a bit cheeky, no hard feelings about a lie or two.]

Nothing wrong with making something yours, though, I can get that.

[He tips his head slightly, showing off the snake coiled at his temple.]

Obviously not, but people are superstitious as fuck and like to explain weird shit with weirder shit.

[ shrug.jpg ]

I'm very fond of making such things mine.

[ He leans in (just a bit closer than appropriate) to check out that little snake, and then gives it a little poke before he gestures to the feather on his own face. ]

Definitely stylish.

[People don't touch Crowley, generally, when he exudes a vague aura of it being a generally bad idea to get too close to him. But that's fine, he's adaptable, his smile is just a bit wry as he regards Molly.]

Oh, I know all about superstition, got me in trouble once or twice.

[This is, perhaps, a little more than he'd reveal to a human, but Molly is clearly not human, and Crowley is curious. He tips his glasses down, showing off his slitted eyes.]

Got an affinity for peacocks, then?

[Judging by that feather.]

[ This is how Molly gets in trouble, poking people that definitely doesn't want to be poked, all in the name if both being an ass and getting to know what buttons to push. ]

Oh, I can understand that.

[ Those eyes are gorgeous and there's a grin back at the little dip of the glasses - all fangs and then a bit of a forked tongue as he reaches to touch his own tattoo again. ]

Very much so. Absolutely gorgeous birds, and huge assholes.

[ Molly pulls down his neckline a bit to show how the feather keeps going into a full peacock train. ]

[Crowley didn't get too good a look at all these little features when he was talking to Jester, so he quirks a brow at those teeth and that tongue. They're both traits he could adopt, if he wanted, but he's never seen much use in them. The eyes are the only thing he can't change, aside from reigning them in enough to give himself sclera.]

Should that be a warning, the asshole thing?

[If that's what Molly's adorned himself with, does it mean he's an asshole?

Not that Crowley cares, most people he knows are assholes.]

[ To be fair, the fork was thanks to his devil's tongue bloodline rather than the cuteness of Jester being Jester.

Fangs, though? Definitely a tiefling thing. (Or a snake thing.) ]

Oh yes, definitely. I'm an ostentatious dick.

[ He winks at that, as if it's an inside joke or something. Molly could be a right bastard, but not in a particularly evil way. ]

I wasn't going to say anything about the outfit, but now you mention it...

[That's bold coming from Anthony "the j stands for j-vanity" Crowley, though he isn't particularly ostentious. Flashy, yes, but not quite ostentious.

More importantly, though, he finally acknowledges that bottle of wine with a gesture towards it.]

That to share, or are you taunting the new bloke?

[Since he clearly does not have alcohol, which is a tragedy.]

I live to blind as many people as possible.

[ Molly says, shaking a sleeve a bit so the sequins shimmer. At the same time, he's generously handing over the wine to the suffering. It's red, and probably not that great - but it does the trick just as well as any, and the tiefling survives (ha) this place by being at least a little buzzed, be it from alcohol or weed. ]

I thought myself a hedonist before I got here, but in this place a bit of indulgence is just necessary for damage control.

[ Trauma is a bitch and so are his friends. ]

You're doing a decent ob of it, almost makes me wish I couldn't see colors.

[Since — snake eyes, even if they don't actually function as snake eyes. They see the way he wants them to see, because a body is just a bunch of atoms strung together, holding in his essence. He can't change the look of them more than he already does, but the function is under his control.

More importantly though: wine.

Crowley accepts the bottle with a grin and happily takes a drink straight from it. It's 5 o'clock in some universe, probably.]

I'd have thought that, but it doesn't seem there's a whole lot of room for indulgences around here.

[Which is to say: where'd the wine come from?]

[ Molly happily preens at that, leaning against the bridge railing while talking to this fun guy. (Anyone going along with his bullshit is a fun guy.)

Crowley takes a swig of wine and the tiefling shrugs a little bit, leaning his head back to look to the sky with an overdramatic sigh. ]

There was an island all about partying. Drinks, food, music. Actual fucking drugs rather than poison ivy.

[ Don't... don't ask. ]

Then, of course, it comes with a price. It always does. Have a great, fun party? Now a clown box will try to kill you or absolutely fuck with your head by changing your personality, abilities or form. A nice party with some tree people? Wake up in a volcano!

[ Like, having to slave in the bath house was shitty - but at least it had come with actual fucking access to the bath house, and they had just been paying back. Murder just seemed like such an overreaction! ]

Don't freak out if you end up not being you one day. It happens way too often. Just try to enjoy shit when it's available and then try to survive, because it will still mess with you even if you didn't partake - and that's just a fucking waste.

[There's a complaint about having missed the alcohol and music island right on the tip of his tongue before Molly continues with the story. Clown boxes and tree people make zero sense without context, but he can understand what Molly is getting at.

Crowley's expression is considerably more somber when he offers the wine back. Seems like Molly could use a drink, too.]

That's not all that different from how I was already living my life. ["Just try to enjoy shit when it's available and then try to survive" is like...... the mood for Crowley's existence.] Not that Hell's got the imagination for more than, you know, the basic torture. Sounds like this place gets creative.

Oh yes, very creative. Just try to keep an eye on your friends and hold shit together and you might only have to break down every now and then.

[ Molly plz.

He accepts the wine back and takes a gulp before it it returned. He needs it, but he also has his ways to get more... and this bullshit crash course into the islands isn't even over yet.

(He'll get back to that Hell thing in a minute.) ]

If that isn't enough, even the 'benevolent' god-things here are assholes. Demands you share stories for the chance of some small comfort, or put you on trials that are still haunting people up to this day.

[ Sigh. ]

Just... go with it. Try to die horribly as little as possible.

[The expression that crosses Crowley's face at the words break down is something skeptical, the look of someone who'd like to claim they've never had a breakdown in their entire life, thank you. Never mind that they were three bottles of Talisker into a good cry about their possibly-dead friend less than a week before.]

That's gods though, isn't it? [This is a rhetorical question. Of course gods are awful. Of course they demand so much for so little. Of course they put people on trial.

It would be easy to say that the worst thing that could happen to him already has. Losing Aziraphale. Falling. What else could this place throw at him that'd be worse?

But he bites his tongue on all that, takes another swig from the returned bottle instead.] Are you usually this blunt about all this trauma business?

[Not that he minds, he's just not used to people talking so openly about... struggling, he supposes. Usually they prefer not to discuss things like break downs and being haunted. He can relate, naturally, but it's just strange that Molly is so open about it.]

[ Well. That makes Molly shut his mouth with a click of fangs. Why was he unloading on this guy? he didn't even lie, and he loves making up bullshit stories.

He blinks slightly, and then rubs his face. ]

I don't fucking know. Apparently opening my mouth about it made it all fall out.

[If Crowley had been trying to lure information out of him, that would've been one thing; not that he usually tempts in that particular manner. Not that he tempts much at all, these days, preferring to inspire chaos in other ways.

But he wasn't angling for anything, except a little information and a t-shirt. So he's gotten a lot for his minimal effort.]

Must've needed to unload it all for a while now, hm?

[There's surprisingly little judgement in his tone.

See: that whole thing where he drank three bottles of whiskey and cried in a bar about Aziraphale.]

Apparently.

[ He chuckles a little to himself and shakes his head again. ]

Well. You got the crash course, I guess.

'Appreciate it. Good to know what we've got in store.

[That's honest, at least. He's gotten a lot of warnings from various people but none of them have been quite as blunt as Molly has.

There's a moment of hesitation, because he's not — he doesn't do caring about other people, but he's not entirely cruel, either. It's a fine line to tread, even without Hell breathing down his neck.]

You alright?

Always hood with a heads-up. At least the people here are good.

[ Most of them, at least. ]

...and as good as I can be, I guess. So how's Hell?

[ TOPIC CHANGE. ]

[A more empathetic person might press a little, might make an offer to listen, but Crowley accepts Molly's answer with no protest, allows the topic change with as much grace as he can, considering it's not a pleasant topic.]

Rubbish, of course, it's Hell. Not going to be all sunshine and roses, is it? Be a bit weird, if Hell was nice. Not the Heaven's much better.

I really don't know much about the hells, even if people think I fit the mark.

[ His tail swishes a little, almost as emphasis. ]

Wouldn't make sense if it was nice, that's for fucking true. Which heaven are we talking about, though? There's a ton of afterlives in my world and I know jack shit about those, too.

[The hells, is an interesting turn of phrase, although Crowley pays more attention to what Molly says about himself, since it confirms his earlier suspicion that he isn't an actual demon of any kind.

Almost certainly a tiefling then, like Jester.]

The only one, there's only the one, back home. One God, one Heaven, one Hell. Whole bloody lot of angels and demons, though.

Why is there only one? I mean, I don't know why there are nine in our world, but still.

[ shrug.jpg ]

You got your demons in your hell? That's quite opposite. We have devils in ours and demons in the Abyss. I guess they're both fiends but the also hate each other for some reason?

[ Then there was that 'god' thing. ]

...your diety must be very busy if they're the only one. I mean, shit. That's a lot to keep an eye on and prayers to answer.

[This is all a lot to take in, but luckily Crowley is easily distracted by what Molly ends on.

He laughs, he can't help it.]

Oh, She hasn't been answering prayers for a long time. I'm not even sure she's paying attention anymore, with the shit her angels pull.

[Regardless of plans, Ineffable or otherwise, Crowley doesn't think God would so readily let angels destroy each other, the way Gabriel had been planning to do.

As far as he's concerned, God might as well be a child who grew bored of their latest toy and has moved on.]

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devilstongue - 2019-09-16 18:45 (UTC) - Expand

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