I. SEE NO EVIL, HEAR NO EVIL, STILL DEFINITELY EVIL [Open]
Crowley should have expected it. Oh, not to lose his hearing exactly, there was no way he could have predicted that; he's not some 17th century madwoman in a cottage with too much time on her hands. But the concept behind it. He was very familiar with power-plays, having had to make a few of his own just to remain relevant enough in the Lower-Downs' eyes and not be as disposable as poor bloody Eric. This was, as far as he could tell, a power play. It sent a message - we can do whatever we like with you, make you as powerless as we need, so play nice.
Crowley scowled when he tried to get any kind of answer out of an employee who just signed at him that he had always been like this.
"We've never met before," he said a little too loudly. "How could you possibly know...?"
The employee looked bewildered for a moment before signing that of course they'd met, Crowley's been here ages.
Crowley nodded, as though to agree, or at least cut the conversation short because really, he just didn't want to deal with hitting his head against a brick wall. He couldn't exactly miracle the hapless human into a tank full of hungry sharks either, much as he'd like to.
Grumbling about wanting a drink, Crowley catches the employees lips moving out the corner of his eyes. Mad Marsh he thought, or more likely, Mad March if the Wonderland theme held. Really, when he got back, he was going to take every copy of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass and - well, didn't know precisely what he'd do, it would definitely be something Aziraphale would deeply disapprove of.
For now though, he very nearly gave in to the temptation of getting a drink before remembering what a monumentally foolish thing that would be to do, and instead decided to check in with the other newcomers.
"Oi, mate," he called to someone else walking around without shoes, "Missing one of your senses too?"
II. MAZES AND MONSTERS [Open]
There are some people who would say Crowley has been lost since the day he questioned God's divine plan and took a long plunge into a quick sulfur bath for his trouble. These are also the kinds of people who suddenly discover their shoelaces have quite miraculously fused together once they've managed to pick themselves up off the linoleum.
Not that Crowley could do that here. No miracles for starters. No shoelaces either.
The point, however, is that Crowley isn't the sort to feel lost. Not like this anyway. Not like he's stuck in a strange place where the architecture keeps moving and shifting and changing.
He frowns as he glances over his shoulder at the door he just came from. It's gone, replaced by a long stretch of blank wall.
"Oh that's weird," he says, raising his sunglasses as if that would let him suss out the trick. "That's very, very weird. Don't like that at all."
He paces the length of the wall, patting it down. And then, glancing around surreptitiously (because there are rules in Hell about this and he's not entirely convinced they're not in some corner of it), he flicks his forked tongue, giving it a good lick.
III. BACK TO NOT-QUITE-RIGHTS [Open]
It starts with tinnitus and ends with a migraine, but at least he can hear again. Crowley can be found at the buffet, nursing his headache with a cup of hot water, honey and lemon, while pawing at the snake tattoo on his temple and looking quite wretched. Well, he's a demon, he's rather supposed to look as such, but Crowley isn't one to play into stereotypes.
SPA DAY [FOR AZIRAPHALE]
"Angel!"
After hours of searching he was able to finally find Aziraphale's door. It's been bothering him that he can't just hone in on Aziraphale's location like a rather particularly tuned carrier pigeon, but that's the least of his worries.
"Aziraphale, can you hear me?! For Satan's sake, open the door!"
He gives the handle an impatient rattle for good measure. Fuck, he misses just being able to go in and out the bookshop as he pleases; hotels with their autolocking doors are complete rubbish, how is he supposed to be a rather inconvenient nuisance to his best rival in the whole world now?
Crowley ⛧ 3 open prompts +1 for Aziraphale
I. SEE NO EVIL, HEAR NO EVIL, STILL DEFINITELY EVIL [Open]
Crowley should have expected it. Oh, not to lose his hearing exactly, there was no way he could have predicted that; he's not some 17th century madwoman in a cottage with too much time on her hands. But the concept behind it. He was very familiar with power-plays, having had to make a few of his own just to remain relevant enough in the Lower-Downs' eyes and not be as disposable as poor bloody Eric. This was, as far as he could tell, a power play. It sent a message - we can do whatever we like with you, make you as powerless as we need, so play nice.
Crowley scowled when he tried to get any kind of answer out of an employee who just signed at him that he had always been like this.
"We've never met before," he said a little too loudly. "How could you possibly know...?"
The employee looked bewildered for a moment before signing that of course they'd met, Crowley's been here ages.
Crowley nodded, as though to agree, or at least cut the conversation short because really, he just didn't want to deal with hitting his head against a brick wall. He couldn't exactly miracle the hapless human into a tank full of hungry sharks either, much as he'd like to.
Grumbling about wanting a drink, Crowley catches the employees lips moving out the corner of his eyes. Mad Marsh he thought, or more likely, Mad March if the Wonderland theme held. Really, when he got back, he was going to take every copy of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass and - well, didn't know precisely what he'd do, it would definitely be something Aziraphale would deeply disapprove of.
For now though, he very nearly gave in to the temptation of getting a drink before remembering what a monumentally foolish thing that would be to do, and instead decided to check in with the other newcomers.
"Oi, mate," he called to someone else walking around without shoes, "Missing one of your senses too?"
II. MAZES AND MONSTERS [Open]
There are some people who would say Crowley has been lost since the day he questioned God's divine plan and took a long plunge into a quick sulfur bath for his trouble. These are also the kinds of people who suddenly discover their shoelaces have quite miraculously fused together once they've managed to pick themselves up off the linoleum.
Not that Crowley could do that here. No miracles for starters. No shoelaces either.
The point, however, is that Crowley isn't the sort to feel lost. Not like this anyway. Not like he's stuck in a strange place where the architecture keeps moving and shifting and changing.
He frowns as he glances over his shoulder at the door he just came from. It's gone, replaced by a long stretch of blank wall.
"Oh that's weird," he says, raising his sunglasses as if that would let him suss out the trick. "That's very, very weird. Don't like that at all."
He paces the length of the wall, patting it down. And then, glancing around surreptitiously (because there are rules in Hell about this and he's not entirely convinced they're not in some corner of it), he flicks his forked tongue, giving it a good lick.
III. BACK TO NOT-QUITE-RIGHTS [Open]
It starts with tinnitus and ends with a migraine, but at least he can hear again. Crowley can be found at the buffet, nursing his headache with a cup of hot water, honey and lemon, while pawing at the snake tattoo on his temple and looking quite wretched. Well, he's a demon, he's rather supposed to look as such, but Crowley isn't one to play into stereotypes.
SPA DAY [FOR AZIRAPHALE]
"Angel!"
After hours of searching he was able to finally find Aziraphale's door. It's been bothering him that he can't just hone in on Aziraphale's location like a rather particularly tuned carrier pigeon, but that's the least of his worries.
"Aziraphale, can you hear me?! For Satan's sake, open the door!"
He gives the handle an impatient rattle for good measure. Fuck, he misses just being able to go in and out the bookshop as he pleases; hotels with their autolocking doors are complete rubbish, how is he supposed to be a rather inconvenient nuisance to his best rival in the whole world now?