[party post] And to all a good night
[OOC: Annual winter post. :3 Both Decembers, the comments have been up in the thousands. The post is open all of December until January for all/any winter/holiday shenanigans. Quick reminder, you are encouraged to tag around, tag to other threads as well as making your own. Feel free to spam! :D]This December in Chicago is as filled with
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Crowley isn’t happy. He’s began trying to make a few deals in Chicago, start from scratch on the soul collecting front. He’s not sure exactly what or how he’d collect the souls after ten years - but if he could create some sort of new Hell... now that would make him happy.
Besides, it’s almost Christmas. People start wanting things and it would be a shame not to give.
Unfortunately, as he went to ‘seal the deal’ with some hapless blonde after a movie career, it didn’t work. He just couldn’t do it. Negotiations, fine. But he couldn’t make it happen. It was as if something was stopping him. He’s fuming; sure someone’s been messing around with something they should definitely not be messing around with.
Teleporting to Grant Park, he takes a moment by himself. Not until it’s disturbed by one of the snowmen walking around who makes the mistake of throwing a snowball at him. He turns, snaps his fingers with a scowl and watches as the snowman lets out a silent scream and melts into a puddle of water.
“Bloody Chicago,” he mutters, brushing snow from his shoulder.
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He raises an eyebrow as he sees Crowley again. There's the tiniest smirk on his face as he maintains his distance.
"So. Who pissed in your cheerios this morning?"
The hellhounds aren't around this time, but Damon doesn't let himself forget that Crowley is still dangerous. King of Hell. All of that.
Chicago is not the place where you can go around making enemies like he did in Mystic Falls. His worst enemies there were human for the most part. Everyone else was his enemy because they were going after Elena so it was more on a peripheral sense.
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Dusting the last of the snow from his coat, he turns at the familiar voice. Tsking softly, he rolls his eyes. "How about the whole city," he replies dryly, "Or that Rift, both seem good right now,"
And he's sad there's no hellhounds this time. Castiel is a killjoy, seriously.
He puts his hands in his coat pockets and tilts his head slightly, "Ever seem to notice this place is nothing more than a pain in the royal backside?"
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It's why he's careful about what information he releases, careful to not go in there, fists swinging for once.
"So the whole city took turns this morning pissing in your cheerios?" He smirks slightly. "That's dedicated pissing."
Damon keeps his arms folded across his chest as he smirks at the question.
"If someone didn't notice that, I'd say they had a severe case of delusion. Chicago lives to be the pain in everyone's ass. It's a party."
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But all that being said, you're amusing to talk to, Damon.
"Yes, quite," he says with narrowed eyes and a small smirk, "Cookie for them,"
Crowley rolls his shoulder in a lazy shrug, "Fair point. Sort of wish it wasn't mine, though. Busy people don't have the time, y'see," He pauses, "Tell me, the Rift starts messing around with you.. how long does it usually last?"
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It's not easy. Crowley is amusing to talk to too. If nothing else.
"A congratulations on your pissing contest cookie," he says, smirking at him.
The smirk widens, and he rolls his eyes. "That's the thing about the Rift. It doesn't discriminate. It's the epitome of what every person should be." Ah, the irony. He raises an eyebrow curiously. "Now see that depends. A day, a week. When you fall through it, it messes with you. Permanently."
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He rolls his eyes, making a small noise of amusement.
And then he pauses to listen. He's tried to find out all he can about Chicago himself, but there always seems to be more to learn. No matter, doesn't hurt to listen every now and then.
"I see, well. That explains one thing, then," he says finally, pressing a finger to his lips in thought. Maybe that's why he couldn't leave his body. Bela's exorcism had no affect on him. Perhaps the Rift trapped him in his body when he came through. Interesting. That doesn't sound too bad of a thing.
"I think the Rift's keeping me from doing my job," he says after some more thought, "It has no appreciation for businessmen what so ever. How rude," he frowns, "But a week? You say? Suppose I could put up with that,"
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There is always something else to learn in the universe. It's almost endless, and Damon has read more books than he can count. He's listened in to informants, and he's been around, but he's still learning new things.
"Does it? There are plenty of questions to be answered in the Rift," Damon says in response, watching him carefully. He doesn't seem put out by whatever it is that he's thinking of.
He tilts his head to the side. "That's a new one," he says with a small smirk. "Someone's pissing in your cheerios and taking them away. It could be a week or it could be longer. You can't tell with the Rift."
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"Well, that's one question that's important to me answered," he says with a smirk. Nope, not put out at all.
He frowns a little at the fact it could be longer, "Bollocks," He had a feeling that although free from getting an almighty smiting, there would be a ton of problems to face in Chicago. Is it too much to ask to have a Hell to run and souls to collect and keep there?
"Hope so," Crowley says, making a face, "Ever heard of anyone trying to... I don't know, poke at the Rift to get it to stop? I would really like my cheerios, piss free, of course."
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"There you go," he says, smirking back at him. "You're not at all curious about the rest of the universe?"
Damon learned. He had to learn everything he could, endless amounts of it so no one could take him by surprise. Of course, he also has people he wants to keep safe. Correction, he has one person that he wants to keep safe.
He lifts an eyebrow at the Bollocks. Pff, no Hell in Chicago, Crowley. Too bad. Damon is very happy to have no hell in Chicago. Nothing for him to be king of.
"I have, and it's always blown up in their face. Sometimes very literally. I guess you could keep convincing people to poke at it in hope it won't one day blow up and might get somewhere."
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"I didn't say I wasn't," he tells him, raising an eyebrow, "Just I'd like to get anything concerning me answered first."
Because that's important to him. Hello, ego.
"Despite my schedule, I think I'll have a trip around to find more out. It wouldn't hurt and the perks of not needing to eat or sleep is very handy. I've got all the time in the world,"
Even if there isn't a Hell for him to rule, he's still King of Hell. He assures that. Some silly Rift landing him in another universe isn't going to change things. Besides, he's thinking about making his own Hell. Wouldn't that be fun?
"Interesting," he says, putting a finger to his lips for a moment. And then a small smirk creeps up on his lips, "I'll be sure of that, I'm sure there'll be someone willing to work for me."
Or unwilling. It's all the same.
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"Those are the most important questions to have answered," he says, and as much as he might not actually like Crowley, he would be of the same thought process.
His questions are most important. The questions pertaining to him are most important to have answered, and if he didn't have someone to watch out for,it's hard to say if he would care about the rest of the questions at all.
Damon lifts an eyebrow as though in surprise at the bit about not needing to eat or sleep. "I'd bet," he says, folding his arms across his chest. "So much more time to send your pets after everyone and watch them squirm."
He, on the other hand, gets his own hands dirty when necessary, ripping hearts out of people's chests. Whatever gets the job done. It's satisfying.
"Lets not play around, I really don't think they need to be willing to do it."
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The mention of his beloved pups makes him pause thoughtfully, almost sadly. He misses his hellhounds. He could have had fun, but sadly they're no more. "Not really. After our conversation, someone from my own world popped by. Pain in my arse, he is. Killed them all," he sighs, looking blankly at the ground for a moment, "But I suppose, knowing the Rift, I'll get more one day,"
Crowley would really like that.
While not afraid to get his own hands dirty, there's just something satisfying watching Hellhounds tear people apart.
He laughs, a dark smirk at his lips, "Yes, that's true," he says, "I have my ways of getting people to do things they don't like. It's always handy,"
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Sam would've just rather been further prepared for it, though he has the usual in his satchel. Hunter instincts never allow him to let his guard down for too long.
He's walking past Grant Park when the snowman dissipates right next to him.
"What the..." his voice trails off and he turns to Crowley.
It's a younger Sam Winchester, Crowley.
Still your abomination, but an ickle Moose, really.
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But this is excellent, this means he doesn't know much at all about his future. However, Crowley's not stupid. He knows not to lie too much. Castiel's from Sam's future too and it'll be a demon's word over an angel's. Guess who would win that?
But anything past Castiel is fair game. Not too bad, then.
"So, you going to stare all day then, Sam?" he asks him with a dark smile, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.
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Then again, Sam's sense of humor always has been impaired. But that's neither here nor there. Moose Sam's shoulders stiffen at Crowley's calling him by name. He doesn't want to immediately jump to the conclusion that it's the demon Castiel was warning him about.
It's not the only person that's known him by name here before Sam ever had a clue who they were in turn. Bela comes to mind.
"How'd you know my name?" he asks, jutting his chin as his eyes narrow.
Sam really hates his life sometimes.
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