realityshifted application take two
Player Name: Jamie
Player LJ: hellblazing
Email and/or AIM: parting_wings@hotmail.com
Timezone: Central
Other Characters: N/A
Character: Anthony J. Crowley
Series: Good Omens
Deviance: He was deviance 2 when I played him before. He follows the book and the New Years Resolutions canon, but is taken from modern day 2011 so also has a few years' additional headcanon added on. Not sure what you'd like to do with that. I'm cool with whatever!
Age: As old as Creation (somewhat older than six thousand); physically looks to be in his late twenties
Gender: Ultimately sexless, as are all angels in the Good Omens universe (Crowley being a former angel, of course); his current body is male
Species: Demon
Canon Used: The book (obviously) and the New Years' Resolutions, which can be found here
Appearance: Crowley appears as a good-looking young man with dark hair and good cheekbones (who may or may not resemble John Stamos). He's almost always wearing a dark pair of sunglasses, which hide the fact that his eyes are yellow with vertical slitted pupils, much like a snake's. He smiles a lot like a snake too, and doesn't blink much. Most of the time he wears either a suit of some variety or at least very well-made tailored clothes. As an angel, size, shape and those sorts of things are somewhat irrelevant--he can change them at will. He is also able to change his shape to darker, more horrifying kinds of things, but he doesn't much like doing that. He's afraid one of these times it's going to stick.
Psychology:
Anthony J. Crowley is Hell's most approachable demon. Sure he's an evil, sarcastic bastard, and sure he'd just as soon tempt you into a life of sin as anything else, but he's no monster. Crowley likes his temptation with a serious helping of style--and unlike the rest of Hell, Crowley's style is modern.
Game shows? Yeah, Crowley came up with those. Value-added tax? Manchester? Googling yourself? That's all Crowley. He's been around Earth since the beginning of things ("gone native" in the words of another demon) and unlike most of the infernal henchmen you see running around these days, Crowley thinks. A lot. Too much, some might say. It's his thinking that earned him a commendation for rerouting the M25 motorway in England into the infernal symbol Odegra, though, and how many people travel that route every day?
Welsh language television. Need I say more?
Crowley enjoys his work, but not with the zeal of someone like Hastur or Ligur. He's actually pretty jaded when it comes to the metaphysical--which is saying a lot, considering he's in on the whole thing. He'll tell you flat out, though, that good and evil are just sides; they don't really mean anything in great big cosmic terms. Though he'll rarely do it aloud, he'll often wax philosophic to himself about the nature of things, ineffability and all that. A lot of times this Deep Thinking centers around humanity.
Crowley's rather enamored with humans (hence why he and Aziraphale were so intent on averting Armageddon). He figures Hell's got a lot to learn from them, too. Whereas demons are sort of like the tax collectors of the universe (just doing their jobs, no matter how unpopular), humans have the potential for evil that demons couldn't even dream of. Hell could never hope to compete with someone like Hitler and Crowley knows it, but it's often the little, annoying, infernally frustrating things about humanity that he picks up on and uses to his advantage. He frequently sends little memos or packages to the guys Down Below, once with a note attached to a bundle of warranty paperwork that simply said "Learn, guys."
Just because he enjoys his work doesn't mean that he's fond of the system, however. In Hell's bureaucracy Crowley is pretty much on the bottom of the food chain. The higher-ups can boss him around however they like, and Crowley doesn't really have any say in the matter. The easiest way to see just how frustrating he finds this? Look at his plants. He terrorizes the poor things simply because he can, because in the grand scheme of things the plants are just as far below him--and just as helpless--as Crowley is to the rest of Hell. The fact that Crowley taking his frustrations out on his houseplants happens to make them the greenest houseplants in all of London is just a happy coincidence.
Appearances are big, for Crowley, and he definitely enjoys the best in life. His flat is in one of the most expensive areas in London (and actually the world--I looked it up). His car is a 1926 Bentley one owner from new (that owner happening to be Crowley himself). All of the furnishings in his apartment are new, trendy, and very expensive--including his computer, which is sort of like a Porsche with a screen. Rather ironic that the demon who tries to tempt humans with earthly delights is so often dazzled by them himself, isn't it?
(The Bentley, it should be stated, is Crowley's prize possession. He tells Aziraphale at one point in the novel that it's a sort of "whole-body glove.")
Even though he's a demon, Crowley's not all bad. Just...don't say it to his face. Whether it's something that's rubbed off from spending too much time around Aziraphale, something to do with the fact that he hadn't even really meant to Fall, or maybe just because he thinks more than your average demon (or possibly a combination of all three), Crowley's really not such a bad guy to have around. He once breathed life into a dove carelessly left to die by Aziraphale, though he tried to do it without making a big deal of it. Usually he'll do the "right" thing, but he'll do his damndest to cover it up. And when Crowley's not quite up to doing the "right" thing? Aziraphale's usually there to prod him into it anyway (annoying angel).
Don't get me wrong though. You'll hardly ever catch Anthony J. Crowley driving anything under 90 miles per hour, no matter the original speed limit. He's fully willing to take something away from someone else if he wants it. He flagrantly disobeys the rules (reservations at the Ritz? pfft, reservations are something that happens to other people). Despite his flair for the insidious and devious types of evil, he's also silly and petty enough to let out the tires on a car for a bit of demonic fun. In a thousand little ways that make him more endearing than infernal, Crowley is a hellraiser.
A couple of side notes: Crowley is very susceptible to flattery, whether you're flattering him personally or telling him what an awesome car he has (he's very up front about Pride and Sloth being his biggest Sins). He's also rather selfish about relationships. He simply doesn't care deeply for very many people, and he feels rather selfish about those he does care for. He also tends to lash out and/or drink heavily if hurt emotionally. And he dislikes Christmas. :|b
Other Skills/Abilities:
Oh lord. Crowley has a rather extensive list of abilities.... Most of his powers are used in canon for minor, quirky sorts of things that make his life easier. In fact, on most occasions he's perfectly willing to let things happen as they will and uses his abilities to just sort of nudge things in the right direction. For convenience's sake I'm just going to do this in list fashion:
Flight: Crowley has black, feathered wings that sprout from his shoulder blades when he wishes; most times they are hidden. It's implied that he can actually fly, though never explicitly shown.
Seeing in the dark
Purging the alcohol from his system with just a thought
Scaring non-sentient lifeforms into doing his bidding (helpful for keeping his plants green)
Glaring at things to make them stop being on fire
Keep the fridge in his flat stocked with food that never spoils, despite the fridge not being plugged in
Fireproof
Similarly, can set fire to objects with a thought or a sharp glance
Doesn't need to breathe/eat/sleep, though he usually prefers to do all three
Can bring small beings back from death, such as doves carelessly left in the coats of angels
Can also banish people/objects to unknown parts of the world/universe; it's best not to worry about where they end up
Has considered conjuring a hurricane to rid himself of a group of nannies; later settled for a workers' strike instead
Minor reality manipulation: Crowley can arrange matters so that no one gets in the way of his speeding car, and on at least one occasion assured the "miraculous" escapes of a bunch of nutters with guns [does not work on the Plane]
Can fix minor scratches and dings on his Bentley with a glare, as well as turn things such as lights and televisions off or on with just a gesture
Can abandon his physical body to travel at phenomenal speed; has no real limitations on his size/shape; can assume terrible, nightmarish forms to scare the living Christ out of people
Matter creation / wishing objects into being; usually used for small items like pulling a fresh cigarette from a pocket or changing into fresh clothes without having to do laundry
Can make the no-parking lines on a curb disappear when he wants to park there
Can use complex demonic hand signs to turn a car's engine into something unspeakable
Is able to stand in the rain without getting wet
Drives without gas, and sometimes without actually using the steering wheel or even paying attention to what he's doing
Can hold the flaming wreckage of his Bentley together with nothing but force of will--and then proceed to drive it for thirty miles or so
Has the ability to force something into being simply by assuming that it exists, without consciously wishing it into being (again, small items like a tape-deck in a car)
Can hypnotize and fiddle with the memories of normal humans with just a snap of his fingers
Is able to sense a person's desires--comes in handy for temptation
It's also stated that Crowley sometimes fills in for Aziraphale as a professional courtesy, and as part of the Arrangement, so he's able to do typically angelic types of things if he has to; one would assume that this means he's able to do most of what Aziraphale can do, such as healing, producing light, and possessing those with an occult inclination
He is also, of course, immortal (though his physical body isn't death-proof)
((Feel free to limit any of these as you see fit, though again, he often only uses his powers to keep himself comfortable and not to shake the foundations of the world))
Other Weaknesses:
Holy water. Holy water, in the Good Omens universe, makes demons fizzle out of existence rather painfully. Even so much as a drop would be fatal. I'm going to go ahead and say that holy relics, even down to small crucifixes/crosses, will affect him to varying degrees as well.
It's also implied that a gunshot, or some other kind of wound that would be fatal to humans, would kill off Crowley's body--both he and Aziraphale assume for a few moments after being shot that they've died, only to realize a bit later that they were only shot with paintballs. The death of his body would be a major inconvenience, as he'd have to explain to the higher-ups Down Below just how exactly he lost it and then go through the tedious process of requisitioning a new one. If he sees a threat coming it's pretty easy for him to use his powers to circumvent the danger; the easiest way to "kill" him is to catch him by surprise.
He's also not very good with animals.
History:
In the beginning Crowley started off as an angel (as most demons did). When the great schism in Heaven occurred he was one of the ones that went Down Below--not because he intended to, but simply because he hung out with the wrong people. He didn't so much Fall as Saunter Vaguely Downward.
The next time Crowley pops up is during the whole Garden of Eden affair, when he was told by his superiors to "get up there and make some trouble." Back then he was known not as Crowley but as Crawly, the snake who tempted Eve to eat the apple. Afterward he had a talk with Aziraphale, the angel at the gate with the flaming sword, who had in fact just given away said flaming sword to the exiled humans.
According to one of his colleagues, Crowley's been on Earth since the very start. Over the millennia he's done various things including meeting Leonardo daVinci (and giving him the idea for helicopters) and sleeping through the entire nineteenth century (except for that one time he had to get up to use the lavatory). He received a commendation from Down There for the Spanish Inquisition, even though at the time he'd merely been hanging about in Spanish cantinas and knew nothing about the Inquisition. After doing a bit of investigation into the matter he drank for a week straight.
He absolutely hated the fourteenth century. Most boring century ever.
Back in the year 1020 Crowley and Aziraphale began what is now known as the Arrangement. One of the side-effects of spending so much time on Earth and around humans has been a dramatic increase in both the angel and the demon of something quite a bit like Free Will--though of course they can't actually have Free Will so it must be something else. Yes.
Er, anyway. The Arrangement is simply an agreement between Crowley and the angel to sort of support each other in their endeavors, or in some instances to not interfere in the affairs of the other. This leaves them free to develop their own projects and in certain cases actually help the other, because it was going to get done anyway. The Arrangement has been working well for the both of them ever since. A funny side effect of this little agreement (as well as being pretty much the only ones around consistently for six thousand years) has been a sort of friendship between the angel and the demon. Occasionally they'll do the Ritz together, and they rather enjoy feeding the ducks at St. James Park while they discuss business (though Aziraphale often has to remind Crowley not to drown the ducks). Crowley also has a habit of hanging around Aziraphale's bookshop and pestering the angel.
Lately the Apocalypse happened--or at least, tried to happen. On one Not-So-Dark and Not-So-Stormy night Crowley was entrusted with the delivery of the Antichrist, the cute little bundle of joy set to kick off the end of the world as we know it. Crowley, in a panic, did as he was told (what other choice did he have?) and then promptly ran to Aziraphale to get sloshed. Neither of them wanted the end of the world! What about all the sushi restaurants? The two of them decided to try and influence the child in each of their respective "directions," so that hopefully the good and evil upbringings would cancel each other out and the Apocalypse wouldn't turn out after all.
Several years later it became apparent that something had gone terribly awry. The child that Crowley and Aziraphale had been doing their level best to influence for the last decade or so...wasn't the Antichrist.
So there they were, impending Apocalypse and all, and no Antichrist.
Hell, as one might expect, was furious.
They blamed it on Crowley--he'd been the one entrusted with the delivery of the child. Hastur and Ligur, his old friends from that fateful night all those years ago, were dispatched to take care of him. One of them Crowley "took care of" via holy water (an awful way to go) and the other he tricked into an answering machine (long story).
In order to get to where the Antichrist actually was, Crowley had to take his poor, beloved Bentley through the M25--the Odegra--which thanks to the oncoming Apocalypse had turned into one long highway of flaming death. Good thing he's fireproof. The Bentley, sadly, wasn't quite so lucky.
Long story short, Armageddon was averted through absolutely no fault of Crowley's. The Antichrist turned out to be a pretty decent kid, and Crowley got his Bentley back good as new. Maybe even better than new.
Twenty-ish years passed since the almost-Apocalypse, and for the most part things were right back to how they used to be on Earth. Elsewhere, however, is a different matter entirely...
Sometime in 2008, Crowley found himself on the Plane. Not one but two different Aziraphales joined him there, and he made friends with a young girl named Henrietta who inexplicably became something like family to the demon. He became enemies--and then frenemies--with a Chinese man named Hei, was forced into his snake form, spoke often with a talking cat, and had all sorts of other wacky adventures. Then people started disappearing and Crowley started drinking to cover the fact that he'd actually let himself feel something for someone else and then had his pathetic little demonic heart broken. When the grief and alcoholism mixed into one big fog, Crowley stopped visiting the Plane.
Or more appropriately, he forgot about the Plane. Small mercies.
During the course of his adventures on the Plane he ended up getting into a fight with Gabriel (yes, the motherf!cking archangel), necessitating a move from his beloved flat in Mayfair to an equally swanky apartment in Knightsbridge. He now rambles around the three-bedroom flat by himself. He doesn't entirely remember why he moved.
Crowley's superiors have been quieter than usual since the near-Apocalypse, which Crowley is thoroughly grateful for. He works less than he used to, meets with Aziraphale occasionally, and sleeps a lot... which isn't much of a change, really. He's rather put-out that he didn't get any sort of award for "Googling yourself" or for iPods, but that's life for you.
His assertion that he invented Facebook was almost blown after The Social Network was released to critical acclaim. Thankfully no one else in Hell bothers to keep up on modern films, so his secret is probably safe.
Canon Point: Present day, 2011; post-canon
Reality Description:
Crowley...is from Earth. Present day, right-now Earth, as a matter of fact. He tends to work all over England (and has been, throughout history, all over the world), but on most occasions these days he can be found in London. He owns a stylish and exceedingly expensive flat in Knightsbridge, furnished all in white with cutting edge, trendy furniture and not much else. It's a rather minimalist space, tres chic in Crowley's opinion. The stereo system is slim, black, and isn't hooked to speakers but nonetheless produces top-notch sound quality. There's an original daVinci sketch on one of the walls and a set of beautiful, green houseplants, but not much else in the way of decoration. The fridge is always stocked with gourmet foods which are never spoiled, but hasn't been plugged in since he purchased it.
The major difference between the Good Omens world and our own world is the presence of angels and demons. Those kinds of beings usually try to blend in with the mortals though, or at least make themselves scarce, so to the typical observer it would literally just be regular old Earth.
Crowley's only major NPC is Aziraphale. Aziraphale is an angel, a bookseller, Crowley's partner in the Arrangement, and about the closest thing to a friend that Crowley's ever had outside the Plane. The angel typically appears as blond, a slight bit overweight, and...well, to put it in the words of the authors themselves: "Many people, meeting Aziraphale for the first time, formed three impressions: that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide."
Aziraphale's dusty bookshop in Soho would be another likely spot to find Crowley at any given point, as he usually hangs around and pesters the angel. The back room is a good place to chat about business or get drunk if the occasion calls for it. They're also fond of both the Ritz and St. James Park, where they often meet to feed the ducks and discuss business.
First Person Speaking Sample:
[The young man that appears on the Plane might seem familiar to some, particularly those who've been around for a few years now. He has dark hair and good cheekbones, and is wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and a snappy suit. For the first few seconds after his arrival he just looks around, obviously confused.]
[Then, slowly, he reaches up and pulls off the glasses. Anyone near enough would be able to see yellow eyes with vertical slits for pupils, much like the eyes of a snake. Right now those eyes are filled with something like recognition.]
Bloody--
I know this. Why do I...?
[Another moment and the eyes close.] The Plane. That's what this is. I've been here before, I--
How could I have forgotten the bloody Plane? [He opens his eyes and looks around again.] Right then. I suppose this means I'm back. I--
Ngh. Why's it so blessed difficult to remember? How long has it been? Years?
I remember... the Twins. The Doctor. Deadpool. Cy.
The Machine. The experiments. [A pained expression crosses his face and he lifts one hand to his head, as if stricken with a headache.]
'slike someone took a blender to my head. I know there's more I've forgotten, but...
Go- Someone, I need a drink. Where's the bar gone to?
And where's the angel when you need him?
Third Person Writing Sample:
If the situation weren't so bloody ridiculous, he'd be almost appalled at the domesticity of it.
His suit jacket comes off just inside the front door, tossed with carefully measured carelessness across the arm of the sofa as he makes his way toward the kitchen. The sunglasses stay on, as always, though he slips a finger under the knot of his tie to loosen it. The lights in the flat wink on seemingly of their own accord, one by one, as he passes through each room.
"Yes, yes, I'm back," the demon drawls as he crosses into the suddenly illuminated kitchen. He opens the door to the refrigerator and leans in, one arm hanging on the door. "I don't suppose you've missed me?"
The blob in the crisper doesn't reply. Crowley finds this discretion to be a large part of its charm.
It was a tool for therapy, once. Roughly the size of Crowley's fist, it looks a bit like a rather large dollop of hair gel that no one's bothered to clean up. It also moves, albeit extraordinarily slowly, and enjoys lettuce a great deal. Crowley's taken to leaving it in the crisper of the refrigerator-the blob gets to enjoy lettuce to its dubiously-existent heart's content, and Crowley keeps from stepping on the thing and making a mess of the carpet. All in all, it's probably the most sensible and hassle-free pet arrangement he could've asked for...had he been inclined to ask for a pet in the first place.
An hour later he's lounging on the sofa, watching an old episode of House. The titular character has just spiked Wilson's coffee with amphetamines, and Crowley is vaguely wondering how long it would take Aziraphale to realise what was going on before dumping any sort of foreign substance from his system-and more importantly, what he might be able to con the angel into doing before said angel figured things out.
From the other half of the sofa, down on the seat cushion, there is a soft chiming sound.
"Oh go on," Crowley replies, flipping channels with a quick motion of his hand toward the flatscreen. "It isn't as if I would actually do it, is it? I'm certain he'd know, anyway...at least, I think he'd know.
"...or would he?"
From the next seat cushion over, the blob remains motionless disapprovingly.
It's nearly as good as having the angel around to chastise him, Crowley reflects, except this version doesn't steal his desserts.
Did you read the rules? Aye!