Let's try this thing
Gonna try a drabble meme, here. I'm not sure what kind of parameters to set, so let's just say I'll write about my character and one of yours (tell me which) in a situation that is ... hmm, let's see. Why don't y'all challenge me? Post-camp, during-camp, angsty, funny, smutty -- tell me which of your characters to drabble on, and what flavor ( Read more... )
Sophie and Crowley, some point post-Calaphael. Genre of your choice, bonus points for involving tea and/or cookies.
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"You're back." He didn't look up from his book. Poor, stupid Ambrosio, led astray so easily. A pity more monks weren't that easy to toy with.
"I am."
"I told you not to bother." Now he did look up.
"You did, yes."
"Listen. I know what I said -- what he said." It was so much easier to think of Calaphael as someone entirely separate from himself, really. "But you don't have to keep coming back here. I get the point. You were his friend. Great. Kudos to you for befriending some needy little idiot who hadn't the slightest idea of how the world really works. You're off the hook, Sophie. You've done your good deed, but it's completely unwarranted. Ciao.At some point she had already come in -- she did that now, walking into his office whether he invited her or not, with fluid movements that were so perfect, they seemed not to part the air at all. She was a bold little slip of a thing, and despite everything else, Crowley respected that about her ( ... )
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"The harm," he said, sipping the tea he'd pilfered from the angel's stash, "is that I'm not someone anyone needs to be friends with. The 'harm,' my dear, is that you're wasting your time. He didn't know what he'd become -- if he had known, he never would have asked such a stupid thing from you ( ... )
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"Of course I did. I had avoided you for it."
He thought for a moment, raking through the memories of the past week. Yes -- yes, she had implied as much, hadn't she? And he, too happily distracted, didn't notice. Then again, what was there to notice? He never would have guessed that he'd Fall. He remembered fearing such a fate when he'd learned about the inevitable war against the Host.
He hadn't meant to Fall. He hadn't.
Things slowly clicked into place as he looked at her, as she watched him with solemn eyes that seemed to peer right through him. She had known what was facing him. And she, for reasons he could never hope to understand, had wanted to... help him.
"That free-will," he said, looking down into his cup. "It's a bugger." Here was someone who... knew what he'd gone through, those heartwrenching moments when he realized who he truly was.He set his cup down and folded his hands in his lap ( ... )
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It wasn't the library itself he was scowling at. No, the library had been quite flexible with his changes. He wanted another room added to his living quarters, and so another room appeared. He imagined it furnished with furniture, and it was. It was a bit harder to guess what kind of furniture was appropriate, but it was unlikely anyone -- any teenage girl, at least -- could say no to a sleigh bed crafted out of mahogany that was most definitely not rainforest-safe. Then came the armoire, likewise not rainforest-safe. And then came the sleek, expensive multimedia center ( ... )
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"My dear, I just--"
"Not now." A beat of silence followed. "Please."
The angel hesitated a moment, but nodded and turned away. Crowley listened as Aziraphale's footfalls grew softer until they were a bare whisper of sound, like wind through tall grass.
Once he was alone, he let out a deep breath. The circle of bright green enamel hung heavy as lead in his pocket. Even as he reached in and brushed his fingers over the cold enamel, he hated it.
He also hated this place. Despite the fact that it was where she'd made her home, despite the fact that she'd built a life here -- or perhaps it was because of those things -- Crowley despised Gotham. Oh, he would've liked it on principle, surely -- tall buildings, fantastic nightlife, a healthy dose of corruption, but it never seemed to suit her ( ... )
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