(Untitled)
In the beginning, it was a nice day.
This is a word which here means 'pleasing', 'agreeable', or 'delightful', so it may come as a surprise to you, dear reader, to hear the day described as such, given the situation in Milliways these past two weeks. But then, 'nice' is such a relative term, don't you agree? And certainly it would be difficult for ( Read more... )
This is a word which here means 'pleasing', 'agreeable', or 'delightful', so it may come as a surprise to you, dear reader, to hear the day described as such, given the situation in Milliways these past two weeks. But then, 'nice' is such a relative term, don't you agree? And certainly it would be difficult for ( Read more... )
The bunnies out in the forest are taking advantage of the lapse - however slight - in the icy weather, and have begun to congregate in a certain clearing. Make hay while the sun shines, and all that.
Energised by the recent influx of negative serendipity, the bunnies are snuffling and burrowing industriously, nudging and hauling into place their tribute for the Thing. Sheets from the forge, that are shiny and hard like the outside of the Thing. Lengths of long, tough grass stolen from inside the bar, that are curly like the red grass coming from the top of the Thing. Coins and buttons and one unfortunate keychain that glows under the light, like the two glowing eyes on the Thing.
Slowly, as the morning wears on, the tribute begins to take shape, mounting in an odd, misshapen structure around the Thing, to house it from the cold and to show off its splendour. The bunnies aren't much in the way of architects, but they are painstaking. Nice, even; a word which, dear reader, can also mean ' ( ... )
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He ought to go back inside and wake Aziraphael. They've been taking it in shifts to watch for the door, amidst the rising tensions in the bar, but this is -
This is something else entirely, and suddenly Crowley's terribly, icily certain that they ought to both be awake. To be ready.
He's turning back towards the door when he sees the bodies. Three - no, two.
One of them is moving.
Within hailing distance of Enzo, still hurrying towards him:
"What's - what happened?"
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The sky's been clouded over with red for days. Then again, nothing much else the kid said makes sense either - though the mention of a magnet makes Crowley's gaze flick anxiously to the humming silver hemispheres.
If they did this; if they're the source of the sudden rush of skin-crawling wrongness Crowley can feel -
Not now. This, first.
He draws to a halt beside Enzo, offering him his hand.
"Can you stand?"
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(He's not very good at it. One thing, at least, he hasn't managed to pick up from Aziraphael.)
"That's a start. Can you walk?"
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"Does anyone need first aid?"
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(There's a crumpled shape over on the baseball diamond, one that looks mostly like a person.
But only mostly.)
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But he hasn't recovered quite enough to resist properly. Yet.
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(Crowley should know; he's been on the receiving end of it often enough.)
Hand still firmly on Enzo's elbow, he's frogmarching them towards the bar at as quick a pace as Enzo can manage.
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Still, the man has a point.
But.
"'Sit time to evacuate?"
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And the black space in the middle, dark and empty and deep, right where Crowley once almost pitched a perfect inning.
"Maybe."
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That's a good compromise, he decides. Get himself recovered enough to be of use.
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Besides, the kid is green. Who knows what he does for sustenance.
"You have anyone in here with you?"
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Plus he's got this problem with being noble. It's a terrible flaw.
(And Ingress begged him with tears in her opalescent eyes to please check on Mr. Julia and he's never been able to deny her anything)
"Crowley!" he calls out, glad to see a familiar face in this madness.
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