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Messages - CROWLEY

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Tanglewood / Open ANALOG BOY ➵ waking up
« on: February 01, 2020, 02:42:21 PM »
Crowley wakes up, and he's not entirely sure where-when-why he is. He feels groggy and confused and aching and alone, and, for a second, he wonders where Aziraphale is. At the bookshop, probably, or maybe -- out there getting himself into trouble somewhere. He thinks that he should probably get up and check.
And then -- Oh, right. Aurum.
It's like a hollow ache. He abandoned Aziraphale, he can't check, and he left Aurum hanging and -- Crowley doesn't need to breathe, probably, maybe, but he breathes in and out and it hurts. He feels too light and too heavy and like the heavenly light had sunk into his very being.
He's a coward. How long had he been sleeping? Weeks, months? He can't tell, he doesn't know. Gaze unfocused, and he just wants to sleep. Sleep, and sleep, and never wake up.
He doesn't. He stares into the middle distance, heavy-light and gaze unfocused, and thinks getupgetup, get up you stupid fucking snake.
He's tired of sleeping. He'd slept a century away, once, and the look on Aziraphale's face had been terrible, and he thinks of Aurum and wants to die (but that's not new).
So he does. He groans, and forces himself to his feet. It's as hard as the last times he'd woken up. But he does, and, blearily, his gaze travels around the room, the room where he'd slept surrounded by plants and flora and, oh -- they've all wilted.
Logically, he knows that plants die and wilt and he'd left them unattended for .. just a few months, it looks like.
There's no miracles that can fix this. He regards them with a dead eye, and he's so tired. Like he's been hollowed out with a rusty scooper. His breaths are shaky.
He has a front to put on later, people to talk to. But right now, at this moment -- he squeezes his eye shut, and he wants to topple them to the ground. Maybe it'd be his natural element, that way -- soil and shattered pottery and death.
He doesn't. He's excruciatingly gentle as he drags them out and he thinks fuck, shit, he's so fucking stupid, and he's being so fucking emo right now what the fuck.
Crowley drops the pot onto the ground, and he has to blink against the first rays of sunlight he's seen in a month and he just wants to leave. He's in the public eye now, and he should be perking up and at least pretending to be the snarky asshole, but he's ... tired.
He sighs, flicks his tail. And then, with the utmost reluctance, turns his attention to the long-dead houseplant. He needs to .. get rid of it, and then he can start again. All over again. And again, and again, because as much attention as he put into them, he never thought about it. He never thought about it before he went on his ridiculous fucking naps.
He refuses to even start, at this point.
Crowley flexes stiff claws, remembers the last time he did something like this. Around winter, maybe? When he'd needed to bring them inside. He hooks his claws into the soil, and, with a contradicting sense of reluctance and .. brutality, he tears the plant out.
And so, rinse and repeat. He's not careful, doesn't care about his image, and it's not long before he's covered with dirt. It's not like it was any worse than the swamp mud, in any case.
God, fuck. He'd gone through quite a bit of effort to get these kinds of plants in this god-forbidden* wasteland, with animals and a complete lack of convenient plant shops. He doesn't know if he can bring himself to bother with going through it again, but, well -- he'll probably have to.
*almost quite literally,

Neutral Grounds / Re: [ BABY DEER GRACE ❧ CROWLEY ]
« on: January 02, 2020, 07:55:50 AM »
Ah, fuck.
There's not a lot that could wake Crowley up once he fell asleep. He was nothing if not a deep sleeper, see -- possibly to his own detriment. Definitely to his own detriment. He hasn't been properly awake in a month at least.
Crowley could, however, safely say thhat he can be woken up by being tripped on. It happens in a second, Crowley's nerves flaring -- itshappeningagain never saffe never safe --
It's just a maned wolf.
Crowley, as a snake, doesn't have eyelids, so he can't blink at her. Instead, he stares, bleariness and mild alarm somehow registering on his face. Then, catching up -- he smirks.
"New legs?" He says, more amused than annoyed. He's long since made peace with the absolute .. bizarreness of these people. Sort of. Carefully, Crowley uncoils, and then -- mimics her. It's been a while since he'd had legs at all, and he hardly minds a change. And, well - maned wolf isn't a bad choice.
So, a maned wolf he becomes, starkly different from Adelaide. He musters a sharp grin as he stretches.
Possibly, in another universe, this may have been a villain's scene. Crowley was not a villain, though.
"Haven't seen you around before. Been sleeping," There's a point to this, but he's paused by a yawn. A rather large, unnerving yawn, but a yawn nonetheless. "Name's Crowley. Who're you?" He thinks he should geel bad for being so out of the loop. He isn't very -- Crowley isn't the most social creature, be it by choice or because he didn't have one at all, one can't be sure.
It doesn't hurt to start small, anyways.

Tanglewood / Re: ...And The Moon Was Hungry | Bonfire
« on: December 23, 2019, 05:11:06 PM »
//mobile ... short (pensive emoji)
Somehow. Crowley isn't surprised that the first thing they do after waking up is get into trouble.
What is surprising was that it was fire. Crowley'd handled it a few times, and they liked the warmth and the smell, but couldn't help thinking about .. well, hell.
Crowley, however, is very decidedly not Actually thinking about this. Or much of anything in fact. They're out of the loop, and, honestly. Crowley doesn't care yet. They're tired, and if they spend the week being bothered by Feza and entertaining Snarl, so be it.
"D'ya think we're lookin to scare people a bit?" Crowley grins, wicked. They're not looking forward to sharing their alcohol with, well -- anyone besides Snarl. It's top shelf stuff. Crowley is a serval of culture, thank you very much, and it's hard to get these days. "Get the feelin' most people would announce this sorta thing before, y'know, making a giant fire," They lay their head on their paws, willing their eye not to slide shut. They're not tired. They want to sleep. They aren't going to. They've wasted weeks, anyways. Their tail curls around themselves as they yawn lazily. Even if nobody turns up and sticks around -- well. Crowley still isn't sure if they appreciate the fire part or not, but they're not opposed to the companionship. They like Snarl, somehoe.

Tanglewood / Re: you can't whisper above the thunder - crowley
« on: December 23, 2019, 04:54:08 PM »
Out of anyone in the world, Crowley might be the most experienced at shapeshifting. Not because he did it frequently, of course. He ... didn't particularly like being in other forms. A stifling feeling, like he could never change back. Like he was stuck.
He was always in another form now, though, so that point was moot. Needless to say, Crowley was going to do whatever the hell he wanted now.
... When he woke up. Which is now.
"Uh. Kay," He's slow in the head, barely processing Feza's first sentence ad he blinks groggily at the snow leopard. That's too many colors so early in the ..... uh. Crowley's not sure what time it is. In fact, he doesn't even know what month or year it is. He's been asleep for more than a few days, he knows this for certain, but .. after a certain point, time just bleeds together.
To be entirely honest, Crowley feels he should be annoyed by this intrusion. He has no idea where Feza came from, or why she decided to ask him, specifically. He was asleep, even!
He's not, though. He's not sure why.
"I'm not sure why you'd pick me, of all people, The serval yawns, jaws stretching alarmingly wide. He's sloe to process, but he's warming up. He curls a tail around himself, half-preparing himself to actually face the outside world. He can't say he's really ready, but, well. Whatever*. "But no problem. Sure. What sorta party?" .. Is he going to have to do damage control? Crowley debates over this for a few moments, before dismissing it. Feza'd been doing better. And, anyways. he's feeling the itch for some chaos, so .. who cares?
*Somehow, the concept of turning Feza down was only an ingenuine passing thought

« on: December 12, 2019, 06:58:58 PM »
Crowley had honestly been considering not going to this event. He didn't really see the point. He didn't like Holidays, he was tired, and Aurum was going to be there. And - nothing against Aurum, but Crowley wasn't sure how much he could cope with right now. He'd been doing some thinking. A lot of thinking.
He does think he likes Aurum, but he's hesitant to poke that with a stick. It's not anything like it is with Aziraphale, so it's not like he knows what to do with it.
Not the point. The point is, Crowley didn't want to be here. Crowley is here. Crowley had gotten bored, and lonely, and wasn't that terrible? Crowley hadn't hadn't felt lonely before recently*.
*a minor lie.
So. He's here. Crowley hesitates to participate anyways, moving a hesitant few inches towards Aurum, and then -- second place.
That'd been terrible of him to think. Crowley didn't get these sorts of things, not by a long shot, and to be fair he'd been stressed beyond belief, but now -- a sense of guilt. He hadn't said so out loud, but it'd been cruel nonetheless. He didn't get it, but that didn't mean Crowley was incapable of figuring things out for himsef.
The shame of it all has Crowley retracing his steps. His metaphorical steps. He doesn't have legs, right now. Unfortunately, this leaves him without. anything to do. Crowley probably can't even reach the table with any sense of dignity intact, and he refuses to face the indignity of shapeshifting just to reach it. He doesn't even like  food.
... The fireplace was awfully close to the tree, and the crowd, and by extension Aurum, but .. that would do. Sulky, the snake makes his way near the tree, but says nothing as passing Kiira to merely coil in front of it, soaking in the heat. This is not a terribly social use of his time, considering his initial reasons for being here, but Crowley rather thinks he'd fucked up on that front.
So, Crowley, apparently in a Mood, merely waits.

Tanglewood / Re: NO WRONG ANSWERS ☆ drunk & gay
« on: December 12, 2019, 03:38:31 AM »
Needless to say, Crowley startles at the touch of Aurum's head against his chest. The tone switch in itself had been jarring enough -- something casual, almost lazy into whatever this was. He's dealing with it though. He's dealing with it. He's doing his best not to tense. Thinking about him? Tail twitching, Crowley, already somewhat alarmed, rolls this over in his head*.
*It's already somewhat incomprehensible to him that he'd be considered even when he wasn't actively there[/size]
Then Aurum continues, confessing, and -- even then, true to his nature, Crowley is silent. Under the surfsce, an increasing sense of panic, but Crowley can -- roll with this. He can. Keep going over it in his head. He can't be blamed for a minute of silence over something so .. dramatic. Or, not dramatic, but the emotions were.
The thing is, though. Before all else, before Crowley even considers even his own feelings about this -- he doesn't want to hurt Aurum. He needs to buy some time.
But the thing is -- Crowley is starved for affection. And .. well, romantic affection, too. Six thousand years is a long time to pine, isn't it? Literally dreaming of that sort of thing. And it may not be the same person, they may not have the same history, but Crowley cares for him all the same. Maybe that's unfair -- that Crowley, who isn't one hundred convinced himself that he even loves Aurum, considering rolling with it. Crowley, who might consider Aurum second place.
You can't shake six thousand years off in just a few months
He does, however, consider it somewhat objectionable to do or talk about anything substantial while one of them is drunk. Aurum can't miracle himself undrunk. This does, however, give Crowley an opportunity.
... And maybe it's somewhat strange, that Crowley's mantaining even a sense of calm. It was something he was used to, though. Tucking away feelings to either deal with or not, at a better time. He couldn't be happy, or upset, or .. anything. Aurum was drunk, and Aurum was .. well, he looked genuine, but Crowley didn't have a sense worth enough to really believe him. It was nauseating -- Crowley was unlovable, that's why things had .. been the way they'd been, for him. A direct opposition to this frame of mind was ... well. He didn't exactly know how to deal with it.
Which mostly left Crowley with an impersonal sense of dread. Which was a recipe for disaster, in all truth.
"Guess it is," Crowley tries, words somewhat strangled as he struggles to come up with any at all. Buy some time, think about it later. Probably have to talk about it later, too, unless Aurum forgot. Crowley was hoping for that, but he wasn't sure. Crowley may have been a bit of an alcoholic, but he'd never actually had to deal with the aftermath before.
Belatedly, Crowley really hates how he feels at the idea of being told that this was important. Or how, even drunk, Aurum is being so careful.
Instead of impulsively shredding these feelings to bit without even thinking of them, he carefully tucks them away for later surveying. He's in a bit of a corner, it seems -- just another thing he can't .. not deal with*.
*Crowley can Not Deal with anything he wants to, honestly.
Hope Aurum didn't have any dirt in his eyes.
"Aurum," Crowley says, with the tone of someone about to say something mighty important. "You're drunk," Ah, a classic. His tail is twitching and, alright, he's probably about to get some hopes up, but .. well. We already went over that, didn't we? It's a somewhat cold move, to consider reprociating without being sure of how genuine it was, but nobody had ever accused Crowley of being good at feelings. "We can ... We can talk about it later, when you're not," Well, this fucking sucks. He's still trying not to tense. Aurum is still leaning into him, he'd know. Cool as a cucumber, implying there was anything to talk about when Crowley hadn't even thought about it himself.

Tanglewood / Re: NO WRONG ANSWERS ☆ drunk & gay
« on: December 11, 2019, 05:37:37 AM »
Crowley probably wouldn't have admitted to remembering even a sliver of Aurum's previous almost-confession even under threat of harm. He genuinely didn't remember a lot -- a word here, a sentence there, but he remembers the .. feelings about it. And ignoring them. And the whole thing.
Needless to say, Crowley didn't want to deal with it.
He was content with what he had, probably. Crowley's experience with romance was limited to what he'd felt for Aziraphale exclusively, and as such he was rather used to m. ignoring it and pining from a distance. But he wasn't pining, and he didn't feel anything, and it was fine.
In full truth, though, well -- Crowley wasn't completely sure what he felt for Aurum. It was a little beyond friendship, but, well -- you couldn't put a label on relationships between immortal beings ot celestial intent or whatever, right? Not that Crowley was particularly celestial anymore but saying it has a particular ring.
Listen. Needless to say, Crowley is not ready for a confession, has not prepared for what to do if Aurum properly expands on what he said when he was hurt, and quite frankly has not even confronted his own feelings, and does not plan to. Which is unfortunate, but not the end of the world, exactly. Crowley's good at improvising, except when he's not, but, well -- people are a bit different, aren't they?
At the moment, reluctant and feeling open, Crowley is serval-shaped. Gardening isn't easy as a snake, lack of limbs. He's repotting a plant when he hears the shouting, just outside. Naturally, Crowley is torn between panic and apathy and .. Something vaguely positive. A lot positive but fuzzy around the edges, he means. Though, well, Aurum sounds .. off. The serval's ear twitches and he sits there for a long second, before -- unceremoniously and without any of the gentleness he usually employs with his plants, he shoves the plant in the pot. Dirt splils over his chest and paws, but he hardly worries about it.
"Aurum?" Wad he drunk or something? Crowley, though he imagines it looks somewhat ridiculous, finds this ... off, and so sticks out a forked tongue to confirm. .. .. Yeah. Weird. "Hell've you been drinking?" He says, promptly deciding to take whatever he goes on about with a grain of salt. Crowley says some weird shit when he's drunk, things he doesn't mean or want to say. Very promptly, albeit with a few false starts, having apparently struggled to convince himself to move, he circles the lion. A long-time quirk born of worry, careful in his surveying before he deems things safe. Which is to say, Aurum isn't going to completely topple in the next few moments, and he wasn't .. hurt ot anything. Once content, Crowley resumes standing in front of Aurum. Or -- sitting. Standing was .. uncomfortable. Whatever Aurum's going to say, though, it can't be that important, he's sure, but it's probably important to Aurum's drunken mind if he came yelling all this way.

Tanglewood / Re: HEADING ON BACK TO RENO ☆ renovations
« on: December 06, 2019, 04:24:26 PM »
Crowley thought it somewhat unfortunate that they felt self-obligated to assist. They'd been planning on it since they heard it in the meeting, as not-great as the meeting had been for them. Crowley was lazy, and didn't particularly enjoy doing things by hand, but, well .... .... ...
That's it, Crowley doesn't have anything to complete that thought. They doesn't have an excuse. They just sort of ... decided ... to help Aurum. It's terrible. It's awful. The absolute worst. They'd been putting it off, anyways. Like, a lot. Aurum had gotten the worst of it done, and meanwhile Crowley had gone snake and had been lying around instead of helping. This was not entirely by fault of their own. It kind of was, too, though. Crowley didn't have to crumple so bad they just sort of ... ... passed out for a bit. They felt rather bad about it, too, considering .. well, how hard Aurum had been working. They hadn't thought to offer during the worst of it.
They're here now, though. The snake, coiling themselves somewhere just slightly out of the way while they debate what to do, pokes their head up to regard Aurum, tongue flicking. Snakes don't have hands. If they want to shove stuff, they're gonna have to .. not be a snake anymore. And a serval was probably a little small, too. Crowley was, after all, one of the smaller members of Tanglewood. "Looks great," They decide, genuine, though their words are a touch stilted. They're quiet for a long few moments, debating with themselves, before, with a soft sigh, they shift into something .. a little less usual. A maned wolf, exactly. It's not like they'd ever needed to stick to the serval anyways. "Bout worth the sheer amount of effort you'd put in, I'd reckon," Crowley continues seamlessly, grinning somewhat wolfishly at the lion, though theres a tinge of ... something in their gaze. He'd been working a little too hard, in Crowley's own opinion. He may be having fun, but there's no reason to be working on it day in and day out, is there? Even so, Crowley lets it go, shifting their weight from side to side, testing their balance. An injury plus a form switch is not the smartest thing in the world, and they a bit as they pace a few times, but seems to decide that it's good enough fairly promptly.
"Can probably just drag furniture," They shrug, a somewhat awkward, jolting movement. A mixture of exhaustion in the purely emotional sense and a lack of familiarity. Another time, they might have been saying more, offering more information, but as is .. they don't really care. Just muster enough to maintain a lopsided grin. It's easier not to fade out right now, at least, with Aurum.
They'd probably die before admitting it, though.

Tanglewood / Re: TRAP AND RELEASE ➵ snake
« on: December 06, 2019, 03:17:41 PM »
Crowley crumpled under the slightest pressure. The slightest stress, the slightest worry. Structurally unsound, one may say, except in that Crowley was an actual living creature. Somehow, it'd always been easier to ignore it and let it pile and pile up. Sometimes it went away -- in fact, most of the time it did. Crowley was immortal, and nothing had ever tethered him. He hadn't had any friends, or any real, pressing problems.
Things went away on their own, someday. Except when they didn't. Except when they couldn't. Except when Crowley had tethered himself and involved himself and oh, he had to actually care about things now, didn't he?
Somehow, Crowley doesn't respond to Abathur's circling. Maybe he doesn't notice, maybe he's too tired to care. Under the slightest touch, Crowley crumples -- and so he has. Literally and figuratively. He doesn't lift his head to Abathur's voice, merely lifts a tail in something akin to greeting, or acknowledgement at the least.
It was strange, not to have his wings anymore, and strange, to be regarded as something unfamiliar and strange again. He can't bring himself to care. .. Mostly.
Crowley seems to make a lot of exceptions for Aurum.
He might've been resting his eyes, if it weren't for the fact that snakes didn't have eyelids. He does, however, subtly turn his head to look at Aurum as the lion settles against him. As best as he can, anyways. It's hard to lay side to side with something the height of a pool noodle. Easier, since Crowley wasn't laying flat by this point. That was simply ... uncomfortable.
Crowley, despite himself, finds himself slightly jarred by how easily Aurum takes in the whole .. snake thing. Maybe it's a mix of .. the powers thing, the thing where it's normal, not even questioned, and the part where Crowley's used to negative responses like this. Or maybe the part where he's apparently so easy to place. Glad to know he's been maintaining the theme.
It probably doesn't help that he's like .. actually venemous, to an extent. Not ... not bad, though.
"Oh, y'know," Says Crowley, distinctly uncomfortable. There's a beginning of sarcasm to his voice, something that he's too far off to dig into. "Work drama," A little more concrete in the joke, this time. It .. wasn't one, of course, but it was something Aurum, at least, might actually get. To an extent. Crowley wasn't exactly king of providing context even when he was inclined to.
.. Admittedly, though, it was more quitting work drama.

Tanglewood / Open TRAP AND RELEASE ➵ snake
« on: December 04, 2019, 12:17:19 PM »
Crowley isn't safe.
Crowley hasn't ever been safe. This is true, and it always has been, but now more than ever. He's been ignoring it again. Still paranoid, still ignoring it. Still doubting people. Still doubting himself. He's ignoring his problems, and that's fine. That's fine. Hell's still coming from him, and they aren't gonna stop just cause he escaped once or twice. He's ignoring his problems, and it's killed him before, but that's fine.
Crowley's experienced some ... highs and lows with his injuries. Sometimes his head hurts so bad he can barely see, sometimes he's dizzy and hurting and his insides are burning. Sometimes, it stings, and his head is pounding, or maybe he's a bit out of it. He goes outside during the highs, and, for the most part, that works out fine. For the most part, he hasn't missed out on anything just cause he's feeling bad.
Today's a bit of a low. He hurts, he can't breathe, and he can't stop thinking. Eyes half-lidded, he leans against a wall, and he thinks, and he thinks. He'd been trying not to. He doesn't want to think, and he wants to continue rolling with it, but one his eyes are gone, and he's burning from the inside out.
He's had to think about it since he'd seen Kaz, at the training session. He'd thought there for a second that it was -- them, with the knife. That wasn't entirely fair, their only similarity was being a cheetah, but it was still -- ... He'd been seeing traces. Seeing things, maybe. Maybe he was just being paranoid again. Maybe he was right.
It wasn't exactly paranoia if it was true. It wasn't exactly paranoia if they really were still after him. A traitor, a liar. One of hell's finest demons, who'd never really done anything at all. He lied and lied and claimed he'd done the worst when all he'd done was glue a coin to a sidewalk.
A glimmer of gold.
A glimmer of gold.
He wonders, where did that knife get left?

He finds it. He can't quite recall what happened to it, not immediately. Was it hidden, did it get taken? Did anyone even piece together what'd happened? Didn't matter. He found it eventually. Looking at it alone burns, and he squeezes his eyes tight. White-hot, burning. Cold-hot from the inside out.
Hold it for too long and he might cease to be. A red-spotted serval, no demon left to be found. A husk, no life -- it was made for him, tailored for him. Wasn't anyone without him. Decisions. He needs it. Discorporation alone means nothing to a demon, not one who can come back so easily.
Were Crowley to die, he'd plummet straight to hell. He'd be executed immediately for his crimes. Crowley wasn't strong, or smart, and he had the unfortunate habit of discorporating on a regular basis. Never had Hell been happy about that, but he'd been a good demon, hadn't he? Spanish Inquisition, wars, some of the worst crimes in history? He'd only actually done a quarter of those things he claimed to have, of course -- M25, little, daily inconveniences.
He wasn't a good demon.
Good, bad, demon had always been a defining trait. It hadn't ever occurred to him that it didn't have to be.
This is the dilemma Crowley faces, staring down at white-hot, glimmering, burning gold.
And, very carefully, Crowley reaches for the knife, cradling it in ill-suited paws. A simple slip has him brushing against uncovered gold, and Crowley hisses through his teeth, white-hot burning, cold-hot. Don't panic. He drops it. Checks the damages.
Nothing. Not one singed fur.
A sweep of the tail. Maybe he hadn't held it long enough? He'll burn out if he's not careful, overdoes it, holds it too long, but ... carefully, gently, he presses a paw against the blade. Grits his teeth against the light, the cold burning ache of it leeching into everything that makes him him. A demon can't wield that which is holy.
And yet, when he looks at it, at his paw, there's nothing. Nothing feels missing. It hurts. It hurts.
But that's it.
He's too woozy to question it. Crowley picks up the knife, gold, glittering, heaven-sent gold, and leaves. The brush of gold feels like bursts of electricity, numbing and painful all the same.

Maybe, if Crowley were more like to run to people with his problems, he might've recruited someone to help him. Aurum, most likely, or maybe Snarl. Maybe this would have been better. Maybe the chances of this going sour would've fallen.
Crowley hasn't yet learned when to ask for help. He falls, and he falls, and he falls, and he pushes away the hands that help him. Was it fair, to ask something like that of Aurum? Hold a knife to rotted skin, ask him to protect him if they came back again.
Crowley doesn't want to be protected. He's tired of being weak, and he's tired of being scared. He's a liar, and stubborn, and .. and he'd abandoned Aziraphale. Aziraphale, who had so much faith in Heaven. Who made excuses again and again. Who liked food, and wine, and books. Who trusted easily, and got hurt because of it.
Crowley doesn't think he deserves to be protected, or liked, if he isn't doing anything in kind. If he isn't providing for someone, what does he deserve? Why does he deserve to be their friend? He's selfish, and tolerates things until he doesn't, and he doesn't talk about things, and he doesn't think about things.
It's just Crowley. Crowley and his knife, and his stupid paranoia. He knows they're there. It's just a matter of finding them before they found him.

Crowley's always been good at sleuthing. He'd rescued Aziraphale again and again and again, and it wasn't just because of miracles. Even stumbling over himself, if he wanted to find something, he'd find it eventually. Find the trail. Rotting, burned. Burning sulfur.
Hell-bound demons have a distinct smell, once you get down to it. It wasn't hard. It wasn't hard at all. Heart pounding, aching. He's scared. He's always scared. Behind the end of a knife, he feels no safer. An act, a barrier.
Despite what one may be lead to believe, Crowley wasn't made to hurt. He fell for questions, wrong place wrong time. He was a tempter, he lead them to doubt and he put a solution right in front of people. They didn't have to take it. He didn't want them to, but, well, if they did, was he at fault? For offering a choice?
Free will was a choice, but not one Crowley had ever had.

"Of course you still have it," He finds them. Of course he does. Curled lips, flattened ears. The stench of rotting in the air. They look at him, wild-eyed. Their corporation is falling apart on them, piece by piece. Strings of flesh from their shoulder, maggots feasting. They've been waiting. They've been looking. This whole time. It's not fair. It's not fair. He didn't ask for this, he never had a choice. Humans, these animals, they'd always had a choice. They chose who they wanted to be, they chose their path. Crowley had never had that. An accident. He tripped again and again and again and any mistake lead to his end.
It's not fair.
"Fuck was I ssh'posshed to do, leave it out on a platter for you?"" Crowley sneers past the handle. He can do this. He will do this. And he'll do it again and again and again if he has to. He's not a pawn. He'll take his destiny within his hands and line his own path with its ashes. The cheetah snorts, but a squeal is drawn from their mouth as Crowley advances, head tilted. Gleaming, burning gold. One wrong move, one wrong slice.
He wants to hurt them. He doesn't want to hurt anyone at all.
He wants to be left alone.
"If you think," Deep breaths, steady voice. Intimidating as anything. Crowley isn't as scary as he thinks he is, but he can play a part. Maybe he never wanted to scare anyone worth scaring to begin with. "I'll give in, get burned alive, dragged to hell," He's scared, he's scared, he's so afraid. He wants to be alone. He wants to be his own. He wants Aziraphale back, and he wants to see Aurum. He doesn't want to be here, and he's sick of pretending. "You're wrong," They're wrong, they're wrong, they're wrong. He'll prove them wrong. Grit his teeth over the knife, advance. Crowley has not ever met a demon who wasn't a coward.
Crowley isn't anyone. He's not anyone important, and he's not anyone that they'll ever remember, should they replace him without a thought. He'll make them listen. He'll make them leave. They'll forget, and Crowley will be just another somebody lost to time.
"Sssho listen here." Heart pounding, head spinning, he's barely here. He's acting on instinct, on impulse. He'll do what it takes. Whatever it takes. He's tired, he's so tired. He's so tired of being bossed around and controlled. He's so tired of being afraid, of making excuses for everything he does. For this single moment, he'll admit it -- he's him. "I'm not going back. You're not going to do anything. None of you," He'll make it happen. He'll make it happen. He will. The demon curls its lips, tries to snarl something derisive.
Crowley doesn't want to hear it. They yelp.
"You're going to forget about thiss." He demands, blunt. Inside, he's screaming, screaming, screaming. He so rarely sticks up for himself. He's so rarely fought back. Maybe he won't again. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But .. this once. "Or," Sharp grin, teeth. The gleam of a knife, hot-cold white. It's pressed against their neck, only just. Singing gold, the sent of burning fur.
Demons are cowards, in the end.
"Fine," He gasps, snarling. Pressing a paw to the sting as Crowley draws away, cold. They narrow their eyes at him. "It's not forever. It's not the end." Until they can find out a way to get to him, he means. They're cowards, they're scared. No miracles, new forms. Crowley doesn't respond. Keeps eye contact. It might be genuine, it might not be.
Crowley will be lost to history as a traitor and a liar.
And then, they're gone. Even still, Crowley can't breathe easy. He's not safe, and he never will be.
He'll take his destiny, and he'll, and he'll ...
Deep breaths. Head pounding, vision spinning. Four legs is worse than none. He doesn't want to be here. He's sick of being something else, and he's so afraid, and he's so open. Crowley stumbles, and he walks, and he trips. Farther away from here. Somewhere sunny, and warm, and secluded. Somewhere alone, or maybe not. He's not sure if he wants to be or not.
And, at last .. he trips. And, when he hits the ground, well -- needless to say, there's no serval there. A black and red snake, curled up on the grass. A knife clatters to the ground. Cold, white-hot light.
He's tired. He's so tired. But he did it, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. A shaky breath, and the snake coils into itself, black gleaming scales and block goop dripping from his now-uncovered eye.
Later. Maybe everything will be alright later.

//TL;DR part 3! crowley threatened a demon and may POTENTIALLY be left alone by hell, depending on if i come up w future plots (pensive emoji). he was so worn and exhausted by the experience though that now theres just sorta,,, a snake,,, chillin. with a knife nearby. hes not Immediately placable as crowley if youre not Looking so your char is free to freak out (pensive emoji)
this is TECHNICALLY the final part. again though there is some post-arc stuff.

Tanglewood / Re: liar dance // vacation?
« on: December 04, 2019, 12:10:02 PM »
Crowley's opinion on Tanglewood's territory likely is influenced by the fact he can't fly, even with wings. He's stuck on the ground with the mud. Crowley is an awfully vain creature, see, and he can't exactly miracle away the filth these days.
Surprisingly, when Aurum arrives, Crowley doesn't even flinch as the other brushes against him. Then again, he doesn't actually react much, either. It's an improvement, at least.
"Pet rocks don't talk," Crowley says dryly. He's not particularly impressed, just from a personal perspective. From a plain ol' Tangler perspective .. whatever, he guesses. Another person to keep things lively, even if they're the most annoying person in the world. Already. He tries not to judge people immediately, but ... well. He'll make an exception. He's been too nice to everyone as is. "Don't really care, but," He chances a look up at Aurum, shrugging. Been here for months, and he still doesn't know what is or isn't allowed, huh. Then again, outsiders didn't usually arrive with intentions besides joining, so he didn't have anything to compare it to.
... It probably didn't help Crowley generally didn't bother reading the rules.
//rushed ... (pensive emoji)

Tanglewood / Re: AIN'T WHAT YOU COULD BE — intro/training
« on: December 04, 2019, 08:11:32 AM »
Crowley had been around for .. well, a long time. Like, a long time. He'd seen a lot of wars in his time, was "involved" in some. As such, in this context, it might be kind of .. strange, that Crowley doesn't know how to fight. Even when he was in a more common form. .. Listen, to be entirely honest, he'd just faked it. Miracles were his thing back then, and it's not like Hell wouldn't appreciate some sloth in the name of evil or whatever. He didn't have miracles now, though, so he kept on getting fucking trashed cause he was small and lanky and most certainly not a fighter. Slinky and graceless.
Still, the serval can't help but groan at the shouting he hears. He knows that sorta thing. He doesn't wanna do it -- the shouting alone causes his fucking headache to hike. He was sneaky. He was real sneaky. He could get out of it, right? .. He was also hurt, but he doubts three minor* injuries will stop this fucking dude, and he'll fucking know, if he's sticking around. So, first taking the chance to bury his head beneath his wings for a good few, healing seconds, he finally gets up, stumbling just slightly. Fuck. Shit. This sucks.
*surface level. More to it then that.
To be entirely honest, seeing the cheetah gave him a flash of .. anxiety. It's not him, it's not the other one, but for a second, he almost thinks it is.
He's pretty sure that demon wouldn't be here yelling about fucking training, though, so, after reassuring himself by glancing between Aurum and Snarl, he settles. Right. Right. If nothing else, both Snarl and Aurum are here. Neither of which he can spar with. Because he's fucking small. He's so small -- it's weird. Bigger than a cat, smaller than literally everyone else. He'd been considered pretty tall when he'd been human-shaped, but that was cause there was less fuckin shape diversity.
Right. Right right right.
"Crowley," The serval allows, sounding put out. He seats himself beside Aurum and makes himself small, shutting his eye, his fuckin -- his one goddamn eye, what the hell. This is gonna suck. If Crowley hasn't picked up fighting in six thousand years, he sure as hell won't now, probably. He's only ever been good as a ... as a distraction, in actual, live combat. Yknow. Barreling into people and climbing over their faces like a goddamn madman. True stories, that was all he'd done.

Tanglewood / Re: liar dance // vacation?
« on: December 03, 2019, 04:36:49 PM »
Crowley probably wouldn't have considering Tanglewood a vacation spot by any means. It was a shit place even when one had grown to like it as much as he had. Can't get radiation poisoning if you're a demon! ... Probably. Crowley wouldn't like having to deal with that. He didn't exactly get a second do-over -- he'd go straight back to hell if he died. Would probably be the end for him! ... Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe.
Anyways. There was another asshole yelling on the border. .. Actually, not a ton of people did that. Crowley wouldn't know though. Things tended to blend together for him, and he certainly didn't remember a lot of the joiners or .. other such people. Actually, not a ton of people visited for non-joiner purposes.
"Yeah, yeah, here," Crowley had long since mastered the art of being decently friendly to people early on. Not being an asshole, anyways. Didn't do to hate people or get hated if you were gonna be stuck with them. "Lisstenin'" And he was. The serval looks over him lazily, waiting. He didn't even have a sliver of an idea what the hell the guy wanted but .. y'know. He was here, at least.

Tanglewood / Re: never over - o, joining
« on: December 03, 2019, 04:17:16 PM »
Crowley hasn't ever mustered strong opinions on most species of animals. It was somewhat bizarre to him that people had without ever encountering them, even. Spiders, snakes -- awfully similar in that sense, weren't they? It was a large part of the reason he didn't tend to be in public with that form. Or ... hadn't been at all since he'd arrived, actually, though he was partial to lounging around as one at home with his plants, or in the sun in a secluded spot. Which .. didn't technically count as public, thanks. He hadn't been witnessed yet.
The serval, having gravitated towards the ongoings by habit, is .. admittedly just a little startled to see a spider. It was awfully big, wasn't it? Crowley had been half-convinced that it was mostly ... mammals and predators that were, y'know ... well. he'll be blunt. thinking and sentient. Glad to see he wasn't the only one*.
*To be entirely honest, Crowley considered himself more of a snake than .. anything else. It was just that it was more convenient to be .. literally anything else.
"No problem," Crowley states as he comes to a rest between Snarl and Aurum. He spares a glance to Snarl -- he had more leniency for Snarl's .. behavior than most, but he gives her a somewhat bewildered smirk nonetheless. That was sure a way to endear newcomers. Promptly turning his attention back to Abathur, the serval shrugs. "Crowley." He introduces. He could probably offer to help the guy out but .. nah. He's been too helpful already. Best to be bland and generic in his greeting, cause, hey, at least he's there at all.

« on: December 03, 2019, 11:23:55 AM »
Upon hearing the call, Crowley's first thought is something along the lines of Hm. This sucks. His first and only meeting here had been from the same guy, hadn't it? He hadn't been leader then, certainly, but .. Anyways.
The old proxy dies, returns from the dead a month or so later and then, immediately after, apparently steps up to leader. He can't think of another reason why the wolfhound would be hosting a meeting. Crowley is paranoid by nature -- it just doesn't sit well with him. He had hardly seen the wolfhound around when he had been alive. What gave him the right?
.. To be entirely honest, the main reason Crowley isn't more suspicious or bitter is because Aurum seems .. fine with it. By no means does it alleviate whatever the hell is going on in his head, but it .. helps. He trusts Aurum's judgement. Quite a lot, in fact. Which is to say that if Aurum couldn't do much about it, nothing would -- not immediately, at least.
Spitefully, for a long moment, Crowley contemplates .. not turning up, before realizing that, hey, he lives here, and he should probably be caught up. So, with a sigh, he makes his way over -- and promptly beelines to seat himself next to Aurum. He spares a single, unsure glance up towards the lion, tail curling around himself, before promptly focusing on Leroy.
.. Nice that it was Crow who made the choice instead of the wolfhound just ... shoving himself into place. Even so, words don't mean a lot to the serval. Next to nothing, in fact*. He will, however, give Leroy the benefit of doubt.
*Per usual, Crowley is a liar. He very selectively cares about words.
"Congrats," He says softly, half-grinning up at Aurum. He deserves it, probably more than anyone. Ranks don't mean a lot here, certainly -- this place was pretty self-run, more member-based than anything. There was no way that this place would run so well with so few ranked members frequently around if this wasn't the case. It was still .. validation, though, and a sense of obligation.
Anyways. He's not sure what the point of that self-rant was.
The rest wasn't .. a lot. They're doin' Holiday parties now, apparently. Crowley didn't care too much for the holidays, or Christmas at the least, but he means .. whatever, that's him. Aurum has been given a task. Crowley glances at him, tail twitching as he talks, and remains silent. Somewhat strange for someone so opinionated, but .. regardless.
//crowley is a paranoid bastard, ic opinions hdskjfhsdjf

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