half of heaven * joiner

[arcy]

[div style="width: 350px; height: auto; font-family: arial; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 12px; text-align: justify;"]//(chanting) im a basic bastard and i have NO SHAME
mobile!! (hence the super temp profile work lol)
Crowley couldn't precisely explain why he was here. Not officially, anyways. Downstairs hadn't told given him any orders to --  not that he'd be this involved if they had. And though it'd be impossibly easy to start enough drama to get some sort of commendation, he couldn't say he found the idea that appealing. He was hardly a proper demon in this way. He'd be found frequently causing minor chaos, and stopping far short of whatever the hell his demonic coworkers were doing. It helped that he got a lot of leeway from the wars and such he had supposedly caused. Not that he had a single paw involved in any of them -- it was hardly undemonic to lie, at least?
This is not the point. The point is, Crowley scared Aziraphale off again, and he's not sure how much back and forth he can take before he loses his mind. There's only so many times you can be spun on a merry-go-round of Aziraphale's alternating affection and .. resentment? No, not that, but something.
Aziraphale likes him, Crowley is sure of that much. He's happy to give Aziraphale his space, too -- it was hard for an angel to be friends with a demon, what with all that propaganda, he's sure.
So maybe it's just ... look. These places are sort of like ... no-go zones. He's heard of Heaven and Hell sending agents a couple of times, before ultimately just .. dropping it like some sort of goddamn hot potato. It was fascinating. Mysteries were like catnip to this particular demon, and, anyways, Aziraphale wouldn't think to find him here, which is sort of a double-edged blade, but it means he'll get a wonderful sulk while it lasts.
It's just a question of whether it's worth it. The mud here is particularly resistant -- unlike his plants, they stubbornly refuse to listen to what he tells it, and remains stubbornly stuck to his paws.
He just had to choose the filthiest place, didn't he? Now, Crowley has never been accused of being consistent or whatever the better word is, but even so he feels disinclined to back out. He's fucking done with pirates, and blood-ridden edgelords, or whatever. So the swamp hermits it was.
*Crowley had been a pirate for a good while, ages back. It didn't live up to the hype.
"Does anybody actually live here?" Crowley shouts sourly, fully expecting somebody to be listening. His tail, resembling its domestic counterpart's more than a serval's, twitches behind him. He wishes he could sleep for a fucking century again, but Aziraphale had made him promise. "Don't answer that. I'm looking to join." He lowers his voice to sit back on his haunches.
He hopes it'll be worth it and whatever it was Heaven and Hell were avoiding didn't come to bite him in the ass.*
*It would.

[torren]

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S o l i v a g a n t. n.
A voice cutting through the swamp caused Torren to pause.  Perhaps surprising due to his noble lineage, the youth cared little that his fur seemed to accumulate mud during his wandering.  Upon returning to the town he planned on washing the muck off but as he walked, he ignored the feeling.  The most bother came from the way his paws sank into the ground, hindering his movement with every step.  His ringed tail lashed once, patience growing thin before he decided to follow the voice before he lost some of his mind.

The humidity clung to his fur as well, thick and meant for colder climates.  Of course, Torren knew if the feeling grew unbearable, he could attempt shifting into a more suitable form.  The Scottish wildcat preferred his birth shape though, when put to the question honestly.  He simply felt more comfortable in his most familiar shape.

When he finally reached the border, his brown eyes locked on the voice's owner.  A serval waited for him there, possessing an attitude that made him smile slightly.  Patience, his favorite virtue, failed to show in everyone he met. The prince intended not to judge however, since he may be misreading the stranger, who may simply be stressed or having a bad day.

"Hello then," the demon-blooded feline offered, blinking.  "Welcome to Tanglewood." An auto-acceptance policy meant he felt quite comfortable greeting and inviting others in despite his own relative newness.  "My name's Torren." The youth's head dipped down, voice intently friendly and polite as he spoke.

[wormwood.]

When it came to heaven and hell, Wormwood found himself decidedly unimpressed. Despite the fact that he himself was now a rotting hellhound that looked as though he had crawled from the deepest deaths to come and and bring chaos down upon Tanglewood, and he really couldn't give less of a shit. For one thing, he still had no idea why he was stuck in this form right now, and even if it was to do something particularly nasty, nobody would have much luck using him as an instrument of death, considering how much he cared about Tanglewood as a whole. For another thing, Wormwood had no true belief in the gods above or the devil below, besides the gods that already walked among them. After all, they lived with a fucking ghost for gods sake, why should he care if there was a god up there inflicting all of the current cruelties upon them? It pissed him off, of course, to think that every thing that was making him and his friends suffer was a conscious decision made by some big man in the sky, but he preferred to think that there was truly nothing out there, and they were just driven by their own fates forward.

He had been resting comfortably near the edge of the town when be heard Crowley's call, and the canine raised his head, looking around and curiously when someone announced that they wanted to join. The chaser figured it was part of his job now to help welcome people – although he had already considered it his job as a normal member – and he slowly got to his feet, moving through the thick trees and carefully avoiding the mud all around the Tanglewood swamp as he slowly made his way to where Crowley was standing, along with Torren. Coming up beside the younger prince, Wormwood sat back on his haunches and looked Crowley over curiously, his head tilting to one side as he glanced at Crowley's small form. He wasn't that much larger than the male now, in fact they were roughly the same size, but Worm still wasn't used to not being a lion, so he looked down at Crowley as if he was so much smaller. He smiled a bit when Torren introduced himself to Crowley, glad to see the small male put and about, since he hadn't seen him around too often until now. It was nice to see him around, and he was so sweet that he was sure it made for a good welcome.

Tail wagging a bit behind him, Worm smiled a very toothy grin at Crowley as his golden eyes flicked up to the feline's face, "Well then, hello there. My name is Wormwood, and I'm a chaser here in Tanglewood. What's your name then, buddy?" It felt pretty one sided to introduce himself to the male when the demon hadn't introduced himself yet, but Torren already had, and Wormwood wanted to show him that he had done a good job, even though the feline didn't act too much like a child most of the time.

[glow=black,2,300]YOUR CHANNEL IS UNREACHABLE[/glow]

[arcy]

[align=center]

[glow=#000,1,400]all you've ever been is a noose to hang on to — ｡+ﾟ.[/glow]

[div style="width: 480px; height: auto; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 13px;"]It was probably for the best Torren had decided not to hold it against Crowley. Patience was a virtue but it was one Crowley, unfortunately, possessed. But Crowley, as it happened, was muddy, and hurt, and realizing this was not one of his smarter ideas. Crowley, as it happened, was more prone to dramatics than actually using his god-given brain. He scowls halfheartedly for a moment, but can't bring himself to continue to keep up the attitude.
Crowley watches with eyes half-lidded behind sunglasses as a fucking hellhound trudges after the wildcat. Okay. Whatever. Fuck. It's not like he seems hostile or anything -- quite the opposite, really. Crowley considers this new information for a moment, then promptly decides that it doesn't really matter.
"Ahh, yeah. Hi, thanks," Oh god. Oh fuck. He was actually going to socialize with these people. Nothing against them, Crowley just hasn't actually interacted with anybody in ages. And, as it happens, he'd entirely forgotten to introduce himself until Wormwood asked him. He can't believe the hellhound(wormwood?) called him buddy -- guess you really can't judge a book by its cover, huh? "Uh. Crowley. What do you mean by Chaser?" It would be reasonable to assume Crowley had done some thorough research before trudging into a swamp that Heaven and Hell both avoided. You would be incorrect.

[wormwood.]

When asked about his position, the hellhound blinked in surprise before chuckling softly. He supposed he had to get used to explaining to newcomers what he was now, if he was going to truly hold the position, "Ah, a chaser is a semi-high position here in Tanglewood. We're essentially a stepping stone to bigger things, but we still have important duties. We greet joiners at the border, we help defend the clan, we're just generally active all around, so you can expect to see me around pretty often." He smiled and laughed a bit, shaking his head. It was true he was around often – the constant presence of something on his mind distracted him from all of the sadness being inflicted upon Tanglewood – but he wasn't sure how enthusiastic Crowley would be about this, given how he seemed vaguely uncomfortable with the hellhound's presence. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he assumed it was because he looked odd in this form, or sort of intimidating. He tried to present himself to others as the least intimidating creature he could manage, but it didn't often work, since he still looked like a rotted beast from hell even when he pulled in on himself and tried to look small.

[glow=black,2,300]YOUR CHANNEL IS UNREACHABLE[/glow]

[trojan g.]

[align=center][div style="bgcolor= black; width: 500px; font-family: georgia;font-size:12px;text-align:justify"]Moth hadn't been looking around at the borders of the group for a while now, busy with gathering things for both her collection, and now a small herb stash that she would need to carry around with her just in case. Before she had been promoted, she had time to look at the border and collect things she liked, but it seemed as though now she would be lucky if she was able to do everything, though maybe she'd get lucky for often. Today was one of the lucky days it seemed, where she was able to come over to the border after hearing some talking there.

Padding over to the small group that was forming, Moth would choose to sit next to Wormwood, her large golden winged form differing largly from his own new hell hound-esc form. Looking over the animal that called himself Crowly, the female could only think to herself that the name sounded odd to her, though her name must sound odd to him as well - Moth. "Hello," The female would speak, "My name's Moth, welcome to Tanglewood Crowley. I'm a medic here."

[arcy]

[align=center]

[glow=#000,1,400]all you've ever been is a noose to hang on to — ｡+ﾟ.[/glow]

[div style="width: 480px; height: auto; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 13px;"]In no way does Wormwood resemble one of Hell's usual hounds. There were, however, enough similarities that it had not helped with Crowley startling. See, Hell had a nasty habit of sacrificing lower ranked demons to feed the hounds. Crowley being a lower ranked demon, even if a well known one, tended to avoid them. This being said, Crowley, up until this point, had no reason to re-evaluate his automatic responses.
"Huh, interesting. Thanks," Crowley is not exactly in the habit of saying thanks. The opposite, in fact. Demons don't say thanks. But Crowley can guarantee that hell isn't going to be looking while he's here, so he allows his maw to quirk upwards as he says so.
For a moment, he contemplates what it'd like to climb the hierachy. He promptly grimaces to himself. Responsibilites? Yikes. That's exactly what Crowley was running away from.
"Interesting name -- not that i have any room to say so," There's a flash of sharp teeth as his grin widens. Moth. He won't presume to know the history behind that. "Uh," Crowley makes a rather strange noise as he attempts to, go -- satan -- somebody forbid, be polite. Aziraphale would be so proud. Which was precisely what made this encounter absolutely disgusting. But Crowley knew the importance of a first impression. This wasn't a memorable one, certainly, but at least they wouldn't hate his fucking guts. Crowley clears his throat. "Nnnice to meet you," He tries again, much more successfully this time.