09-07-2019, 02:47 PM
[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]At least somebody around here was doing something other than moping. He wouldn't exactly call Crowley cheery by the way he glared at his bin full of plants like they were misbehaving children, but - it was still better than nothing.
On approach, he wants to tell Wormwood to shut up at the mere mention of Selby's outburst. That would be a real classic - Worm got that one a lot. After Pastel had been murdered, the medic had acted... Much different from the Selby he was used to. Crow was perhaps worse, isolated and quiet as he'd become, but he recalls the shallow scratches up and down Selby's arms from viciously tearing out his rose bushes, and feels a twinge of pity rise with the sympathy. None of their high positions seemed to be in a very good place.
Nonetheless, that was then, and this was an entirely different story: the plants in Crowley's cart look rather wilted, but trying their best to stand at attention in spite of the fact that they were without water or quality soil. His little soldiers in a row looked half dead, but earnest enough to take a threat to heart. (If plants could feel things, that is.) "You know," Red says idly, half a smile breaking out on his face, "I used to have friends who gardened. They had a record with.. Plant music on it. I think it's a load of crock, but -" He gestures toward the plants, "They might like it, y'never know."
On approach, he wants to tell Wormwood to shut up at the mere mention of Selby's outburst. That would be a real classic - Worm got that one a lot. After Pastel had been murdered, the medic had acted... Much different from the Selby he was used to. Crow was perhaps worse, isolated and quiet as he'd become, but he recalls the shallow scratches up and down Selby's arms from viciously tearing out his rose bushes, and feels a twinge of pity rise with the sympathy. None of their high positions seemed to be in a very good place.
Nonetheless, that was then, and this was an entirely different story: the plants in Crowley's cart look rather wilted, but trying their best to stand at attention in spite of the fact that they were without water or quality soil. His little soldiers in a row looked half dead, but earnest enough to take a threat to heart. (If plants could feel things, that is.) "You know," Red says idly, half a smile breaking out on his face, "I used to have friends who gardened. They had a record with.. Plant music on it. I think it's a load of crock, but -" He gestures toward the plants, "They might like it, y'never know."
[div style="text-align:center;font-size:10pt;line-height:9pt;color:black;font-weight:bold;font-family:verdana;"]IF YOUR FORTRESS IS UNDER SIEGE,
YOU CAN ALWAYS RUN TO ME
YOU CAN ALWAYS RUN TO ME