Event - Heavy

[apocalypsehowmods]

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Heavy

➥ Deep

(cw: claustrophobia, existential dread, power loss, victim-blaming, time distortion, supernatural compulsion and hunger)

After the cold snap and plumbing issues comes the calm. For a few days, at least, nothing seems to break. Or break more than normal where the Flophouse is concerned. A heavy snow sweeps through and covers the streets. Not a blizzard, but thick white fluff that forms a blanket overnight. The snowplows aren't prepared and it's simply… quiet. People stay indoors, waiting for the weather to clear a bit. There are light flurries throughout the next few days, topping off the snowfall, and for the most part, the city just shuts down.

Even ADI puts out a notice that employees should stay home. Stay safe, stay cocooned in what warmth you have. Just… stay. Each day the message comes out from a generic work email, help@adi.com:

Shelter in place. No work today. Stay safe. We'll get by without you.

The next day is the same. The snow piles higher overnight, covering windows and freezing doors shut.

Shelter in place. No work today. Stay safe. We're s̴̳͘͠ͅt̶̨͂̍r̵̯̼͊͝ŭ̷͚̳g̶̠͋̓g̴̳̱̔͘l̸̤̻̎i̷̭͑͠ń̵̗͜͝g̷̤͂, but we'll get by.

Day after day. Frost creeps into the corridors of the ADI housing complex and the Flophouse. There is no food or other supplies coming and it feels like the hours are stretching out more and more.

Shelter in place. No work today. S̴̬̓t̸͉̿a̴̫̿ỳ̸͉ ̸̠̉s̸̲͆a̶͙͊f̶̢̏ē̷̤. We can't keep doing this, but we have to.

Attempts to leave the housing areas will be met with walls of snow that appear to be impossibly high. Around the flophouse, especially, it's as though they've been placed into the bottom of an icy hole. The walls stretch up higher than anyone can climb or fly, with only a pinprick of bluish light coming down from the opening above, deeper than anyone can dig through. Not even a magical portal or beam of heat can get through. There's just a wall of snow and/or ice through the portal and more snow beyond the beam. What's more, anyone who has supernatural abilities or is tied to a patron, even those not actively trying to feed that patron, will find themselves feeling increasingly drained, like something is sapping away whatever reserves they have, leaving them hungrier and hungrier, their powers waning by the minute, with a very limited set of options to feed upon.

S̸͉͗ḣ̷̦ȩ̵͒l̷͈̍t̸͎̽e̵̺̓ř̵̠ in place. No work today. S̴̬̓t̸͉̿a̴̫̿ỳ̸͉ ̸̠̉s̸̲͆a̶͙͊f̶̢̏ē̷̤. Why aren't they coming? This is their fault.

S̶͔͆h̸̅ͅȅ̴̮l̵̬̈́t̷̯́e̴̥̐ř̷̙ ̶̳̕ì̷̲n̵͓͌ ̷̮̋p̵̟̈́l̶̢̎a̷̺͠c̷̻̈́ḙ̵̊.̷̦̇ ̴̬̀N̸͕͌o̵͎̊ work today. S̴̬̓t̸͉̿a̴̫̿ỳ̸͉ ̸̠̉s̸̲͆a̶͙͊f̶̢̏ē̷̤. Why aren't ỹ̸̡͐ͅô̷͕̫ù̶̟̣͊ coming? Ḟ̴͓i̷̤͗x̶̨͝ ̴̜͒t̵̯̅h̴͔͛i̸͖̽s̶̱̚!

((ooc: Plain text versions of all messages are located here (LINK). You can also hover your mouse over the distorted text for hover text translations.))

➥ Chasm

(cw: warped perceptions, memory-loss, implied trauma, supernaturally-induced feelings of missing out)

You've missed a step.

After what seems an interminable time, someone is finally able to tunnel through, to get out of the massive snowy prison everyone has been trapped in and-

And the city looks normal. Checking the wall you just came through, it's not actually there. As soon as one person makes it out, the effect collapses for everyone. There's a wintry wonderland of Gloucester beyond, and it seems like things have gone on without everyone. But there is a sense in the air that something has happened, something earth-shattering that everyone missed out on.

People on the streets seem to have a look about them. Haunted? Something happened, but when they're questioned about it, they can't seem to come up with an answer as to what. They just seem… confused, overwhelmed. Yes, something happened. No, they can't tell you what. Weren't you here for it? Didn't you see it? Didn't you feel it? How could you have missed something that big?

That feeling will sit with characters as time passes, dragging down on them. It may even begin to feel like a physical weight for the most affected. You missed it. You could have done something to change things, but you missed it.

➥ Stuck

(cw: flooding; natural disasters; damage to homes, workplaces, and possessions; references to burial, suffocation, crushing, and murder; supernaturally induced anxiety, responsibility fatigue, and feelings of inadequacy; illness.)

The feeling of having missed something only intensifies back at ADI headquarters. It looks as though the storm itself attacked the building; several exterior doors have been broken off their hinges, ice expanded within the metal past its breaking point, and the expansive water damage and muck ground into the carpets, walls, and battered elevators conjure images of an indoor avalanche…or a glacier pushing its way through, slow but biting cold and utterly inexorable.

There's no time to dwell on what's happened, on the days of hunger and isolation nor whatever disaster occurred here. There's too much to do, too much to fix, one crisis after another. There's the obvious problem: the need to repair the building and proof it against the cold wind that still blows in across the foyer, but no matter one's work area there is more to do than can be done. Endless requests and projects flood in from every quarter, all of them urgent, all of them important. As soon as one thing is finished, three more problems emerge: contracts to manage, investigations to be made into reported phenomena, glitching computers to repair, vandals to repel from the gaping wound that is the lobby entrance in the middle of the night–the list goes on, and on, and on.

Rumors circulate, stories about a prisoner in the depths of the building's secret basements who disappeared into the crushing ice and grit that had filled the cells, disagreements about whether it was a rescue or if the unnamed prisoner was suffocated, snuffed out by some indiscriminately vengeful force. No one seems to know the truth; no one even seems to know the name of the prisoner, who they were, what they had done to end up there. No one has the time to look too deeply into it; even head of security Neil Grace, is caught leaping from task to task, never catching up long enough to turn his attention to the matter in any meaningful capacity.

The struggle to keep up, the futile effort to keep one's head above water, never relents. No matter one's priorities at work or at home, something is always wrong, always in need of attention, the knowledge of things undone needling at the edge of consciousness like a toothache in one's soul. The Flophouse is in a disastrous state worse even than ADI headquarters, a wild-eyed Bonnie all but pouncing on residents with an endless list of tasks to fix it, to make the building livable again. At the ADI apartments, exhausted caretaker Benny Holt seems to traipse up and down the halls at all hours of the day and night with his toolbelt, gaunt and exhausted and tapping at doors in reply to requests to fix plumbing, lighting, and water damage that never seem to stay fixed. Local staff and interdimensional residents alike begin to fall ill, bodies and minds burning out under the strain, but giving yourself time to rest and heal means piling more work on those around you.

There is no time. There is no rest. There is only the work you are failing to complete.

➥ Sink

(cw: claustrophobia, suffocation or near-suffocation)

As if that isn’t enough, there’s still investigative work to be done. Once again, it seems as if Coffins Beach is a site of interest, as ADI has been tipped off that there might be something (or things) in the water. Again.

For safety’s sake - and perhaps to make sure that no one collapses out there alone - pairs are sent out to the beach to keep an eye on the water and to see if anything interesting has washed up. Orders are to both watch the water and walk along the beaches and through the dunes nearby.

Watching the water doesn't seem to yield any results, no matter how long it's observed. Nothing washes ashore either. But then there's the dunes. Sooner or later, it seems like climbing them and walking among them is all there is to do. Anyone who has spent any time at Coffins Beach might notice that they seem a bit larger than they have been in months past. Not inconceivably, but noticeably. There are dunes tall enough to scale the sides up to the top, though some are still no more than little mounds.

It doesn't matter which, when you fall into it. Small hill or gentle mound, one minute you’re walking on the surface. The next minute, as you put your foot down, it begins to sink. It can't be sinking, of course, sand dunes on a beach don't have quicksand. They’re nothing but dense piles of sand. You can't fall into a sand dune.

You are falling into a sand dune. There’s a hole in the sand, just wide enough for your body and you have fallen into it. Perhaps you're a little bit lucky and your partner witnessed it. Maybe you aren't and you suddenly just disappear. It's a long fall, though, down a tube of sand that seems hard-packed around the edges. At first. The drop is just far enough that light can be seen from above, but not the top of the hole itself. Call out. You might be heard. And maybe your partner is already trying to get you out.

But the moment you hit the bottom, it seems like the hole becomes unstable. Especially if someone is above and trying to reach down. Even if they're not, though, sand begins to crumble from the edges and sides of the tunnel, falling down on the body trapped at the bottom of it. A slow trickle, not a burial. Not yet. Still, it could be, if rescue doesn't come, if the person left up above can't dig you out. Meanwhile, the sand falls and falls, pressing down on limbs and creeping up your body. It’s cold and struggling only seems to make the sand fall faster.

Surely you’ll be rescued before it covers you completely. Or soon after. Surely.

➥ Mod Notes

• GENERAL - Players are welcome to play NPCs for themselves when they are needed in a thread. If you need more information on general behavior for these types of NPCs, please feel free to ask! In general, the information provided in the prompts should be sufficient and ordinary people will act like… ordinary people! You're welcome to make up any details beyond that for your specific scene. Please remember that character deaths are permanent and plan accordingly!
  
  
• DEEP (16-20 February) - Characters will be trapped in their homes for five days, confined to either the Flophouse or the individual apartment buildings within the ADI complex. It will feel like significantly longer, even for characters with fully accurate internal clocks. Travel outside of these bounds will be impossible, even with the use of supernatural abilities. The network will be fully operational; though, not the regular internet or anything beyond the internal ADI network. Characters will also receive periodic messages from help@adi.com begging for help, even as they order everyone to shelter in place.
  
  Characters who are outside their homes when the snow starts will find they're able to get inside just fine, but will not be able to get out again. Characters may be trapped with people who are not their standard roommates/at their usual housing, if they're unlucky (or lucky).
  
  
• CHASM (21-24 February) - The first character(s) to break through the snow barrier will feel an especially powerful weight fall upon them before there's suddenly just… nothing. The snow walls are gone. Even if another character was in the middle of digging through, the snow is just there one minute, then gone the next. Characters will experience a profound sense that they have missed something. This may dissipate within a day or maintain over several days. Anyone trying to question residents of the city will receive confusion and incredulity, but no answers. There is no indication that anyone seemed to notice the walls of snow. Even some of the natives at ADI will be perplexed. All non-native NPCs and some native NPCs will have experienced the same thing as the PC characters.
  
  
• STUCK (21-28 February) - The need to be doing more than they can will be ever-present for all NPCs and player characters. Those who would choose to eschew responsibilities at work or try to reprioritize will find that there is always something in need of doing that is important to them, to the point where new problems may seem to arise in impossibly, almost cartoonishly quick succession. Tasks and problems can be mundane matters related to work, building repair, and living spaces; as well as minor supernatural occurrences similar to past Dogtown TDM prompts (players are welcome to make up small supernatural encounters; anything that would affect other characters beyond a single thread should be submitted as a player plot). Characters may find themselves feeling mentally foggy and struggling to focus on core issues in the face of this inundation of needs from the people and environment around them, and may fall sick from overwork. These effects will overlap with both the Chasm and Sink prompts.
  
  
• SINK (24-28 February) - Characters who find themselves falling into one of the dunes will end up in what appears to be a vertical tunnel that is definitely too high to climb back out of, regardless of how tall the dune actually seemed to be when they were on top of it. The temperature of the sand is very cold and in addition to possible suffocation, characters may find themselves slowly freezing. Struggling or rescue attempts will quickly make the walls of the tunnel unstable. Additionally, the tunnel may not be exactly straight, depositing characters slightly or more than slightly off of their original falling point.
  
  

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Comments

[twicelost]

Staring back at people is a large part of how her kind communicate amongst each other. Silently, with no wasted motions or energy. The fact that Bruno isn't shying away has Katrina on alert. Is he planning something? What does he want from her? Has he been biding his time, gaining her trust only to betray her to people stronger than him?

And what is with his eyes?

She keeps an eye on him as he finally looks away and approaches the snow. Only once she's sure he isn't shifting his weight to attack her does she follow his gaze.

"Not normal. This is trick. Trap. I want see what is in rest of Gloucester."

She looks at Bruno again. He's not the largest human she's seen by far. But he's probably not so light that she can throw him high enough to reach the top of the wall.

"I cannot climb. Too high. Always fall. You know trick?"

[failedpromise]

(Yeah a glowing, naked woman would be pretty weird in basically any situation, unless you're used to AI. Except she'd still be weird even then, given that most AI tend to be smaller and less solid.

She leans over a bit, continuing to stare down at him.)

You know, given the state of things, I don't think anyone would blame you if you went home to rest.

(It's probably better than just lying here and doing nothing.)

[demonicmiracle]

Thank Satan for his stupid long legs, it makes traversing sand slightly easier, even if he's very much not made for this kind of terrain. If he could change his shape, he'd get rid of limbs altogether and slither along, but that's not exactly an option, so he'll just have to keep walking.

Also: Donna is his new favourite person.

"Fucking — thank you." He gestures at her in a way that's meant to indicate like, appreciation for her actually getting it. "Well, I thought we were unionizing. Except it was a bit more like a hostile take over and it was a whole... thing. Never trust the boss's favorite, I'll tell you that for free, 'cause it turns out they're usually just as much of a dickhead."

This might be the weirdest summary of the war between Heaven and Hell that anyone has ever given.

[oldbookshop]

[ Ah.

The gracious ordeal of being known is that, at least in some cases, Crowley doesn't require a translator. ]

It's a waste of breath worrying about whether Heaven is looking for ways to hatch that particular egg while we're adrift in an offshoot universe, I'm sure. [ The mortifying ordeal of being known is that he can't especially hope that putting it in his best "I do hope it doesn't rain at the regatta" tone has done him any good. He's made time to worry anyway. His first best talent.

The Almighty isn't here. By all accounting, She was either gone or keeping things very hands-off at home, too. Or maybe She got back into office and dropped the two of them here like scruffed kittens, out of the way for war to proceed apace. To be dealt with later, when they can't interfere.

No one's place to know her mind, of course. Ineffable as ever.

He'd like to not assume the worst. But he'd like a lot of things. Not to be a glorified funnel for an ancient terror likely to prey on his only friend, primarily. ]

But I don't suppose there's a threshold at which you intend to stop arguing with me in either case.

[demonicmiracle]

M'not sure that's how worrying works.

[Not that he's ever worried about anything, since he's too cool and calm and detached for that kind of thing, but if he did, he'd know that worry hardly listens to things like logic. God being absent won't take away a long ingrained fear, no matter how much Crowley might wish it could.

(Not because he wants Aziraphale to fall, he's never wanted that. He just doesn't want him to live in fear, when Crowley is fairly certain that God has long since stopped caring.)]

If you can look at me and honestly tell me that you'd not be suggesting the exact same thing were it the other way around, then I'll drop it.

[If Aziraphale truly thinks it's unnecessary and a terrible idea, then he'll be able to tell Crowley exactly that. But he suspects that isn't the case. Aziraphale knows it's necessary, he's arguing because he doesn't want to do it, not because he thinks it wouldn't work.]

[abrightboy]

[Malcolm laughs lightly.]

Yeah, well, I'm dating the guy people were laughing about me pining over now so... I guess I get the last laugh.

CW: Mentions of attempted drowning, trauma

[failedpromise]

Cortana ignores the whining for the most part, choosing instead to focus on measuring the correct amount of grounds to put in the coffee machine. Not the same is still better than-

Feels like I'm just below the surface of the water, and every time I get my head up, something else grabs my ankles and pulls me back down.

She freezes, stiffening, and the scoop slips from her fingers.

She's a tiny speck in an ocean of infinite data, trying to stay afloat even as every part of her wants to sinkdownbreatheitinconsumethelifebloodofartificialintelligenceuntilitoverwhelmshersystemsandsheceasesandiscobsumedbytheawfulp̶̱̈r̵̯̎e̸͖͑s̴̡͠e̵̮̋n̶̝̈́c̷̼̿e̵͓͛bearingdownonheritwon't-

The scoop hits the ground, scattering its precious contents across the floor.

"Shit!" She hisses, jumping slightly at the sound as she's jarred back to reality. After a moment, she gets to work cleaning up the mess. The lines of data traveling along her body waver a little in their movements.

[myfavoritemurder]

I've never met a siren.

[Always inclined towards destruction even on a small scale, Callisto starts picking off the scales one by one, not bothered in the least by any blood that rubs off on her fingers as she holds the piece of skin it from the back.]

I wonder, do your powers work on Entities and their minions?

[myfavoritemurder]

"I don't. Like. The indoors."

She spits each word out with venom, hands balled into fists, though at least she's not trying to pummel Donna with them.

"Do you have any idea how long it's going to take for all of this to melt if we don't try to do away with it ourselves?"

[oldbookshop]

Matter of perspective. [ The perspective where Aziraphale decides that's how it works and pretends that's how it works until the last possible moment. Which was always nice for things like stoves, back when stoves listened to him. Not so nice for things like forced eldritch hunger.

Well. No matter. The Eye is probably fond of selecting patrons with a certain level of that sort of fear. Just goes to show.

The matter more at hand is to weigh his odds of successfully lying to Crowley's face in this moment. They're not very good odds. There's no appeal to adding the guilt of the attempt to the stack of unpleasant things they're cultivating, either. So he can't look at Crowley and say he wouldn't be arguing for the same thing from the other end, ultimately. He's busy not being able to look at Crowley at all. ]

It's both ways around. The Web is just prissy. [ Is "it's both ways around" a sentence that's real? He is tired and doesn't care.

Never mind that it would definitely be different if the situation were reversed, for Reasons.

Aziraphale still takes a considerable pause to mull it over. And to deliberately put things off, as metaphorical nails in coffins go. ]

Best get it over with.

[ The sooner it's done, the sooner he can start working out how to avoid Crowley after the weather breaks, considering they live together. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[As far as Crowley is concerned, the nail is in the coffin the second that Aziraphale doesn't turn to look at him after he offered an easy out. Either he could have denied it, and Crowley would've dropped the subject, or he could have lied, and Crowley would have left it, too. Which may have made the whole exercise pointless, but he'd have known, if Aziraphale had lied to him, that the horror of doing this outweighed everything else, and he wouldn't have been cruel enough to push, had that been the case.]

At least neither of us got stuck with the Slaughter.

[He still would have offered, but he knows that taking secrets is nothing compared to how reticent Aziraphale would have been to actually cause physical harm.

Hypotheticals don't really help anyone, though, so he keeps any further thoughts to himself as he waits for Aziraphale's decision, already fairly confident he knows what it is.

The worst part is that winning the argument brings little relief, now that he has to give what was offered.]

Thank you. [It's a horrible thing to thank him for, but he wants to make it clear that he knows how much of a struggle this is for Aziraphale. He's thanking him for not fighting it more, and for being willing to look after himself, even if it means some discomfort for Crowley.] What's the best way to do this? Do I tell you something, or will it only work if you drag it out of me?

[The Web tends to give him a sense of what would be satisfying, a little nudge at the back of his mind. It's probably similar for Aziraphale.]

[bloodalwaystells]

"This is true." He gives a short nod, because honestly, there's all sorts of ways this could be compromised. As much as he likes to believe things are straightforward? They rarely are. "This town has an uncomfortable habit of distorting things. Complicating them."

A rare note of exhaustion creeps into his voice at that: he doesn't like to admit that it's wearing, but it is and even someone used to a high stress environment can bend a little. Break a little, even. He's not quite there yet, but he's showing signs of wear. His hands are only barely healed, and that's only the most recent of horrors, not the entirety of it.

Still, he has a job to do. He gives her his best game smile, as faint as it is, and inclines his head toward the upward slope of the dunes. "There is something to be said for a change of scenery, at least. It's still work, but after being trapped for a week, I have to admit I'm glad just to be able to breathe."

And to leave that crippling, maddening Hunger behind, because that was by far the worst part of it.

[twicelost]

[ It happens too quickly for even her to react in time. One moment he's walking, the next he's falling, the sand cascading in on itself at the top of the dune. ]

Garner!

[ She hesitates just long enough to judge how far up the dune she can go without getting caught in the collapsing of the sand. Then she's there, gazing down into this... this deep pit. She hisses. If she'd been faster, she could've grabbed him by the wrist. He'd be safe. Instead... well— ]

Garner! You hurt from fall?

[ If she goes back to the water, she might be able to fashion a sturdy rope from materials she finds, but even that would be useless if he's too hurt to hold on. ]

[worthallthis]

[Winter isn't great at chatter, either. Let's see how two stoic men manage with texting.]

No luck. Stopped digging after an hour. Not sure the snow is even real.

[oldbookshop]

[ Achievement unlocked: eye contact, but only because Aziraphale is offended enough to shoot a warning look Crowley's way. He'd rather lose all the privileges of this strange, cautious new domesticity they've been relaxing into than hear gratitude right about now.

Better done now than in a few more days when it would come as something wholly unexpected, twice as unpleasantly forced, and possibly... lacking a certain element of control, yes. But there's no version of the story where the frog ought to be thanking the scorpion.

Proper anger isn't something he takes to very well or very often. Heavenly Wrath or what have you. Aziraphale doesn't find it so hard to dredge up a strain of it now. Not at himself, strictly speaking, not at Crowley, but more at the overall situation.

Every day, he reaches a new level of unbecoming. ]

The ends matter more than the means. I'll manage. [ He has an idea where he's going. So long as he's getting hold of something true. The nature of trading in knowledge and secrets and surveillance tends to come with a bit of a drag folded in to start with.

On some level, the hope was that if they got to the point of sharing important and close-held secrets, he'd be in a position to stow Crowley's away solely for himself. To keep them. So much for that. ] You might be more comfortable sitting for it.

[ Well. Physically.

How hard can someone compartmentalize literally everything while actively asking probing questions for dark purposes, the real upcoming trial. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[Crowley draws back slightly at that look, more out of surprise than any sort of fear. He's never felt much fear around Aziraphale, at least not because of him — fearing something happening to him is a different thing entirely — which might go some ways to explain why he's liked spending time with him so much.

Especially at the start, when he was fresh out of Hell and had forgotten what it was like to not be constantly on guard.

That's why it's best to do this now, before it gets worse. He doesn't know how bad the hunger might end up getting, how hard it could be to maintain control.]

If this is gonna turn into a Listen with Mother thing, I'm retracting my offer.

[He manages a grin, trying for a little levity as he pushes himself off from the doorframe to saunter back into the living room. Maybe if he can keep things lighter, Aziraphale won't feel so wretched about the whole thing.]

Or you could play therapist.

[He glances back over his shoulder with a silly waggle of his eyebrows, as if any of this is actually funny.

But he sits like a normal person, at least, rather than laying himself down on the sofa.

If the joking around doesn't have the exact desired effect, maybe it'll just annoy Aziraphale instead, and that's still better than him being distressed about what's coming.]

[graveyounglady]

Oh... right.

[Working on what, she wants to ask. There's a long pause.]

Well, you can't work properly on an empty stomach! I can make something and bring it to you. I got some new things afore all the snow set in. I'll try something new and have you taste-test it. Hotter than usual. Nice and spicy, just like you can be, aye?

[oldbookshop]

[ Annoyance is a small price to pay for another few seconds to breathe. Or in any event, annoyance is a currency they frequently trade in.

At least there's less the niggling worry about Crowley being unsteady on his feet. That's something. They're both too tired for all that. ]

If you're waiting to hear that you're funny, you'll be there until you grow roots.

[ Normally if he happens to be deeply upset about something he can sort of-- not do people. Hole up for a while in the middle of something familiar and well-loved and pull himself together.

Crowley is barely people after all this time, in a good way, but he's oftentimes in the category of company. People adjacent.

Aziraphale misses his shop. He's homesick for it in a way he's maybe never felt for Heaven, or not for a long while, especially as desire for comfort goes versus sources of strain.

Nothing to be done for that. No point dwelling. Better to rip off the bandage.

He leaves his tea in the kitchen. Very primly sits back down himself, hands folded. ]

You don't talk about Hell very much. We can start there. [ One of the ultimate in planted conversational seed backfires for resident demons.

Letting the hunger take the reins is actually sort of a nice way to not have to live in himself as much in this moment. If it weren't objectively awful and likely to leave him sick to his stomach, it might be worth keeping in the repertoire. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[There are a great number of things that Crowley regrets, both in the immediate sense and over the course of his entire existence. Right now, his main regret is not choosing something stronger than tea to have on hand, even if adding alcohol to this mix is likely a terrible idea.

But for all his reluctance, he's trying not to regret this. It's going to be awful, and they're both going to hate it, and it's probably going to make things really fucking awkward for the next few days, but he believes it's the right decision.]

Going right for it, can't blame you for that.

[The feigned insouciance likely isn't a surprise. Aziraphale hasn't actually seen him around other demons, but he knows him well enough to know that he tends to play up the not-giving-a-shit, when he's scared.

The worst part is the little pull of a compulsion, similar to how it felt with the lights, and he only hates it because he wants this to be entirely freely given. But maybe it makes it a little easier, to just give in and let the Eye drag out what it wants.]

I could tell you about the beginning, when Hell was still sulphur and ash, right after the War. Can't say I remember much of Heaven, really, so I suppose most of my memories start there, as a bloody... shapeless thing, 'cause falling burnt away whatever forms we'd had, made a mess of them, even if they weren't physical.

[He suspects he couldn't explain this to a human, but he thinks Aziraphale will understand. They might not have bodies, in Heaven and Hell, but they have forms, there's substance to how they appeared to each other.]

We pulled ourselves together as best we could, but the in-fighting had already started. Made it smarter to shape yourself into something with claws or teeth, not the sort of thing you ran into in Heaven, really. [He rubs at his jaw, idly noting that he ought to shave later. Focusing on physical sensation helps distract him from what he's saying.] At first, the fighting wasn't about much more than being angry and hurt and scared, so they'd... so they'd find something smaller or weaker, and hurt it to make themselves feel better.

Not sure I can explain what it's like to lose your grace, I don't expect it's the same as what you're feeling here, 'cause it's just an absence, right? This was more that something had been torn out of you, and you have to fill it with something, don't you? Hate's the easiest, but back then, no one could touch God with their hate, couldn't get the angels, either, so it got turned on whatever was closest. You learn how to fill yourself up with hate, and you learn how to make hate something that hurts other people, so that it doesn't hurt you.

[For all the use of you and we, there's a detachment to how he's speaking, like none of this involved him, but that drops slightly when he finally looks at Aziraphale.]

Then it was about power. Once Lucifer was done licking his wounds, he set himself at the top, and everyone else fought over how they'd fall in line. Dagon's got so many fucking teeth. [He exhales a harsh breath and glances away again. He hadn't meant to say that.] I was never much interested in power, but I knew better than to end up at the lowest rung, so I did what I had to. It wasn't always my best work, but it was effective.

[He misses his fangs, he realizes with a sudden sense of clarity. He misses having a last line of defense.]

Anyway. That's Hell. Or the start of it, if nothing else.

[bossyboiler]

"Yeah." She nods her head. She's not going to get off of the elevator. It's not her floor. "Exactly that. Just... try not to be such a jerk about it."

[bossyboiler]

Kate is not going to yell at Winter. She may glare. Her nostrils could flare. But she isn't going to yell (not right now anyway).

"Yes. I know it's tight quarters but I know we're all doing the best we can with what we have-- Ow! Goddamnit." She has cut herself with the knife. She goes rushing to the sink and turns on the cold water to stick her hand in it.

[thedoctorsmate]

Donna blows out a breath. "Dun' have to tell me that twice. My fiance was popular at work. So good at his job, and I was... I was just a temp. No one special at all. He was paying attention to me, though. Gossiping about all sorts of things, talking about how when he ran things, it'd be different. It'd be better. And y'know what?

"Turns he was dosing me with some sort of science particle things my drinks. That's why he started talking to me. Needed a proper human incubator for spider-people food. That's how I met my friend who looks like you, actually. He was looking into all that. Stopped me getting eaten once Lance showed his true colors, so that was nice. But he was planning on unleashing spiders on our world in return for... I dunno. Power? Protection?

"It's balls winding up worse off because you listened to someone you trusted, who you really believed in. Sorry that happened to you." She glances over at him again. "Different idea, but... yeah. Unfair. S'blooming unfair."

[canofmanji]

Manji likes to think that he's an awful person. It's easier to excuse the awful things he's done if he just thinks of himself as evil, but deep down he does care about trying to do the right thing. "It does. Although, honestly, I'm not even sure how I'd try to scare someone. I know how to be intimidating, but that's different."

Setting the baking sheet aside, Manji nods his head. "Yeah, that could work. Hang on. I'll go grab the blankets. I'm sure I could start a fire."

[canofmanji]

"Depends; lost it fighting my way out of prison." He says this with a grin as if he's proud of this. "Had to leave the arm behind to escape."

[oldbookshop]

[ Aziraphale expects this is the point where he ought to feel horrified, sympathetic, guilty for asking. Would be normally. Will be before long, probably. There's a buffer for the moment, though, a step of remove.

Substance to the yawning void. Easy as that. And it is easy. And it's good. Instantaneous feedback, immediate exchange. He feels better. The Eye probably has some say in the fact that that's so very impossible to miss. Incentive.

It's hard to put the word hate in the same circle as Crowley in any circumstance. Crowley and fighting, in the physical sense, genuine violence. Odd as ever to circle around the idea of a Crowley who wasn't Crowley yet. Whether angelic or some formless, burning thing.

There always had to be a bit of him there to start. He wouldn't be himself otherwise. ]

Quite a lot else, I would say. [ The trunk of a tree. Lots of space to push out branches. ] What sort of effective work gets a demon sent up into my proverbial neck of the woods that early?

[ It's softly spoken. There's half a thought to be sharper. To demand. Aziraphale wants to curl up in Crowley's brain and know him. Which is not so different from how he typically feels about Crowley, if more intense and morally ambiguous.

Because he has wondered occasionally, of his own free will. There's a theoretical world where they missed meeting at all, solely based on this timeline of events.

But he can at least scrounge up the presence of mind to dull that sort of edge, especially as the information properly filters in. Not his problem whether an Entity is less patient than he is or not. ]

If you like.