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

[thedoctorsmate]

"That's not-" No. You know what? There's nothing here that says she can't proclaim herself one of the nobility. She'd dated the bloody Prince of Goritania. "Well... most people have never heard of Goritania." Donna certainly hadn't before meeting Rudolph. Donna sniffs imperiously. "A queen's got to announce herself sometimes, yeah?

"And the frost's... well, it's getting close. Not actually sure what happens if it gets inside."

[oldbookshop]

[ Oh, Crowley's no fun when he's exhausted and cooped up and half dying. It's almost like it's rude to go from "I understand you won't commit acts of terror upon my mind" directly to implying that he's being rude about looks.

Can't win them all.

Ought to have a great deal more care about fouling up something he's been trying to get better about. And yet. He's got his own foot in his mouth again. ]

The answer to a hypothetical danger out there is not to let something dangerous have run of things in here.

[ In the apartment, or in his mind, or when it's all built up and there's only one target who he happens to be very fond of. Do you hold yourself to a strict double standard where your friend feeding on you is wholly acceptable but the other way around doesn't even merit discussion, or are you normal.

He's always been too talented at digging up and hoarding bits of knowledge for his own good. That's half the problem. The odd sense of kinship. The way that it fits. ]

[myfavoritemurder]

"I'm going out," she says, neither stopping nor turning around. "If we can't dig our way out from inside, maybe we can do it from outside."

[demonicmiracle]

[The problem with being exhausted is that even annoyance is hard to maintain, no matter how much he might like to hold onto it, rather than sinking into something closer to despair.

Tired resignation might be the best he can manage.]

They're already here, angel.

[They can pretend all they want, but if the Entities can exert so much influence, enough to keep them trapped and drain them, he doesn't think there's all that much difference, whether Aziraphale were to feed.

It will only make a difference to them.]

I know it's not — what you want. It'll make it a bit worse in the long run, the hunger, but it's not so bad, really.

[As much as he'd like to lie to make it seem easier than it is, he won't do that to Aziraphale either.]

Deep - we can work this toward an impromptu vision?

[brunonono]

There's been a shift in Bruno's behavior. Where he's always been reclusive, always scuttled away from Katrina if she looks likely to confront him about anything, lately since they became trapped he's been...sneaky. She's likely caught him watching her around the apartment, and he's doing it again now, having silently followed her to the front door of the building. He doesn't move to help at all, just watches as she climbs and then falls.

stuck

[brunonono]

Oh--I, uh....

[Bruno hasn't paid enough attention to the question to even pretend to come up with an answer to it. He was asked something and he should answer, that's important, gotta be helpful, but his mind is elsewhere and--he's carrying a ladle, how long has he had that? What was he supposed to be doing with it, he's supposed to be in the kitchen, isn't he, but right this moment--]

You haven't seen any rats, have you?

[canofmanji]

"So a hurting some to save more situation?" He mumbles thoughtfully. Could he---? No, it wouldn't be the same for him. No one here would benefit from his immortality except for himself.

"Your abilities are that useful then?" It's not said in an accusing sort of way. Simply casual and curious. His curse is the closest to real magic he's ever come across. What his new roommate can do sounds much more impressive.

sink

[myfavoritemurder]

Good to know.

[Says Callisto, watching the transformation show with a mild, distant sort of interest. She herself is, unfortunately, not immune to the cold, so she's all bundled up (coat, snowpants, snowboots, gloves, hat), but the fact that Katrina doesn't seem to need any of that definitely doesn't go unnoticed. She trails over and, without asking permission, bends to pick up a piece of the sloughed-off skin.]

I'd rather find something on land, anyway; if it's in the ocean, I can't fight it, and that's no fun for me.

[twicelost]

She takes note of his weapon. If he's protecting it, it has value. For her, its value would be as a weapon. Something sturdy and sharp that can kill or injure anyone coming to steal or harm— yes, that bears protecting.

"No smith. I make this. Not strong like one in home, but is good."

A weapon smith, a maker of weapons. She hopes they find one, or that she finds better materials.

Grabbing her spear again, she nods. "Yes, I help." She stows the spear again and goes to the opposite end of the door from him. She'll lift her side once he's in position.

"Not know yet what do this?"

If she knew, she would share the information.

Andrew Jaeger | OTA (will match brackets or prose)

[bloodalwaystells]

Deep - Apartment A2

Cabin fever is nothing new to Jaeger. As a man used to living on the run, living with care not to expose himself too much or too often, staying inside and staying quiet is familiar ground. What's new is the snow, because there's no way that it should be that high and that impenetrable. There are several attempts to dig past the blockage, cold burning his lungs and hands, before he gives up with a long-suffering grimace. The shovel is simply not enough, because the snow is forever.

Also, the Hunger. He's been wrestling with the Hunt's wicked impulses since he got here, since he first realized that his magic was chained to this particular nightmare. Physical exertion helps distract him a little, but not for long. And when he aches too much to continue to try to dig, he turns to prowling. Endlessly, pacing and waiting and watching with the intent of something caged and feral. It makes for an unsettling presence, between long bouts of locking himself away in his room to refocus and get himself under control. Drinking black coffee bitter enough to burn, organizing the supplies stocked in the pantry, or simply at the window watching the frozen walls around them, around every corner he's simply there.

And in between those bouts of feral madness, there may be brief attempts at distracting himself on the network. He's not one for casual conversation in general, but under the circumstances? He'll try.

Is anyone awake?

Stuck

Returning to work is a relief, after five endless days of imprisonment. His hands are mostly healed, those awful little bites and tears reduced to glossy pink as they mend, and he can return to work without reservation- ready and eager to be productive again, to be out of his apartment and back into the flow of things.

Except, he's come back to more like a deluge, a rush of things that have-to-be-dealt-with-right now-no-really-now. Some things are small, some things can't wait, but they're there, a bombardment of various-sized disasters that need to be addressed and never mind what else you had in mind.

In some ways, it's helpful. In other ways, it just feeds the madness, leaves him fighting that deep hunger again. It's not a Hunt, not really, but it's pursuit, it's motion, it's constant awareness, and that's just enough to spark the want in him.

As Security and Investigations, at least some of the duties that demand his attention are security alerts, reports and triggered cameras and that one alarm in the west hallway that will not stop going off. As always, he's dressed for work in a dark turtleneck, suit jacket, and slacks, quick and quiet in spite of his towering form. Moving to intercept, because maybe this time, it's not a false alarm. Or maybe it is. He doesn't even know anymore, but he moves anyway, because this is what he's good at.

Sunk

Getting out of the ADI buildings is a relief, even if it means jumping from one fire to another. After the towering walls of snow, the slow sense of suffocation and ticking minutes and the weight of inaction, a walk on the beach sounds...nice.

Well, no, not really. It's still salt and sand and cold, but Jaeger will take the change of scenery. Stretching his legs helps, getting away from the walls and breathing frigid, but fresh air helps him re-focus, and gives him a task to manage. Something that's not on fire. He moves with care over the sand, eyes occasionally casting out to the water and the horizon beyond it, before returning to the sand around him. Around his neck, his camera hangs the way it always does, just in case something comes up that needs recording. He's an investigator through and through, and catching evidence is part of that.

But so far, no signs of anything going on. He lets his breath out quietly, rubbing absently at his scarred hands, before turning his attention to the dunes again.

"They're bigger than they were before."

[bossyboiler]

You're welcome.

At his reply, her eyes grow big as saucers. Her little nostrils puff out. THAT MOTHERFU---R RIGHT THERE! She starts to say something and then stops herself by placing her hand over her mouth. It is one of the few instances when Kate recognizes that she is being ridiculous.

She turns away from him. Despite the previous recognition, she still has some thoughts. And it is for Winter's benefit that she doesn't face him. In her head, she's slugging him in his non-metal arm. They are inanimate objects, she tells herself. They needed to be sharpened anyway, she adds to her inner monologue. It's fine. You're just stir crazy.

It's fine. Everything is fine. She takes in a breath and then releases it. "I'm going to make pasta." She still has her back to him.

[worthallthis]

He looks over at her, at that, brows coming together. That's not what he was expecting-- he's not sure if it's better or worse. This isn't something he knows how to fix. If he were doing something to make her afraid of him, he could make himself less threatening, he could stop it.

How do you stop... not being a proper person? "Yelena. I don't. Have that much to lose."

Sunk

[musicdied]

Yelena tears her gaze away from the foam-tipped waves, stained slate grey by the sluggish clouds that occlude the sun and threaten yet more snow. She studies the mounded sand, eyes narrowing slightly in thought, the line of her mouth drawn down into a faint frown.

"That doesn't sound like monsters from the ocean," she notes, her tone a little flat. Unsurprised. After the avalanche of disasters that has followed in the wake of their imprisonment behind walls of entirely imagined ice, the idea that there might be a familiar threat to tackle, something their colleagues had dealt with and dispatched once already, is almost too good to be true.

A moment's pause, and that faint frown deepens.

"Unless they're the kind of monster that burrows to breed."

[worthallthis]

That's what you're supposed to say when someone thanks you. Isn't it? But that isn't a good reaction. He's confused, and a little annoyed at how confusing it all is.

He waits, awkward, for her to decide what she's actually going to say.

Pasta. Okay. That's easy. He actually knows how to make that himself, by now. But she's the cook, and she said she was going to do it. So after a pause of his own, he offers, "Do you want help."

[musicdied]

"I know," she says quietly. "That's why I'm afraid for you. You would fight for me, or Kate, or Meredith. Or hit us over the head and haul us back to safety if we were doing something stupid and self-destructive. But you don't fight for yourself the same way, and I can't just stab the Entities to protect you."

There's a fierce edge to her voice, the sort that says that if one manifested in the room right in front of them, she would do her level best to stab it anyways.

[worthallthis]

She's right. He would, and he doesn't. He doesn't know how. But he doesn't want her to be afraid, either. And she shouldn't need to protect him; that's his job.

He's quiet for a long moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek again. Wrestling with what to do, or say. She's important to him, so what she wants is equally important, and she wants him to-- not be like he was. Somehow. The prospect is daunting, especially when he's pretty sure trying to be more like a person will only make things harder.

She's smart, though. Maybe has some ideas. "How do you... fight for yourself."

[musicdied]

"The first part is deciding who do you want to be," Yelena says. "It isn't something you have to do all at once. It can be small things at first. Little choices it's important to be able to make, things that feel right, things you oppose. That makes the core of what you want to protect. The pieces you're not willing to change or give up."

She's quiet for a long moment, before admitting, "It isn't easy. I know it isn't easy. You're building up almost from scratch. But it is almost."

[thedoctorsmate]

Donna is whimpering and sniffling as she covers her face. "It's just so much, you know? And it doesn't end. They probably ran out of creamer, too."

She is going to be completely useless for a bit, thanks. Someone else needs to fix this. She's done.

[worthallthis]

Choices. He's still not great at those. Even now, he's mostly bowing to her choice, because this is something she wants.

But that's a choice, isn't it? She's not his handler. He can disobey her if he wants to. In this, he doesn't want to, because he doesn't want her to be scared. Not when he can feel it, like it's something he's actively taking from her. So there, that's something to protect: the feeling of not wanting to hurt someone.

He's had that feeling before, once, in his more recent memory. After punching the stupid former target's face six times.

He wants to scrub at his face, but that feels like so much of a person reaction. Does that mean he should do it? If he's trying to be more of a person? It's all confusing. What he winds up doing, after a long moment, is tugging at his own hair. Not hard, just something to feel like he did something outside his own jumbled thoughts. "I don't know if I'll be any good at it," he says. "I'm bad at choices. But if it's important. I'll try."

[oldbookshop]

[ Too much to hope for, maybe, after everything. A world without eyes on them. However short-lived their intention to stay in it. It's unbecoming for an angel to kick up a fuss about free will, though, of all creatures. It's also unbecoming for an angel to feed an eldritch manifestation, and he's really not sure what the ramifications might be.

He does want to do it. He doesn't expect it to feel bad, setting aside feeling terrible after. That's half the problem.

And the worse the hunger gets, the smaller the part of him worried about all that gets. Which he of course worries about in turn, but only so much, because between all of it and what's happening now, it's taking much less to reach capacity.

Which is all hard to articulate. He's never had to try to articulate anything like it before. Crowley understands already, likely as anything, between being in the same proverbial boat and knowing him.

Still. ]

I want to break you open. I want to pull your thoughts out and rifle through them. Keep all the interesting bits. There would be a lot of those. I know that. Only--

[ Normal openers to present to one's most cherished person in the universe while staring into a mug of tea and pretending to have steady hands. ]

At a certain point, I do believe it's better not to start at all than to find out I won't be able to stop at a reasonable boundary.

[ He's set a poor enough emotional harm precedent in this friendship as it is.

You are both slowly dying in your living room but go off king ]

[the_archivist]

...not exactly, but close enough.

[He should voice his suspicions, but that's more information than he wants to reveal to a stranger right now.]

It doesn't need to. It doesn't change my sentiment.

[demonicmiracle]

[There are, sometimes, situations that make Crowley aware that there's something fundamentally wrong with him, whether by dmeon or angel or even human standards. It doesn't necessarily bother him to be reminded, but it can be jarring when it comes unexpectedly.

Like, for example, how his mouth goes dry and skin gets warm at Aziraphale talking about breaking him open.

Thank someone that Aziraphale is busy looking at his tea, sparing Crowley from having to worry about what he might see in his expression if he were to look up. It's also lucky that it's perfectly reasonable to need a moment with that information, even if a normal person would probably need that moment to stop being freaked out, not — whatever it is Crowley is feeling.

He exhales roughly, glancing away from Aziraphale to stare at the white outside the window.]

Bit insulting to think I couldn't stop you myself, isn't it?

[There are about a thousand other things he wants to say, but that seems the least incriminating and the most likely to help convince Aziraphale.]

[oldbookshop]

Oh, that's good to hear. Not that it's any of my business what you do with yourself, obviously, but it didn't seem to be, um. Taking.

[ The nice way to put 'you may have been dying?' He's not educated enough on these things to be sure. ]

And that weather would have made for a dreadful time to have an emergency. It was the strangest thing, wasn't it? Sort of... sort of impossible, really.

[abrightboy]

Impossible seems to be par for the course here, really. But. Yeah. It wasn't taking. It wasn't ever going to take. I'm... glad some friends stopped me. [He gestures towards the cafeteria.] Can I buy you a cup of tea? I still owe you for helping me.

[twicelost]

Yes. I spot you.

[ Said firmly. She means it. She has her tribemate's back. ]

Is safe now. No sign hunter is near.

[ She keeps an eye on him even as she watches carefully for any signs of movement both above and below the sand. Her spear is at her back, stowed safely in its handmade straps tied across her front. It's ready should she need to fight.

She doesn't warn him to be careful, knowing that he'll be doing so. ]