apocalypsehowcomm | (log) march catch-all

[Crowley isn't especially eager to go out exploring on behalf of the ADI, not after he got trapped in a bloody sand dune the last time, and had the shit kicked out of him the time before that, but he grits his teeth and agrees to it despite himself. He's put up with worse for Hell, and they didn't even pay him.

So here he is, at the trailhead, hands shoved into his pockets and looking for all the world like he'd rather be anywhere but where he is right now. He almost feels bad for the woman they've paired him up with.]

Ready to get this over with?

[ Oh, she's ready. She's wearing clothes suitable for what amounts to a hike in chilly weather, and she'd got her spear safely strapped in the netting that wraps around her torso. ]

Yes. Ready.

[ She spares maybe a second or two to look him over before she heads off in the direction of the assignment. She is absolutely assuming he will follow, and since she's in job mode, she's even less likely to start a conversation right off the bat than usual. ]

[At least one of them has their shit together; his idea of preparation was putting on a slightly more sturdy pair of boots than usual and like, a coat. He's still getting used to remembering to be practical, it's never been an issue until recently.]

After y— oh, alright, we're already going.

[It's a good assumption that he'll follow, since he jogs for a few seconds to catch up before falling into step beside her.

He does, at least, have his wits about him, keeping an eye on the forest around them.]

Please tell me you actually know how to use that thing.

[Meaning the spear. It looks like she's comfortable with it, but who knows.]

[ His footsteps take a moment to start up, but there they are, quicker than usual until he's at her side. At least he's being vigilant too. They'll spot trouble easily between the two of them.

His question is almost an affront. ]

I know. [ In a tone that someone fluent in English would have begun with "Of course" and ended with an exasperated eyeroll. ] I am warrior in my tribe. You not worry. I protect you.

[ He doesn't seem weak, really, but... well. She will grant that it's hard to tell sometimes. ]

You can fight?

[It isn't hard to guess that English isn't her first language, and he has to wonder what sort of time she's from, if she's using words like tribe.]

Ehhhh. [That's not really an answer, but he takes a second to work out how to explain in better, more accurate detail.] I can, I suppose. Not sure how good at it I am, s'been a while since I've picked up a proper weapon, but you don't need to babysit me.

[Did he happen to get the shit kicked out of him by a bunch of humans recently? Yes. But in his defense, there were a lot of them, and he really isn't a 'hand-to-hand combat' sort of person. He knows his way around a sword. And fangs. Neither of those are easily accessible, here.]

[ So... that's probably a no, he can't fight. So she says, in a firm and reassuring tone that somehow manages to not come off aggressive- ]

I protect you.

[ It's not an especially long trip to Dogtown, and is neither of their first time doing this Dogtown thing, so that helps get them on track faster. Keeping an eye out for weird things is normal here, Katrina supposes. It's a different thing from walking around in Bristol Cove like the predator she is. It helps that she's not alone, but there's always that thought in the back of her mind, about her people, the damage the humans are doing to the ocean, the way Tia came and preached wiping out humans— ]

What weapon you use before you stop fighting?

[ She is beginning to grasp the value of making small talk. ]

[It could be the kind of statement that would rankle at someone's pride, but Crowley is old enough not to care about that sort of nonsense. If anything, the reassurance of the point is almost sweet. He's not exactly used to people caring about his wellbeing.]

Much appreciated.

[He'll even be polite about it!

It's an easier part to respond to than the question, which takes him a second of hemming and hawing before he works out how to answer.]

A whole lot of 'em, if I'm being honest. Spears, swords, an axe or two, though I've never been big on those. I know my way around a bow and a gun, but my aim's a bit shite, haven't really got the eyes for it.

[His eyes... mostly work like human eyes, but some things are slightly trickier.]

[ Letting her win this time is a pretty solid way to go about it.

She listens as they approach the beginning of the path. How curious. That speaks to a breadth of skill. Katrina herself is a seasoned warrior, but she is limited to spears and unarmed combat, for now. ]

You were warrior, in home?

[None of these questions are particularly easy to answer, but he's doing his best, mainly because it might be relevant, if they do run into something dangerous. He's kind of an idiot sometimes, but he knows better than to lie about what he can and can't do in these kind of situations.]

When my bosses forced me to be. M'not especially fond of violence.

[Which is terrible for a demon, but he's not a demon here. Or at least, only Aziraphale knows that he is.]

[After several months of poor luck whenever he tries to do something actually productive for the ADI, Crowley has decided that they can go fuck themselves, because he'd much rather do something that isn't going to end in potential injury. Like dragging Aziraphale out for lunch.

It's daylight, too, saving them from having to worry about some nonsense shadow woman trying to kill them.

He knows, logically, that there's likely a dozen other things that could make their day miserable, but he's trying not to get too bogged down in that or he'd never leave the damn flat, so it's — fine. They're going to a little Italian place to get lunch, they'll have a stroll, and hopefully it won't be unbearably fucking awkward, since Aziraphale has... sort of been avoiding him.

The point is, he's determined to make this a perfectly normal outing, so when a wave of dizziness and exhaustion hits him, he's immediately annoyed and on edge. He reaches out for Aziraphale on instinct, gripping his arm as he sways on his feet.

When he looks up, Beelzebub is standing at the end of the street, staring directly at him.]

Fuck.

[That about sums it up.]

[ That does sort of dash the odds of a nice little outing, a hope that Aziraphale may or may not have also been holding to. It's been odd, to say the least. To have something happen that was horrific and involved a measure of very tense shouting, and then go on sharing a close space in the days after.

They hadn't left things in an especially poor place, night of. Dare he say they've rarely left things in such a good place after a very real, serious bout of argument and wounded feelings. It's just-- more a matter of working out what to do next.

He doesn't think he's even thanked Crowley. He doesn't know if he's supposed to. He doesn't know if there's a way to say it isn't what you told me, it's that I did it at all or I can't entertain the notion of doing that to you again unless it somehow would save your life specifically that would be... measured. Wouldn't make Crowley feel guilty or ashamed or insulted somehow.

So he thinks, lunch, alright, have a stroll, remember how to have a normal conversation and save the rest for a more private moment. Can't properly avoid the matter here, obviously. ]

Oh. Quite. [ Which is more to say that, when he's blinked through his own bout of inexplicable dizziness and sees Beelzebub for himself, it's even more disappointing than it might usually be. He takes Crowley's arm in turn, pulls him back a step. Less of a good defensive front to be made when his old sword is currently under a couch in the flat, but, well. As potential needs must. ] Rain check on lunch, then.

[ "Still stuck on that gross matter, Aziraphale." This is, by definition, the absolute worst time for Gabriel to turn up from behind. Which Aziraphale would consider about on par. He leaves the Beelzebub-spotting to Crowley in light of present events. Better the devil you know. So to speak. "Oh, come on. Let's not act like any of us thought this was over." ]

[ Bosses? Forced him? So... not like sirens. Fair enough. ]

Warrior is choice, for my people. All can fight, but some are healer, some are builder.

[ And some are lost, some are found, some learn their people's rich history and culture... and she misses them, suddenly.

But she isn't so lost in thought that she doesn't immediately see the corpse lying alongside the path. She stops, hissing softly, and looks around for any signs of an ambush. ]

May be hunter nearby.

Must be nice.

[It's not especially bitter, just matter-of-fact. While he might have had some freedom in his day to day life, he's always been at Hell's beck and call, and if they told him to do something, he couldn't always lie his way out of it.

He pauses as soon as Katrina does, following her gaze to the body and sighing. There's always something, but he still crouches down to get a better look, keeping some distance for now.]

I can't see much in the way of a mess around the body, I don't reckon they were killed here.

If not kill here, then is trap.

[ She grabs her spear. She may not immediately fall into a fighting stance, but she's there mentally, ready to go at a moment's notice. ]

Crowley.

[ She glances at him, intending to tell him to be careful, when she notices. It's sudden and clear, like the first time she met Helen. The body belongs to someone with siren blood. Full siren blood. Her eyes go wide. ]

Body is siren.

[ Now she hisses more sharply, her grip tensing on her spear. Is someone hunting her kind specifically? Oh, they're in for a shock. She'll get them before they even see her coming. ]

[A trap, or not entirely real; the things here play all sorts of tricks, though not real doesn't necessarily mean not dangerous.

He looks up when she says his name, taking a few seconds to parse through what she means. A siren, presumably not the kind they stick on emergency vehicles, which leaves the kind that lures sailors to their death.

He knows better than to assume all stories are true, but he is going to assume that means Katrina is likely also a siren, or knows of them because she's something else not-human.]

Did you know them? Surely someone would've said something, if one of us went missing.

[Unless there are sirens native to this world, but that seems unlikely.]

[Gabriel's voice might as well be nails on a chalkboard for how Crowley's hackles go up. Beelzebub ought to be the one he's more worried about, the one he hates more, but Beez has only ever made his life difficult. Gabriel's the one that's made Aziraphale miserable, far too often.

But he sees Aziraphale turn better to face him, and understands that it's likely better to keep an eye on their respective bosses.

"Wank-wingzzzz is right for once, traitor."]

Oh, piss off.

[They're well past the point of him pretending to be loyal to Hell.

"We're here to bring you home to face the muzzzic. You wouldn't want to mizzzz the War, would you?"

He very much would, actually.]

I not know them.

[ She knows every member of her tribe. This is not one of them. If their eyes were open, she could at least hazard a guess as to where they're from. ]

Not work in ADI. This is stranger. I not find siren in ocean here.

[ There's a hint of distress in her voice, and in her frown. Did someone from her world get kidnapped, just to prove to her it's possible? Is this... is it the Extiction, making themself known? Is this a threat to her? To ADI? ]

What we do? Say to ADI?

[ They should bury them, but it would have to be on land. Katrina can't just go feeding the Extinction to perform an underwater burial, and the body is in human form anyway... ]

[Crowley is not, by nature, an especially gentle person. But he spent the last six years playing nanny to a child, and no matter how much he'd like to think of himself as cool and scary demon, some things become habit.

Like being able to tell when someone is distressed, and automatically thinking about how to fix it.]

We can say whatever you'd like to say. If you'd rather they not know, I won't tell 'em anything.

[He means it, too. They might have been sent out here with a purpose, but if this is one of Katrina's people, there might be customs that the ADI wouldn't respect.]

But if there's no sirens here, and we've not heard about anyone going missing, this might not be completely real. Those Entities they've told us about can trick you into seeing things differently from how they really are.

[He has to believe that's what the snow was. The whole situation was too weird, and over too suddenly, for it to be anything else.]

War? [ High, high on the list of words he'd been fruitlessly hoping not to hear. Of course.

Aziraphale is starting to suspect they'll be needing to make a swift exit. ] As I recall, we discussed--

[ "Hypotheticals aren't a discussion. Maybe if we'd had you spend a little more time Upstairs, you'd remember the difference."

If Gabriel is channeling some of his sour energy over Beelzebub's entire vibe into his put-upon sympathy, that's his business. It's a little like watching someone stretch a balloon over a sharp corner.

"You had your fun. You delayed the inevitable. Made things nice and difficult. Prolonged humanity's suffering with that little stunt, for the record. So!" Some say the sound of the Archangel Gabriel's managerial clap echoes throughout the universe into eternity. It's in an eternal race against Beelzebub's eyeroll. "Actions. Consequences. Let's not drag this out. Front and center, sunshine." ]

Could do with a more defensible position, I think, Crowley. Weapon wouldn't hurt. [ In this household we ignore Gabriel and stop pretending we weren't created to be good at a little battlefield strategy. Aziraphale adjusts his grip on Crowley's arm to something tighter, more deliberately secure. ] Negotiations seem to be off the table.

[ This is fine.

That's a lie.

This is not fine.

He expects that some part of the two of them has been waiting for this to happen since they got here. It's just another one of those times where there's something more immediately urgent to be getting on with. ]

[ The Entities. That's right. The very things they're trying to stop. Of course the Entities would want to throw them off. Crowley may not be a warrior, but he's calm where she is upset. He's a good ally.

Katrina relaxes a little, lowering her spear as she thinks it over. ]

If body is real, I must bury.

[ Movement in the corner of her eye makes her look to the side, but it's just a squirrel. She can't help but be on edge, though. ]

If not real, we tell ADI. Entities are making trap.

[The advantage to being composed of about 90% anxiety is that he's very good at looking calmer than he feels.]

Alright, suppose we'd best find out if it's real.

[First things first, he digs his phone out of his pocket to start taking pictures. If they do end up reporting this to the ADI, it'll likely be of use to have some shots of the body and surrounding area.]

You keep an eye on things, since you're the one with the spear.

[It would be a lie to say that he wasn't expecting something along these lines. Not necessarily Beelzebub and Gabriel showing up, but the whole — apocalypse not truly being stopped. In the moment, on Earth, he'd bene hopeful, but he's had too long to stew in his fear, since arriving on this shitty version of Earth, and he keeps circling back to the fact it was too easy.

Even if God has stopped paying attention, there's no way Satan was going to let it go.]

Not to put too fine a point on it, but I've still got nothing in the tank.

[In terms of power, he means. There's very little he can do against Beez or Gabriel in general, never mind when he's completely cut off from the ability to perform a miracle.

Of course you don't. Beelzebub takes a moment to interject, because why not. That was part of the fun.

For the first time, it occurs to Crowley that it isn't the Entities cutting them off from their power.

Time to come home.

Beelzebub snaps their fingers, and the sidewalk opens up, dragging Crowley down.]

[ One small benefit: Aziraphale doesn't get more than a few seconds to internally panic about being separated at the worst possible time. Gabriel makes some dismissive noise as if to say "pff, demons, so dramatic," before snapping his fingers and sending Aziraphale up.

Back to Earth, easy as that. Their Earth. What's left of it, structures and shapes, sanitized of humanity, the burnt-out husk of the bookshop. Still cut off from their powers, still reduced, given the humbling honor of essentially being used as the opening ceremony for the war Heaven and Hell always wanted.

It all goes a bit tits-up after that. If by "a bit" one means "irrevocably and entirely." Aziraphale is almost grateful throughout, in a sickening sort of way, that they aren't left any time to think. To fully absorb what they've been dropped into on top of everything else.

This is not something that they can survive. This is not something with a glimmer of secret hope on the horizon to stumble towards. It's a scrape for extra minutes at best, a refusal to be reduced to surrendering, which Aziraphale avoids thinking about as much as he can.

They make a good enough show of it, he thinks. Benefit of knowing each other. Silent communication, teamwork, all that.

But sadly, in accordance with their usual luck, the tits stay up. Which leads them to where they presently stand, already in less than ideal condition. A little bit cornered. (A lot bit cornered.) A little bit out of moves. (A lot bit out of moves.) The conversation is over. There's no reasoning to be done.

Aziraphale chances letting Crowley out of his direct line of sight. A quick grip to the wrist, a careful attempt at pushing him behind himself. He expects he was technically more made for out-and-out final stands, between the two of them. Durability.

She gave him a sword and never made mention of a shield, after all. ]

[On the unpleasant occasions that he'd given it thought, Crowley had sort of hoped that his death would be a relatively quick experience, if it were come to that. That's always a lingering fear of being somewhat eternal; there are so many ways to drag out his existence that would be far worse than a splash of holy water ending it in seconds.

As things go, being hunted by the armies of Heaven and Hell both, with Aziraphale at his side, falls somewhere in the middle of the scale; the drawn out panic isn't a great time, but there's too much happening for him to really devote too much time to it, and he's relieved just the tiniest amount that everyone so far as come at them with the intention to kill, not capture.

Still, it'd be nicer if he hadn't been rendered mortal for this entire experience. If he could simply slip out of this useless, human skin, he'd do a lot more damage with fangs and claws. They wouldn't win, the numbers alone make that impossible, but he might have taken a good chunk of them down with him, and the satisfaction of that would've been nice, in the end.

Also would have been nice to spend the last of his time with Aziraphale like this, terrified and desperate and more than a little bloodied. He doesn't even have room to think too much about Aziraphale so obviously trying to protect him, no matter how futile of a gesture it is, in the end. That's their bread and butter, some days, those futile gestures.

It's a fitting thought to be briefly lingering on, when he catches sight of an angel trying to sneak up on them, using the distraction offered by the gaggle of demons advancing from the front, the ones that Aziraphale tried so hard to save him from. Crowley only has a split second to make a decision, because he needs the rest of his time left to take one last greedy look at Aziraphale, ignoring the cut on his cheek and ichor staining his clothes. It really is a shame that it had to end like this.

There's not even time to say anything, and even if there was, it would feel too cruel to tell him the truth now, when there's nothing to be done with it. The best he can do is tighten his grip on the nasty dagger he'd stolen off another demon's empty corporation, and slips away from Aziraphale.

The angel is a Virtue, not the most imaginative of creatures, a fact Crowley uses to his advtange; they're expecting him to put up a proper fight when they lunge at him, and the split second of surprise that comes when their sword goes right through him is what he takes advantage of to drive the dagger up under their jaw.

The damn thing shrieks, an awful, ear-splitting sound, and takes off in a flurry of wings and holy fire, taking the sword and dagger with them. Which is an unpleasant situation for Crowley to find himself in; without the sword helping to stop the blood flow, his shirt is quickly soaked through with his own blood, despite his flimsy attempt to keep pressure on the wound.

He's been stabbed enough times to know immediately that there's something wrong. The pain is different, a burn that reaches deeper than his physical flesh, and he knows immediately that the blade was a blessed one.

A wound would've been inconvenient, may have discorporated him, whatever that would entail when he's mortal, but he could have survived that.

There's no surviving this one.]

Yes.

[ She turns away from the body, her back facing Crowley's back. There's more tension in her stance than usual, on edge as she is, but she can count on Crowley to be smart about this.

She hopes. The physically weaker ones usually make up for it with strength of mind. ]

No sign of hunter.

[ Just to reassure him, and herself. She shouldn't get into any fights right now, not until she's calmer. ]

(log) march catch-all

🧜🏽‍♀️ katrina

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😇 aziraphale

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cw: stabby time

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