apocalypsehowcomm | (log) tdm prompts

[George describing unknowable eldritch entities as petty assholes gets an amused snort out of Crowley. The situation isn't actually all that funny, but that's never stopped him from being amused by turns of phrase.]

It's a death by a thousand cuts, isn't it? [He isn't sure if George will be familiar with the origin of the term, but he's likely smart enough to understand what Crowley's getting at.] Go slow, chip away at someone's sanity, keep 'em just scared enough to be useful. Fuck knows how long they could drag it out for. Better than some one-and-done scare that breaks someone on the first go.

[This may have some similarities with his own thought process, when tarnishing human souls, but George doesn't need to know that.]

Yeah, I guess that makes some kind a' sense.

[Is there anyone in there frightened about the mix up? Some folks looked disturbed at the computers. Maybe he'll head back a little later to see if anybody needs any help.]

Think they could do better 'n books. Maybe I ain't enough of a reader to get it.

Eh, it's books today, it'll be something else tomorrow. There was a whole bit of nonsense with some silly phone game when I arrived, didn't bother me much, but too many people got messed up about it.

[Everyone has different thresholds for weirdness, different things that upset them, that scare them.

It's another reason this approach makes more sense to him, too. If the Entities relied too much on one big attempt at terrorizing people, it might miss the mark.]

I guess if they wanted to get to me...

[He stops himself with a shake of his head.]

Naw, that's tempting fate. Forget I said anything about that. You don't strike me as the sort much gets to.

[On one hand, it's a good thing. On another, it's a certain level of detachment even some of the fellas in the bunkhouses who kept more to themselves didn't quite manage. It makes him hard for George to pin.]

Anything that has yet?

Smart lad.

[Points to George for cutting himself off at the pass, there. Crowley was ready to do it, because he knows better, especially with Aziraphale being connected to the Ceaseless Watcher, but it's always better if people come to their senses themselves.

He could laugh at being told not much gets to him, even if it's sort of true. It's just that the things that do get him have managed to do so with incredible and painful efficiency.

Regardless, he's not particularly inclined to admit any weakness, but he also knows it'd be easily read as bullshit if he tried to play cool, considering all the awful things here. Only a psychopath wouldn't have something get under their skin sooner or later.]

Eh, everyone's got something. They had us trapped in the apartments for what felt like weeks, back when me and Aziraphale were the only ones in that building. I'd been contemplating chewing my damn arm off just for something interesting to happen, by the time they let us out.

[Admitting that he didn't like being trapped is a safe thing to admit, making it about being bored and restless. Better than admitting that he's been scared.]

Was that when it snowed? Mercy told me about that.

[Unless there was another time. With this place, anything is possible. He chooses to take him at face value it was boredom that did him in. He has no reason to believe otherwise and isn't the kind who seeks hidden messages in every word.]

Ay, that'd be the one.

[He's been more traditionally stuck after that mess in the sand, but he doesn't feel much like talking about that.]

M'not big on the snow anyway, and losing your sense of time'll mess up anyone, I'd reckon.

[Not that he's the best at keeping track of time, but he can outsource if he needs to. Calendars. Watches. The damn sun. All of that felt distant.

Not to mention the hunger, once it crept it and laid claim. Not to mention him willingly giving up secrets to keep Aziraphale fed and the aftermath of that.

Just the cold and the timelessness as bad enough.]

Yeah, I reckon it would. I ain't never been snowed in. Ain't never been that high up in the mountains, but you hear stories. Cabin fever. Things like that.

[For him, being stuck in one place, one specific place, for too long would be a trial. He never has been before, has always had the freedom to stay or go, even if he didn't always have the choice about when to go thanks to the trouble Lennie got up to so much.

He's quiet for a while, too, and it doesn't feel too weird or wrong with Crowley. Sometimes not talking can be a thing.]

We had plenty of books, at least. One advantage of sharing a place with a reader.

[He isn't typically much for reading, not where it can be witnessed, but it's not exactly the worst thing to admit doing. And boredom makes a good enough excuse.

It's not exactly a fun topic, though, talking about the awful things that can happen here and how they effect people, so after a bit of quiet, Crowley spots a sign for the quizzes and gestures to it with a low laugh.]

What do you think, should I give it a shot?

Sure. I don't see the harm in it. Jes' don't expect me to be much help. I ain't never been all that much a reader 'cept the western pulps.

[He shrugs and grins, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.]

You want I should tag along, or not? I could jes' as easily start heading back to ADI.

Nah, stick around, it'll be fun.

[Crowley isn't all that physically demonstrative, strictly speaking, but leans in to bump his shoulder against George's, just because he can. He likes George well enough, and he knows it's important to like — have friendships here, in a way it never was back home.]

Maybe they'll have a question about pulps and you'll save the day.

If that happens, gonna get you to buy me a soda pop.

[He grins, bumping back good natured, and then gestures him ahead to go back in. Maybe this'll be just the thing to take his mind off the annoyance of the woman at the desk, and maybe Crowley will win himself a prize.

Wouldn't that be something.]

The man drives a hard bargain.

[One whole entire soda pop. It'll break the bank.

Crowley's always been a fan of games, ever since he spent enough time on Earth to discover that humans also hate being bored so they'd made up a bunch of ways to alleviate it. Trivia isn't the top of the list, but it'll do in a pinch, so he's in a relatively good mood as he sits himself down at one of the laptops.

He'll also reach for another chair to drag it over for George, because he's nice (sometimes).]

If this turns out to be some haunted bullshit, you have permission t'give me a smack to knock some sense into me if you think it's necessary.

[It never hurts. Who knows what this place can pull.]

You know it.

[He's still grinning and pointedly ignoring the desk as they pass. When Crowley drags the chair over, he turns it around and straddles it to rest his arms on the back of it.]

I got your back.

[Not that he's expecting anything. It's a book quiz. How bad can it be?]

Much appreciated.

[He doffs a pretend hat that he doesn't have, then proceeds to reluctantly push his sunglasses up so he can see the screen better. Clearly the worst part of being human is not being able to ignore the dark lenses.

The first round of questions are basic, a few titles and authors to guess from multiple choice options, a couple of dates thrown in. An Agatha Christie one throws him, and he ends up squinting at the screen.]

You've not read that one, have you? I can never remember if Christie was that big in the States back then.

[He snorts amusement, almost tempted to offer his hat, but the moment passes quickly.

The quiz is already over his head. At the question, he reluctantly shakes his head.]

Naw, sorry. I didn't finish high school. So I'm imaginin' most a' this is gonna go way over my head, not to mention most of it prob'ly was written after I was born.

Well hey, I never even started high school.

[Formal education isn't exactly something the demons, or even angels, tend to bother with. They came fully formed, and most of them are certain they know everything there is to know.

Crowley's dabbled, mostly by popping into university classes, but there's a lot he doesn't know.]

And I reckon this one should be around your time, but I'm rubbish with dates. [Too many of them.] Let's hope the wrong answer doesn't kill me.

[Because he's just going to go ahead and guess.

And apparently get it wrong.

Bummer :( ]

[That earns him a quick flash of an appreciative smile. He'd never guess it, as Crowley's edges don't seem half as rough as his own.

Still, he knows education isn't everything. Experience counts, too. He watches the guess and makes a small sound of disappointment.]

Rough luck. Maybe the next one'll be better.

[The next one, unfortunately, isn't much better. Not in the sense that Crowley doesn't know the answer, because he does, but because he's fairly certain the question isn't one that comes from a book.

What is the name of the Fifth Horseman Of The Apocalypse? waits on the screen, a textbook flashing where he's expected to input his answer. For a brief second, he considers playing it off as nothing, on the assumption George could likely believe it does have something to do with a book, but when he finds himself typing the answer without intending to, he can't stop himself frowning.]

I think it might be time to call it.

[There's a hint of concern in his tone, but it's more annoyance than anything right now.

Which only gets worse when he attempts to stand, only to find he can't.]

Fuck.

[Looks like maybe something out of the Bible, which he guesses is a book but not something he'd expect to be counted as recreational reading. Still, Crowley seems to know the answer, and sure enough, it's right.

He's about to congratulate him until he says that.]

This that time when I'm supposed to wallop you one?

[His eyes narrow with concern as he glances back at the screen.

On a scale of 1-10 how satisfying was killing Ligur?]

[Crowley winces slightly at the question, not out of guilt so much as awareness that humans have a fairly different perspective on things like murder, and that he's likely going to have to explain himself.]

Afraid we might be past the point where a good wallop would help.

[He does have to pause before answering, to actually think about it; there wasn't all that much time to process it as it happened, and it isn't something he's so hung up on that he gave it much thought here.

It ends up being an 8 for his answer. It would've been more satisfying if it was Hastur, but that wasn't the question.]

It was self-defense, for the record. The bastard would've done worse than kill me if I hadn't stopped him.

[The downside to answering one question is that the next one is now free to display on the screen.

Why didn't you attend Leonardo's funeral?]

Alright, that's just bloody rude.

[He nods, his look maybe a little more understanding than expected. He doesn't ask, doesn't challenge, just accepts it, and this time it's his turn to wince at the question.

That's damned personal.]

Gonna try something.

[He reaches over to try to turn off the computer. He'd absorbed enough from those classes to know how to do that much. Or so he'd thought. The prompt just sits there with a flashing cursor.]

Well, if that ain't a kick in the pants.

[A low grumble. This time he goes to yank the cable, unceremoniously, standing and leaning over.]

That do it?

[Well, at least George didn't freak out, which really isn't too much of a shock if he thinks about it for a second or two. George is a sensible bloke.

Evident by the fact he's smart enough to consider turning the computer off. That it doesn't work also isn't a surprise, but points for trying.]

If only it were that easy.

[But he'll take the second while George is busy with the cable to quickly type in his answer and hit send, to save anyone from seeing that he might have emotions. Hopefully he can just get through these questions and get it over with.

Which would be easier to do if the next question wasn't Do you really think She's listening?]

Oh, fuck you.

[He might click a little too hard on the no option, because fuck this.]

[The fact the damn thing's still going with the cable pulled is cursed and has him all hot under the collar.

He leans back and grabs for Crowley instead, hard fists twisting into his jacket to do his damnedest to haul him to his feet and drag him away from the thing.

If that doesn't work, he's out of options beyond trying to smash the monitor with a chair, something he's pretty sure will get him banned, arrested, or both.]

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