Crowley startled when a splash came from behind him and hastily reeled around, fearing the worst.
Taking in the short, terrier-like ears flouncing atop the stranger’s head, the wide, aye-aye eyes and the smattering of tufted blue-grey fuzz on her cheeks, however, he was sure that the look on his face was totally priceless.
This impish stranger blinked at him, the animal jawbone fitted snugly against her paw wavering mid-strike. Yes, paw— sort of long and akin to a raccoon or weasel foot, Crowley thought, only dexterous enough to wield a weapon and obviously gifted with opposable thumbs…. strange, that, but not the weirdest thing he had ever seen.
He huffed, teeth showing in a grimace. Not by far.
The blue-grey imp’s face abruptly split into a grin. Distractingly enough, the little creature’s mouth was chock full of shards of glass, needles, and other heinously unsanitary and only vaguely teeth-shaped bits and pieces that most certainly were not actual teeth. A real dental hygiene nightmare, it was. It also happened to be just enough of a distraction for the imp to launch herself forward and latch onto his face, shoving her grubby mitts into his mouth without so much as asking him to dinner first.
She poked and prodded at his mouth, feeling around the hooked barbs and tines lining his jaws, occasionally making soft little chirps of…. presumably approval at the superb quality of his teeth. They were so clean, so sharp, and so very real! She’d wager he had been made with them, even.
Too stunned to move, the snake-eyed demon would have leaned as far away as he was physically able if it weren’t for the imp’s face-hugging grip, and thus was made to suffer through his impromptu dental appointment. It was like having a giant crab or something from Alien attached to his face. A giant crab with a lot of fur.
“Ya gnowth, youth cood hath asthed first.” the demon slurred around her fingers. He spit out pieces of fur and grit once she withdrew them and squinted up at her with his uncannily yellow eyes, scowling.
She beamed back at him, her smile apparently indifferent to whatever strangeness had just transpired, and then began to make a bunch of hand gestures at him. For a moment Crowley just stared at her, eyes unblinking over the brim of his sunglasses and his mouth flattened into a line. He squinted at her hands, specifically, which shaped into different gestures like she was trying to make shadow puppets on a far wall. What in the name of…?
Realization hit. Oh. Oh.
A light bulb had blinked on in his mind’s eye. Sign language! He knew that. Of course he did.
The imp chirped every once in a while as she signaled at him, seeming more and more anxious by the second.
(—chasing me. We must flee immediately, initiate!)
“We?” Crowley asked.
Baring her teeth in frustration, the imp furiously nodded. (There are Meatgrinders here.)
Raising one eyebrow at her archly, Crowley crossed his arms under the bloody liquid’s surface. “And I am supposed to be worried about meat processing units…. why?”
Smack! The imp whapped her forehead in clear agitation, kitten-like nostrils flaring. She appeared to glance imploringly around, as if searching for inspiration, how to possibly explain. Then, her eyes lit up with a terrifying gleam.
Orange eyes slanting to focus on him once more and her tufted ears twitching, the blue-cloaked imp pointed to something over his shoulder. Turning, Crowley squinted confusedly when all he could see were crowds of demons and tall buildings with numerous smokestacks and funnels on the tops of them, the architectural flairs reminiscent of something from 18th century France.
A flourish of violet fabric drew his attention. There appeared to be a few angry individuals with nasty, ugly, brutal-seeming weapons coming their way, all snarling faces and steely flashes of metal. He inhaled sharply, his brain working furtively.
“They friends of yours?” asked Crowley with some cheek, though an underlying tremor of anxiety fouled his words.
Looking away from the flowing masses, the demon heaved an exasperated sigh when he realized his companion was scrambling up onto the cart’s ledge, paws slipping after being submerged in the dark blood. Soon, she was standing on the ledge, shielding her eyes against a gust of vile ash. The hoofbeast’s clopping mingled with the noises of the street as she craned her head upward, eying the sky beseechingly and swallowing around the acrid stench of the air.
“Where are you going?” spluttered Crowley, pulling himself up onto the cart’s edge as well. His wings surfaced with a wallowing splish, drops of bright red spraying outward and turning the once pristine feathers almost black.
The imp glanced down at him imperiously as she balanced like some kind of tightrope-walker on the basin rim, her tail flicking in a markedly cat-like fashion. (I’m getting out of here, what does it look like I’m doing? Stupid initiate.)
Tongue clicking against his teeth, the demon looked behind their cart and into the hodge-podge of rollers, lurkers, and clods of filth sent flying into the air by the wagon’s wheels. Their driver’s whip cracked over the rolling, sweating back of the beast leading it. Like a horde of drunken centipedes the crowds stumbled along, parting dizzily before the demons who were still stalking towards the pair of them, spiritedly kicking aside any unfortunate soul who dared to get in their way.
“MOVE ALONG,” bellowed the one at the front, the fellow with the gaudy neckwear. “OUTTA THE WAY.”
Crowley glanced down and immediately wished he hadn’t— it was an awfully long drop over the bridge’s side, a spitting stone gargoyle with a giraffe’s neck snarling up at him from where it crouched over the dark water. The stench of mildew and pond life tinged the air, the cold grey stone and garbage lending a rancid, greenish pallor to the attire of those strolling across the bridge.
Over the low stone side of the bridge was a slender barge, several demons standing on its platform and picking their way along the canal’s bottom with long, stick-like oars. It seemed that it would pass under the bridge and reappear on the other side in only a moment’s time; a short window, for sure, but certainly doable.
His legs dangled over the basin’s side as he sat beside the imp, jolting with the cart as it tottered over the cobbles.
“Budge up, pal!” A demon walking by slurred, words running together as they nudged Crowley’s legs aside on their way past.
“Ah, pardon,” Crowley murmured, shifting his legs to the side and never once taking his eyes off his unusual guide. “So…. you’ve…. done this before, have you? And survived. Obviously.”
The imp sniffed, shooting him a sly look. (Of course.)
She peeked over his shoulder, her ears just barely reaching his chin even while he was sitting down. Satisfied with her quick scan of the crowds, then, she raised one eyebrow at him as if to say, ‘Well, pal, it was nice knowing you. See you on the other side.’ And suddenly, in a gap of displaced space and a swoosh, she was gone.
Crowley swallowed. He peered over the edge of the bridge again, his wings giving an agitated little shiver at the great height.
A tiny blue figure waved up at him from the barge, hands then coming to rest on its hips.
“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” Crowley muttered to himself, shifting forward a half-inch. A short, hot breeze tangled in his hair, fading into nonexistence as swiftly as it came.
“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t….” The fallen angel looked over his shoulder. A snarling, leathery face riddled with scars jerked into view, wide-set teeth glinting with traces of saliva.
…. Oh, damn it all.
And then, the snarling face, the bridge and the bustling crowds-- all of it was gone.
Taking in the short, terrier-like ears flouncing atop the stranger’s head, the wide, aye-aye eyes and the smattering of tufted blue-grey fuzz on her cheeks, however, he was sure that the look on his face was totally priceless.
This impish stranger blinked at him, the animal jawbone fitted snugly against her paw wavering mid-strike. Yes, paw— sort of long and akin to a raccoon or weasel foot, Crowley thought, only dexterous enough to wield a weapon and obviously gifted with opposable thumbs…. strange, that, but not the weirdest thing he had ever seen.
He huffed, teeth showing in a grimace. Not by far.
The blue-grey imp’s face abruptly split into a grin. Distractingly enough, the little creature’s mouth was chock full of shards of glass, needles, and other heinously unsanitary and only vaguely teeth-shaped bits and pieces that most certainly were not actual teeth. A real dental hygiene nightmare, it was. It also happened to be just enough of a distraction for the imp to launch herself forward and latch onto his face, shoving her grubby mitts into his mouth without so much as asking him to dinner first.
She poked and prodded at his mouth, feeling around the hooked barbs and tines lining his jaws, occasionally making soft little chirps of…. presumably approval at the superb quality of his teeth. They were so clean, so sharp, and so very real! She’d wager he had been made with them, even.
Too stunned to move, the snake-eyed demon would have leaned as far away as he was physically able if it weren’t for the imp’s face-hugging grip, and thus was made to suffer through his impromptu dental appointment. It was like having a giant crab or something from Alien attached to his face. A giant crab with a lot of fur.
“Ya gnowth, youth cood hath asthed first.” the demon slurred around her fingers. He spit out pieces of fur and grit once she withdrew them and squinted up at her with his uncannily yellow eyes, scowling.
She beamed back at him, her smile apparently indifferent to whatever strangeness had just transpired, and then began to make a bunch of hand gestures at him. For a moment Crowley just stared at her, eyes unblinking over the brim of his sunglasses and his mouth flattened into a line. He squinted at her hands, specifically, which shaped into different gestures like she was trying to make shadow puppets on a far wall. What in the name of…?
Realization hit. Oh. Oh.
A light bulb had blinked on in his mind’s eye. Sign language! He knew that. Of course he did.
The imp chirped every once in a while as she signaled at him, seeming more and more anxious by the second.
(—chasing me. We must flee immediately, initiate!)
“We?” Crowley asked.
Baring her teeth in frustration, the imp furiously nodded. (There are Meatgrinders here.)
Raising one eyebrow at her archly, Crowley crossed his arms under the bloody liquid’s surface. “And I am supposed to be worried about meat processing units…. why?”
Smack! The imp whapped her forehead in clear agitation, kitten-like nostrils flaring. She appeared to glance imploringly around, as if searching for inspiration, how to possibly explain. Then, her eyes lit up with a terrifying gleam.
Orange eyes slanting to focus on him once more and her tufted ears twitching, the blue-cloaked imp pointed to something over his shoulder. Turning, Crowley squinted confusedly when all he could see were crowds of demons and tall buildings with numerous smokestacks and funnels on the tops of them, the architectural flairs reminiscent of something from 18th century France.
A flourish of violet fabric drew his attention. There appeared to be a few angry individuals with nasty, ugly, brutal-seeming weapons coming their way, all snarling faces and steely flashes of metal. He inhaled sharply, his brain working furtively.
“They friends of yours?” asked Crowley with some cheek, though an underlying tremor of anxiety fouled his words.
Looking away from the flowing masses, the demon heaved an exasperated sigh when he realized his companion was scrambling up onto the cart’s ledge, paws slipping after being submerged in the dark blood. Soon, she was standing on the ledge, shielding her eyes against a gust of vile ash. The hoofbeast’s clopping mingled with the noises of the street as she craned her head upward, eying the sky beseechingly and swallowing around the acrid stench of the air.
“Where are you going?” spluttered Crowley, pulling himself up onto the cart’s edge as well. His wings surfaced with a wallowing splish, drops of bright red spraying outward and turning the once pristine feathers almost black.
The imp glanced down at him imperiously as she balanced like some kind of tightrope-walker on the basin rim, her tail flicking in a markedly cat-like fashion. (I’m getting out of here, what does it look like I’m doing? Stupid initiate.)
Tongue clicking against his teeth, the demon looked behind their cart and into the hodge-podge of rollers, lurkers, and clods of filth sent flying into the air by the wagon’s wheels. Their driver’s whip cracked over the rolling, sweating back of the beast leading it. Like a horde of drunken centipedes the crowds stumbled along, parting dizzily before the demons who were still stalking towards the pair of them, spiritedly kicking aside any unfortunate soul who dared to get in their way.
“MOVE ALONG,” bellowed the one at the front, the fellow with the gaudy neckwear. “OUTTA THE WAY.”
Crowley glanced down and immediately wished he hadn’t— it was an awfully long drop over the bridge’s side, a spitting stone gargoyle with a giraffe’s neck snarling up at him from where it crouched over the dark water. The stench of mildew and pond life tinged the air, the cold grey stone and garbage lending a rancid, greenish pallor to the attire of those strolling across the bridge.
Over the low stone side of the bridge was a slender barge, several demons standing on its platform and picking their way along the canal’s bottom with long, stick-like oars. It seemed that it would pass under the bridge and reappear on the other side in only a moment’s time; a short window, for sure, but certainly doable.
His legs dangled over the basin’s side as he sat beside the imp, jolting with the cart as it tottered over the cobbles.
“Budge up, pal!” A demon walking by slurred, words running together as they nudged Crowley’s legs aside on their way past.
“Ah, pardon,” Crowley murmured, shifting his legs to the side and never once taking his eyes off his unusual guide. “So…. you’ve…. done this before, have you? And survived. Obviously.”
The imp sniffed, shooting him a sly look. (Of course.)
She peeked over his shoulder, her ears just barely reaching his chin even while he was sitting down. Satisfied with her quick scan of the crowds, then, she raised one eyebrow at him as if to say, ‘Well, pal, it was nice knowing you. See you on the other side.’ And suddenly, in a gap of displaced space and a swoosh, she was gone.
Crowley swallowed. He peered over the edge of the bridge again, his wings giving an agitated little shiver at the great height.
A tiny blue figure waved up at him from the barge, hands then coming to rest on its hips.
“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” Crowley muttered to himself, shifting forward a half-inch. A short, hot breeze tangled in his hair, fading into nonexistence as swiftly as it came.
“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t….” The fallen angel looked over his shoulder. A snarling, leathery face riddled with scars jerked into view, wide-set teeth glinting with traces of saliva.
…. Oh, damn it all.
And then, the snarling face, the bridge and the bustling crowds-- all of it was gone.
Quote:9,541 words
![[Image: 18yM1ww.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/18yM1ww.gif)
She's a Killer Queen!
Gunpowder, gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam,
Guaranteed to blow your mind!
- "Killer Queen", Queen