02-17-2016, 11:05 PM
"Day three," Crowley faux-whispered into the barrel of his gun, feigning a gruff, action film voice. "Still journeying solo. It's just me, my second-in-command Sir Beep-boop, and the wide open prairie. And a metric fuckton of mosquitoes."
It was true; there were indeed many blood-sucking insects buzzing around the mud-piles and sticky, greenish pools, and quite a few had decided to royally stick it to him. Or, rather, his blood. Instead of a healthful dose of life fluid, however, they were treated to the stench of sulfur and— sadly infrequent— spontaneous combustion, presumably due to some off-the-wall chemical reaction fizzing in the air.
The demon found brief novelty in watching them whistle away only to mysteriously burst into gore a mere span of seconds later, but soon enough even that became depressingly lacking in excitement. Being all alone can do that to a lesser person, and Crowley was the lowest of the low.
After hours of aimless wandering, the half-delirious fallen angel was treated to the sight of something that sent little buzzing rockets of glee whizzing about in his head: A faint trace of cobblestones, leading to not even heaven knew where.
"A-ha!" he cheered, his shoes sliding down the grassy hillside and pattering upon the rocky footpath with an energetic bound. "Now we're getting somewhere!"
Bzzzzz-ayooo! his mechanical companion agreed, occasionally letting out an equally delighted whoop as the demon pranced across the cobbles with all the flouncy grace of a court jester.
Not much had happened within the past twenty four hours or so, but it certainly seemed that things were looking up for Crowley. This little bit of tattered civilization added a dash of adventurous zest to the largely plain Mediterranean landscape, and he wasn't about to pass up the chance to find something of interest. All roads have to lead somewhere, and for all he knew this one could lead him straight towards a guardian. Unless....
Crowley's yellow-eyed gaze wandered. What he saw was a persistent, vaguely mountainous stretch of land that seemed to be well-suited to house a spread of distinguished summer villas. What remained of a grove of olive trees speckled the horizon in branching rises of somber grey intermingled with smooth marine blue, sprigs of grooved green winding throughout their bark in a tapestry of tactile color.
The sunlight slanted, casting a reddish-tinged glare. Stipples of bracken shadow climbed like lichens across the gently swaying meadow, field rats and skinny-legged hares skittering amongst them. Yellow buds of springtime daffodils sprouted in patches alongside the barely visible stones, the road appearing to extend for only a few yards before dissipating entirely into the natural dirt and vegetation.
Unless it went absolutely nowhere. Which certainly seemed to be the case, as not a single towering silhouette of a crumbling structure or pillar-lined temple loomed in the distance. The demon sighed, his entire posture drooping like that of a wilting flower, and shuffled onwards. Bless his poor luck.
Perhaps he would find something if he just kept on walking, soldiering off through what seemed to be a perpetually changing world— he had already been made to weave around in one big circle by the dramatically changing shape of the island, and Crowley feared that any other losses of terrain would sweep him away, too.
How would he escape the very ground falling out from under his feet? With a little faith, trust, and pixie-dust? Please.
But, as a certain gut instinct kindly informed him, there was something very magical hidden over yonder, just about two hills to the right and straight on 'til morning. He could almost feel it, akin to how a planet's gravitational pull compels an asteroid to drift dangerously close, twisting and burning nearer and precipitously nearer, only to sweep harmlessly past in a trail of dust and crystalline ice.
Without paying any further attention to the tossing sea and splendid hills that lay behind him, for he already knew quite well where he wanted to go, thank you very much, Crowley made off towards the mysterious, enthrallingly beckoning sensation. He had never exactly gotten the hang of impulse control, anyways, so why on earth would he fight it?
It was true; there were indeed many blood-sucking insects buzzing around the mud-piles and sticky, greenish pools, and quite a few had decided to royally stick it to him. Or, rather, his blood. Instead of a healthful dose of life fluid, however, they were treated to the stench of sulfur and— sadly infrequent— spontaneous combustion, presumably due to some off-the-wall chemical reaction fizzing in the air.
The demon found brief novelty in watching them whistle away only to mysteriously burst into gore a mere span of seconds later, but soon enough even that became depressingly lacking in excitement. Being all alone can do that to a lesser person, and Crowley was the lowest of the low.
After hours of aimless wandering, the half-delirious fallen angel was treated to the sight of something that sent little buzzing rockets of glee whizzing about in his head: A faint trace of cobblestones, leading to not even heaven knew where.
"A-ha!" he cheered, his shoes sliding down the grassy hillside and pattering upon the rocky footpath with an energetic bound. "Now we're getting somewhere!"
Bzzzzz-ayooo! his mechanical companion agreed, occasionally letting out an equally delighted whoop as the demon pranced across the cobbles with all the flouncy grace of a court jester.
Not much had happened within the past twenty four hours or so, but it certainly seemed that things were looking up for Crowley. This little bit of tattered civilization added a dash of adventurous zest to the largely plain Mediterranean landscape, and he wasn't about to pass up the chance to find something of interest. All roads have to lead somewhere, and for all he knew this one could lead him straight towards a guardian. Unless....
Crowley's yellow-eyed gaze wandered. What he saw was a persistent, vaguely mountainous stretch of land that seemed to be well-suited to house a spread of distinguished summer villas. What remained of a grove of olive trees speckled the horizon in branching rises of somber grey intermingled with smooth marine blue, sprigs of grooved green winding throughout their bark in a tapestry of tactile color.
The sunlight slanted, casting a reddish-tinged glare. Stipples of bracken shadow climbed like lichens across the gently swaying meadow, field rats and skinny-legged hares skittering amongst them. Yellow buds of springtime daffodils sprouted in patches alongside the barely visible stones, the road appearing to extend for only a few yards before dissipating entirely into the natural dirt and vegetation.
Unless it went absolutely nowhere. Which certainly seemed to be the case, as not a single towering silhouette of a crumbling structure or pillar-lined temple loomed in the distance. The demon sighed, his entire posture drooping like that of a wilting flower, and shuffled onwards. Bless his poor luck.
Perhaps he would find something if he just kept on walking, soldiering off through what seemed to be a perpetually changing world— he had already been made to weave around in one big circle by the dramatically changing shape of the island, and Crowley feared that any other losses of terrain would sweep him away, too.
How would he escape the very ground falling out from under his feet? With a little faith, trust, and pixie-dust? Please.
But, as a certain gut instinct kindly informed him, there was something very magical hidden over yonder, just about two hills to the right and straight on 'til morning. He could almost feel it, akin to how a planet's gravitational pull compels an asteroid to drift dangerously close, twisting and burning nearer and precipitously nearer, only to sweep harmlessly past in a trail of dust and crystalline ice.
Without paying any further attention to the tossing sea and splendid hills that lay behind him, for he already knew quite well where he wanted to go, thank you very much, Crowley made off towards the mysterious, enthrallingly beckoning sensation. He had never exactly gotten the hang of impulse control, anyways, so why on earth would he fight it?
![[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