demonicmiracle | (duplicity) ic contact

[Well, that's a bit of a problem. Jon frowns at the note. Then writes a message back with his left hand, doing his best to disguise his handwriting.]

no one.
nothing.

[The latest gift is a colorful knitted sleeve that could, conceivably, fit a very large snake.]

[The problem is that Jon is unfortunately attached to an evil, all-seeing entity that has an unmistakable feeling about it. Crowley's gotten used to anticipating Martin's arrival by the sense of the Lonely, and when Jon turns up for the next delivery, Crowley picks up the sense of something similar.

It's easy enough, then, to will himself out into the hallway of his apartment complex, a good fifteen feet away from his own door. And because Crowley is nothing if not in it for the drama, he silently spreads his wings to fill the hall, blocking Jon in.

He has, unfortunately, not registered the fact that he's only just woke up from a nap and is therefore in his pyjamas still, but.

Can't win 'em all.]

Hello, Jonathan.

[With being the avatar of an all-seeing, all-knowing eldritch creature and just generally paranoid, Jon really should be much more aware of his surroundings. He's grown complacent, though, and he's just trying to imagine if Crowley will enjoy the salt and pepper shakers he'd found that are shaped like snakes. He sets down the box along with the latest note:

you are what you eat

And then Crowley speaks from behind him, and Jon just about jumps out of his skin. He whirls around, eyes wide, frightened. He feels like a boy who's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.]

I was just passing by!

[The lie is immediate, spoken in a strained voice. And he'd bolt for the lift, except those wings are-]

Oh, your wings are beautiful...

[No. Focus! His fingers do itch to touch, but more than anything, he just wants to run. His face is burning with embarrassment and shame.]

[Well, the jump is what he was aiming for, and the very-obvious-lie is also good, but Jon does get immediately sidetracked. Crowley's grinning, though, as he rolls his eyes and tucks his wings back into the ether.]

Oi, focus. [He even snaps his fingers, just to grab Jon's attention, there's no magic happening right now.] What's with all the serial killer notes you've been leaving outside my door?

[He flinches at the snap, then frowns, mildly indignant.]

They're not serial killer notes. I was disguising my- I mean- I don't know what you're talking about. [He glances away. He can maybe still dash away. Maybe.]

[Crowley will freeze Jon up if he tries to bolt.]

Do you not have a printer at the Institute? These are the sort of notes I'd expect to receive from kidnappers, along with my husband's ear. [This is a very specific scenario but also, is he wrong?] The gifts were alright, but I thought I was being threatened, honestly.

[Well, the cat is solidly out of the bag. Jon crosses his arms, looking surly.]

Martin has the printer in his office. I didn't want him knowing what I was doing. I just... this was easier. And I thought it was a little funny...

[Apparently not.]

Would've been if I'd known it was from you.

[And not like, potentially a random crazy person who was sending him very specific gifts.

For all that Jon looks surly, Crowley is just amused. He lets out a little huff of a laugh, tipping his head as he regards Jon.]

Want to come in for a cuppa?

You weren't meant to know. [It's grumbled as he continues to look away from the demon. But he's hard-pressed to turn down tea most of the time.]

Fine. One cup. [As if he's the one being put out here. Jon turns to bend down and pick up the package, cheeks coloring with embarrassment again.] You might as well just take this now.

Thank you for the present, Jonathan.

[Crowley is trying very hard not to laugh as he takes the package, holding it against his chest as if he's very touched by the gesture.

It's at this point he realizes he's still wearing his pyjamas.]

Oh — that's embarrassing. One sec. [A little flick of his fingers and he's dressed properly, an apparently necessary step before he opens the door of his flat to head inside, leaving it open for Jon to follow.] I've got assam, earl grey, darjeeling, or gyokuro. Pick your poison.

[Crowley doesn't actually like earl grey, but it's Aziraphale's favourite, so he's bought some just in case the angel ever shows up.]

Darjeeling. And would you just- [He's more than a little flustered as he steps into Crowley's abode.] The only people who call me Jonathan are my grandmother and my ex-boss. Could you not?

[Very little has changed in the apartment since Jon was last in it, aside from the addition of a rather fancy glass set up for the four colourful mice.]

Sure. [It might seem like that's a bit too easy, but if anyone's going to get the name thing, it's Crowley.] What would you prefer?

Just Jon. Or Archivist. That's what most people at home call me when they don't work at the Institute. [Muttered:] And what LIEs seems to prefer.

[He goes over to investigate the set-up.]

You, er... you didn't eat the mice?

[A couple of weeks ago, he might have baulked slightly at Jon, it would've felt a bit too familiar. But Crowley's opinion of the man has shifted enough that he's willing to give it a go.]

Not much for eating, really, in either shape. [Crowley keeps talking as he wanders over to the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil, his voice carrying easily through the apartment.] They've been useful, though, turns out the plants are a bit scared of them, mice make a mess of their roots if they get digging in there, so they're a good threat.

[It's been long enough that his plants have learned Fear.]

Oh. Er... okay. Sorry. [Well, that's a bit awkward.] Wait. The plants are scared?

[He looks to the nearest potted plant in confusion.] Are they alive here?

S'alright, you weren't to know.

[Isn't that an inherent risk of gift giving? And it's not as if he's particularly bothered by the new additions to his life, there's some novelty in having pets.]

All plants are alive. [Like... this is an obvious fact, Jon. Maybe more obvious by the fact the plant seems to almost straighten up under the sudden scrutiny.] If you've only ever had dead plants, you're not a very good gardener.

That's not- [Jon huffs.] I mean... thinking. Plants don't have emotions.

[There's an idle hum and the click of a kettle, Crowley falling quiet for a moment as he pours the tea.]

You're supposed to talk to them, though, must be part of them that's able to understand. [He skipped the biology lectures in Heaven.] D'you take milk or sugar?

[Jon is doubtful. Maybe Crowley's particular plants are sentient due to... demonic energy, or something. For the briefest moment, Jon wonders if he could take a Statement from a plant. No. No, that would be ridiculous.] Both, please. Is there a reason you want your plants to be afraid?

[Rather than make an executive decision about how Jon takes his tea, Crowley brings out a tray with the filled pot, a mug, tea and sugar, and sets it all down on the coffee table for Jon to do with as he will.

There's a mug for himself, but it's full of coffee.]

Makes 'em grow better. [The real answer, if he was better at self reflection, would be that he's reframing the trauma of being cast out of Heaven, but that's neither here nor there.] It's a waste of time to coddle them, I've got to make sure they know what the consequences are if they let me down.

[Cue a pointed glance at some of the plants, who all shudder and do their best to look more lush and verdant.]

[This is... This is patently ridiculous. Jon can see the plants shaking. He flavors the tea to his liking and continues to eye Crowley dubiously as he takes a sip. This, as least is familiar and perfectly fine.]

What exactly do you do to them if they let you down? Toss them in a woodchopper, or something? [He thinks he's being facetious.]

[Crowley, on the other hand, is 100% sincere when he answers:]

Garbage disposal for the smaller ones, anything too large for that, well...

[Fire isn't his preferred magic, but Crowley gestures with his left hand, setting the tips of his fingers alight for a moment before another gesture puts out the fire.]

They've learned not to disappoint me.

[...]

Right.

[What do you honestly even say to that?]

Can they, er... can they speak at all? [Maybe a Statement isn't so farfetched an idea?] I mean, obviously they don't have mouths. But... I don't know. Telepathy? [It sounds so stupid as soon as he says it that Jon has to resist the urge to grimace at himself.]

Edited 2019-11-15 14:41 (UTC)

[Now it's Crowley's turn to make a face, as if Jon is the ridiculous one here.]

Maybe if you speak plant, but I didn't think anything on Earth had telepathy figured out. Or maybe they have. Can't say I paid much attention when they gave us the overview of that part of creation, I was, you know, busy.

[With the stars, which is... weird, that Jon knows this fact about him.]

[Jon scoffs and takes a sip of his tea, muttering:] Yes, well. Thank you for the stars, they're lovely. Even if you weren't bothering to pay attention to anything else.

[He goes still, brows furrowing.] We've... we've talked about that, right? What you did as an angel. [The Archivist can't remember the conversation, and that typically bodes ill.]

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