eyesofaserpent | Drink Count: 13 || Bombfield, Day 1

A. [Action, 915 Bilko Boulevard, or at least what's left of it]

[Crowley wakes suddenly to find the house in rubble and his drone daughter dead. The sight of her body almost makes him ill. He looks around quickly to spot April and Kyon moments before his eyes fall on the remains of the garage. It's missing his pride and joy: the Bentley. He can't stop himself from running to the foundation of the garage and looking around uselessly, as it would change the present.]

Oh bloody hell, Mayfield. Where is my bloody car?

[Priorities, mang.]

B. [Action, around Mayfield]

[Crowley is the most displeased demon. Why did he do all that work to avert the apocalypse just to see it happen here in this town? Also, things are registering as hot to him. What the hell? It wasn't that long ago that he could be set on fire and not even break a sweat.

He's been going around Mayfield, trying to find people he likes. Giles, Loki, Grimsley, Lyn, Snipes, Mika: that means you especially. Anyone else he's met, he'll also be checking in on, but mostly after or on the way to checking in on those 6.]

Oh, good. You made it out okay...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Crowley heads off with Grimsley in tow, looking a bit agitated for him.]

About, er... Twenty-one years ago I was handed a baby boy by some of my colleagues and told to deliver the antichrist to a certain hospital to start the chain of events that would lead to the apocalypse.

[...Pause.]

You really have the most marvelous stories, Crowley. We should have you entertain us nightly at the bar.

I don't want to tell the whole world my secrets.

Well, er... I handed the child over and eleven years later was the apocalypse. We, er... Realized the brat we'd been following for the last eleven years was the wrong brat. A few days and a big mess later we found the antichrist and hauled our arses to Lower Tadfield.

And you arrived just in time to find a smoking crater or something of the sort?

Eye of the storm, more rather. It, er... It starts to get a little fuzzy there...

Fuzzy as in you can't remember it, fuzzy as in difficult to describe, or fuzzy as in the Antichrist was melting the world down into large wads of cotton?

Fuzzy as in I can't remember. I'm actually lucky to remember as much as I do. It's taken ten years to regain that much.

I'm not sure I follow what you mean.

I think the Antichrist tried to erase everyone's memories of that time.

...But you did save the world from armageddon.

I did. We did.

So you've got the important bits, at least.

Your, ah... friends weren't very upset by this?

My "coworkers", as it were? They weren't too happy about it, but they've been unusually quiet since then.

I suppose they're out of work if they can't have an Apocalypse. That's more or less the point of the whole thing, isn't it?

Pretty much. Or at least, that's what we're told.

Perhaps you could convince your coworkers to appreciate the finer aspects of human life. Trot 'em around a casino, pour them a few drinks...

They don't usually remain topside long enough to appreciate anything on this great green Earth and I don't particularly want them to either. If there's anyone I want to avoid, it's them.