mayfield_rpg | Drink Count: 22 || Mun is an Impatient Shipping Addict

(( Post forward dated to February 13th/14th ))

A. [Phone, Evening of February 13th]

[Crowley returns home from the bar to find that bouquet of flowers on the mantlepiece still. He steps over and plucks an iris from the vase and sniffs it before any alarm bells have a chance to ring in his mind. His brow furrows. What....? He feels a need to walk over to the phone and pick it up and dial the town.

He takes a hesitant breath before committing demonic suicide.]

Hallo? This is Crowley. I, er... I have a confession to make... Er... Where do I begin? Aziraphale and I have been good friends for a decidedly long time. And I don't know for sure just how long ago this started... Maybe it was when we stopped the apocalypse... Maybe even before then...

But, er... The truth of the matter is... I'm in love with Aziraphale.

[He pauses, as if waiting to be smote by God Himself. Or Lucifer.]

Er... Right.

B. [Action: About Town, throughout the day of February 14th]

[Here is your chance to find Crowley around town! He nibbled on some mint from the bouquet, so he is likely to flirt with you. Be careful though, There might be a jealous Lucifer following behind Crowley.]

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[Lucifer lets out a small, amused laugh. A thief you might be, Grimsley, but he has to give some credit where credit is do. Very few people would think of actually hitting on him while trying to take something, or someone, that is his. He'd find it charming, really, if he wasn't still so pissed about the way he just met you.]

A great deal is said about me, though I suppose I'd be even more a liar to say I didn't agree with those descriptions.

But surely, you've known that along with that I'm quite a proud creature. And with pride?

Comes selfishness.

[He stiffens, wings spreading slightly in front of Grimsley, feathers fluffing.]

He's a friend.

I believe we've established that, Crowley.

[He murmurs under his breath. He still looks remarkably unfazed. Those flowers must have been strong.]

Can't I convince you to share? Pride goeth before a fall, or so they say...

[Hey, you see that brief look in his eyes Crowley? That's his "shut the fuck up and let Lucy talk" look, Crowley. Hope you enjoyed it, because he very quickly shifts back to his usual expression as he turns his attention to Grimsley again.]

Share?

Tell me. Why should I share? He is mine, in entirety, and you a thief in how you've treated him so far as I have seen. What reason should I have to share with you?

[Oh, he sees that look. And he takes it's advice. He doesn't move from his position between them, despite his growing terror.]

[The flush fades from his cheeks as quickly as if someone had thrust the milkweed under his nose. For a few moments, Grimsley stares.]

He isn't yours.

He isn't property to be owned. He isn't something to be stolen or purchased or haggled for. He isn't yours or mine or even his angel's.

Lucifer, light-bringer, first to be cast from heaven, first to be called demon, Lord of Hell, and Ruler of this World. Even if I believe that, do those epithets give you rights over all who followed you? Does he call you Lord because you own him? Did he sell his freedom when he fell with you? Did you create him?

You aren't even from his world. You've never laid eyes on him before you set foot in Mayfield. You aren't even in your world. What do you own here? Not even your own body...

I will not tell you why you should share, Lucifer. I will tell you why you should give. I will tell you that he has lived millennia without a chance at what he desires most, and that no matter how I feel about the town, he might be able to find it here. Where he might be in love without fear of reprisal. Where he might be a little bit mortal. Where he might be a little bit good.

Have the grace to allow it to him.

[He is, of course, reading the situation entirely incorrectly, but for last words, they were fairly good ones.]

[Lucifer, by his nature, is not a charitable creature. He has no problem with those under him seeking their own free will. But if they wish to enforce it, they must prove they have the power to do so. Most times, a plea from a second party would be ignored all together. If the demon had neither the courage to speak to him directly, nor the power to back up his desires, than those desires were forfeit.

But there is a beauty, in Grimsley's words. He can't deny that. Working with words, manipulating words, is part and parcel of what he does. He understands their power, intrinsically understands it. In a way, he would think he was immune to it.

But he isn't. Grimsley's skill, his word-smithing, to use a term I have just now made up, or perhaps one that existed that I have bastardized, has finally reached what might be called Lucifer's conscious. What can he do, but consider the weight of them? What can he do, perhaps, but dwell on it, about his own cruelty and tyranny when it was tyranny and lack of free will he had been fighting to begin with.

And he does. And admits Grimsley has a point.

And promptly proceeds to not care as one of his arms shoots out, aiming to strike Grimsley across the cheek.]

[He tenses all the more with every word Grimsley speaks, knowing there will be some sort of reaction. And of course the reaction comes.

Crowley's right wing shoots out to block the strike. He winces when it connects and takes a step back, his back pressing against Grimsley.]

[He has all the opportunity to touch the wings to his heart's content at last. But he will try to draw them in, to push them back before Crowley takes any more punishment.]

Crowley, no.

I've fought for myself since I was a boy. Street trash or lord of hell, I mean to keep doing so.

Admirable.

[Despite how mocking the word might sound coming from Lucifer, it's sincere.]

As the challenged, it is your right to decide how we might duel then, if you accept it.

Are you bloody serious, Grimsley?

[This is a bad idea. Listen to your demon bro. Crowley winces as he pulls his wings back. The blow had just barely missed the delicate bones in his wings and the muscles are now complaining about it.]

What can he do? Kill me? I'm afraid I've lost my fear of death after last week.

I've already seen much worse.

And, of course, even without permission... I wasn't going to 'duel' any other way.

[Five monsters appear before him in a flash of light. ...No. Four.
Liepard has already led with a Fake Out.]

Drink Count: 22 || Mun is an Impatient Shipping Addict

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