Anthony J. Crowley (
onlyanapple) wrote2015-02-05 09:15 pm
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IC CONTACT - DRIFT FLEET
Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. Uh, I’m probably not in right now, or asleep, and busy, or something, but leave a message after the tone and I’ll get right back to you. Ciao. BeeeEEeeeEEeee.

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Voice (shortly after arrival at ice planet)
This planet is miserable. Where you you?
[He needs a drink or...something. Also, based on the sound of rustling and footsteps, he's already coming to find Crowley. Knowing the demon's hatred for the cold, Felix guesses he's bundled up in his own ship, though there's ample time to detour back to his own to borrow a shuttle.]
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In my room on the Pathstone. Not stepping foot onto this fucking planet so don't even ask me to.
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[And at least he's going the right direction. He's only limited by how fast he can walk right now. Stupid ice.]
...did you know they worship those moons we were on previously?
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What, really? All of them or just...one of them? Because those were some very different moons.
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[There's a slight metallic clang that follow, along with an aborted curse.]
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...
You hit your head on something?
[Look he cares! ]
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[Certainly it's just that, and not the fact that he's clumsy and trying to talk and walk at the same time.]
Just a minute. [He shuts the communicator off and pockets it as he continues onto the Pathstone. A minute or so later the door to Crowley's room creaks open and the wizard invites himself in]
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[He'd find it a lot less funny if it was him.
When Felix lets himself in, Crowley is indeed in bed, surrounded by more blankets than he probably should have. He's probably stolen some from some poor bastard on the Pathstone. ]
And lo, he appears.
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[He does manage a sarcastic bow once he's inside] Summoned out the cold by the glow of your good nature, no doubt.
I see you've made yourself comfortable. Do you plan on being in here the entire time? [He doesn't really care where the blankets came from, because right the only person's comfort he's consulting is his own. Speaking of which, he's already unbuttoning his coat. He doesn't have any snow left on him, but the damp has worked it's way in at the shoulders and the hems of his pants. None of it is really designed for winter.]
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[He so won't. Still, he'll be good and pull the blankets aside. See, Felix, he's willing to share them with you. Be so very, very honoured.]
Given that you look like you've been swimming in a frozen pond, I see absolutely no reason to step toe out of here when it means I'm warm and dry.
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Gross exaggeration aside, I can assure you that it is not, in fact, snowing inside the corridors or the kitchen. Though I can't vouch for anywhere else.
[The smirk he gives Crowley over his shoulder says that, yes, he is honored.]
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How far in the future do you imagine that will be?
[Felix fingers the hem of his pants and sighs. Can't take those into bed, so he quickly slips those off as well. Despite what it looks like and despite the casual flirting, this isn't about sex. Not really. He needs something. Something warm yes, but also something familiar.]
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As always, that's your choice, Felix.
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[Finally free of any damp clothing, he turns to lay sideways on the bed, pulling the blankets after him, and Crowley receives his first reward - cold toes against his legs.]
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You're infinitely lucky I like you. coming in here with your cold toes.
[Still, he doesn't seem to mind THAT much, as he moves his arm to let Felix move in closer. ]
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[He shifts closer, settling against the weight and heat and draping an arm across the demon's chest in a way that's almost shy. Because he doesn't do this, usually - not without the detachment of post-coital bliss or the fog of alcohol lulling him into apathy. There's nothing between them now to help him pretend, and without that wall the events of the month prior are etched very clearly into his mind.]
I'm glad I'm here. [He says it softly, half muffled into Crowley's shoulder]
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...But Felix hasn't left him. It had been the other way around. And Felix had followed him (albiet thanks to Atroma) to this place. More to the point, Felix had remembered him. He didn't have to feel the pain of knowing someone so well and have them look at him as if he were a stranger with Felix. Everything was still there. Crowley knows hope is a dangerous thing, especially where he's concerned. Yet hope he does.
The fear is still there, though. He cannot do this again. Lay everything down and have it torn away. Rebuild himself all over again. ...But. He considers some blithe remark, keep that distance. It would be wiser. But...he doesn't. He can't. ]
...Yeah. Me too.
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He can't say what it is that he wants. Neither of them can promise anything, that's something they both know from experience. They can't promise permanency, because both of them have suffered the coming of people they loved, only to have them leave with a piece of their hearts in tow. Crowley, however, was one of those pieces for him.
What he's reaching for, he still isn't sure, and the uncertainty is a cold grip on his heart. He lets those words sink in for a minute that seems painfully long, shivering not just from the lingering chill, and curls his arm against Crowley's ribs.]
I spent years asking myself when I would get to go home. Missing it. But when I came here instead...going back doesn't seem quite so urgent.
[It's still implication at this point, that Crowley is part of the reason for that. Innocuous conversation except for the fact that he still isn't looking Crowley in the eyes.]
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After a while, he lets out a soft hum.]
Can't say I was all that keen to go home in the first place.
[Aziraphale is there, and Crowley misses him desperately but the wrath of Hell is ALSO there. ]
But I have far more here than I do there.
[And Felix is definitely a part of that. A very big part. ]
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I was exiled...before I arrived at the castle.
[Meaning, you know, he wasn't looking forward to his future either.
And that was just the thing, wasn't it? Because what was the point of living if you couldn't enjoy the parts that mattered? Loss was inevitable in life. Things were finite. At least, for any human. As far as he knew Crowley was eternal, and maybe that should have bothered him, but it never had. The same way Crowley had seemed to see through him from the beginning and hadn't cared. In some cases, almost literally, as the nightmare from the previous month proved.]
Crowley...[He lifts his head a little so he can finally look at the demon]...about what you said to me...last month...
[He's talking mostly about what occurred in his own calibration; something he could have gone on ignoring but the need to know why is eating at him, as much as he needs to know if Crowley remembers it at all]
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[Then again, it was still HOME, wasn't it? Something tangible. Something real. Something familiar. Just...something.
Crowley stills, his brow furrowing. After a few moments of silence, he exhales, speaks again. ]
Do you mean the calibrations?
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He knows this is breaking their unspoken rule. Not talking about things. It's a status quo that has served them well for years and he's dancing on the edge of that. But he's also incredibly insecure under that lazy swagger, so while he considers backpedaling for about half a minute, he does the opposite.]
Yes. ['Worth a thousand of him', Crowley had said. Or something to that effect. He doesn't need that reiterated, and he suddenly realizes how it might seem like he might be fishing for some kind of declaration. Neither of them wants that.] Just...how have you always been so sure? About me?
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The simple answer is I can see people's souls. I know what sort of person someone is at a glance. Important part of the temptation process. Knowing how much good and evil is in the core of someone's being.
[But that's not what this is, and his mouth forms a thin line, his jaw clenching ]
The complicated answer is that I know you. We've known each other a long time. I learned exactly the sort of person you are and I stand by what I said. You didn't deserve anything that happened to you, even if it shaped you into who you are today. You deserved better than that. Than him.
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So did you.
[Than what God had done to Crowley, which is another of quite a few stories he only knows the pieces of. Enough to know where the wounds were, because while he couldn't see people the way the demon could, he always seemed to pinpoint the things that would hurt them the most. Especially in people he loved.
And there it was. The thought he'd been avoiding. The word he'd still never say out loud but the presence of which taunts him.
I'm...[Sorry. Another word he doesn't like to say. His hand clutches in the sheet, then flutters uncertainly at Crowley's shoulder. He isn't good at being comforting and afraid to acknowledge, for both their sake, that there's anything there to comfort at all.] I needed to be sure it wasn't Atroma showing me what I wanted to hear.
[Which is true enough, in part.]
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