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Character Meet and Greet
I. Exploring Main Street! Take a trip through a little town taken straight from 1890's America. Visit the shops, dine at the restaurants- but don't forget you are here on a mission. As an Apprentice, you will need to gather some supplies. A weapon, or tool for producing magic.
But we understand if that corn dog cart on Market Street is your first stop.
II. Apprentice Class 101! Practice your spell casting and weaponship on the open commons behind the Firehouse. Sparring, casting or just general confusion abound here. Try not to hit anything or...anyone, the paint on the infirmary is still drying.
III. Look out! A level 2 corroded monster has managed to get onto Main Street! Protect the citizens and defeat the cur, and please watch the damage, the paint is still wet!
IV. One Little Spark! Go ahead, show us the strength of your imagination and come up with your own scenarios. Just, stay out of the Corroded Lands...if possible.
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"Anyway, I've bought you some food and coffee. I can't promise how good they are but-- It's better than nothing I suppose. And also this." It's a jar with a little moon and star pattern on it.
"It's supposed to be a healing salve so we'll see it if works on you. Complain all you want, it's still happening." He is determined. He sets the jar aside.
"Let me help you out of your shirt."
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"That stuff? I've never seen it before."
The coffee smelled good. Coffee usually did, even the cheap stuff still had that same scent. The food on the other hand looked like it was about to seep entirely through the bag and wave at him. That was going to be... something....
He looked doubtfully between the food, the salve, and the angel.
"It'll be fine in the morning!"
Wasn't that always what humans said? It might get him out of this mess.
"I just need to sleep on it."
Not 'on' it really, he would be doing his best not to put any pressure on that shoulder at all.
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"Now are you going to aide me in this or am I going to have to take more drastic measures?"
He hopes not the latter as he's not quite sure what they are yet.
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As a demon he did have to react to that with some measure of snark and a bark of laugh. Angel's didn't 'drastic measure', not like demons did! At least this is what he believed of Azriaphale.
"You wouldn't know how to come up with a drastic measure!"
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He straightened, hands clasped in front of him and then gave Crowley a look full of all the sorrow and concern and just plain worry that he had in him.
"Let me help. Please?"
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"Oh.... that's low!"
He looked away but the worry in those blue eyes seemed to pierce right through him. Azriaphale was still watching him, still worrying, still sad. And Crowley knew the only way to get any sort or peace was to just give in.
"Fine! Just... stop looking at me like that. The last thing I need is word getting around I had an angel pitying me."
He even set about attempting the task on his own. One-handed he could at lest see to the bindings holding his leather jacket closed.
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"Just relax and think of Manchester." A faint smile at the joke. "Let me take care of this." It was easier with one pair of hands than two, and he had undressed a drunk or three in his time. Though the last was mostly dear Oscar, the poor thing.
The bruise makes him wince a little. He's not entirely sure what to do about it other than the salve. Healing was always a miracle away usually. Not that his kind would work on the demon anyway.
He took off his pinky ring so he wouldn't inadvertently scratch him and then rubbed in the goop in slow careful circles, careful not to look at him as he did so.
"You'll be right as rain in no time..." he murmured this, half to himself. It was part assurance, part prayer.
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Not if they knew about it.
He let Azriaphale have it his own way and quieted in his chair as much as he could, until inevitably the fabric tugged on the wrong muscle and he had to shout out of a sense of demonic self preservation.
"THAT HURTS!"
Wasn't Azriaphale's fault, it was just that sore. That cream, miraculous as it was, helped to soothe the aches as soon as it was applied. It was hot, then cold, icy hot even! A very strange combination that calmed those battered muscles and sent Crowley into a much more docile frame of mind.
Gradually his tense posture relaxed until he was practically lounging in that rickety wooden chair, shirtless, and gazing deeply at his guardian angel.
"Manchester," He chuckled, "Wouldn't have thought we would have ended up so far away from there."
Not entirely what was meant but it was true.
"I guess I should..." A pause for an uncertain look, "Thank you."
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"We'll be back soon enough." He caps the salve for later and then shakes his head. "It was nothing. Just doing my job." But his voice was soft and clearly he doesn't quite mean it was only that. He absently brushes a strand of red hair away from Crowely's forehead, then remembers himself.
"Right well. Food is there. Enjoy yourself. I am going to use the... the shower..." he makes a face. "With any luck I won't get stuck in it."
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It might have been the fond touch silencing him.
"Mind the door, it's loose."
Not the shower door, as it turned out the bathroom door itself was wobbly on it's hinges. Closed too quickly and it might very well have fallen off the wall entirely.
He burrowed into the bag of food looking to see what sorts of goodies, well 'goodies' might have been in there. It would be nothing like what they were used to.
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He is careful about the door, though hardly wants to touch the washroom, wrinkling his nose at the... the... garderobe in the corner. He remembered when they were in separate rooms entirely and usually far from the inner chambers. He didn't care that they flushed now, it was just disgusting.
He disrobed, trying to not let anything touch the floor, than had a very fast and mean shower with warm, if not hot, water-- careful not to use too much unless Crowley wanted it later.
Then dressed again, having nothing more to wear and feeling quite out of sorts as he emerged once more into the room and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Well! This isn't so bad, is it?I feel refreshed!" it was a lie so great he was sure even the Hell Hound could smell it. But at least it was better than the truth.
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And that wasn't a lie at all. Azriaphale's wings were brighter and not caked with dirt, his hair too. With out the rust he looked almost himself.
Crowley stood, and padded over to the bed on barefoot feet, having removed his shoes some time during Azriaphale's bath. The bag with the remaining food was left on the table but as it was such a small room it was easily still in reach.
"This stuff isn't so bad," lie, "a little greasy," truth, "but I think you'll enjoy it." Lie, Azriaphale would absolutely hate it.
He gently lowered himself into bed next to the angel, minding his injury, and commandeered a pillow to lay his head on.
"You should have some before trying to get some rest."
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And yet...
Aziraphale leans over and slides away his sunglasses so he can see those eyes. They are beautiful somehow, even if they shouldn't be. But the flaw was in him, he knew, and not Crowley.
"I think I will too." He took the bag and settled beside him, mindful of wings and everything else, somewhat resting on his uninjured shoulder since it was just less awkward that way and he didn't have to justify it to anyone.
He ate one of the 'nuggets' from the bag and hated every moment of it.
Well, he turned his head a little, just to catch the demon's scent. Perhaps not every moment.