Character Meet and Greet

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"You can design and create, and build the most wonderful place in the world. But it takes people to make the dream a reality."

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.

Comments

[serpentinthegarden]

"Conan!"

He corrected a little more forcefully than he intended, after all Conan had books written about him. There was no reason not to know the name.

Then there was a sword in his face and for a moment, a very brief moment he worried the pointy end might end up in the bad guy. Carefully he reached out and with a single finger moved the blade aside.

"Look, maybe you just picked the wrong weapon for you? We could head back to the weapons shop and browse around."

He stood and stretched his wings before sauntering over to stand next to his poor formerly sand counting angel.

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"Oh, thank you for suggesting that. You have no idea how relieved I am." He sets thes sword gingerly to the side as if it were a particularly nasty animal. "Yes, let's go. And they have an...adequate little ice cream stand near it. I believe they call it dots. You should try. Oh..."

He notices one of Crowley's feathers sitting a bit crooked and gently straightens it.

"There we are." And then beams at him. "Shall we?"

[serpentinthegarden]

"Dots? I've seen Dots. They sell those at the theater all the time."

He stood still, smiling as the angel groomed his wings to make him presentable again. He thought about doing the same in return but Azriaphale always looked perfect to him, not a feather out of place that one.

Crowley bobbed his head in the direction of the store and walked a pace that would keep the angel by his side.

"Frozen bananas."

This seemingly out of place comment was later expanded on.

"Is that ice cream cart the same one that sells those frozen bananas?"

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"I'd hardly call that place a theater. Movies aren't theater. Most movies aren't. Though Laurence Olivier-- be still my heart. That was cinema." He flicked a wing against Crowley's ever so slightly. "You should come watch with me sometime. You might like it you know."

He smiles at the thought of frozen bananas.

"Yes, I think so! Have you tried one? They're quite good. I enjoy a good banana now and again. There's just something about them that appeals to me." Do you get it? Do you? Isn't it clever?

[serpentinthegarden]

Crowley groaned which as it was him sounded more like a growl. Puns were nearly as bad as slight of hand.

"I'm sorry I brought the banana's up now."

Thankfully the weapons shop was near and he quickly reached forward to hold the door open. He waited just outside, holding the glass and metal door open and leaning slightly against it. After you angel.

"I've nothing against Laurence Olivier, but that is what they are called, Movie Theaters. They don't go around calling them 'Picture Shows' anymore."

He spoke again just as Azriaphale moved to walk past him and enter the shop.

"But, it's a date angel. First theater showing one of his movies."

Then the ringing of the overhead bell called out the sprightly owner, or temporarily owner's assistant... it was difficult to tell.

"Ah! Master Azriaphale... and Master Crowley! My, my, didn't expect to see you both back here so soon! The advice not work out for you? WELL! There are plenty more weapons here, plenty! Just close your eyes, hold out your hands and see what is drawn to them. It worked for me... after I got over the loss of the finger."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"Serves you right." But he was grinning. He still preferred cinema to either of those labels, but he supposed people had to call it what they must. Though he had to wonder at the word date.

No, really wonder.

Did Crowley mean it casually? Well he must, of course, because it certainly wasn't a date date. Just because he'd given him a little inspiration didn't make anything official. Nothing could be official. Could it? No, certainly not. And certainly Crowley would be completely against holding hands in the theater, which Aziraphale would too, of course, because he was not a complete ninny; nor entirely that needy. And there would be no charming afterwards lit by the marquee lights, leaning closer until... sparks flew once more.

That was just absurd.

He did not mean a date date because he could not mean a date date and even if he did mean a date date it was certainly not any sort of date date that Aziraphale would ever have in mind-- not that he generally thought about such things.

And oh, wait, the strange sad little man was talking to him.

"What? Oh yes. Terrible finger. Loss. I mean. I do hope you find it. Er... what kind of weapon were you looking for, dear?"

He may be a little distracted.

[serpentinthegarden]

Words held power. As a demon Crowley understood that very well. The right word spoken at the right time could start wars, or end them... get you free pancakes at iHop... or send an angel into a harmless fit of fluttering. He was especially fond of that last one.

He sneered at the strange little man but the expression softened as Azriaphale tripped and tumbled over his own thoughts.

"You were looking for a new weapon, didn't like the sword."

The spoken of weapon was collected from the angel's hands, his demonic fingers quickly brushing over Azriaphale's, before it was left on the counter.

"I was the lost cause."

Even now surrounded by all these interesting and strange objects nothing spoke to him. Maybe the angel would have better luck than he did. Second time's the charm? He issued a warning before Azriaphale's search began.

"Mind your fingers."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"Right."

He still didn't get the fingers joke. The words swirled in his head-- his feathers do ruffle a bit at 'lost cause' and longs to say something to argue against that, but Crowley is a demon after all and lost cause is part of the overall...package.

So he should definitely not be dating him.

On the other hand, if they were to work together and in close proximity to one another for an unknown amount of time, they could no longer be what they were and had to, instead, become something new.

Only not that new.

The cast member clears his throat expressively and Aziraphale clicks his tongue. Weapons. Honestly. How gauche and he does not have time for this.

He snaps his fingers and a book comes rocketing from somewhere in the back,miraculously missing the cast member's head by mere centimeters. He catches it neatly, tucking it against his side.

"Thank you. We might be back later." Because Crowley might need something or might not. "Come along."

He takes Crowley by the wrist and hurries him from the shop, the thoughts in his head coalescing into a shining idea that he doesn't want to lose nor be interrupted in expressing it.

Once safely outside, he comes to stand in front of the demon, his wings flared.

"Listen. We are not-- this cannot be a date date. We are not dating. Not in any capacity." He took a breath and continued. "We are merely here to work together in official capacity for our respective sides-- for companionship and to provide inspiration for one another when needed-- for the sake of the world at large and certainly not for our own personal pleasure. Well, not for mine." He draws himself up. "I know you demons care less about that sort of thing."

Which is enviable in a way.

Or would be, were he not an angel and therefore above that sort of thing.

"Agreed?" He absently strokes a thumb over Crowley's wrist which he realizes he hasn't let go of and-- well, it's too late now, isn't it?

[serpentinthegarden]

Crowley's glasses slid sightly forward on his nose when that book came flying out of the back like it knew to and right over to the angel who had called for it. Book and angel, It was like they were made for each other! He thought to marvel at that or offer congratulations instead before even being able to smile he was collected and hurried out of the shop.

The 'talk' as it was briefly refereed to in his own mind consisted of the usual, I'm an angel you are a demon, arguments that he had been hearing from Azriaphale for... well since the beginning really. He didn't pay them the greatest amount of attention. Azriaphale always said no before he said yes.

"Did I say this was a date date? I never once said this was a date date!"

Of course he never said it wasn't a date date either. Which he decided for ill or well to point out in his trademark clever way.

"We're just an angel and a demon, looking to learn a new style of magic."

He nodded in the direction of the little ice cream cart on the curb.

"About to share a frozen banana."

His own fingers moved to lace with the one's holding his wrist.

"Holding hands."

He stepped closer, a hint of dry amusement slipping in between the words.

"Kissing in the park."

And closer still until his wingtips settled nicely against Azriaphale's divinely flared ones.

"How could anyone come away with the idea that this was a date date?"

His demon's smile appeared, soft and tender as he quoted something apropos of the moment and from a play near and dear to both of them as they had been there to see it. Hamlet Act 3, scene 2, 222–230.

"Sleep rock thy brain,
And never come mischance between us twain!
How like you this play?"

The last line was altered to better fit the situation.

"The angel doth protest too much, methinks."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

He relaxed a little when Crowley said it wasn't a date date, but the relief was short lived as the words continued. His feathers bristled a little as that hand slid against his, palm to palm, fingers entwining, a rush of feeling going through him and heating his face.

Furthermore, it wasn't kissing! He wanted to say. It was inspiration! But the more Crowley spoke the more it sounded like a Date in the most capital letter way possible. He was about to protest! He was all set up to protest! Acknowledging that this had all the trappings of a date so they couldn't possibly continue it.

But then that smile, so soft and gentle, rare as a gem, and he was lost. The Hamlet didn't help, said in those low tones of utter perfection, making his wings tremble slightly.Blessed things.

How could he fight against it? How could he deny it? How could he pull away? He would have to in the end when they went back but now--

"Oh, just shut up and inspire me." And grabbing his lapel he pulled him down and kissed him, the fire going through him once more. He realized dimly that he'd dropped the book, but that didn't matter. In this moment, only one thing did.

[serpentinthegarden]

There was a thud, either from a book hitting the ground or from a thousand collective ethereal or diabolic heads exploding. But there was no rumbling crackle of thunder, no bolt from the blue or flames issuing from the ground to set right this imbalance between opposing forces.

Light and dark intermingled in the kiss, inspiring each other with that finally acknowledged spark that had always existed between them. The hand that held Azriaphale's tightened as if by doing that alone it could strength this growing bond and Crowley's feathers laced between the angel's making it more difficult to tell where good ended and evil began.

And the poor gaping ice cream vendor looked on, the sundea she held out to a young customer turning to melt in her hand.

[blessedarethebookmakers]

Were there noises? Were there other people? No, everything was sensation, the tickle of feathers which traveled through his wings and shoulder blades, sending delicious little thrills down his spine-- the weight and pressure of Crowley's mouth and the heat of his breath-- such strange softness there. He ran his hand from Crowley's jacket to the more interesting place on the back of his neck, feeling the heated skin and the soft brush of hair against his fingers.

And, well, this was good! It was. It had to be. Whatever Crowley said, it was inspiration. Yes. It would have to be in moderation of course. No good getting too inspired. That could lead to awful things down the road. But it didn't seem right to have all this lovely inspiration and not take a little taste of it.

So he did, opening his mouth a little, he flicked out the barest bit of tongue to taste that tempting lower lip. He groaned deep in his throat. It was just flesh, but tasted like so much more, like fire and sin. Like whiskey only dreamed it could achieve. He pressed in without thinking, wanting more.

[serpentinthegarden]

Angels didn't taste of fire and sin. Their light burned but in a much more holy way. The light of the sun so intense it seared away all the darkness around it. Crowley found himself momentarily lost in that light. Not caring that a sad child wailed as his promised ice cream landed on the ground instead of making it's way to his mouth or that an ice cream vendor fanned herself as she watched... but really as a demon he wouldn't have been bothered by that to begin with.

He snarled low and approvingly as Azriaphale moved against him, favoring the angel's lip with an impassioned nip of his own. His free hand searched down the angel's back to his hip, clawing at it in an effort to draw him closer. Dark wings began to tuck and fold, enveloping both of them in a cozy veil, selfishly trying to capture all of that light for himself. He wouldn't share, wouldn't regret, he reveled in this sin taking delight from every little noise, every little touch Azriaphale blessed him with.

And then suddenly there was glass, as demon pressed angel back against the large picture window of the weapon's shop. He hadn't realized they had still been so close to it, but even that didn't matter. On full display he spoke the name that was to become his new prayer between greedy kisses.

"Azriaphale."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

The nip did things to him. Things he would rather ignore. Moreso the snarl. But ignoring too much was altogether impossible, and he couldn't stop. He lightly scratched the back of Crowley's neck in reply, sighing softly as darkness surrounded them, tasting his lip, ever so delicately his tongue. He made the most indecent noise as his name was whispered in that darkness and it was oh, all to easy to fall--

As soon as he thought it, the word shook him.

He lightly pushed at Crowley's chest, trying to get him to back up a little, trying to breathe.

"Yes, well, quite enough inspiration for one day, don't you think?" he said with a smile, feeling frazzled. He was not falling, he told himself, they were inspiring. In the middle of a street. With a child around who was being herded off. He would just have to remember to inspire less intensely in the future that was all.

"What were we doing? Oh! The book." He went to fetch it, making a great show of brushing it off as he tried to pretend he couldn't still taste Crowley on his tongue or feel the heat of him and that delicious darkness and promises. Dark wonderful promises that he could never let himself explore or it would be too far. Too far and he wouldn't be able to come back.

[serpentinthegarden]

The light torment from the scratch excited as much as the indecent noises from an angel had and in the process of looking for firmer purchase Crowley's hand landed against the pane of glass pressing his advantage with his partner further. So it was a rude shock when that staying hand landed on his chest and gently pushed him back right in the middle of a very unflattering duck-faced kiss. Quite enough inspiration? Maybe Azriaphale could turn passion off so easily but he had to stand there a moment to allow his emotions to settle. Something he did reluctantly and with a firmly disappointed frown.

Course he hadn't known a kid was there, so when Azriaphale hurried off to recollect his book and Crowley caught sight of the boy being led away he began to feel the angel might... possibly... have been right.

"What do you plan to do with that?"

The question was asked to give him time to still his breathing but from the corner of his eye he glanced the horrified expression of the temp weapon smith clerk. A deeper look into the shop revealed the reason. It wasn't due to the scene outside it was the chaos inside that had inspired the fear. Every lantern, torch, and candle burned with an intense flame far bigger and hotter than they ever would have been able to reach under normal circumstances. Staring into the bonfire that was the crystal lamp hanging in the window he noticed something else. The glass under his hand was soft and malleable, melted by the furnace on the other side of the pane. Quickly he drew it away and inspected the amazingly burn free nature of his palm. As he did so the fires inside the store shrank, finally going out entirely to leave only a demon's hand print forever trapped in a pane of cooling glass.

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"Hmm?" He tries very hard not to look at him because he can hear him trying to get his breathing under control and it's very tempting to do just the opposite. But enough inspiration is quite enough and too much of that will lead to very bad things, he is sure. But it won't because he has had 6,000 years of mastering his passions. Or at least, not over-indulging.

And the first part is to stop thinking about it-- Crowley's question helps, though the sound of his voice does not and his wings flex, revealing his frustration though he's not altogether aware of it.

"Oh, the book. I have no idea." He flips through it absently, watching words seem to form themselves. Ideas and whispers and spells. Interesting. Fascinating book. He manages to look over at Crowley and notes the hand print which makes his face heat a little for no particular reason.

"Look, you've smudged it." The book seems to suggest a wish might fix it and so Aziraphale focuses his mind and blows the spell from his fingertips. It seems to him that a faint brush of air flickers over the hand print--

--and then the entire window cracks and shatters into a million pieces of shining glass.

Aziraphale stares at it a moment.

"Right! Time to get a wiggle on. Coming?" And he hurries off.

[serpentinthegarden]

He had done a good deal more than smudge it but before that could be said the glass shattered sending tiny shards spinning about through the air like pinwheels and the window's true destructor was flying off nearly was quickly!

"Wiggle on?"

Crowley gaped at the window, then the fleeing angel, before taking a few rushed strides to catch up with him.

"They'll think I did that!"

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"Well what are they going to do? Arrest you? Send you a bill? I'll take care of it if it comes to that." Because it was only right. "But otherwise I don't know what you expect me to do about it."

[serpentinthegarden]

Now in stride with Azriaphale, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets... likely to prevent them roaming around on their own or setting anymore fires.

"I don't know. I've never had to deal with the police before, not really. A snap of the fingers and they always left us alone. Not that they ever could catch me on the open road anyway. Here..."

He frowned and looked quickly around.

"You think they have police at all? I haven't seen any."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"I don't know. I don't know. How should I know?" What if there were? They couldn't exactly miracle the trouble away. And he'd had quite enough of prison to last him a lifetime.

"Oh look, a gift shop. Let's go in and try to look inconspicuous." He ducks in himself, smiling to everyone as if he's pleased to see them. "This is a very nice gift shop! Don't you think?" He might be speaking a bit too loudly. It's difficult work being inconspicuous.

[serpentinthegarden]

"Thought you might have listened to that windbag wizard when he was going on about the rules..."

The sudden appearance of gift shop was not a particularly happy one but the angel was followed inside. Azriaphale was given a sly pitying look from between the racks of waterglobes at his oh so subtle attempts not to look suspicious.

"It's full of overpriced knickknacks..."

He picked up something that might have been a monkey in a hula skirt or a misshapen Elvis.

"Who buys this stuff?"

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"Who knows." He is too distracted by it all. He wasn't worried about any sort of law enforcement before and wished Crowley hadn't thought it up.

"You know.... They do have costumes here..." Perhaps a disguise? He hadn't gone incognito in quite a while. "What do you think?"

[serpentinthegarden]

He did consider pointing out that as an angel and a demon they had some rather large distinctive wings that would be difficult to hide in a costume but it was tempting to play dress up! He could see Azriaphale in one of those regal ballgowns or dressed up like a toy. Oh, to do the wrong thing or not!

"Might be a good idea."

And evil wins, but fortunately this was only a spot of mischief not likely to get them into any serious trouble.

"New look... we wouldn't stand out as much."

They would probably stand out more but it would be worth it. Monster Elvis was placed back down on the shelf so that he could wander over to the racks of costumes and paw through them. Lots of Princesses, a cowboy outfit or two, and then there were the villains! How evil to be with this.

"We should play against type. You pick out my disguise and," winning demon smile, "I'll pick out yours. That way we will end up looking entirely different than we normally would."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"All right. But I don't like it that you're so pleased with this. It usually means you're trying to convince me to do something I'd rather not do and I don't see the problem." Though the yet hangs in the air, because he doesn't quite trust them.

"But fine. I think I have an idea or two for you as well." A faint smirk of his own here, though he doesn't really have much of any idea and is hoping inspiration will strike and that Crowley won't hate it.

[serpentinthegarden]

"Me convince you of something you'd rather not? Naahhh... It's all in good fun! I promise this hardly counts as a temptation at all!"

Said while still pawing through the racks. As it turned out many of the villains these outfits depicted were women and while that didn't bother him in the slightest some of these were a little too revealing, and therefore too cruel, to foist on an angel.

He pulled out a dark 'Evil Queen' number. Her long purple robes were something like they would have worn back in ancient times and it did have that lovely black cape perfect for hiding large white wings. Seemed perfect, though he did hold it out to give Azriaphale veto powers.

"How about this? They'd never know you!"