faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

There's a long pause.

Then Crowley takes a deep breath and sits up, twisting around as he does so, so he finally ends up facing the demon and looking directly at him. His expression is set, determined, even bordering on grim. It's a stark contrast to the rambling words of before. But sometimes all you can do is throw everything in and hope it pays off.

"Move in with me, Zira," he says, and the words are quiet but clear and unwavering. "Here or somewhere else, so long as we're living together. That's what I'm asking."

Now, they're looking at each other. Now, things have been put in such a way to leave no doubt or chance. And Zirafell certainly didn't prepare for grand gestures of this magnitude when he sat down for a read.

"Ha, you're-" His face begins to twist into a grin, one of Those ones, but quite immediately falls back down into mild shock. "You're serious." With a touch of disbelief, although he knows the angel to not be the kind to joke about such things. Not with that look in his eyes. Not about, well...them.

"Yeah." Crowley is beyond familiar with both the frozen look that's on Zira's face at first and the false deflective grin that attempts to take over, knows them for the armor they are. They don't put him off at all. He has years of experience in watching Zira's reactions, he knows which ones are real and which are masks. And the fact that Zirafell openly looks shocked, if mildly...that says a good deal. "Yeah, I am."

He didn't suspect tonight would be any special. No big events, no big words, just a quiet sit down, doing whatever they felt like doing in each other's company. He did not, in any way, shape or form, prepare for something like this. And he does so like to be prepared.

So he stares, looking for something in the angel's face that might tell him this isn't what it sounds like. That it's maybe a joke, or something he's misinterpreting. Not that he wishes it would be - he doesn't think he does - does he? - No -, but in dread that be might be very seriously misreading what exactly is happening.

"You're...but we-the--Oh."

"We couldn't ever say it, before." It's easier, now that he's gotten started, now that he's looking at Zira. Now that Zira is looking back, not glancing away or wearing a false smile or pretending something else is happening. Maybe that's all yet to come and if it does Crowley will have to grin and bear it the same way he has for centuries, and he will, he would.

But right now...for right now he can keep going, and does. "And I get that. I do. But I know...you know..." He stops and swallows. Takes a breath. Spits it out. "Everything is always better when you're here. Everything. I've spent centuries trying to wrangle things to spend as much time in your company as possible without being obvious about it, because I couldn't say any of it and you couldn't have said anything back even if I had done. But now I can. So...so I love you, and I want to live with you. If that's something you'd...be okay with."

And now those nerves catch up with him again, and he flushes and looks away, bites his lip. "And we could figure out what exactly that'd all entail in advance or as we go, or, or if you need we can just forget this conversation happened and I'll shut my mouth and not mention it ever again, just please stay my friend and I'm sorry to throw all of this at you at once, but you did ask what was on my mind and the answer is you, it's always you. So...that's it."

It's not his most eloquent moment and later on he'll kick himself for not being more suave or at least coherent. Damn it, he should have planned this, should have arranged some romantic dinner with which to woo his fiend and knock the socks off his hooves, but it's too late now. This will have to do.

And the demon stares.

It's so much, so fast. No so much in how many words he puts it in, or how long he talks. Nor for how much he reveals about how long he's been having those thoughts. No, it's all so much because it's there. Because of the realization that it's being said. Of the reality that it's coming from the angel's mouth, and that he can, that they can, that they are, and they're here and things are intrinsically different.

He knew, of course. That things were different. You don't exactly go through intense personal and cosmic events without getting the hint that the sheer foundation of everything you knew has changed, in one way or another. But it's one thing to know that things are different, and it's another to witness them happening, by your hand or someone else's, and seeing just how much work your mind and/or body have to do to catch up with it.

His nails dig into the leather of the book sitting on his lap, now discarding the task of being a distraction, and instead serving as something grounding, for a change. The demon takes in every detail of the angel's face. His eyes, his mouth, the lines on his face. Something, something. There has to be something. There can't not be something.

"If-" His voice falters, and he catches himself. He's known for his eloquence, and this is certainly not the time to stutter and stumble like a young human child trying to recite a text in front of their class. "If this is--if this is a, a jape of some sort, I--I would-I'd--" So much for that. "--I would find it very cruel, angel."

There's a sternness to his face. Not at all real, of course, another mask, a new mask, hiding something a lot more red. A lot more tender. The thing that's making the blue in his eyes threaten to take over, and gets similarly pushed back with a couple of forceful blinks.

"I--I, I don't mean to say you're--" What if he's still reading it wrong? Companionship isn't unheard of, and he's met more than his fair share of humans who relished in it, in pairs or more, who kept different names for it. But it fills him with something quite like dread - perhaps it is dread -, the possibility of being mistaken. Of getting the wrong message. With all worthwhile distractions taken away, he's much too open - he knows, he does, that he would never recover from it.

"I don't, I-- And he stops. And he breathes in, and out. And he clears his throat.

"...I would. Be okay with it, I mean."

And he does, the other thing. He does too. If it counts. If its true.

Crowley's eyes go wide at the suggestion this might be some kind of joke or prank. He has a sense of humour, one that's often mischievous, but-- "I would never."

He slides to the floor, ends up on his knees at Zira's side. Takes his hands. "I wouldn't ever play with your emotions like that. Especially not when you're the only person I've ever been able to be honest with."

Mostly honest. Honest except for this one thing they've never talked about, this one little actually rather large and now suddenly manifest thing.

Crowley waits and listens, watches the twitches and the colours of the demon's face, the slight movements of the wrinkles at the edges of his lines and mouth, the smallest tells. But this is s new face and new expression, it's all new territory, and Crowley's heart is in his throat. Too fast, he's been too fast again, too soon, too much...

I would.

His breath catches. He didn't really expect any sort of clear-cut answer, not so quickly. "You would?" he asks, and this time the hope seems painfully obvious in the way he says it, the simple vulnerability of asking for confirmation leaving him more bare than all those words of a few minutes ago.

First thing he notices is that their hands are warm. Both of theirs. Maybe clammy, which he finds to be somewhat of a flaw on these corporations. Just unnecessary unpleasant, really, to add to what should be already well present discomfort. But it's okay, like this, he thinks. Somehow it's not so unpleasant when someone else is holding your hand, he finds.

The sternness on his face morphs, slowly and subtly, into something a tad more sort. A tad more different. Bare. Hopeful dread. As such different things can sometimes mesh together in unnatural ways.

An angel kneeling before a demon, and declarations too terrifying to believe. What a sight. Is this really what was expecting the not-end of the world all along?

"- I would." It comes as almost a whisper. Uncertain as if the words aren't really his, like he's still waiting for the carpet to be pulled from under him even when no one's got their hands on it.

"Oh."

And for a moment that's all. Crowley sits there, his hands resting on Zira's, looking more than a little stunned.

When he does speak again, he's almost whispering too. "And you don't mind, uh, the other bit? The, um, the...love...part."

It's hard to say. It came out as part of the flood a moment ago but it's still hard.

The silence spans ages in single moments, and yet it doesn't feel like a chasm. So often do silences take that shape, and he's lived more than long enough to face his fair share of them. But comfortable silences, too, less often, but more valuable. This one feels like something else. To call it uncertainty wouldn't be doing it justice. It's a new form of terrifying, and the demon isn't sure how he feels about that yet.

But the angel once again puts things into words. The sort of thing he assumed they wouldn't return to, but they do, and thing is laid at their feet then, impossible to ignore.

The angel had said it, he realizes.

And the demon, for a second, had felt it to be true. Isn't that a laugh?

The way he falters isn't neutral. He shakes his head, looking down at their hands. He's hit with a wave of guilt that's nearly overwhelming, but at least he's sitting down.

"I don't." Followed by sudden alarm. "--mind. I mean. I don't- mind it. At all."

A smile blooms slowly and brightly on Crowley's face, shining with a (not literal) radiance only seen a few times in their long, long history. The first was six thousand years ago, when he felt the first drops of rain and laughed with delight at the new sensation. Crowley has always had a gift for delight. It's been dampened (also not literally), eroded by years of Heaven's indifference and his own doubts turned to cynicism, but it's never left him.

It's hardly ever shown as openly as this, however, even to Zira.

"Thank you." He laughs a little in wonder and amazement, squeezing Zira's hands in his, then tilts his head curiously. "What's that face for?" Despite the question he sounds relieved almost to the point of giddiness.

More faltering. Partly because he's really not used to their conversations being so...well, direct. Honest. Open in such a way, and facing the fact that they just...can be. That there's really no more excuses to not have them.

But also partly due to the look on Crowley's face. The kind of smile that could brighten even the darkest corners of Hell. Or something equally as dramatic, if words weren't failing Zirafell as badly as they are.

"I. Hum. I don't know." The last part shakes with a chuckle under his breath, confused and happy and terrified all at once. Perhaps a few more emotions thrown in the mix. A twitch on the corner of his lips that isn't sure if it's supposed to be there.

Crowley laughs back a little and leans forward, resting his cheek against Zira's knee. It's partly because he can, because they can, and he hopes Zira doesn't mind and should probably ask. But he could also see that chaotic tangle of feelings and he knows his friend well enough to guess at the turmoil of anxiety it must all cause, knows that it's a kindness to look away and let the demon react unobserved.

"S'okay, you know," he says. "If you need time. I don't mind, I know it's a lot and there's no rush. It's okay. I can wait."

Another twang of guilt. And happiness. And fear. And hope. And so many other things at once, pushing and shoving, while the touch of the demon's hands and the feeling of his head against the demon's knee are doing a lot of work to keep him grounded.

--Disbelief. Disbelief is one of the big ones, too.

"I- hum."

Say it. Say it. For Go--Sa--for someone's sake, say it. You know it's true. Not that you've deserved to say those words to anyone or anything in a very long time.

"I'm... sorry."

For what, he isn't too sure. For the fear. For whatever is jumping around in his chest and making a ruckus for whatever isn't working upstairs. For the waiting. For being. For making this happen, somehow. He hopes that the angel, who he really did always think was quite upsettingly clever, can parse through the sludge that are his words and failing communication. He's always had a very annoying knack in reading through everything the demon put up - maybe it can actually be useful for the both of them for once.

Edited 2021-06-04 01:26 (UTC)

Crowley, in contrast, is suddenly more calm than he's been in millennia. No more wondering what to say, how to ask. He has permission. And if only for this, only permission to hold Zira's hands and lean against him...well. It's enough. Maybe later he'll need to figure out how to ask for more, if he wants to ask for more, but for now this is more than enough.

The freedom of it is blissful, and as an angel he knows more than a little about bliss.

"Nothing you need to apologize for." The words come at once, easily and contented. "Never has been. Not to me."

(He means it, is the thing. He's never minded Zira's skittishness or paranoia. He understands it too well to mind)

The angel's calm is almost enough to soothe him. Almost. There's far too many knots in the chaos that are the demon's thoughts and feelings for it to be enough, but he thinks he could make sense or it all - or at least forget it all together - if he could just look at that face, at that calm, at him, like that, for a while longer.

What a disgustingly sweet thought. Which he can have, maybe. Which he could admit to have.

The angel's hands are still on his and he's not gripping the book quite as tight anymore. His hands still feel warm. Entirely unlike the warmth of hellfire, so native to those like the old demon himself, but softer.

"Hum." He clears his throat after another moment of silence, comfortably heavy. His voice comes as still vaguely shaking and unsure, soft all the same, lacking in his usual energy. "Where...you mentioned, moving, somewhere. Where would that be?"

Oh, right. That. He'd forgotten that part had come out. "Anywhere?" He lifts his head and looks up, smiling sheepishly at Zira. "I mean, I have ideas, yeah. Things I've daydreamed about. But the important thing was just convincing you to consider the idea. If you'd rather stay here I'm fine with that. More than fine."

Here here, even. Sitting in a chair with an angel at his feet. That'd suit Crowley fine, for any indefinite amount of time.

Edited 2021-06-07 22:57 (UTC)

It would suit them just fine, maybe, if the way they were sitting didn't feel like an allegory of some kind of reverence that feels entirely misplaced. Something more intimate than other things they could and things they have shared, but a step too far in some which way.

He does meet Crowley's eye for just a moment, unsure and nervous but not displeased, before his gaze turns elsewhere as if to avoid spilling out too many secrets.

"Oh. Well. Either way would be fine." He could let go of the book. He could properly hold the angel's hand. "But-- daydreams?"

"Oh."

Crowley blushes, which is just embarrassing. He's much too old to be doing silly things like blushing. Especially with Zira. They're an angel and a demon and between them they've seen every good or evil or in-between thing that's ever been on the world, what can either of them possibly have left to blush about?

This, evidently.

"...s'a bit silly," he says quietly, too aware that the tips of his ears are pink. Hopefully Zira is still turned away. Crowley's looking over at the wall, himself. It's a very useful sort of wall for that.

He's not looking away, however. Or, rather, now that the angel isn't facing him, the demon's looking down at him on the floor, the softness of his hair, the gentleness of his hands. A missed connection, brought on on purpose, but out of fear, anxiety. It's unclear whether or not he takes in the redness of the angel's ears, as his watchful gaze shares the attention with the demon's own emotions and feelings, and it makes everything quite the mess..

He wonders how long the angel has been thinking about this. How long has he been daydreaming? What amount of time equates to what amount of significance? Meaning? Is there even a concrete answer to concepts so vague?

"I would like to know." Both their words come so quietly now, the scene prepared for them - the quiet room they both sit in, no distractions but the ones they picked - making their words still clear as day.

Crowley just breathes in and out for a minute. It's hard to believe this conversation is happening. It's hard to believe he's sitting here, leaning against Zira's leg--the oddness of the position isn't lost on him, but it pales in comparison to the wondrous strangeness of their touching at all. They've clasped hands over the years, brushed fingers when handed things over, exchanged kisses to the cheek and mouth back in the day when that counted as a greeting. But this is very different. They've fallen into this touch so organically, and it's lasting.

(Crowley leans in a bit closer, savouring it)

"A house," he says finally. "Doesn't have to be a big thing. Though it can be if you want, with a whole floor to fit all your books in. Out on the coast maybe, near the ocean. With enough space for a garden, not like what I've made up on the roof but a proper big one. With trees, maybe. I could grow herbs and fruits and veg, and sometimes maybe I'd find toothmarks on the leaves and come in to find you and tell you you're not allowed to eat them 'til after I've cooked them, and..."

He stops abruptly, swallowing the rest, but the shape of what he wants is clear. Not just a place to live together, but a life together. Getting in each other's way and bickering and sharing things and all of it. Like humans do, like no angel or demon has ever done or would even consider.

Not just a house. Not just a flight of fancy, apparently. But what takes the demon aback is just how clearly he can picture it all in his mind, the colors, the coast, the garden - the two of them. Clearer than most other things he could ever conjure up in his old mind.

He's quiet - quieter - then, a moment given to process the place the angel has spoken into being (not literally, although that's entirely out of the realm of possibility), and all moments need to be carefully studied in situations like this. So many romances of old come to mind, stories created by some of the most creative human minds, and now he understands an entirely new perspective on the quiet drama of it all. Waves of emotions lapping onto still shores, crashes at first, but then merely a slowly rising tide.

"It sounds..." He hesitates again, careful, but also not sure what will come out of his own mouth. So many words and none come to mind if he tries to grasp at them.

"...lovely." A word so overused, but the meaning hides itself in the tone.

"Yeah?"

Crowley looks up again, and if he's trying to hold back how hopeful he is he's doing a terrible job of it.

"Enough that you might want to give it a try, maybe?"

Being looked up at in hope is not, actually, something that's never happened to him before, despite his nature as a demon. Stories he doesn't quite share, never did, partly for show, partly for safety. But nothing compares to that sort of look from the angel. The context, the significance. That feels truly unique, and fills the demon's sore heart in ways it never has experienced before.

It's only a few seconds where he doesn't answer, but he's looking back at the angel now, no barriers between their gazes, no missed connections. It does feel like they're at a place to put a fine point to things, a crossroads of sorts, with no way to turn back. And yet, despite the finitude of it all...there isn't doubt in his mind. For once, none of it. Barely the will to pose any questions, to search for other ways. Terrifying all the same, but right. The rightest anything has ever been.

"Yes." He finally nearly whispers, barely catches it as his own voice. But then, a smile. Soft, and careful, and fragile, and vulnerable. But a smile, and, this time, he says it with purpose. "Yes. I believe I do."

Crowley's always had a lot of hope, and a lot of faith. Not the usual angelic sort, the "God has a plan and all of it is for the best" that's written in gold sigils with underlining, but a quieter general optimism that everything will ultimately be mostly okay, himself and Zira included. He doesn't advertise it, that'd be a little harsh given that his most constant companion over the centuries is a very justifiably paranoid demon, but it's always been there.

Having that quiet bedrock of general belief is different to being told outright that one of his dearest wishes might be realized, however. He smiles again, still radiant. "I might have an area in mind, if you wanted to go have a look. Just to see if you--if we like it."

He can say that, all at once. If they like it, not just one of them. They can be a we, a they, a unit together. That's a miracle if Crowley's ever seen one.

But not as much of a miracle as the smile on Zira's face--unmasked, unfeigned, careful and open and real. Crowley's never seen one like it, and he reaches up to touch a finger to the demon's cheek, stopping just before the touch lands, waiting for permission or maybe just afraid of frightening the expression off.

Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

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I love that icon

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honestly I didn't intend for this to get quite so sweet but here we are

I love them...

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I had been playing this angel as a little different but he's slipping back to my Sheelael default.

And we're back, maybe?

We come and go, both of us. <3

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auuuughhhh that last line auuuuughhhhh

My secret skill of delivering super sappy one liners

Um hello I'm sorry I'm the biggest space cadet ever to space?