heresyandlace | Personal Comm

[it's a very rare instance when Tek truly needs to search for what to say. but now, there is a pause while he cycles past the horrible words that spring into his mind first-- because you can't leave me. because there aren't many left. because we're not done.

he needs to step back and return to the cause of the whole thing. he forces his shoulders even, but his hands clench to mirror the demon's.]

Because... that's not what I meant.

[however the demon had taken what he'd said, it must have gone wrong somewhere.]

[Crowley can feel the anger, clawing away at him. He wants to be angry, but at the same time, he doesn't. That's what Tek wants, and he absolutely cannot let that side of him out. Never again.

He does turn this time, to look at Tek. The neutrality is slipping a little, the hurt showing through like the shifting of a shadow in a moving car. It's hard to see, but it's there.]

And what did you mean, exactly?

[There's a horrible edge to his tone. Make or break. He isn't playing a game any more. ]

[he at least understands the weight here--the fact that Crowley even turns at all shows the thin edge that this is balanced on. and normally, those are the kind of odds that Tek doesn't bother with. it's been a longstanding habit of his to let something go long before it has a chance to turn on him. but that had been in a world where there were a million opportunities to start over again. he'd just have to walk long enough until he left it behind and ran into somewhere to begin again. some new face to trick into spending time with him.

but, since being stripped of that and pulled from one sparse world to another, that he might have to actually work to keep a few things.

so, he bites his tongue, only just barely, before continuing.]

I meant that we're monsters [--with a very intentional use of 'we' there,] ...In that we're not like them. We have to put on masks, and step a very careful little dance, and hide the things that we're capable of. That we have done. And then something comes along--

[he takes a breath to fight the rage back from a boiling point, because these words are hard enough to lay out in a row as it is. the tension is already strangling in his chest.]

You may not care that people crawled around in your head and saw your secrets, but I do... And I've already lost something because of it.

[Crowley listens. That, in itself, is a start. He understands. Paradisa made it a habit of bringing that part out of him. Revelled in it. And people always died. Sometimes people he actually cared about died. He's still amazed South will go anywhere near him. He knows, even if they are almost back to how they were, there will always be something there. A quiet, horrible reminder in the back of her head that she sleeps with a demon. A real demon from Hell, and all that entails. ]

You don't have me figured out as much as you think. [The edge is gone, his tone is calm, collected. ] Yeah, I'm not like them. I can do things beyond even their most dark and desperate nightmares. Things they could never think I'd be capable of.

But. [And this is important. ] I'm also the opposite of that.

[His wings don't appear, but there's a shift in the air, a flicker of light. They aren't there, but the suggestion of them is. ]

I'm also capable of more goodness than they could ever be aware of, that I'll let them be aware of. Just like I can strangle them in shadows, I can bathe them in light. I can take away their strength or give it to them tenfold. I can bless them as easily as I can curse them.

[The suggestion is gone. Now it's just Crowley. What he is. The purposefully created blend of Heaven and Hell. Something that's both and neither. Something that is a being all of his own. Almost human, but nothing like one. Just him. ]

So I'll say it again. I'm not taking part in whatever retaliation you're planning. Because it's them who'll get hurt, and I threw in my chips with them a long time ago.

[From the Beginning, really, even if he couldn't admit it back then. ]

Edited 2016-01-27 01:47 (UTC)

[he'd never be able to put into words why, but he has to look away. his gaze angles off, lowers to the side, as if he can't bear to look at something that is invisible anyway.

they're so similar, it makes his chest feel sunken in. the paths they've chosen, the mistakes they've made, are very different from one and other. but they were originally created for the same purpose, have since fallen, and were marked by their respective attachments to the mortal race.]

They'll get hurt anyway. Until we can find a way out.

[though, it's practically beside the point now. because the point that is presently stuck, lanced right through him, is the fact that some part of him doesn't want to be a monster anymore than Crowley does. but he keeps holding onto it like a shield.]

And you think, what, attacking Atroma will achieve that? How would you do that? How do you attack something you can't see? Can't touch?

[Crowley folds his arms, letting out an exhale he wasn't even holding in the first place. This was ridiculous, and dangerous. ]

What's the point?

It's better than just sitting by and watching them do it again, isn't it?

[he can't help but throw his arms out to the side in a gesture of helpless frustration, as Crowley folds his.]

The point is that doing nothing is just as bad as welcoming them to do it again.

Because, they're watching. Someone is watching.

[--whether that be Atroma, some distant audience, or gods themselves.]

You still haven't told me exactly how you plan to fight back against captors who aren't anywhere to be found. Or did you not think out that rather crucial puzzle piece in all of this?

[He's heard this FIGHT BACK!! Thing so much. The last time anyone did that to the castle, it just rebuilt itself the next day. There are some battles you just can't win. ]

It doesn't matter how, it just matters that we do.

[which is absolutely not an answer, and is the opposite of logic. of course he doesn't have a plan, but that is inexplicably the part that he cares the least about. hearing himself say it out loud only emphasizes this fact.

and, again, it's beside the point anyway. he doesn't want to fight anymore. it's just a hard habit to avoid when the impulse is still so urgent and central. it takes a great effort to sigh, rub his face, and push his focus over again.]

Look... Forget this. All of it. This isn't... what I'd wanted.

The how matters a lot. Without a plan, you'd just be screaming against the void, while they sat back and laughed at you.

[He rolls his shoulders, uneasy, distinctly unhappy. ]

I'm still not exactly sure what you wanted of me in the first place, here.

Me neither.

[--which is a lie. he knows exactly what he'd wanted, but like hell he's going to go back and elaborate on it now. he's drawing inward again; he's shifting to damage-control mode.

which is a mode that--to his credit--he doesn't usually even bother with.]

But it's not this.

[That much, at least, Crowley has noted. The word monster still claws and bites at his mind though. It doesn't want to let go. He folds his arms, staring at the ground. ]

Well. This is what you've got.

[staring at the ground is still better than glaring at him, so Tek takes the opportunity to slink closer, approaching while the stand-off isn't so direct.]

...I'd like to call a truce.

[The demon pauses, considering. After a moment's thought, he rolls his shoulders, letting out a long sigh. ]

...Fine. I can live with that.

[he's close enough now to be able to reach out and lightly snag a few fingers on the demon's sleeve--trying to coax him into uncrossing his arms, probably.

the dragon's whole demeanor is shifting now, packing the anger and aggression away to spend later. he's making the conscious effort to put on a much more harmless air, now. it's less honest, but much easier to deal with.

despite everything spilled here (or maybe especially because of it) he is hinting toward putting their masks back on and getting along.]

Let's go back. I'm tired.

[Crowley's arms eventually uncross, settling at his sides, hands still clenched a little. He knows it needs to be done, but the mask isn't quite the same as it slips on once more. There's an edge there that wasn't present before. A small sliver of ice. Distance. ]

Fine by me.

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