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post-episode: c02e097 - the fancy and the fooled, possible spoilers // essek didn't account for them. they were idiotic, annoying, but perceptive and kind. he was undeserving. // or, as soon as essek leaves the balleater, he ruminates.
he didn't account for them.
gliding off the gangplank, head low, shoulders slunk, he didn't think they'd notice. the night had always been a shield to him, to disappear into the dark and hide. these colorful group of individuals, sought after between nations, all across the continent, bringing chaos to good will... they were idiotic, annoying, but perceptive and kind.
essek never had friends. he had his work. he had his reputation. the shadowhand required an air of grace and public perception which he didn't have as young as he was; it was earned, had to be reaped. he had to force it, create it, make it all for himself to rise above the expectations set for him in his strive for greatness.
but how far he had sunk to try and reach it.
he wasn't sure who he was in this conflict. not with the dynasty, not with the empire. he had always been alone. alone amongst books and magic and studying and-- it was the world he knew. it shouldn't have been changed.
he didn't account for them, and their kindness, and their (misguided, destroyed) trust. he didn't want them to fall into the depths for his own mistakes. if they did... is that regret felt like? still his actions are his own, but for the nein to get stuck in his web of lies and get hurt for it-- that would be the regret that swallowed him hole.
he doesn't want them to hurt. he doesn't want them to suffer in the pains of his own undoing. yet, the hurt he know he's already caused... his heart pangs in his chest.
what are friends? not pawns, not weapons. what are they in use to him? it's confusing. he still doesn't know.
beauregard could've pummeled him into mush. yasha and fjord could've sliced him in two. caduceus and jester could've worked their magic to decay him inside out. nott could've shot a bolt through his neck. and caleb... caleb could've incinerated him where he sat.
“what’s in a name,” the actor on stage sighs, “that which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” he frowns, though understands juliet’s plight exactly. names are more complicated than let on. or, crowley's journey of self-discovery from creation to after the apocalypse-that-wasn't.
they know what they’re supposed to be before they even know themself, before creation, a time before time, when god needed extra hands for her bidding to bring good to the universe. what was good? what was the universe? god did little to answer these questions. instead, god said, life started with the angels. but none of them knew why yet.
there was lucifer first, then michael, then raphael, and gabriel, the archangels of the void. the light from lucifer's wings, and god's guidance, was the first glowing star in their world. it was beautiful, they had overheard michael say once, but they weren't there to see it.
not all angels were created in a single snap of god's will. rather, they appeared together, moment by moment.
god was beautiful, they remember that. they were brought with the rest of the angels into her light, her warmth, and given purpose. none had no reason to disagree with her almighty.
"samael," she spoke to them, "rise."
they did, unfurled white wings. in that one moment of existence, samael knew that being an angel, being granted the power of creation to help with the universe, was the most important thing. each angel had their own unique gifts, she said, opportunities to give Earth and beyond.
they liked the beyond bit. samael wanted to go beyond Earth, make a difference there; even as curious as angels are, they was the first to ask why.
"because, samael, there's a greater plan at stake that you will play a role here, as all do."
they were the first to question their essence.
"but why am i samael," they asked. they were given this name afterall.
"because you are the blindness i cannot see, the venom that will be spit back at me."
it made no sense, and they decided not to press further.
samael moved, not yet having a physical form, and joined the others who rejoiced in a bigger family.
---
samael wanted to fit in. noting how different they were from the rest, they were eager and ready to serve. yet they moved independently with their tasks, opposed to waiting in line to be assigned. they liked the freedom. other angels scorned. michael thought samael only needed more responsibility to step into their role as an angel of the lord, to fall into line. what michael meant was to act as expected.
samael didn't get along with many angels. most other’s wings would tremble, outstretch, arching up in protection of themselves-- a barrier, a do not approach, a notice of being an outsider within your own flock. samael kept their distance then, eager with the new task of guarding the seventh heaven.
"oh, a promotion, you must be excited." an unfamiliar voice said.
samael hadn’t noticed the angel who approached them. a principality, clear wings and a holy crown rested upon them.
"i would rather be out there, among the stars, creating, or living amongst it."
"that's a beautiful thought. sometimes i feel the same way too...?”
"samael, and you?”
"aziraphale.”
"an honor."
they were the first angel to show true kindness, the odd way that energy poured off of aziraphale put them at ease. they chatted. aziraphale showed off the sword the almighty had given them, its fire caught the light of heaven and samael became obsessed with it.
fire, heat, the warmth of it.
aziraphale was the perfect angel, samael thought. poised to protect their creator's design, rolling with what they were given. they became friends.
---
the only other angel to give them the time of day (day was just invented, they quite liked both day and night) was lucifer, and his close knit group. lucifer, the morning star, demanded a new type of identity for himself, he wasn't just an angel, he was god's favorite, and rumored to be the most powerful.
samael wanted to be as respected as lucifer.
they often left their duties to join lucifer and watched the world. they didn't like guarding. michael yelled at them for it, but why were they guarding anyway? guarding what? who amongst the angels had the thought to do anything other than what they were told?
oh, the questions they had.
"do not question the plan, samael." michael said.
"thinking isn't right for an angel, you know better." gabriel said.
raphael was absent as always. but it was lucifer who praised their curiosity.
names are important, the meaning they bring. lucifer brings light through his wings' glow. samael thought of aziraphale's sword, but lucifer's glow was somehow still so cold.
the difference was as striking as the time that now passed by.
lucifer showed samael the power they held, the power other archangels tried to hide from them– creation, like the lord herself.
"you must listen to yourself, samael, follow your own path, and do as you must. create your own miracles."
samael, in all their strength, created a nebula. yellows, and blues, space dust swirling through the vast void, a giant canvas. lucifer said they had the right to name it, as it was theirs. carina, the name on the tip of their tongue. an explosion of stars, birth and death happening simultaneously... for the first time, they felt proud of a creation. the freedom it came with, this feeling was life.
compared to the warmth aziraphale would give, lucifer was cold, manipulating... but lucifer was more powerful than aziraphale, and through lucifer, samael could show god that they could do so much more.
that was their plan. they didn't need god's great plan, but other little plans along the way that would get the same place. questions helped them get there, so why were they bad?
---
samael had another interaction with god, rare for the time, as whispers ran through heaven everywhere. they were called upon by michael, summoned for lack of reporting to their duty.
"why do you cause trouble," michael spoke, "don't follow lucifer's ego."
samael didn't respond. what could they have said, that lucifer was the only interesting thing happening around each of the realms of heaven, that without the whole world there was nothing to guard or protect. their existence had been meaningless.
it had felt so long since samael had felt the grace of their god. she was angry, but the ripples of her love for her children was strong and yet not as strong as her own angels.
"what can you tell me about lucifer, samael?"
they bristled. sight blinded by light, they shielded away. "lucifer has the idea that we, the angels of heaven, should have a stronger hand in creation, to follow our own desires--”
"that is not what i asked of you.”
"your grace, you asked very little of me in the first place."
the light grew stronger, and samael felt terribly small, their wings wrapping around them for protection.
"i have plans for you. do not try to go against them." and that was meant to be the end, where samael corrected their ways and went back to the post of the seventh heaven. but samael only wanted answers, answers that no one would give them, and somehow that was wrong.
"what plan?"
there was a silence. the question was the last straw. the aggravation from the angels and her lord weighed as heavy as the weight of the universe on samael's shoulders. through the anger, even god spoke so softly. it still rattled through their being.
"the great plan, samael, the test to show where their true devotion lies in the world i give them."
"who?" they dared not say more, but the curiosity within them was not yet sated.
"my greatest creation. a test, samael, a test you best pass."
god went quiet, and samael knew that was the end of that. the world was the lord's greatest creation, and yet with the sky and the rivers, and the glorious beasts that roamed the grasses, she was not yet satisfied.
michael sent samael back to their post. they stayed, guarding, in displeasure.
then things did change. the humans. adam and eve, god had named them, were given the most beautiful place of creation to live in but under the one rule that neither two touch what she commanded was untouchable. a tree, a simple tree, samael thought it was laughable. the sixth day brought more than humans. it brought envy. lucifer hated them.
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Gods, David Tennant is still the best Hamlet I've ever seen. Straight into the camera, "Am I a coward?" Your heart just can't not go out for this poor boy.
I'm still just giving this out to anyone who messages me. I know there's a lot of folks who after Great Comet & Ghost Quartet really love Dave's composing and musical style. Moby Dick really shines with that.
Also, happy to let anyone know what I thought about the show privately. I say this because I want people to form their opinion first and mine isn't bad at all. I'm just a theatre student who loves a good discussion.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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crowley liked sleeping, loved it, even though he would never admit it. he discovered it in the 19th century, after being summoned without notice to the inner circles of hell for stopping time too frequently. he doesn’t like to think back on it, and even though the scars across his skin have healed, the recollection of them go deeper. if he couldn’t stop time to avoid the displeasure, there had to be a way around it. that’s when he looked at the humans, a bit closer this time, watched them sleep and rise with the sun and moon.
he remembered when they were created. how the clay from her hands seamlessly guided itself into beauty. the first steps, the wide-eyed look at the world they were given. crowley had the same experience. but that was a long time ago.
through the sleep cycles humans carried themselves through, the darkness of the night was enough to ease them to rest. but candlelight was good for those moments where they would awaken, take some notes, do some work, or pray, but those moments were short-lived, restarts to their bodies. crowley’s body wasn’t human, though it looked it, and he tried his best to maintain it as such, following whatever the humans deemed normal. except his glasses, tinted black, for the humans’ sake. he had been tired of being perceived as an omen or worse, a god amongst men.
he decided to follow humans once more. he rather liked the things they came up with. that was the original thing that god wanted, he recalled, and let the thought stop there. no sense in thinking about things that can never change.
so, sleeping.
resting.
and dreaming.
he wanted to give it a shot, wanted to speed past this nightmare of a century.
crowley tried it standing up, but almost fell over in the process, banging his head on the lone table in the bare room. he tried sitting down on the floor, resting his head against the dusty wall. it only worked for a moment. his mind was racing with everything he could and couldn’t do, what hell wanted for him, what he wanted, his next idea, what he would say to hastur and ligur to satisfy them. he couldn’t stop those thoughts, not for a long enough time to ever give himself a sense of relaxation. it was impossible, the hellfire and power that flowed through him deemed to stop any sense of goodwill he could wish upon himself. demons don’t get to take care of themselves. demons don’t get to indulge in pleasure; there had to be a cost. it was hypocritical, the tempter could not be seen having a moment of enjoyment. every second of his existence was forced to corrupt humanity and secure souls for hell through hinting humanity towards sin.
Ever write out a whole reply when someone asks what you mean, but you don't want to be overwhelming, or too much, so you delete it all and just write nevermind? Yeah, that's me with everything.
Except it stems for the feeling of being totally isolated, ignored, and unappreciated in your friend group.
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