#crwlee

  Crowley’s smile is very important to me and gives...

a beautiful thing

She pauses, sensing, and turns. ❝ Who are you ? WHAT are you ? ❞

Warlock woke up to the sound of something moving in his apartment.  Most mornings, he’d’ve probably let it go, passing it off as the neighbor’s cat or something coming in through the window, but he actually closed the window last night.  

He sighed, rubbing his eyes.  Someone broke into his apartment. Probably just a thief.  Just a thief…how many people would say that, ‘just’ a thief? He shook his head.  Dammit.  Focus.  A person is in your living space and probably here to take your stuff.

After finally deciding now would be a good time to get up, he picked up a sneaker from the floor and stumbled out of the bedroom…all the knives were in the kitchen, and he wasn’t about to throw a hairbrush, he only had one.  He had at least five pairs of shoes.  

To say Ziraph was panicking was a gross understatement. When he’d been summoned to that graveyard he had not expected to be given the ‘prestigious assignment’ that he had.

The arrival of the Antichrist meant the countdown to doomsday had begun, and poor Ziraph hadn’t the slightest clue what to do about it. The orders had been clear: deliver the Antichrist to the hospital, so that he would be placed with the family of the American diplomat. A part of him had intended to obey these orders, because buggering this up would most definitely result in certain and painful death for him. Instead, he panicked.

Normally, when he panicked, he locked himself in his bookshop and didn’t come out again until he’d calmed down and worked out the logical way forward, but he could hardly lock himself away whilst toting the literal Antichrist. The babe was, after all, the Antichrist. The Antichrist, who would bring the world to a definitive end, and Ziraph most emphatically did not want that at all.

Oh, bugger it all, what was he going to do…?!

Ziraph had set out with no set destination in mind, but it came as a surprise when he came to from his hysterical blackout to find himself at the door of none other than his Adversary. If he did indeed think about it a bit longer, he would see the sense in this: Raphael would know what to do in this situation. Raphael would figure out an answer where Ziraph could not. Raphael was the cleverest person he knew, after all.

The demon held the basket containing the sleeping Antichrist away from his body much like one would hold a basket containing a bomb. With his free hand, he began frantically pounding on Raphael’s door.

“Raphael!” He all but wailed, “Raphael, oh, please do open up! Raphael, something terrible has happened, I need to speak to you!”

As the cherry on top of the rather dismal cake of his situation right now, the Antichrist promptly began to wail too, thoroughly disturbed by the ruckus he was making. “Oh, no,” Ziraph said in dismay, “No- shh, baby- Antichrist- thing, shh! Be quiet! You need to be quiet! RAPHAEL!”

Whomever was there he didn't have time for them. Not when he was running behind with things for his client that would be showing up the next day expecting their spell to be ready. Everyone seemed to think that because he was the High Warlock of Brooklyn he could give them some of the more complex spells in their world. Or better yet that he could summon the sort of demon that would make all of their dreams come true. No one truly understood the complexity of it all and knowing there was someone else there Magnus knew he needed to nip it in the bud before they assumed he would allow them to ask whatever it was they needed of him. At least he'd found the second book he'd been looking for and turning around, he was surprised to see it wasn't who he'd thought it was. "Oh. I thought you might be someone from the Institute. The answer is still the same, unfortunately."

"Impossible,” he murmurs, dark eyes wide and RECEPTIVE.  Upon first glance, he’d assumed this man to be himself, from a not too distant FUTURE in which he’d decided to dye his hair red ( likely because the enticement of being ginger had finally overtaken him ).  But, he’d know a fully fledged Time Lord when he saw one, and unless this stranger is stowing away a very PARTICULAR pocket watch, the only EVIDENT similarity between them is their appearance.  

That said, the completely PARALLEL facial structures were an UNDENIABLE marvel.

“No, not impossible.  But, definitely brilliant!”  He quickly CORRECTS himself.  With all the faces he’d worn over STRETCHES of centuries, it shouldn’t be surprising that the universe would hold at least one COPY of those randomized features.  Perhaps, he muses, it was even the reverse!  Feedback from a PARADOX could easily have influenced his regeneration, shaping it accordingly, and if that were case -- well, this is someone he was, in a way, FATED to meet.