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integrity[Crowley is alive.
This is a shocking fact, seeing as he fully expected to die. He even set up his so-called last will and testament, to set aside his funds and business transactions and all other sorts of things, in preparation for his death. However meaningless this universe is, Crowley is nothing but pragmatic. And as he sits in his chair, in his office, nothing seems out of the ordinary, save for a few things.
Once, he is holding a glass of liquor, which is hardly unusual. What is unusual is that his fingers grip it unusually tightly, almost as if he is convinced he is going to drop it. His eyes are lacking some of the spark that they usually hold, resigned and weary and ready to quit, though Crowley does not quit. He holds himself as someone who has lost a great deal but is far too stubborn to actually roll over and take it -- and as Crowley takes a sip of scotch, he clears his throat and speaks, his words slurring only slightly. He has great practice in speaking while intoxicated.]
I saw God yesterday, while I was stabbing my friend to death.
[Crowley considers that for a moment before he decides 'screw it' and finishes off his glass.]
I suppose I should get an attorney for that incriminating statement, but I'm having difficulty caring, as God is the one who put him out of his misery. The same one who allowed our world to dissolve into chaos and misery and let's not forget what He allowed His own poor stupid useless children to do to it, they killed one another because Daddy never hugged them. And you know what the best part was?
[Crowley huffs a soft laugh as he puts the glass back down. His fingers twitch to themselves and, perhaps in a delayed reaction, the demon swipes his hand across the table to let the glass hit the ground and shatter. It was only crystal. He can just buy another.]
He was right in front of our faces the entire time, God, the witless wonder that thought it would be funny to create an entire dimension dedicated to souls shredding each other for punishment and thought it would be hilarious to let Lucifer break out of his Cage and thought it would be hysterical for Castiel to --
[But Crowley stops himself, because that is getting into something of a deep and personal moment for him, and one can't have that. Instead, his tone lowers to something soft as he pushes himself up, hands keeping himself steady at his desk.]
If you want to speak with the useless twat, our Savior, His name is Chuck Shurley. Pray to Him if you want to know why Castiel lost his mind and the Leviathan ate your friends. I'm certain He has all the answers in the world for why they existed in the first place.
[And Crowley shuts off his feed by knocking his NV off of his desk.]
This is a shocking fact, seeing as he fully expected to die. He even set up his so-called last will and testament, to set aside his funds and business transactions and all other sorts of things, in preparation for his death. However meaningless this universe is, Crowley is nothing but pragmatic. And as he sits in his chair, in his office, nothing seems out of the ordinary, save for a few things.
Once, he is holding a glass of liquor, which is hardly unusual. What is unusual is that his fingers grip it unusually tightly, almost as if he is convinced he is going to drop it. His eyes are lacking some of the spark that they usually hold, resigned and weary and ready to quit, though Crowley does not quit. He holds himself as someone who has lost a great deal but is far too stubborn to actually roll over and take it -- and as Crowley takes a sip of scotch, he clears his throat and speaks, his words slurring only slightly. He has great practice in speaking while intoxicated.]
I saw God yesterday, while I was stabbing my friend to death.
[Crowley considers that for a moment before he decides 'screw it' and finishes off his glass.]
I suppose I should get an attorney for that incriminating statement, but I'm having difficulty caring, as God is the one who put him out of his misery. The same one who allowed our world to dissolve into chaos and misery and let's not forget what He allowed His own poor stupid useless children to do to it, they killed one another because Daddy never hugged them. And you know what the best part was?
[Crowley huffs a soft laugh as he puts the glass back down. His fingers twitch to themselves and, perhaps in a delayed reaction, the demon swipes his hand across the table to let the glass hit the ground and shatter. It was only crystal. He can just buy another.]
He was right in front of our faces the entire time, God, the witless wonder that thought it would be funny to create an entire dimension dedicated to souls shredding each other for punishment and thought it would be hilarious to let Lucifer break out of his Cage and thought it would be hysterical for Castiel to --
[But Crowley stops himself, because that is getting into something of a deep and personal moment for him, and one can't have that. Instead, his tone lowers to something soft as he pushes himself up, hands keeping himself steady at his desk.]
If you want to speak with the useless twat, our Savior, His name is Chuck Shurley. Pray to Him if you want to know why Castiel lost his mind and the Leviathan ate your friends. I'm certain He has all the answers in the world for why they existed in the first place.
[And Crowley shuts off his feed by knocking his NV off of his desk.]
