Memory One You are stood on a beach looking out into the ocean, or rather you are stood looking at an island-sized monster that fills the shallows before you.
You are a little nervous, but your voice is confident as you speak. "We are using the 'royal you', right?"
I KNOW WHO IS AT FAULT HERE. DO YOU?
"I have theories. Or well, I was told some things...we are talking about the same thing, though, right? The-end-that-wasn't? The fact that my charming celebratory dinner was interrupted to pull me into this business, just like the others?"
THE END THAT WASN'T. YES. THOSE WRETCHED YOUNG GODS WHO THOUGHT THEY COULD SAVE THE WORLD.
"Some worlds are worth saving." You speak from experience here. But... "Can't speak to this one."
NO. THEY AREN'T. The monsters tone is frank.
DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I AM?
You hazard a guess. "...Angry?"
I AM BEYOND MERE ANGER. I AM NOT A THING THAT MORTAL LIFE IS MEANT TO COMPREHEND.
Despite that, a note of anger has entered their voice.
I AM THE WORLD'S HISTORY. I AM THE WAY THINGS ARE AND HAVE BEEN AND WILL BE. I AM "STORI." I AM THE HISTORIAN.
"That's a flex, don't you think? I am not a mortal life. I've existed before history was a concept. How's that for a pissing match?"
AND WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM? I AM THE ELDEST OF MY PANTHEON. I HAVE LIVED LONGER THAN ANY GOD IN THIS REALM.
"So then let's not jump to conclusions, hm?" You are probably not de-escalating this situation.
IF YOU'RE HERE TO WASTE MY TIME, I ADVISE YOU TO CHOOSE ANOTHER PATH. YOUR TIME IS FINITE. THIS WORLD'S TIME IS FINITE.
"Do you have the power to end it, then?"
I HAVE THE MEANS. THOUGH I SUPPOSE I MUST DEAL WITH ALL OF YOU FIRST.
You pull a face. "Oh. promise? Can you send us back to where we were pulled from?"
THAT IS MY INTENTION. YOUR HISTORIES ARE OF NO CONCERN OF MINE. BUT WHILE YOU ARE HERE, YOU DIVERT THE COURSE OF THIS WORLD'S HISTORY. THIS CANNOT CONTINUE.
"Lovely. How about I pencil you in for Tuesday? That should be plenty of time, yes?" Said like you sass island sized gods on the regular.
ONCE I HAVE UNMADE THIS WORLD, YOU WILL RETURN TO FROM WHICH YOU CAME. DO NOT INTERVENE IF YOU DESIRE THIS OUTCOME.
"No take-backsies." This is the outcome you desire, yes.
THERE IS NO REVERSING THE UNMAKING OF A WORLD ONCE IT IS DONE.
"Yeah, but you still have to do it, first." You remind them.
I INTEND TO. BUT THERE WILL BE OPPOSITION.
"If you're as ancient and powerful as you say, I don't forsee that being an issue."
THAT DOES NOT HELP. IF ALL YOU'VE TO SAY ARE THINGS I ALREADY KNOW, FIND SOMEONE ELSE'S TIME TO WASTE.
"Right. Well, you've been a delight. Ciao."
The memory fades.
Memory Two You are sat in a fancy dining hall. A very fancy restaurant with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
You don't have food yet but you do have champagne and you look at your companion, through the sunglasses you are still wearing inside.
The person next to you has white blonde hair and is wearing a beige suit. Aziraphale. He looks relieved. You feel relief, the most relief you have felt in a very long time.
You chink glasses, "To the world." You toast.
Memory Three Crowley is driving his Bentley though Soho (London), trying to get Aziraphale on the phone when he sees the smoke. His heart sinks when he sees it, but it isn't until he's closer that what he feared has come true. Aziraphale's bookshop is wildly on fire, flames licking out of the windows on all sides. His car screeches to a stop and he's already halfway out the door when he throws it into park, firemen just arriving on the scene.
"Are you the owner of this establishment?!" A man in a uniform yells at Crowley through the rain, Crowley sneers back, walking directly toward the flames, "Do I look like I run a book shop?"
With a snap of his fingers, the doors open for him, another snap, and they're closed behind him, flames engulfing them.
"Aziraphale?!" he shouts, running deep into the building, "Aziraphale, where the heaven are you, you idiot?! I can't find you--- Aziraphale, for God's--for Satan--- AUGH! For somebody's sake, where are you?!"
A harsh burst of water from the fire fighter's hose shoots through a window and hits Crowley right in the chest, drenching him and knocking him to the floor. He sits up, pulling his glasses off and staring around him, his voice wavering, "You've gone--" he mutters, his eyes blown-out and more snake-like than ever. "Somebody killed my best friend!" he sobs.
"BASTARDS! ALL OF YOU!" he screams from the floor, and panting looks to his side, a book sitting there with it's edges charred. 'The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter' it reads, and Crowley picks it up and holds it in his lap, gazing angrily up at the flames.
When he finally manages to get up again, the doors are snapped open, and Crowley walks out into the street, the book still in his hand. He pinches his glasses by their end, all melted and broken, and mutters to himself, "I shouldn't litter, should I? I mean, I probably should litter, I'm a demon after all, but no one's really keeping score anymore..."
He drops them to the ground, gets back in his car, and somberly drives away as more flames explode from the window of the shop.
Crowley | Duke
Themes: taunting fate, love, friendship
Memory One You are stood on a beach looking out into the ocean, or rather you are stood looking at an island-sized monster that fills the shallows before you.
You are a little nervous, but your voice is confident as you speak. "We are using the 'royal you', right?"
I KNOW WHO IS AT FAULT HERE.
DO YOU?
"I have theories. Or well, I was told some things...we are talking about the same thing, though, right? The-end-that-wasn't? The fact that my charming celebratory dinner was interrupted to pull me into this business, just like the others?"
THE END THAT WASN'T.
YES.
THOSE WRETCHED YOUNG GODS WHO THOUGHT THEY COULD SAVE THE WORLD.
"Some worlds are worth saving." You speak from experience here. But... "Can't speak to this one."
NO. THEY AREN'T. The monsters tone is frank.
DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I AM?
You hazard a guess. "...Angry?"
I AM BEYOND MERE ANGER.
I AM NOT A THING THAT MORTAL LIFE IS MEANT TO COMPREHEND.
Despite that, a note of anger has entered their voice.
I AM THE WORLD'S HISTORY.
I AM THE WAY THINGS ARE AND HAVE BEEN AND WILL BE.
I AM "STORI."
I AM THE HISTORIAN.
"That's a flex, don't you think? I am not a mortal life. I've existed before history was a concept. How's that for a pissing match?"
AND WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM?
I AM THE ELDEST OF MY PANTHEON.
I HAVE LIVED LONGER THAN ANY GOD IN THIS REALM.
"So then let's not jump to conclusions, hm?" You are probably not de-escalating this situation.
IF YOU'RE HERE TO WASTE MY TIME, I ADVISE YOU TO CHOOSE ANOTHER PATH.
YOUR TIME IS FINITE.
THIS WORLD'S TIME IS FINITE.
"Do you have the power to end it, then?"
I HAVE THE MEANS.
THOUGH I SUPPOSE I MUST DEAL WITH ALL OF YOU FIRST.
You pull a face. "Oh. promise? Can you send us back to where we were pulled from?"
THAT IS MY INTENTION.
YOUR HISTORIES ARE OF NO CONCERN OF MINE.
BUT WHILE YOU ARE HERE, YOU DIVERT THE COURSE OF THIS WORLD'S HISTORY.
THIS CANNOT CONTINUE.
"Lovely. How about I pencil you in for Tuesday? That should be plenty of time, yes?" Said like you sass island sized gods on the regular.
ONCE I HAVE UNMADE THIS WORLD, YOU WILL RETURN TO FROM WHICH YOU CAME.
DO NOT INTERVENE IF YOU DESIRE THIS OUTCOME.
"No take-backsies." This is the outcome you desire, yes.
THERE IS NO REVERSING THE UNMAKING OF A WORLD ONCE IT IS DONE.
"Yeah, but you still have to do it, first." You remind them.
I INTEND TO.
BUT THERE WILL BE OPPOSITION.
"If you're as ancient and powerful as you say, I don't forsee that being an issue."
THAT DOES NOT HELP.
IF ALL YOU'VE TO SAY ARE THINGS I ALREADY KNOW, FIND SOMEONE ELSE'S TIME TO WASTE.
"Right. Well, you've been a delight. Ciao."
The memory fades.
Memory Two You are sat in a fancy dining hall. A very fancy restaurant with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
You don't have food yet but you do have champagne and you look at your companion, through the sunglasses you are still wearing inside.
The person next to you has white blonde hair and is wearing a beige suit. Aziraphale. He looks relieved. You feel relief, the most relief you have felt in a very long time.
You chink glasses, "To the world." You toast.
Memory Three Crowley is driving his Bentley though Soho (London), trying to get Aziraphale on the phone when he sees the smoke. His heart sinks when he sees it, but it isn't until he's closer that what he feared has come true. Aziraphale's bookshop is wildly on fire, flames licking out of the windows on all sides. His car screeches to a stop and he's already halfway out the door when he throws it into park, firemen just arriving on the scene.
"Are you the owner of this establishment?!" A man in a uniform yells at Crowley through the rain, Crowley sneers back, walking directly toward the flames, "Do I look like I run a book shop?"
With a snap of his fingers, the doors open for him, another snap, and they're closed behind him, flames engulfing them.
"Aziraphale?!" he shouts, running deep into the building, "Aziraphale, where the heaven are you, you idiot?! I can't find you--- Aziraphale, for God's--for Satan--- AUGH! For somebody's sake, where are you?!"
A harsh burst of water from the fire fighter's hose shoots through a window and hits Crowley right in the chest, drenching him and knocking him to the floor. He sits up, pulling his glasses off and staring around him, his voice wavering, "You've gone--" he mutters, his eyes blown-out and more snake-like than ever. "Somebody killed my best friend!" he sobs.
"BASTARDS! ALL OF YOU!" he screams from the floor, and panting looks to his side, a book sitting there with it's edges charred. 'The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter' it reads, and Crowley picks it up and holds it in his lap, gazing angrily up at the flames.
When he finally manages to get up again, the doors are snapped open, and Crowley walks out into the street, the book still in his hand. He pinches his glasses by their end, all melted and broken, and mutters to himself, "I shouldn't litter, should I? I mean, I probably should litter, I'm a demon after all, but no one's really keeping score anymore..."
He drops them to the ground, gets back in his car, and somberly drives away as more flames explode from the window of the shop.