Broken Space

Crowley has not been particularly social since arriving. First off, his Bentley had died, and apparently, mechanics don't exist in this world, though there is a walking, talking laptop and a kitchen sink. So everything but a mechanic. Go figure.

Then, he had found out that none of his powers worked. This meant several things:

1) That he really, really needed that mechanic for his poor Bentley.
2) That he actually needed to take showers now (had taken him a while to figure out what the smell was).
3) He was suddenly growing facial hair. For the first time in ages. Facial hair. Him.

And so he has spent the past several however-longs moping in his room, and has only just mustered up the energy to mope on the beach. Every so often, he chucks a rock or stick at the water. He knows he ought to be more demonic, seeing as how he used to be a demon and all, but this is all he can manage at the moment.

"Watch it be bureaucracy," he mutters to himself.

Crowley is racing down the countryside, as content as a devil can be, listening to an electric-guitar-laden Vivaldi, resisting the urge to whistle along and instead taking in the happy - er, unhappy - day. He'd just woken up from an eight-week nap and is feeling - well, utterly devilish. Already today, he has rigged the match in favor of Manchester United (again - amazing what sports will do to spread ill will), orchestrated the reunions of two boy bands, and gotten three new reality shows (all with stupid but scantily-clad women as stars) approved. All in all, he has been doing a good - er, bad - job.

And it is as he is congratulating himself on this that the Bentley - his darling Bentley - crashes with nothing. It just simply comes to an abrupt stop as fifty-plus years of non-care catch up to it, and as one the tyres deflate and rust off, the paint peels, the engine not only dies but abandons ship, and the Vivaldi: Best of Queen tape begins to screech in pain and horror.

Crowley sits in the driver's seat, taking it all in, and after a few minutes does the only thing he knows to do: He blesses.

He looks at a building, in front of which his car has died. It occurs to him to ask if there's an auto mechanic there, and that way he can skip out on the bill and score Downstairs some more points, but in the end he lifts a hand and snaps. Nothing happens. He does it again. Again, nothing happens.

Crowley stares. What the Heaven?