WHO: Anthony J. Crowley and absolutely anyone WHAT: Waking up with a bitchy attitude WHERE: Amusement park RATING: This thread is not yet rated. WARNINGS: None STATUS: Open and in progress
Crowley was utterly certain he hadn't gotten trousered last night. He ran through the previous night's list of activities in his head: dinner at the Ritz, sending a crowd of university students into the angel's bookshop, driving 120 mph on back-country roads, and catching a rerun of Golden Girls before nodding off on his couch – not one of those explained why he was stretched out in the seat of a funhouse thrill-ride car with white noise crackling in his ears. Probably some bastard higher-up's doing. If he was really unlucky, maybe Ligur.
It could have been worse, though. Honestly he was surprised they hadn't gone the whole hog and pumped Queen through the speakers. Hell must have been losing its touch. The demon sighed and sat up, groped the seat for his sunglasses, and slipped them on before looking around. Well, someone had a pathetic sense of humor. Uncomfortable though the seat was, the painted monsters and grotesque mirrors and images were a childish touch. Was this supposed to be intimidating?
"What an idiot," he muttered as he stepped out of the car. As if in reply the static rose in volume, the noise almost a roar, and he winced. "All right, you can come out now. You're not fooling anyone. And shut that bloody static off, will you?"