Tweak

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Tweak says, "kiss my grits"

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Crowley went and got attached ([info]sinbroker) wrote in [info]wariscoming,
"Yes, Ruby, I need you," Crowley snapped, one eyebrow arched at her. "I need my friend, not some moron who only thinks with her knife. You've done what I needed, it's fine, we won't look weak." All the biggest players were dead, it was just cleaning up the rabble left to do, and that didn't actually need Ruby's level of skill.

Of course, she sounded hopeful. And inwardly, Crowley flinched. He didn't want to offer hope only to snatch it away. Well, not to her, as a general life rule that was often funny.

But he had brought it up, now he had to explain. He put the cloth away and moved over to his desk, gesturing for her to follow. A large book was open there, a pad of paper with his own scribbled notes next to it. The language was a variation of Enochian, one that hadn't even been used by the angels in centuries, but Crowley suspected his translations were accurate.

"One of the problems is the Cage doesn't have a proper physical size. It's tiny and vast, all at the same time, it wouldn't be like walking into a room. We need a way to actually link to the people in the Cage, and if I'm translating this right, we can use new people as anchors." If he was translating it right. If it worked. Too many ifs.

"Of course, it could actually end up dragging more people into there, so it could make the situation worse." He had to sigh, he still hadn't found out how to best counter that, how to protect against more people getting trapped in there. "Like I said. Beginnings of an idea."


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