The Universe's Mixer

At first there had been no answer when Crowley attempted to contact Aziraphale post Angels and Demons soiree. Constant no answer on the mobile. To the point where he was starting to leave increasingly irritated voicemail messages for the angel that started out with something similar to, “answer your sodding phone, you do-gooding luddite” followed by something like, “what's the point of having a mobile if you're never going to answer the bloody thing” and ended with a standard, “call me.”

He'd left a message close to that about five times until one day he went to check his mobile and found that Aziraphale's number was missing. Deleted. Gone. The demon even searched his call history to see if maybe he'd deleted the number on accident, hit send on the old calls log and received the automated message of, “your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try your call again.”

So, as instructed, he tried his call later. Or rather, attempted to try the call again. Except that suddenly his call history with Aziraphale was also missing from his phone. He checked over and over again for a few days. And just when he thought he was done checking, he checked again. Crowley wasn't needy, he we concerned. The angel might have not been technologically savvy, but he wasn't the type to completely ignore someone. At least not Crowley.

There was only one option and he did it -he hopped in his Bentley and drove around town in search for Aziraphale's bookshop. Hours he drove and found nothing.

He stopped in the middle of the street, knowing that the two shops in front of him once flanked the angel's shop, got out of his car and scanned the area for anything suspicious. It was as if Aziraphale had never been in the City. Which could only mean one thing...

Aziraphale was gone.

“Bugger!” He exclaimed and dropped his fist hard on the roof of the Bentley.

There is an invitation. The envelope it's in is made of a very thick, almost cardboard. Decorated with a design that looks like a mixture of feathers and flames. There is a seal on it, deep red wax, in the center, just a swirl. The paper is thinner, but no less well made. It's almost like touching cloth. The words upon it are done in a very beautiful script:

You are hereby invited to take part in a meeting in which you should discover very great things about what is around you.

Even if you choose to not accept this invitation, your daily movement around the City brings you to a building. There is only one door. The door is a very heavy, dark wood. It looks as if it might take a giant to open it, but it pulls free easily for you. When it shuts, it sounds almost as if a latch has clicked into place.

The room you are standing in is an odd shape. Triangular. The widest part is where the door is set in, and the other two walls meet opposite it to make the point. There is nothing in this room. No chairs, no table. No mirrors. No sign that anybody else will be able to get in here with you at all.

You will wait a while. When the last participant shows up, the walls in the center of the room will raise into the ceiling. From the floor will come a great table, laden with food and drink. Chairs will scoot out from where they were tucked away under it.

There are other people in this room with you.

( Read more... )

Crowley tossed a handful of bread piece into the pond at the park. After having gone through this routine numerous times with the demon, the ducks were a touch wary of the food given to them. They wanted the bread pieces but at the same time they wanted to live and going after the bread ran the risk of finding themselves submerged and unable to return to the surface. He smiled, briefly, at their reluctance. Whoever said waterfowl were stupid creatures, were daft themselves. The ducks had learned a fear of the demon and what he provided, as was just as well –he had been considering killing one or two of them out of boredom.

( Though, how he could be bored in a city that provided him the opportunity to find things of interest to do, was anyone’s guess. )

Generally, Harley Quinn was not found in the sort of store that was frequented by the average soccer mom or blue collar dad. If she wanted something that they might carry, she could probably find a better, more expensive version of it to steal from some other store. It was the difference between Target and Barney’s New York. Not that she went to Barney’s either, her sights were usually aimed a lot higher.

So what she was doing in this big box store today was a mystery. Something had wriggled into her brain and made her think this was a good idea, Harley just couldn’t remember what it was. It must have been something fun, because she was dressed down today; white shorts with knee socks and roller skates topped with a striped knit top and finished off with the pigtails that sprouted from either side of her head. No hyenas today because her Puddin’ had “borrowed” them.

( Oh yes! That’s what she’d come for! )

Jennifer had gotten home sometimes after talking to Simon and hadn't known what to do. She'd just lost her boyfriend for reasons she couldn't quite wrap her head around. Her best friend had moved out in anger. She was alone. The apartment felt incredibly empty. Knowing that nobody was going to be walking through the door, not for any reason.

So she did what turned out to be the only solution that she could come up with. She drank.

It didn't take long for her to get tipsy. She wasn't a drinker. She had maybe, at most, a glass of wine at fancy dinners, on holidays. A glass of champagne for celebrations, successes. She didn't even know where the bottle of vodka had come from. But it had been there. Waiting. In her freezer. She didn't even know if it was high end, or complete crap. It didn't really matter, in the end. She knew that the result of it would turn out the same no matter if it was gutrot or expensive.

At first, she drank carefully. Mixing the vodka with the orange juice in the fridge. Sipping slowly. Waiting for the pain to be numbed down to something she could tolerate. As she continued drinking, though, she stopped being cautious. Mixed more vodka than juice. Then no juice.

When she was fully tipsy and feeling warm all over, Jennifer changed her clothes(nothing complicated, but a nice white shirt and a clean pair of black pants) and left the house. She didn't want to drink alone. Drinking alone was depressing. She'd heard that somewhere. People who drank alone tended to be suicidal.

The first bar she saw, she went into. She sat right down at the bar and smiled at the bartender.

"Gimme..." Jennifer eyed the alcohol on the shelves behind the bar. She had no idea what was good. "Something..."

Aziraphale was getting frustrated as the computer beeped at him again.

He was attempting to set up his own website for rare book collectors. He had named it "Bibliophile Heaven." He found this amusing and clever in its inclusion of the twist of words. It hadn't really occurred to him that no one else would get it, or that it really wasn't all that clever to begin with. Aziraphale had his own sense of humor.

( It was the coding that was giving him trouble. )

It was funny how a few little things could change a person's perspective.

When Raven had first come into the City, she'd been sad and lost. Lonely. It had been a natural reaction to the loss of everything she'd known, but time and perspective had done a lot for her. Now she had a job - real responsibility and real trust from an owner who barely knew her. She'd been to a nightclub that welcomed everyone, demon and human alike. While dangerous things still happened, none of them were specifically about her. No one wanted her dead. No one cared what sort of blood was running through her veins.

She felt normal, and she'd discovered that normal? Was kind of amazing. It didn't make up for the lack of her loved ones, but she'd have been lying if she'd said that she missed the constant attacks and manipulations of the darker Powers.

Today, for example. She was having lunch in the park. There was a nice little bench that she'd claimed for herself. Her turkey sandwich was delicious. Somewhere out on the lake, ducks quacked.

No violence. No trouble. Just food and people-watching.

Crowley was confused. Not because he couldn’t find his flat, because after driving down the City’s streets at speeds the streets weren’t designed for, he found it, parked the Bentley and went inside. Then he did what he had intended to do from the second he left the Asylum. He took a sleep. A few days long sleep. When he did wake it was with a start and a hand to the forehead. Something wasn’t sitting right at all.

( He’d gone through his normal routine of scaring his house plants )

It started when he woke to the sound of the door of his room opening. Orderlies, Crowley assumed. Probably came back to give him more of that glorious sedative that made him sleep. He’d mostly behaved, even when the sedative and drugs wore off. It was strange that they let them wear off. Stranger still when a second orderly entered with a bucket and a sponge and started wiping the script that surround the doorframe, off.

Curious. Since the gradual wear of the drugs eased, Crowley understood where he was. He didn’t understand why he was there, but he sat up on his bed, mostly annoyed that his glorious sleep had been interrupted but now curious as to what was going on.

( There was little harm in asking, so he did. )

The demon known colloquially as Crowley, was confused. First of all, he was on a bed. Which, while in and of itself wasn’t strange - he liked to sleep a great deal, it was that he wasn’t in his own bed. That much registered with him. Except where he was, was clouded. He didn’t know how he got there at all. When he tried to sit up, he ended up flopping back down. It was hard to sit up. Exhausting even.

( Clasping his hands on the bed, slowly, he inclined his body back into a sitting position. )

Late at night, under the light of the full moon, he was out on the prowl. A new place meant the possibility of new prey. He liked new prey. It kept his hunting skills sharp. Tonight wasn’t about feeding; he just wanted to get to know his new home.

He liked the park. It had a nice open area for running and trees for him to use for cover while stalking his prey. His human half actually liked it when he went running. He could actually feel Larry’s joy as he ran full speed across the park. Places like this made it good to be a wolf.

( Or at least a wolf man. )

Crowley stood at the base of the castle with an expression on his face that might have been interpreted as a smile were it on anyone else. On him it just appeared predatory. In a way, he supposed, it was. This castle, this entire experience was like prey to him. He and Elle had come here with the explicit purpose of causing trouble. Big trouble. Epic trouble.

( They were going to take on a building whose base was strong. )

Elle was mad, more than that, she was downright pissed off. The City had decided to have a Queen and it totally wasn't her! That made no sense. If anyone should have been Queen it should have been her! She had all the right qualifications. She was good with people. She was powerful. She could get people to listen and win a war.

And she was good with money and... A lot of things like that, things Queens should be good at.

This Harley girl. Well if the city didn't appreciate Elle, then she'd forget about the City.

She started small. She blew up a few wires which caused some power outages. Then she welded a whole bunch of doors shut and locked the owners and customers of some stores, bars, and apartments inside.

Now she was in the park staring at the pond. Staring at the ducks IN the pond. A little shock to send them flying away forever? Or to kill some poor defenseless duck?

Her father would not be pleased, but if it was something the city loved.. Then why not? Who would really stop her?

Shepherd Book was, by nature, a doer. Oh, he liked a find conversation, no doubt. A good discussion of philosophies and thought was always a fun exercise in stretching his mind, and that was something he felt folks should always strive for. Balance between keeping the mind sharp and the body toned, that was important. After all, it was written that the body was a temple. But when it came down to it, he wasn’t one for sitting still.

There was a goodly amount of traffic in his church, the church he inherited when he arrived in this place, and that was all well and good. But he still had a fair amount of time on his hands. Time that could be spent doing more than just keeping the grounds and the buildings clean and tended. He’d been thinking on it some, and while cleaning the parsonage, he came to the conclusion that the house was really too big for just one person.

( He should share it. )

The crickets fell silent. The early summer humidity died swiftly, replaced by a cool, dry breeze. There was a shift, like a great hand stretching down to curl its fist around her; she felt it down to the marrow of her bones -- a ripping that she, in her drowsing state, was powerless to resist. But from her father's sloping cottage porch in the deep French countryside, she felt it. No pain, but pressure, enough to make her ears pop. It woke her from her dozing.

The fog of sleep lifted in starts. First, she found herself staring at a wood table top of the finest, smoothest making. She couldn't see the seams, she couldn't find any blemishes in the wood, and the varnish was like glass. Such a table would have easily fit in the finest salons in Paris. But when she lifted her head, she was not in Paris. Rows after rows of sterile gray-metal bookshelves surrounded her. The ceiling was high and white, unadorned. The rug looked as if it had been knit, and it went on and on - again, no seams. But as she became more aware, she also realized she was nowhere close to home.

There were others around her. Dressed strangely. Strangely, but uniformly, as if they had all chosen their clothing from the same tailor. Beauty looked down at her dirt-stained country dress, curled her fingers in her apron, and sat very, very still. Panic was rising, and she knew from experience that panic did nothing, nothing at all but make things worse.

She was in a library, she finally surmised. No library she'd ever seen before, and none that felt familiar. The letters everywhere were wrong... Or not wrong, but not French. She found she could read the words she saw, but the language was not one she'd known five minutes ago. Swallowing, she very, very quietly stood from the chair where she'd been deposited. The sweat on the back of her neck had dried and made her skin pucker under the gusting cold air. Where was that coming from? She turned her face up and saw a strange sort of... it must be a vent, but not to let air out.

This wasn't France. This wasn't home. How had she gotten here, and who had taken her, and why? Her father needed her. Her sisters needed her. Unbunching her fingers from her apron, she forced her steps to remain careful, slow, and unhurried. She wanted no attention cast her way. There had to be an exit to this library, and from there, she could find where she was. And from there, she could find her way home.

A shush-shushing sound drew her away from the area with perfect tables and perfecter chairs, and she found herself staring at moving glass panels. Sunlight shone from behind them. A man with pale hair walked through them. This must be it. She ducked her head, edged backward to the closest shelf, and waited for him to pass her before she tried her hand at those panels herself. Unfortunately, she didn't look behind her.

The list of people within the City that had powers was growing everyday. She could observe them without them seeing her for the most part, and they didn't seem to want to hide the fact that they had powers. Some of them could be dangerous. She worried that if the rest of the Company followed her into the City they wouldn't stand a chance against the group of people with powers here. She needed to find a way to get around the fact that there were too many of her own kind out there, or find a way to recruit some of them to help her should the need arise to stop them. She was sure if there were ten of the goodie-goods out there, there were at least 5 bad guys out there too. The city was small enough but she hadn't seen anyone she recognized.

She wondered if any of them were out there. If Nathan, Peter, Claire, Sylar, Mohinder, or any of them had made it here yet. Her father hadn't. Every time she called his cell it was just a disconnected number. it began to bother her so much she started to talk to the disconnected line. Talking to daddy made everything better, and worse at once. He'd yell at her and he wasn't even there. Scolding her for becoming infatuated with a man enough to ignore her duty for a few days. Wanting desperately to go back to that same man and have more fun caused another round of yelling from her not-even-there father.

( Daddy issues? You bet. )

Crowley twitched.

At least whatever had been wrong with him had passed, and the young girl had passed as well - on to whatever it was that teenage girls did when they weren't stalking the boys they had crushes on. It had been supernatural, whatever had caused him to feel the way he had, and Crowely wasn't a fan. Not at all.

It made him feel all gooey on the inside and in strike comparison, he needed to do something that was the exact opposite of gooey just to counteract the feeling.

Which was what found him at his favorite place, the park, trying to come up with something brilliant. Something that would shake the utter disgust he felt at himself for having softened anymore than he already was. Crowley knew all too well he was too soft for a demon, so much proved it. He wasn't exactly the quick and cuddly type, but he wasn't exactly the eat your face off evil either.

At least not usually.

He contemplated shutting down the electronic communication networks, seeing how long it would take for riots to break out and letting things take their natural course from there; but he wasn't convinced. So he leaned back on the bench and thought.

Bella Swan was the kind of girl who could blend into her surroundings….well, usually. There was no way she could fit amongst the smitten couples, gaudy bouquets of flowers, and ridiculous balloons which plagued every corner of the City. Even with her head down, and ipod jammed in her ears, they still insisted in shoving sneeze inducing roses and sickly candies in her face. Could they not tell that she was one of the most un-valentines girls in the world?!

It wasn’t because she didn’t have a significant other, or anything. Boys didn’t give plain old her a second glance. Valentines day was just….stupid. and commercial. And embarrassing too. Why wait for one day during the year to tell someone how much they mean to you?

She was trying to avoid one of the rose selling men when she felt something hitting her square in the back. And being the spectacularly coordinated girl she was, Bella lost her balance, and tumbled into the person infront of her.

“Sorry” she muttered, checking herself for bumps or bruises. Typical Bella.

After that insane time in the snow, Elle had just been trying to map her surroundings. Only, everything kept changing. She never starved or got so lost that she couldn't get back to her apartment, but it was infuriating. More than once she'd shocked the hell out of a street sign because they weren't the same as they should have been. What the hell was with this city? Everything changed, nothing stayed the same. When she ate everything in her apartment more food was there. When she thought she was out of money, more would be waiting in her pocket. It made her head hurt at times, and Elle didn't like that.

Now she was lost. More lost than she wanted to be. It was getting dark really quickly. Did she remember this street? Down it she went, only to come face to face with a park. A park of all things. She'd never seen the park before, and instead of turning around (which normally just got her more lost) she headed into it. It seemed pretty deserted. Maybe cut across and find her apartment on the other side. Yeah.

( That sounded about right. )

There's a room filled with 500 rare and expensive birds. They all need to be caged, individually, and carefully. No feather must be out of place. No bird harmed. Magic doesn't work on them. There are perches high in the room that the birds can get to easily, and the birds themselves have rather sharp beaks.