(no subject)

[aj_crawley]

 
Her daddy always said she was smart, and she knows it's true; that's how she got where she is today. They'd never have hired her at Bentley Aeronautics if she wasn't. Or maybe they would have, considering. It doesn't matter now. She's very, very smart - and after this, hell if she won't be be paid accordingly.



"Well-played," Crowley has time to say, before Lizzie 'Sunshine' Rydell pulls the trigger and ducks into the escape pod she already knew, she always knew Uncle Andy would get her to. Crowley buckles, flops to the deck like a fish, or someone who's just had an important part of their motor control spattered on the wall behind them.

All in all, he could have wished for better last words.





there's a man going around taking names

and he decides who to free and who to blame

every body won't be treated quite the same

when the man comes around
This is the first time Crowley has died since the breaking of the Beam, and it's - closer to it than he remembers. It's frightening. He's f-
the hairs on your arm will stand up at the terror( why must you hurt me, when I - )in each sip and each sup
He tries, you know. This doesn't - it doesn't really seem fair. Something warm trickles down into his hair. No bloody gratitude, the 'verse.
will you partake of that last offered cup( why will you cut me, and disfigure my face, and - )or disappear into the potter's ground
And now dark is bleeding back into the corners of his vision - the kind he can't see in, nor open his eyes to wake up from. "H- "
the whirlwind is in the thorn trees( it's hard for thee - )voices calling and voices crying
He can't get up. He doesn't have time, once the floor starts to rattle with footfalls, and the corridor to fill with awful, animal howls.
some are born and some are dying( it's hard for thee to kick against the pricks )when the man comes around

he decides who to free and who to blame

every body won't be treated quite the same

when the man comes around






Fair? No. All part of the Ineffable Plan, right? Pria-toi. Gan delah. Of course it isn't fair. After all, it'd be a fucking frightening 'verse if we all got what we deserved, wouldn't it? Still - let's leave him there. This is ugly, and you should not have to watch, say thankya. Say amen.

( pria-toi, Gan delah )



Now, shhhh. Hush now. Here's a secret. Here's a secret, can you keep it, cross your heart and hope to die? In a small box, under a stack of folders (hand-labelled in a neat script: E. Rydell), in the gore-splashed aides' room: a little three-pronged beacon, no longer or wider than a man's hand, on a countdown timer: silently singing, singing, signalling, summoning.