lifeaftr | [OPEN and one closed prompt] A very backdated arrival

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[OPEN and one closed prompt] A very backdated arrival

Who: Aziraphale & anyone else!
What: An angel arrives to the archipelago and is extremely confused. Plus a bit of exploration
When: October 27th - November 4th
Where: Mostly Ensō
Warnings: Stress and confusion

ARRIVAL [Closed, for Crowley]
Beach holidays are lovely in concept. The sun, the sea, the sand, all the good marks of a nice time, should the weather permit it.

What is not so lovely, however, is finding yourself, alarmingly, somewhere where you're not supposed to be. Somewhere where you definitely were not just moments--hours-days-- hold on just a moment. He doesn't even quite remember ever settling down or in any way losing consciousness. Which, you know, wouldn't make this whole situation any less cause for alarm, but it would be somewhere to start.

He's stepping through the damp sand, holding, in his hands, a knapsack that, for some reason, has his name embroidered on it. The items inside do nothing to answer any questions, and he's looking around every which way.

Something about this place is...different. Something feels strange - well, all of it is strange -, and he can't quite put his finger on it. What on Earth did he get himself into?

"Hello?" He calls out, somewhat nervously.

STORYTELLER'S TEMPLE & MANA POOL
The day after his arrival, he sets off to have a look around. This particular building easily catches his eye - hard to miss the structure in the island as is, but there's something else about it. Something-- oh, darn it. Yet another thing he can't quite comprehend, and it's entirely frustrating in an already confusing and stressful situation.

For a few hours, this strangely dressed humanshaped being walks around the temple, examining its structure. He can be found stopping at times, seemingly focused on something, although it doesn't quite seem to be whatever piece of stone or mark on the wall his eyes are landing on.

And then, there's the mana pool; he stands at the edge of it, staring into the water intently.

This place, it's...

What is this?

DENNY
Well, this is...something.

The small gathering of buildings make things feel a little bit more-- hopeful, in some strange sense of the word. Somewhere where one can expect more inhabitants to show up, he would assume, and where he could perhaps get some answers.

Steps into the mess hall and he notices, right away, the effort that must have taken to put this sort of place together. He also notices, immediately, how he must entirely stand out in a place like this. Still, it feels cozy and lively in here. Yes, this is not too shabby at all.

Regardless, he steps quietly along the room, rubbing one of his thumbs into the palm of his other hand.

As soon as he spots someone, he steps to them a bit quicker, clearing his throat to make himself known. Tone light and polite, he addresses them with a smile, if a bit awkwardly:

"Pardon me. I do apologize for my intrusion, but could I take a moment of your time?"

LIBRARY
A library! Oh, of course, a library. He'd find himself soothed if it were not for the lack of, well, most things he'd say were necessary to establish a library of proper quality and structure, but it's a start. He has to assume that there isn't necessarily an abundance of resources in a place such as this.

Still, it warms his little nervous heart, as well as give him some hope to find some proper information about their situation.

He approaches one of the shelves, a dainty finger held up as he looks along the book spines to find...well, he's not sure what he finds. He shouldn't have exactly expected anything to stand out to him specifically, but maybe he could-

The angel looks around, looking for some sort of curator or some sort of keeper. Much like in the mess hall, he approaches the first person he sees with a polite and slightly awkward smile.

"Excuse me. Could you tell me, is anyone in charge of this establishment?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Crowley stares up at a blue sky, the sound of waves crashing gently on the shore. He knows two things: he's wet, and he's not in London. Sprawled out in the sand, the demon turns onto his side to take in more of the scenery. He isn't in Hell, that is for certain, and Heaven is out of the question; he settles on Earth, albeit a portion he's not familiar with for now. There's just one problem with this, which is that Crowley doesn't remember coming here, and he doesn't remember being taken here either. The very last thing he recalls is having lunch with a very stuffy angel, and he's certainly never seen this knapsack before. His name is embroidered onto it, which is very curious, and causes the demon to sit up rather quickly to investigate. He's in the process of digging through when he hears a familiar voice, his head darting up and around him to spot the source.

"Aziraphale! Over here!!"

The angel looks around at the beach, grey and cold, and he doesn't even remember the last time he was anywhere near one. Not that geographical limitations were much for creatures like him, but he doesn't recall--

He suddenly perks up, hearing that familiar voice over the sound of the crashing waves. He's quick to move that way - darn this sand, it's going to ruin his shoes and get absolutely everywhere -, and the amount of relief he feels when he sees the demon is entirely visible.

"Crowley." He mutters to himself, trudging through the wet sand and trying not to trip.

"Do you--Are you alright?" He suddenly asks, noticing the dampness and sand clinging to Crowley's clothes. The angel had got away with just sand in his shoes...

"I'm fine." he mutters, pushing himself to his feet and attempting to shake the sand from his clothing. "Can't say as much for my jacket-- oh shit- shit, shit, shit--" Crowley his quickly shaking off his wrist and eyeing his watch (custom made and very expensive), such a thing may be water resistant but certainly not waterproof, and it's clear to Crowley that before he'd come to that he'd been for a little swim.

"Eaaaugh!"

Clearly frustrated, he begins checking his pockets, keys-check, phone-check (and utterly water damaged). All of his things utterly ruined by salt water. Aziraphale is given a very defeated pout after Crowley's had the opportunity to thoroughly access how fucked his life is. "You're alright, yes?" he asks, giving the angel a once-over. "Did we get pissed on a beach and forget to sober up?"

Aziraphale watches the demon's fussing for a few moments before it hits him to do the same. He reaches for his pocket watch and pops it open. He frowns and gives it a shake, but it seems like his old friend may have, somehow, gotten damaged as well. He sighs and puts it away.

"Er." A good question, for as much as he doesn't want to admit it. But he doesn't recall even drinking anything more than a fine glass of champagne. "I can't recall. It doesn't-" But the knapsack behind the demon catches his eye.

"You've got one, too?"

"Oi- did we have these before?" he turned to grab his, pointing wildly at its inscription. "Doesn't seem my style." Crowley continues curiously, opening it back up to sort through. The contents didn't make much sense to him, and he tosses them back inside with an almost bored expression.

Crowley is quickly faced with the realization that he doesn't know where he is or even how much time has passed, and considering their very recent trips to each other's home offices, he wonders for a moment if their current debacle is related.

"You don't think..."

Aziraphale takes a close look at the inscription of his own name, as if it could provide any answers. There are next to no humans that know his name, but the item itself isn't giving him a particularly strong feeling of any kind, either.

He looks at Crowley, confused.

"Don't think what?"

Crowley stutters for a moment, trying to realize his thoughts. "This isn't Heaven or Hell's doing?" he spits out finally, shaking his head immediately after doing so. It sounded even more idiotic out loud. If either home office had any plans for the two of them, it was utter annihilation. An island vacation wasn't on their list of punishments, obviously.

"Nevermind."

Crowley sighs, peering over the water, searching for anything that clues him into their location.

The angel purses his lips. The idea had gone through his mind, as much as he wanted to believe that their plan had successfully resulted on the both of them being left alone. But the dust has barely settled, so it's hard to not make the association.

"It certainly doesn't feel like their style." He comments idly, taking another look around. It's quiet, here, as quiet as a chilly windy beach can be. And in that almost-silence they sit for a few long, tense seconds.

Nope, he still doesn't feel anything. Still can't pinpoint where they are. Which may spell more trouble than if he did.

"I believe... we should have a look around." Said carefully, as he tries to not let the strangeness of the situation overtake him.

Crowley nods, snatching up the knapsack that he now assumes belongs to him, and throwing it over his shoulder. The contents don't seem like anything that will do him any use, but they are potentially clues to what brought the two of them there, and therefore worth keeping.

"Should we stay along the shoreline, or head inland?" he asks, trusting Aziraphale's intuition more than his own. He can't feel anything either, or anyone. It's spooky in a way he wouldn't call himself a fan of.

He's still quite damp, making his walk even stranger than usual, the tight clothes he wears gripping him in odd ways and heavier than usual. Crowley groans, raising a hand to snap his finger with the intention of it resulting in his clothes and belongings turning dry. It doesn't. He snaps again, again, and again, as a panicked look overtakes him. He glances up to Aziraphale, jaw dropped, speechless.

Trusting Aziraphale's intuition may be a bit of a fool's errand, but, in this case, at least it seems like they stand on the same ground. Which is to say that both of them are entirely clueless, and their guesses at a possible answer is probably not something they actually want to face. Not that they'd be correct.

"It doesn't seem like there's anyone along here. Or anything at all. Perhaps if we head inland we-" But he's interrupted by the incessant snapping of Crowley's fingers. He stops and gives the demon a confused look, only to be met with panic.

Oh.

No, that can't-- oh. Oh, no. That can't possibly be.

Can it?

"What are you doing?"

Crowley's arms fly up with increased agitation, his mouth mangled and obviously trying to start a sentence or two, but having no luck. This is what a demon looks like when he's short-circuiting, if they can do such a thing.

"Trying to bloody dry off!" he finally cries, his voice cracking mid-shout. Crowley stares at his hands, never faced with this problem in thousands of years. "I can't-- can't do it."

Panicking, he begins focusing his energy on dry trousers, his fists clenching in front of him, teeth clenched with a low growl humming out from behind them. Instead of the pair he's wearing miraculously turning dry, a fresh pair appears in his clenched fist.

"Ah, come on!"

Crowley briefly wonders if, like his watch and phone, demons can get waterlogged too.

During all of this, Aziraphale just stands there and watches, bewildered.

The concept of their powers malfunctioning is not one that is very easy to process or accept. Not when they're two celestial creatures who can, and always could, perform literal miracles. It's just never been put in question. Even after the--trials.

"I-I'm sure there's a- a perfectly reasonable explanation." Clearly. Surely. There has to be.

Giving the angel a rather defeated look, Crowley lets out a hot puff of air, letting it hiss between his teeth at the tail end of his exhale. "I can't even begin to fathom what that might be." he huffs, circling Aziraphale, pacing nervously.

At least he has dry trousers, which he immediately sets out to exchange for the pair on his body, tossing the dry pair over his shoulder before plucking his boots from his feet. Aziraphale has walked on these legs before, the demon has nothing to be modest about.

Well, he may have no reason to be modest, but Aziraphale takes great care about his manners, so he politely looks away.

"We must keep a level head about this and focus on getting answers." Any answers. Any at all. It would be nice. Specially when, as much as he searches, he still can't locate exactly where they are.

"There must be someone around here." Certainly their head offices don't have the power to...to...take away theirs. It's just a simple...malfunction?

Spotting something over the trees, he narrows his eyes slightly. "We'll head inland and..." But he purses his lips, because he has no idea how to follow that.

"And search for any signs of human life?" he finishes Aziraphale's sentence for him, having peeled off his wet jeans and rolled them up, tossing them in his new and already useful knapsack. He made quick work of getting the dry pair on, taking care to dust excess sand off of his feet before shoving them back onto his boots.

"What if there isn't any?" he groans, walking back into the angel's view. He hoped that wasn't the case, but first things first, they'd need to get off the beach.

He opens his mouth to answer, but falters. "No use in making assumptions." Because he has no idea what will happen if they can't find anyone to tell them where they are. What if his powers are malfunctioning too? What if they can't leave? They can't just be stuck on a deserted island. That would be ridiculous.

He starts walking towards the greenery. "There's a building, up there. Right there." The angel says, gesturing up ahead across the beach, at the top of a cliff, a stone structure lies mostly covered in vines.

"Off we go, then." he mutters, trudging on through the sand behind Aziraphale. As he follows the angel, he notes that things could be much worse for them, and at the very least, they're together. This he keeps to himself, but it calms him slightly.

Crowley takes a deep breath as they find themselves on more stable ground, searching his memories for anything that might clue him into their current debacle.

The angel is quiet, nervous, stepping out from the sand onto grass and looking for a path that may take them toward the cliff. The lack of any other particular structure in plain sight is even more unnerving.

Much like Crowley, he tries to remember something. Anything. Anything that could even barely begin to explain this. He doesn't remember drinking, much less enough blackout, which was no easy feat. No trips. No attacks. No angels or demons ambushing them again. Nothing. Just a lunch, a conversation, and nothing. And, then, the ocean and the beach.

He looks one way. Looks another way. Feels nothing in any particular manner. No residual angelic presence. No smell of demonic entities.

"What do you remember last?" He asks, shooting Crowley an anxious look.

Crowley shook his head, "Lunch at the Ritz... then nothing but waves."

He's not fond of the idea of being transported without memory of it happening, and he's even less fond of having to trut through a forest right now. Crowley was always more comfortable in a vehicle, something high speed and low effort. This, obviously, was as much his style as an embroidered knapsack. If Heaven was involved in this, perhaps this was what they envisioned Hell to be like. Whatever the explanation, it was someone's sick idea of torture.

Aziraphale, on the other hand-- well, actually, he feels about the same, although he's not entirely convinced that Heaven had a hand on this matter. It just doesn't feel like something they would do. It's all very...impractical.

"And nothing else?" He starts making his way vaguely towards the cliff, brushing foliage out of the way. "It makes no sense."

"Do you remember something I don't?" he asked defensively, as if the angel was trying to catch him in a lie. Crowley wasn't making much sense of their situation either, but couldn't figure out who to point the finger at. Any thought that came to his head was likely stretching.

"Do you think something glitched when the boy reset the world? Perhaps we slipped through something we shouldn't have?"

Crowley follows the angel, taking wide steps and swatting at branches that threaten to smack him head in the face.

Aziraphale keeps looking around, hoping to find someone, anyone, who might show up in their path and provide any kind of information. But he's only greeted by the sounds of wildlife and distant waves.

"I suppose that is...possible." But if they had, why would they only notice it now? All changes applied seemed somewhat obvious and harmless. Nothing quite as intense as slipping through some hole in reality and dropped into an unknown shore.

"But why now? It doesn't seem very likely that we would simply find ourselves in--wherever this is."

"It's not like it's been very long." he mutters, a blithe and long arm swatting at a particularly pesky group of leaves. Unruly plants in his mind, need to be put in their place.

If this wasn't aftermath of the apocalypse, the fabric of reality wearing too thin and ripping, then Crowley wasn't sure what it was. He was fresh out of ideas, all creative solutions dried up and sandbagged (maybe literally).

The angel ponders about this - and he doesn't know if he finds that more or less concerning than the idea that Heaven and Hell might have somehow got them without them noticing.

"Well, whatever it is," Said right as he steps into a small puddle, which makes right work of his shoe and causing him to stumble and scoff. Look at this mess! He's thoroughly unprepared to be trudging through a jungle. This causes his tone to sound a lot more honestly frustrated. "We need to find our way back somehow. And--find out what happened to your abilities."

He shakes some water and mud off his shoe. "Ugh."

Crowley makes quick work of clearing several branches while the angel fusses with his shoe. Poor thing, but he really can't feel too bad, considering everything on his person (save a fresh pair of jeans) is awfully damp.

"You've got no time to mourn those right now, angel. We're getting close... I think." he hisses, watching his steps carefully to avoid any puddles. If he were a snake, he wouldn't need to fuss with leaves or mud, he'd just glide right through as he did in the garden. He'd also likely enjoy snatching up a mouse or rabbit for an afternoon snack. Why does rabbit sound so particularly good right now?

Crowley shakes the thoughts from his head and holds a hand out to Aziraphale to help him hop over the mud. "C'mon, don't need you getting stuck."

ARRIVAL [Closed]

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