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(no subject)

Who: Tek and anyone!
Broadcast: Video
Action: Beachside lounging
When: Early August

→ video
[the video feed flicks on to the glare of the sun, until the (absurdly) pretty man wielding the device leans back into the shade. he seems to be starting this broadcast mid-thought, and--for anyone who knows him well enough to spot the difference--he's smiling quite easily.]

--Oh, now I remember. I'd wanted to ask if there were any fine metalsmiths in the fleet. I'd intended to ask the next locals we happened across for their services, but... well. Metalworking does not seem to be among their most refined skills.

I'm looking for someone trustworthy and proficient in jewelry-making. I have several options for payment. If interested, please reply.

→ action
[and with that matter done with, he settles back to wait in high comfort. for anyone happening by, he has found the absolute perfect spot along the shoreline. there is a stretch of clean, soft sand with an impeccable view of the ocean, tucked into the patchy, partial shade of a small stand of trees.

and he must be feeling better than usual, because he's actually wearing something that Atroma has given him--gothy-looking shorts that he has drawstringed to hang just a little off his hips--and he is sacrificing multiple layers of beach towels and blankets to the sand. he apparently doesn't care whether or not he'll ever get the sand out of them again.

Tek has made himself the most comfortable basking spot on the planet, and he has left more than enough room for a friend.

he knows that Atroma is messing with his head, but he can't find it within himself to be bothered right now. he even has a little brush and bottle of lovely dark maroon ink that he's staining his nails with. someone is glitched and enjoying every minute of it.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[he's not going to comment on that first part, because that is more or less exactly what he believes.]

Oh, right. Because there is only one acceptable outfit in the universe, and you're wearing it every single day.

[and he holds up the little bottle of red ink and waggles it a little]

At least let me make your fingers look nice.

Of course. Once you've found perfection, there's no need to add to it. It'll just make it cluttered.

[Crowley stares at the little bottle, before shifting his head to stare at Tek. ]

...You're kidding, right?

I'm not asking you to put on a skirt, just take off your jacket. If anything, it is uncluttering.

[and then, onto the nails.]

Of course I'm not kidding. It's a nice way to relax, and I think the red will flatter your skin tone.

Besides, you can take it off right after, for all I care. Don't be a baby.

Just because you're happy to look like some unwashed goth, but I'm not. The jacket stays on.

[He gives a long suffering sigh, before offering up a hand. ]

Fine, but I am not promising how long it'll last.

[he doesn't know what a goth is, but--]

'Unwashed?' Excuse you.

[the demon is lucky that Tek has a little chip filling his brain with happy chemicals, because he can't hold onto the slight for very long. instead, he focuses on the task at hand (get it?) and takes Crowley's fingers so he can begin daintily dabbing ink onto his thumbnail.]

Aside from all of the giant infected insects, and the sand, have you been enjoying this world?

[everyone knows that you chit-chat while you get your nails done.]

I call 'em as I see 'em.

[The fact Tek has not raised to that should be cause for concern, but Crowley deigns not to worry about it. Instead hevaing a long suffering sigh while he gets his nails painted.]

I suppose it's not bad. I wish the alcohol was better.

[if he'd been in a more normal mood, the complaints would have come first-- starting with the problematic weather. instead, however, he'll go for what he likes first.]

What about the food?

The algae leaves something to be desired, but have you seen the seafood? They get really quite creative with it, here.

I suppose it's not bad. I've certainly eaten a lot worse in my time. This is at least edible, you could even make a decent meal out of it, if you really tried.

Plus the seaweed tastes of bacon, which is weird, yet oddly delicious.

Bacon? ...Really?

[he must have missed that one. and with one hand finished, he lets go of Crowley's fingers and motions for the next set.

congratulations, demon. you are now the proud owner of one hand's worth of flawless wine-colored nails.]

What I've found novel is their way of serving little bits of fish at a time... often raw. And it's just on this... conveyor belt thing. It's a little tedious eating such small things at a time, but you don't have to wait for the server. You just pick up whatever you want as it comes by.

Really. Not even kidding.

[At least they're wine coloured, he guesses. He raises the painted hand to look at, before letting out a huff and offering the other one.]

That's actually pretty regular where I come from. They have bars like that all over London. It's called Sushi, though it doesn't always have fish in it. It has a lot of rice and suchlike.

Is it really? You've seen it before?

[well, that makes this easy...]

You'll make an excellent guide, then. Maybe we should go tonight. You can show me everything you know.

I have, eaten it regularly, too.

...Sure, why not. Not like I have anything better to do.

[Not like he enjoys spending time with Tek or anything. ]

Perfect.

I figured it's about time we went on a proper date.

[la la la, just casually painting nails here...]

[Crowley freezes, then turns to stare at Tek as if he'd just told him he'd murdered a schoolbus full of orphans being driven by a nun who fed the homeless in her spare time. ]

I don't go on dates.

[his eyes might have flicked up to catch the look, but there's no sign that he's noticed. he just keeps up his easy little smile, and continues to hold Crowley's fingers captive as he dotes on them.]

But you just said we could go to dinner.

[Crowley absently tugs his hand, but not enough to free himself. It's a half- arsed escape attempt, and a pretty good metaphor for what's happening, really. ]

Dinner, yes, not a date. A date is something else entirely and not part of our arrangement.

[Arrangement with a little 'a', it's an important distinction. ]

Oh, but it's one of the most fun parts of being mates...

[and, continuing the metaphor, Tek casually and effortlessly keeps Crowley's fingers locked right in place. he is not done yet.]

[Oh fuck. Oh bollocks. Crowley's expression turns from mild discomfort into verging on a full-on panic. This can't be happening to him. ]

What? No. Okay. Look. Okay, no. Who said anything about being mates? I didn't say anything about being mates. I don't do that...messy relationship stuff. I really, really don't.

[Except he does, and he still is. He can play at caution all he likes, pretend he's just sleeping with people for kicks, but the attachment always happens. Usually when he least expects it. It's sneaky like that.

Of course, every time it does, it ends horribly. By the very nature of Paradisa, and now the Fleet, people vanish. They go off to live their lives, then come back and remember nothing, and he's left behind remembering everything. He thinks of Castiel, of Faye, how they both vanished away only to return and see him as a stranger, and the heart he likes to pretend he doesn't have hurts.]

Look. Let's just... not. Isn't it just fine the way it is?

[and, by the nature of what he is, Tek doesn't need to look up to feel the pang. it's just what he is. he is a creature of anguish and sorrow, and he can feel it on him as if it was needling his skin.

he gives him a little moment, to breathe or not, before he pauses in his work and lifts his eyes. he's still holding the demon's fingers--firm and steady, with invisible little claws.]

But that is the way it is. We are mates.

[it's neither argumentative nor threatening. it's simply an easy statement of fact.]

[Crowley does all he can to avoid eye contact. He needs to run. Or do something. Anything. He belatedly realises it's far too late to nip this in the bud. He's already in far too deep, but the desire to run is still there. It's a great surge of self preservation.

He can't and won't put himself through all that again. ]

Well, I think I missed the memo. Probably got me confused with someone else.

[He's trying to sound his usual, laid back self, but the fear is seeping into his tone. ]

[with Crowley avoiding eye contact, Tek has a nice long moment to get a good look at him. and it's all there for him to read. he very much knows someone set to flee when he sees it.

so, it takes him a minute, but he finally shifts and changes tactic. suddenly, Crowley has his fingers back--Tek will allow him that freedom--and he's no longer being faced threateningly head-on.

because, Tek is scooting over now, sliding more around to settle at the demon's side than right in front of him, and everything about him quiets a little. because while he is still totally sure about all of this, he doesn't actually want to run him off.]

...Here. I'm going to explain something to you, all right? Because, I think you've got the wrong idea.

[Crowley feels his fingers freed before anything else, and very almost does run. It would be the wise thing to do. The safest. Better run now than regret not doing so later.

He doesn't run, though, he just sits there, looking as if he's waiting to be smited for some transgression. Only when Tek moves to sit beside him does he look up, his eyebrows furrowed. ]

Right. A misunderstanding. That's what this is about. Knew it.

[He doesn't sound all that convinced at all.]

Look... I don't know how you people do things, but my people have a very specific definition of what it means to be mates... and more often than not, it doesn't match up with human ideas on the subject.

[he's trying to do this the least frightening way possible, really.]

My kind all drift and hide, so when we do find each other and become mates... it tends to be fast and fierce... for as long as we happen to be together.

[and here is where he shrugs, meaning to be reassuring.]

Sometimes it is for two years, and sometimes only two weeks. We don't think ahead, and we never assume that it will be permanent.

So... [he smiles in that light, playful, sharp-toothed way that he likes to with the demon.] ...It's really what we've already been doing, isn't it?

[Crowley listens, and slowly, he relaxes. Not completely, there's a certain air of coiled tension there. He's worked for Hell for too long to not be wary of some sort of trap. Still, he exhales a breath he didn't need. ]

Oh. Well.

[He manages a lopsided smirk in Tek's direction. Time to turn back on that idle indifference. No almost breakdown here, nope. ]

Then in that case, yes, that's exactly what we've been doing. Good to know we're on the same page. Was worried you were looking to pick out drapes or some bollocks.

[and if there's any creature that would fit right in with the tempters of Hell, it's probably Tek. Crowley probably has every reason to be a little wary.]

See, the beauty of this is that I can go ahead and pick out all the drapes I want, and we can go on extravagant dates that will make bystanders seethe with jealousy...

And then, later, when it's all over... you can just burn the drapes, wipe your hands of the whole thing, and everyone walks away unharmed.

[simple as that.]