driftfleet | entry 001

Who: Sam and [OPEN] to all!
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Marsiva
When: December 2nd

[When Sam wakes up, he expects to be laying in his bedroom in the bunker, tired from a particularly long case (clown, there was a clown, he's getting too old for this shit—) but nope. He opens his eyes to stare at a completely foreign ceiling, in a completely foreign bunk. He's of course in his nighttime clothes, to boot. No weapons, no phone, no nothing. Okay. He considers all kinds of possibilities, first. Djinn? Some sort of curse? Witchcraft? Maybe even some sort of dream-root-related snafu, or angels being dicks (somehow). There's also that little elephant in the room, in the back of his head: dude, you know exactly how this kind of thing plays out.

He rises up, easy to spot among a milling, small group with his six feet and four inches of [giraffe-necked] height. When he finally sees the high-tech machinery, the casual and potentially oh-so-different newbies wandering, the absurd amount of space out there — he says but one thing in front of the people around him, first and foremost, to break the ice:]

Well. Shit.

[Well shit indeed. He doesn't panic, but he does suddenly crave another vacation, somewhere without rips in space and time (if that's even the case here; maybe he's a captive to some higher power, because that wouldn't surprise him at all). When he's got the broadcasting thing down — thanks Adstringendum for the life lessons on what to do first — he begrudgingly addresses yet another audience, slipping on that polite and professional (and, okay, exasperated) aura that he's good at.]

So, show of hands. How many of you out there have fallen into other universes before? Because this sort of thing's getting kind of old.

... Did anyone from Adstringendum show up? Guys? Don't tell me the PCD's teleporting feature is going on the fritz or something. I know it was kind of too good to be true, but it was going well for a few months there. [Silly Sam, nothing stays good forever. But he hopes, y'know?] Let me know if I'm riding solo here, fellas.

And, uh. This isn't exactly my first rodeo, sure, but it's the first time I've ever... um... been in space. So I gotta ask, for my sanity: where exactly do us new spacemen go from here? Other than shooting jokes about Roswell, New Mexico.

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Paradisa for me. And you, though apparently that's not a thing you remember. I wouldn't worry about it, it's a thing that happens.

[Does he sound bitter about that? He sounds a little bitter. But he LIKES Sam, so he'll be vaguely helpful./small>]

As for what you do, you just hang about the Marsiva for a couple of days until the zip you to whichever ship you've been assigned.

[...........]

Another place? That makes three so far. Great.

[SAM YOU'RE A CELEB.]

And how exactly do they determine where we get placed, anyway?

Looks like you're popular. Probably something to do with the hair and the puppy dog eyes.

I have no idea. Seems pretty random, to be completely honest.

[Ubwuh? He wrinkles his nose (and probably just matches the description in the process).]

Sure... [He would figure that his popularity would just be Fate making him her bitch, but there's that to. He heaves a sigh and sits, contemplating life, love, and sitting in the middle of space in your pajamas.] Maybe there's something out there that's strong enough to be the sole cause of everyone switching around universes and timelines.

I wouldn't be surprised. Probably the Big Guy, honestly. He's kind of a dick when it comes to messing with the lives of those around Him.

Name's Crowley. [A pause, because he knows this is important. ] Not the one you know. Still a demon, but not that one. Different world.

... What a burning coincidence that is.

[He is side-eyeing you so hard.

But. He also knows that the universes are fucking weird.]

What world're you from?

I'm aware, but given he was apparently human at one point, I would like to say I had the name first.

[An offhand wave. ]

Earth. 1990. I'm much older than your Crowley. Serpent of Eden old, to be exact.

... So — what, you knew the devil that far back?

[HOW UNPLEASANT.]

Further. We were both angels, once.

He was a dickhead back then, too.

... Good to know that in just about every universe, he's still a huge asshole.

But you knew him pretty well, then. As — siblings?

I would be amazed if that wasn't the case somewhere. Would have to call bullshit on that one.

I suppose. It's not quite the same as humans see siblings, but yeah.

I've noticed a few differences in angel siblings for sure.

Our worlds must have more in common, I bet.

Hmm, they're almost freakishly alike, from what I've heard from people from your world. It's weird.

Does that mean you have a deadbeat dad, too?

Suppose you could call Him that if you wanted. I think of Him more as someone who deeply enjoys messing people about for shits and giggles, personally.

... That's pretty close, feels like...

[Though he doesn't sound as sure about it as Crowley does.

He's been — well, God's been sending him messages, you know?

Something that could stop the world from imploding.]

What makes your God the kind to enjoy shits and giggles?

[Crowley wishes he could give an answer. He's lived long enough now that he really should be able to. But he can't, and as such, he gives an idle shrug of his shoulders. ]

I dunno. Even if you asked Him, He wouldn't be able to give you an answer.

[Sam cocks his head, the curiosity clear.]

Why wouldn't he?

Because he likes to be pragmatic. [He waves a hand in annoyance. ] All mysterious you-will-see-in-time bullshit. It's all ineffable.

[He shakes his head, mostly to himself.]

The guy'll sit through a whole Apocalypse if you let him I guess.

Hopefully he comes around, in my world. We kinda need him.

He very almost did, for us. But...then again, He'd say He planned for us to avert it and didn't need to intervene.

Tricksy, you know?

[Crowley gives a soft, amused huff. ]

Yeah that's the problem. We all need Him, or...well, bye-bye universe. Nice knowing you.

[......]

It sounds like we have horribly similar issues going on.

That's the feeling I picked up last time I talked to you, back in the other place.

It's creepily similar, actually.

[Oh lord. He looks like he'd love to groan and roll his eyes.

Figures.]

What kind of apocalypse did you deal with, then?

The kind that involved an antichrist. Seas bubbling, raining fish, walls of flame, four horsepersons. That sort of deal.

Was a bloody big headache.

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