(Warning- attempted rape. Graphic graphic revenge for said attempt.)
"No, no no no. Sara. You're holding it like a scalpel, hold it like a paintbrush for big strokes, scalpel for detail work." Crowley, that's just two different ways to hold a paintbrush. "Quiet Chew Toy."
Sara pauses with the scalpel inches away from skin. The room is dry and sparsely lit as always. They were alone, well 'alone' as much as you can be with Crowley given the 'snacks' and souls he carries. The dungeon had changed little in the hundreds of years. A few new torture implements lined the walls, a new symbol painted on the back, but that was all. Outside the doors, the filing system had been updated and scanned and digitized into drives and glowing tubes. Shelves upon shelves of data not just on lore but on locations of individual monsters and nests. Hunter's journals, all catalogued.
Sara stares at the demon before her. Legs crossed, waiting patiently with hands templed in his lap. He could leave at any moment despite the chains on his wrists and ankles. The ones for show, the ones for 'fun'. He was here because… of many reasons. Boredom. Pleasure. Teaching. It was amusing, her discomfort. It was also dangerous. She needed to be able to do this, he wanted a fun vacation. Two birds, one stone.
She had done as he had asked and he said he'd sit in that chair, so he was sitting in the chair. He had been sitting, quiet comfortably and with hidden enthusiasm, for hours. He was getting a tad bored, the pain was minimal and Sara was barely trying. Perhaps she was afraid of what he'd do to her if she actually caused him pain. Perhaps she was reluctant to do this to anybody at all. Perhaps she was worried about the pain she might be causing any of the souls he carried. She stares and finally asks the question on her mind.
"Can she feel it too?"
"Of course not."
"So none of them can-"
"Oh, no. The rest can. She can't. It might violate our contract." It would. Only you get to torture me. Of course, the intent is on you, I'm just a byproduct... Willing to risk it? "No. Are you Chew Toy?" Nah. I've been to heaven. Until they get communal rooms, I'm down here. Memories are great, but I need to make new things or I'll go insane. Not like I can stay up there anyway.
"That was bullshit for the show. You think Heaven would do anything that would hold back their ability to take souls, steal from Hell? ...What?" Crowley looks up at Sara from the chair. He shifts and crosses his legs. The wet fabric, slick with blood, is cloying and sounds odd against the metal of the chair. "It's fine, even if she could feel it, she's used to it." I really am. "You're far too green to get a reaction from her." She really is. "Now." Crowley folds his hands. "Our date was going so well. I almost felt something." Sara sighs.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to be learning here. I know all the different sensitive spots, different types or torture, I-"
"You're going to learn to be ruthless and turn off that conscience while you do this, or I'm going to break you. You wanted to learn, I agreed to teach. So… Try, again." Crowley's suit jacket and his long peacoat sit over on the table along with his tie. His dress shirt is bloody, even with the sleeves rolled up and it opened in the front to reveal the undershirt. Still, these are the least expensive items of his ensemble. Crowley looks at Sara and raises a brow.
"The first step is to get angry. The second is to use the anger to bury every other feeling." Sara blinks.
"And you know this how?" Crowley sighs and looks at Sara. She is barely stained, no blood anywhere except a light spot on her cheek. She had been calmly and carefully ministrating to him. She was being too careful, surgical, for it to hurt him or even give him pleasure. She is tentative, cautious, and Nice. Which does not belong here. She needs to be ruthless.
"Well, you don't seem like a sadist. I doubt pride has anything to offer here. Same for lust…" He pauses. "Unless I'm wrong?"
"Ew. No."
"Pity. So, anger it is. Think…. Of what I did to Jakobs. You remember that photo?" Sara cringes. "Of course you do. Think of how many others I will do that to over the centuries, cut into them. Feed their entrails to my dogs."
"Are you trying to make me hate you?"
"Oh no. A lot of them deserve it, they keep trying to kill me. Or my friends."
"You don't have friends Crowe."
"Contracted family then." Sara pauses as she tries to understand what that means. When she does her eyes widen.
"Wait...people have tried to hurt us?"
"Oh, a few demons got curious and then insolent about me working with you." Sara blinks.
"So what did you do?"
"Darling. I ate them." Sara blinks.
"There you go again, with this eating thing. What does that mean?"
"I don't understand your confusion darling." Sara sighs.
"If you eat a demon, you just kill it, same with a human. The body, the meat, is gone. That's all. It's not a fairly ruthless punishment to kill someone and eat them."
"Who said anything about killing them first?" Sara stares.
"Oh."
"Oh." Crowley mocks. "That's not even the half of it, but it gives you an inkling of the depravity which I enjoy on the daily. Now. Hold it like a paintbrush." Sara sighs.
"I think I need a break."
"You tease. It was just starting to do something for me."
"Gross."
"Besides, You get a break when I say you get a break."
"Ok, let me rephrase. We've been doing this for three hours and there is a vampire nest I'm hunting whose movements I finally figured out last night. I know they will be coming back from a hunt in two hours. I have to go. It's a job." Crowley sighs. This was something he couldn't interfere with. Stopping their hunts if they didn't interfere with his allies outside the bunker. Samantha, hundreds of years ago now, had redone their contract when she agreed to go multi-generational. That was one of the rules. No interfering with their other jobs unless they asked.
So he nods, snaps his clothing back into a presentable state and a book into his hand.
"I cleared my schedule for our date, I have a full 14 more hours for-"
"You cleared 18 hours for this!?" Crowley looks up with a raised brow.
"You thought I wouldn't last a long time? Torture is a bit like sex for some demons so-"
"Enough! I'm out." Sara puts the scalpel down, turns and walks out hands in the air.
Crowley settles into the chair with the book, a rare moment of repose. No scotch. No list. No cravings. Just The Murder on the Orient Express. We are on chapter three.
…
We are in chapter four when suddenly he feels the tug of being summoned. Crowley sighs and readies himself for an annoyance of hunters. That is the scientific term. A group of ravens is a murder, a group of demons is a legion, a group of angels is a host, a group of hunters is an annoyance.
Whether it is a hunter or a witch this is one thing that no demon can ignore. The pull increases and we vanish into the ether.
We arrive in a basement. A nice basement. Stone walls, banners, candles. With no hunters...But a bunch of people in robes. Black robes with red trim. They hold their arms in front of them like Benedictine monks and we can see none of their faces. Crowley looks around confused.
On the ceiling is a summoning circle, a large one in blood with symbols that Crowley has not seen before. A trap is on the floor. Both are concerning, the dead woman and dead goat also concern me. Not Crowley, but these itched something in the back of my soul. A memory of a stereotype.
"Well lads, to what do I owe the interruption of my afternoon?"
Immediately all but one of the robed figures fall to the floor, prostrating themselves. The one remaining opens his arms and that's when we see it. The upside down cross in the upside down pentacle.
"Hail Lord Satan!" Oh Hell no.
Hail the King of Hell!" The room echoes with the voices of the rest of the cult responding to the leader. Crowley raises a brow and closes the book, carefully using the sleeve to mark the page.
"Well, you're right on one account. I am the King of Hell, but Lucifer is dead." There is silence.
"Lucifer is the King of Hell. All hail Lucifer!"
"All hail the king of-"
"That's going to get old fast." Crowley snaps all the cultists except the leader grab their mouths, unable to open them. "Hope none of you have a cold. Now. To what do I owe this interruption? I was on break!" The leader takes a step back and Crowley sighs. He looks around. To the left is a staircase leading up to a rather large barred wooden door. Banners hang from the ceiling with various symbols, most incorrect, for various demons. To the right is a raised dais with a throne made of gold and velvet. Crowley takes a step forward, out of the circle and into the chair. He sits and opens his book. It doesn't really matter where he reads, and the torch light was still enough and added a nice bit of ambience. We were at that paragraph, there.
"I know Chew Toy. You're just lucky we read at the same speed." You mean faster. I read faster than you. He doesn't comment but sits quietly, soon turning the page with a lick of his fingers. There is quiet, for at least a few moments before the sound of rustling fabric and shoes on stone echoes. Crowley sighs and looks up. The leader is standing in front of the throne with the congregation behind him.
"Well, have you come to articulate what you want?"
"To bask in your greatness Lu-"
"The name's Crowley. Next person to call me Satan or Lucifer gets fed their own robes." There is a small gasp from the back. I have a feeling I know why.
"Crowley." The leader's voice fills the room, quavering slightly
"King of Hell works too." Crowley snaps and gasping permeates the room. For people to make a mistake they have to be able to talk after all.
"K-King of Hell. We have summoned you today to bask in your greatness and-"
"No you haven't. You want something. So, what?" The leader stiffens and drops their hood. The man is nearing middle age, his beard is peppered with gray and his hair has a streak of silver. His face is angled but square and a very large scar frames it on the right side. A bionic eye, a cheap one, looks out from the right socket. The skin around it is tinged with green, the surgery was done poorly.
"Lord Crowley. Heaven has forsaken us. No matter our previous beliefs or creeds, we have been shunned by society. We-"
"Yes. You're so sad, as sad as the hundred souls I got to harvest from the robotics factory explosion last week because the owner trapped their souls to save his own. Or as sad as the acid spill that gave me twenty souls who wanted their skin back in the right place. What. Do. You. Want?" The leader swallows but gets the hint and moves on.
"For our fair share in society! A place! We will make sacrifices in your name oh lord sat-" Crowley snaps and the man's robes vanish. His stomach distends and he lurches forward, gasps, clutching his throat. He tries to cough but doubles over in a fit of horrible retching.
"Would someone else care to take over?" The congregation is silent, the sounds of distress commanding their attention. Crowley sighs and with a snap all heads turn towards him. "Hello, you called, I came. Can we get down to business? Who was the second in command?" The congregation look between each other, not wanting to step forward, or perhaps really not having a second in command. "Now, or-"
A robed figure to the right stands and walks forward, stepping around the leader.
"You've been promoted. Speak quickly, why am I here?"
"Seretti summoned you, lord, oh great-"
"I said quickly." The figure nods.
"You were summoned in the hopes of helping him become great, powerful. We were to bask in his greatness, because we were unworthy to bask in yours."
"And do you still feel that way?"
Reaching into his mouth Seretti grabs something and pulls. The screams of pain are muted as something black with a slight bit of red is drawn out in the most grotesque magic act. Crowley sits, disinterested, while the congregation watches as cloth is slowly reintroduced into the air. Rowley snaps his fingers and all the heads turn back toward him. The man in front swallows.
"We...are unworthy, great lord, ruler of Hell." Crowley frowns.
"No, you simpleton. Who still wants to follow their glorious leader?" There is silence. "Anyone who does not want to play 'follow the leader'...leave. Now." The congregation all stand and rush up the stairs towards the door. Two unlock the magnetic finger print lock and as the door starts to open Crowley snaps and it closes.
"And we won't have a repeat of this, correct? Or do some of you like the taste of cheap fabric?" There are immediate shakes of heads and Crowley. "Good, learn from this." Crowley snaps, allowing the door to open. They rush out and there is a slam as the door is closed behind them. Crowley sighs and looks at the one remaining figure, the one from the back corner who gasped. Crowley sits, and waits.
"Well, are you coming up here or not?" The figure doesn't hesitate, they rush up and kneel next to their struggling leader. "I'm assuming that gasp earlier was from recognition?" The figure nods.
The leader reaches out for help and Crowley's eyes follow him for a moment, before returning to the remaining cloaked figure. He holds their gaze, daring them to do not.
"Yes King of Hell, Crowley. King of the Crossroads…as Mark Sheppard."
"Good to know people still watch it. So. With a bit more knowledge, try to do better than him. What, do you want?"
Realizing he will get no assistance, the struggling man falls to the floor. Grabbing and pulling at the now wet robes. They are far wetter than they should be for the brief moment they were in his esophagus. They are blood soaked, the rough fabric effectively rug burning the inside of his throat until the skin is gone. It's perhaps fortunate, because the robes come out faster with the painfully acquired lubricant.
"Something similar, but not identical to Serreti's plans. Not all of us agreed with them."
"And his plans were…?" Asks Crowley with a raised brow.
"Sacrifices, weekly, for the King of Hell, so he could become a warlock." Oh brother. There were far easier ways to do that. Far safer ways. I mean humanity didn't have laser pistols or flying cars yet, yet, but tech had gotten pretty awesome. No laser guns, but long distance tasers, now they had gotten awesome.
"I find it interesting that you said humanity instead of 'we'." Crowley, Call me Ariel. I wanna be part of their woooorld. I'm not. So fuck off. Crowley chuckles but looks at the kneeling hooded figure.
"Take the hood off. It's pretentious and cliche." The hood comes down to reveal a young, maybe 30 year old woman, with red curling hair and freckles decorating a round face. He regards her for a moment before a thud echoes.
The leader has hit the floor, barely a foot and a half of the fabric draping out of his mouth, the rest still is obstructing his airways. He twitches once, and lays still, no blood pooling out, the cloak absorbing it all. Crowley puts the book on the arm of the throne and stands.
"And what do you want."
"I wish to make a deal, to spread the word through the other cults, of the true Lord of Hell."
"And in return?"
"I wish to become a witch."
"There are easier, less dangerous ways. Besides, I don't really get much out of this."
"Those that do not accept the new lord...will be imprisoned and have their names sent to you, for your pleasure." That was interesting, and convenient.
"And what happens when there are none left."
"That will take hundreds of years."
"And I'm immortal, and so would you be. So, what happens when there are none left?" The girl is silent, she had not thought this far ahead. "Either way, the answer is no. I don't want to become the new thing idiots pray to. My name in a few select cults, fine. Every single one. No. So, here's my proposition. You head a few new cults, spread the word, but not too much. As long as you send me...say 50 souls a year, per base of operation. One less, you and your entire cult, are mine." The woman doesn't hesitate, doesn't ask to see the contract. The fool.
"Deal."
The contract appears in Crowley's hands, rolling along the floor to stop atop Serrati's head. A pen appears at the bottom.
"Kiss on it Barbara?"
"Uhm…" She is hesitant that he knows her name but… "I insist."
…
We step out of the ruined church having added more to the deal. About assistance with purifying demons, hiding artifacts, and more. Crowley is sending Ranni a list containing the names of all the members of the cult who fled when we get the call.
"Sara?" The voice that responds is hushed and desperate.
"Crowe, I fucked up. There was one more tonight. He broke my machete and is between me and the car. No one else is close enough and he's calling someone. I'm gonna die, and worse, so much worse, I'll kill myself before he... vampire already-"
Crowley stands beside her, in plain view.
"Already what?"
"Fucking cunt!"
"No darling, not here. Now the-" Crowley looks to his left as the vampire punches him. He doesn't move from the impact at all. "I was talking." Crowley snaps and the vampire flies into a wall. Crowley turns back to Sara. "Now the situation. What did you do wrong?" Sara stares. "I will not be here to rescue the damsel in distress frequently, in fact never again. I'm here only because we have a date and it would be ruined if you died prematurely. So, if this is going to be a learning experience, what did you learn?" Sara swallows.
"Don't go in alone even if there are only two?" Crowley blinks.
"Good start. Now. What did he do that caught you by surprise?" Sara is quiet. "What did he do?" He looks more closely over the girl before him; her face is tear streaked, something odd for a hunter. She is covered in cuts, nursing an arm that is blossoming a bruise, a sleeve is ripped… the top button of her jeans is undone. Crowley frowns. "Did he try to steal third base?" Sara sniffs and looks away, her face hard. Crowley narrows his eyes.
He didn't like this feeling, this protectiveness. Disgust sure; rape was simple and base and far too easy, something lesser beings did. But protectiveness… Of his property sure, but of her as a person? He isn't feeling it through me, he is feeling it. He shouldn't be. It has to be coming from another soul… right? If it is, it isn't me. All he is getting from me is absolute rage.
So he latches onto that.
He raises his hand and the vampire's neck flies into it. He squeezes. The vampire thrashes and yells out.
"The Hell?"
"Exactly." The vampire stops thrashing as Crowley's eyes flash red.
"Dude, did not know she was yours. No harm no foul?"
"Oh there is definitely something foul, and it's you." Crowley snaps with his other hand and the sound of breaking bones fills the air. He looks back at Sara. "I won't be getting back in the chair this evening. Do you mind if he joins our date?" Sara sniffs, her eyes on the floor. Crowley sighs and snaps. The vampire vanishes. "It's been a long week, I was really looking forward to torture of some kind. With my demons a bit terrified to misbehave after last month's punishment display, I haven't had anyone to play with. So. What can I do to make sure it still happens, preferably with my assistant?"
I can feel it, we both can. The lie. He is making excuses but he is a bit upset that Sara is upset. He wants that to stop. As fast as fucking possible. He snaps again and her clothes are cleaned up a bit, as in completely different clothes. He touches her hand, expecting the flinch but doing it anyway, and we are gone.
We are sitting at a table somewhere in Italy, a theme these days. The cars drive by silently and the glowing lights thrum as music plays from the umbrella above. Sara gasps.
"The fucking cunting Hell? Where-"
"Italy. Getting fresh gelato. Signore?" The waiter at the nearby table stops and comes over.
"Si?"
Crowley holds up a finger and points to Sara. The waiter nods, whipping out the metal rod that holds the hologram for today's menu. Sara takes it tentatively, and nods a thanks.
"Inglese?" The waiter nods to Crowley and presses a button on the side of the rod. "Grazi. Un momento." The waiter nods a final time and leaves.
Sara holds the metal cylinder and pressed the sides, the hologram pops out and she swallows, looking a moment before setting it down.
"Why are we here? Why are you being nice?"
"Because we have things to do, and you are distressed. No matter the species or the situation, eating something usually helps take a mind off a problem. What I usually eat when I'm stressed wouldn't be of interest to you. So. Order something, calm down a bit, and we can get to the fun part."
"Fun part?"
"Where we go back to the bunker, and have craft time with the vampire's flesh." Sara swallows.
"I don't want...want to see him. Just kill him."
"Darling, you're going to face that fear and cut it out like a tumor or you are no use to me. You know what I do with things that aren't useful to me. Which is more terrifying? Me, or that whimpering excuse for a mosquito?" Sara swallows, quickly deciding at the moment which is more terrifying to her. I couldn't say I disagreed after what she had gone through.
"You...you wouldn't...don't..."
"No. I don't. Because all it shows is the attacker's own inadequacies. Besides there are far worse things." Sara blinks, not able to think of any at the moment. I can think of far too many. Crowley sighs. "Fine, I will admit I on occasion commit that very specific horror." Sara tenses. "But I have a very specific way of doing it. I use Lucy, my claymore. She's long enough to poke through the mouth when I'm done. Very Vlad Tepesh style of torture. That, is an example of 'worse.' Do you really want to know more?" Sara shakes her head quickly and silently and Crowley continues his very odd attempt at comfort. "That thing that attacked you is a pitiful excuse for a monster, whereas I am the King of Hell. I am worse. Right now, and if you behave, hopefully for a very long time, I am your...ally. You will be stronger than that mosquito alone if you continue to train. Now….with me? I don't fancy his chances. So. Am-"
"I get it Crowley. You're scary. But-"
"No. No buts. Order you gelato, and let's get back to business." Sara looks at the menu and then at Crowley. Crowley, she's fucking traumatized. You don't get what that fear is like. You've never been a woman And impotent. You don't know the scared walks home if your phone is dead and you don't have pepper spray and-
"And I'm trying to get her back in the saddle before the pile of shit she fell into leaves a stain. So, Sara, choose a flavor, and let's get a move on."
"Are...aren't you getting any?"
"Darling. I'm saving room for the vampire." Sara's eyes widen. "You said you were curious, I'm hungry. So I'll take care of the leftovers."
"Demons don't get hungry."
"Yes, but also no. Mainly metaphor darling. Either way-"
"Signora?" We all look up at the waiter. Sara looks at the menu and points. The waiter nods and takes the menu; quickly off to get the order. Sara still looks horribly tense and afraid. She sits, fidgeting with her jacket and looking at the surroundings. Cars pass by, some on wheels made solely from plant rubber that have a fractal mesh inside for support making them unpoppable because they have no air to fill them, just a lattice. They spin, creating interesting patterns as they turn. Others hover by, expensive things using carbon and magnets. Neon and LEDs light up the night, a myriad of colors playing across buildings and signs. Sara looks everywhere, trying to fill her mind. Crowley, she needs...something?! More help, she's trying to distract herself, she's running away, if mentally. Any fear is like a slope, you try to distract yourself and then think about it again and it's just as bad if not worse for the break. Crowley! Crowley rolls his eyes, he sees far worse things in Hell on a daily basis. However, he wants strong hunters and allies, and if this broke her… Besides the whole feelings thing.
I get a jolt of pain for that thought.
"Sara. The only fault lies with the mistake to go in alone." Sara glares.
"Yeah!? And what if they drag me off?! Huh?!"
"Then get more powerful. Go home, sign the contract, give me a kiss, and train. You still want to be a hunter?" Sara nods. "Then this is something monsters will try to do. Human or otherwise. The only thing You can do, short of sewing up holes or filling them with hook laced hard condoms, is to become stronger than them. Be better. Change the world. So, eat your ice cream, go back, and get started on it." The ice cream is set down in front of her in a glass with a wooden spoon. It is red with bits of cherry in it. Crowley hands the man a usb wrapped in a piece of paper, and after reading it the waiter nods and leaves. Sara stares, one last attempt at distraction.
"What was that? Nudes of the guy?" Crowley nods to the ice cream and then looks at Sara, requesting, almost demanding, action.
"No. A file for the ownership of the domain name of their restaurant. And nudes of the owner. Eat your ice cream."
…..
We stand in front of the vampire. He is chained to the chair. Neck, arms, hands, ankles, all tightly bound in metal. His mouth, filled with rags. Sara stands in front of him. Tense and afraid despite having all the power. Crowley sighs again and stands up from his position leaning back against the table.
"Sara. If you are afraid of something, remove it from the picture." Sara blinks and looks at Crowley, her mind still sluggish from fear.
"What?"
"Cut. It. Off." The vampire begins to struggle, thrashing in the chair. Crowley snaps and he's still. "None of that. Now. You should use protection." Sara backs away.
"What?"
"Well, I'm assuming you don't want to touch it." Crowley points to the rubber gloves in his personal torture kit. "I don't always like touching my toys, I don't always know who played with them last. So put on the fucking gloves, and cut his dick off." Sara blinks. "Push that fear down, and imagine what he was going to do to you." What, why? Why would you ask her to- "do it. Or I'll do it for you." Sara swallows and nods, sweat appearing on her forehead, tears in the corners of her eyes. "Good. Now, take all that fear, and make him feel it. Take what he was going to do to you...and do worse to him." Crowley snaps his fingers and the vampire screams in pain as the gag flies out of his mouth along with most of his fangs, a few of his human teeth, and half of his tongue. Sara stares at the raging impotent thing in front of her, and pauses still. Less afraid, but something still holding her back. I know what she needs to hear. Crowley, she's a hunter, and a protector. Crowley, do you hear me?
"Sara. Make him feel worse, punish him, and make sure he pays for what he has probably done to countless others. Make sure he can never do it again. Not to you, not to any other woman." Now, now we can both see rage boil in her eyes. Self blame is a bitch, low self esteem is a bitch; self loathing and fear and hate fester and it's hard sometimes to do something for yourself. To forgive yourself, to be better for yourself is difficult; but for the unknown innocent? For what you should have been? For what could be taken from others? That last bit of hesitation melts.
Crowley smiles and holds out the scalpel.
"Leave some for Uncle Crowley."
…..
The room is bloody even by my standards. Sara sits in the chair behind the table, just breathing and counting the larger chunks of flesh scattered about the room. Seventeen, including the half of the tongue. She is shivering and twitching occasionally from the aftermath of what she has done. What she has been through, what she almost went through, and what she did go through with. So she counts and recounts, breathes slowly and occupies her mind with something simple for a bit.
Crowley is lazily stuffing the vampire's mouth with whole garlic cloves in a sick attempt at humor. Each snap puts another in his mouth. There were twelve now. A few more and the jaw should break.
The vampire is covered in its own blood, wounds won't even heal now because there are so many, including the missing personal parts between his legs. Well, it wasn't missing so much as shoved down the vampire's throat. Apparently they didn't really need to breathe.
"Twenty." Crowley pauses as Sara's comment breaks the silence between snaps.
"Hmm?"
"We've cut off twenty pieces of this thing. I think I'm done."
"It's only been two hours darling."
"And yet I'm done. Or let me put it another way. I don't want to look at him any more. Just… have lunch or whatever." Crowley pauses. He wants to relax a bit more, but he also has a book he wants to finish. He looks at the bored girl, the audience, and the vampire who is now near unable to react, and the book wins. He snaps and the body explodes, further painting the room red. Except for Crowley's suit somehow.
"What the Hell Crowe! That is not eating, that's just-" Sara gets quiet as Crowley holds his hand up and closes it, the white grey soul of the vampire appearing in it. It spins and jerks about, trying to escape to Purgatory. Sara watches as Crowley stares at it, she looks at his eyes, at the expression on his face that she doesn't recognize. With a snap from his other hand the soul twists and flies in a stream of light at Crowley's whim. It arcs through the air and into his waiting barely open mouth. He breathes in and exhales slowly as soon as it's gone. He breathes again as the soul settles, tries to get oriented. As soon as it starts to, he snaps again and the soul disintegrates. The energy is pulled into the waiting storm and he happily eats away at it. He opens his eyes to a horrified Sara. He wipes his hands together as if he had eaten something far messier than pure energy and raises a brow.
"Napkin?" Sara slowly backs away.
"What...you're... Crowe?"
Oh look Crowley, she's scared of you again. Good job. Crowley ignores me and smiles.
"You wanted to see what I've been eating, well, now you have." She pauses in her retreat and looks at the empty chair and the blood that covered near everything.
"Is...is the vampire?"
"Gone forever? I've found there are very few things that can put a soul back together. In ten or so years, even tweezers and super glue won't help. " Sara scowls.
"Good."
"No, he was a bit slimy actually." Sara rolls her eyes, a bit more comfortable with the jokes and innuendo. Perhaps for once they had a positive purpose.
"And why don't you do this to me? To all of us here?"
"You can't do a job for me if you're sitting in my gut. Besides, I happen to enjoy your company." The incredulity and disgust mix together at his statements before Sara decides to ignore the crassness and go with the impossible part of the statement.
"Really? Really Crowe? A 600 plus year old demon enjoys an 18 year old hunter's company? Right." Sara sighs and sits down. Too many things have happened tonight and she is on the verge of another emotional breakdown; she's entitled to at least five and twice as many beers in my opinion. "How many? How many do you have? How many humans? Monsters?"
"The total is close to 25 million." Her head snaps up at this, her eyes wide.
"Mill-million!"
"Most are monsters, if that makes you feel better."
"Not fucking really! You're still taking human souls and... We should be hunting you!" Oh boy. This is gonna be a fun discussion.
"No. I try to keep the earth spinning, the tax for that I think is fair."
"Fair? What, 5,000 human souls a year is fair!?"
"Darling, try a hundred or so."
"Really, that's all? I don't believe you."
"Well the intake for Hell is a bit higher, but me personally, I'd get heartburn if I ate that much." Liar. But, whatever she needs to hear, right 'Crowe'?
I am once again ignored. Sara still seems wary and angry. Crowley sighs.
"Darling, I'm just doing my job, I'm trying to restrict my diet to match the earth's ever increasing population. Besides, the souls I take are usually the ones signing a full blown contract with me. No, not like yours." He says as she swallows nervously. "So the ones I take are usually Hell bound anyway." Sara sighs and holds her head in her hands. She stays like that a few moments before looking at Crowley with a tired face.
"Does my mom know about this?"
"She has an inkling. She's a smart woman." Sara curses then glares at Crowley. She sighs then points angrily.
"Promise."
"Pardon?"
"Promise! Promise that you'll do what you say you're doing with the souls. The amount, the way you're doing it, promise." Wow. She is ballsy. She is in no position to make demands but, well here she is. Crowley ponders this himself for a moment. Trying to decide what to do. Keeping his thoughts from me so I have no idea what is going to happen.
Tension rises in the room during the period of silence as the King of Hell deliberates on his options and plans. Whether the pause is really him thinking things through or just a ploy to make it seem like he is, is unknown. However he looks up and nods.
"I... promise. Until I'm no longer able, only 100 souls a year from earth." Sara pauses at the wording but takes a breath and nods. I, however, already see two loopholes.
"Good. Now get out of my sight." Crowley snaps and his tools vanish. He looks around at the red spatters on the walls, and smiles slightly.
"Well, not every date goes perfectly but I at least had a good time. Let's do this again, real soon. Minus any trauma not caused by yours truly." He says as he puts his hands in his pockets.
And we are gone.
