Wake Up In the Morning Feelin Like P Diddy [open to multiple]

[endless_epithumia]

 Desire is restless. There’s an itch underneath their skin and everything they look at feels sour, stale, their flesh and blood palace is all too confining now. They need to be out and about. They’ll find some distraction, someone or something to play with to take their mind off all that foolishness Delirium was on about, trying to find their brother. Desire doesn't want to waste any time in maudlin nonsense remembering the way things used to be before Destruction left. Delirium acts as if that was the moment when things started to go wrong for them, but Desire knows different, it was always heading toward this point, because that’s how things go. The difference between wanting and having, and then the hollow absence in the aftermath. They won’t mourn the loss, because of that. It was an inevitability. 

And this makes their current feelings of dissatisfaction all the more irritating. They don’t like thinking that they can be drawn into the kind of sentimentality that gets their youngest sister going off on doomed little adventures, and they certainly don’t like knowing that they’ll probably have to go and pick up the pieces if Delirium falls apart again. So they resolve to distract themself, find something to pick and poke at so their interest is turned toward something more entertaining than irritatingly moral feelings of familial concern. 

That odd little patch of the Dreaming, for instance. Desire smiles at the memory, such a strange environment full of desperate minds, and no sign of their brother's handiwork anywhere. It's like a little snow globe someone designed just so Desire could shake it up and see what happens when the blizzard starts. Yes, that would do nicely. 

They stand up and brush nonexistent dust off their trousers and concentrate their attention on the feelings they got from that dream environment in order to find its source. The thread is there, practically tangible, unguarded and gleaming with possibility and easy prey. Desire almost thinks that it seems odd that such a place would have escaped Dream's notice and is just lying there, for anyone to find. Desire almost thinks this, but they are a creature of the moment and of impulses, and that kind of second-guessing does not suit them. So they tease the thread out from the weft of realities and brush themself up against it, just to get an introductory taste. 

They aren't expecting the catch as the little world snags against their essence and tugs them with more force than they'd expect. Desire pulls away, indignant that someone in some paltry dimension would presume to summon them, but they find they cannot disentangle themselves from this...whatever this is, and it's not like sneaking into a dream at all. Desire holds on everything they have, everything they are, their gallery and their Threshold, but the hold of temporal-spatial gravity is stronger, and after too brief a struggle Desire falls, sick and furious, into the world. 

Desire is standing on a sidewalk in a city, some version of earth and humans, and all the noise and chaos and emotions that go along with them. They narrow their eyes and observe their surroundings: tt is a throbbing hellscape of metal and concrete and neon, streets and buildings reaching up and intersecting at acute angles to force the pulse of life to bend from rigid lines into this swirling, sweating mass. Now this is very interesting indeed. It's all so shiny and full of wanting that it distracts Desire from their anger for the moment. It's some small consolation, Desire thinks, because the streets are (somewhat) cleaner and the skyline is sharper and there's no brothels or pornographic theaters like they remember, but they've been here before, and the beat is familiar. They've been pulled from their own palatial heart to a heart of a different kind, the heart of a city they've always rather enjoyed. If this is meant to be a trap for them it's baited well. 

Desire smirks up at the advertising, conceding to whoever or whatever caused this displacement that it was a hand well-played. 

"Hello New York," they murmur fondly. "My, but you clean up nice." They wonder what sordid enticements the city has to offer behind the ultramodern facade. They step away from the curb and cross the square in seamless rhythm with the pedestrian traffic. They'll keep a low profile for now, just another face in the crowd until they can find the party or parties responsible for bringing them here. Perhaps they'll take in a show. 

(ooc: Desire will be ambling up Broadway towards the park, feel free to bump into them!)

Comments

[anguiform]

Crowley's life over the past two weeks has been... busy. Or, well, in actuality, it's felt busy, but it's mostly been occupied by doing a lot of nothing, interspersed with the occasional bout of Unpleasant Work for the Boss. Nothing too bad yet, for which he's embarrassingly thankful, but it's still conspired to make him feel like he can't quite get away with bumming around the city just entertaining himself anymore. Like Lucifer will catch him out somehow, amusing himself by holding up public transit or loitering in overpriced coffee shops.

He has, however, purchased a whole wall of new plants. He refuses to contemplate the psychology behind his satisfaction at seeing the new verdancy of them dotted around his flat. They are growing very well, though, which he puts down to his slightly-more-vicious-than-usual threats to their well being.

On this day, though, he's got no errands for the Devil to run, but he's tired of lurking in his own flat. Sleeping and watching Golden Girls marathons (the television of 2013, whilst undoubtedly entertaining in its own right, just doesn't measure up) only remains entertaining for so long¹. So he's wandering the city-- New York is without a doubt just as good a city for wandering as London-- engaging in a low-level tempt or two² when he suddenly feels-- something.

He stops, and then stumbles slightly when the person behind him, not expecting the stop, bumps into him. Stepping aside out of the main flow of traffic, he frowns faintly in thought. That feels... familiar. It's something occult, or someone, but he can't place the familiarity.

'Bugger,' he mutters.

Whatever it is, it doesn't have a bad feel about it necessarily, but he is rightly wary of any new powers dropping down into his life.

¹ That being said, whoever invented Netflix is a genius.

² Seduction has never been in Crowley's wheelhouse, but looking as good as he does, it's far too easy to find likely targets (nuns, aggressively heterosexual men, unhappy middle-aged women), give them a wink and a wicked grin, and watch reactions unfold.

[endless_epithumia]

Desire's not quite gotten their bearings yet, but the familiar thread of corruption catches their attention, and they make a beeline for it like a bee to a trap. Outfitting themself in something appropriate to the season (light blazer, dress shorts, I <3 NY t-shirt), they reach up and tap him on the shoulder.

"Hello little serpent," they purr, smiling at him. "Is this where you've hidden yourself away?"

[anguiform]

Crowley startles unpleasantly when someone taps him on the shoulder, and he spins in an entirely undignified fashion. Not that he really expects Satan to just come up and tap him on the shoulder; he seems to favour entirely more dramatic methods, but still. When he sees who it is, his shoulders slump visibly with his sigh of relief. It's been a few weeks, but he remembers this dream.

Which isn't to say he's not still wary; Desire is a relatively unknown (and presumably powerful) occult entity, so Crowley's on no illusions that he's necessarily safe with them, but honestly he'll take just about anything over Lucifer. That, and he recalls his dream-meeting with them quite fondly.

So he gives them a smile, full on slow and charming, just for their benefit. 'I wouldn't call it hiding, exactly. Or if anyone's doing any hiding, it's this universe hiding me. Got nabbed as well, did you?'

[endless_epithumia]

Oh now that's interesting, that little flare of alarm in his demeanor before he relaxes into charm. What could there possibly be on this island to make the serpent afraid, to the point that the sight of Desire themself is a relief?

"Expecting someone else, were you?" they ask with a tilt of the head. "But then, I wasn't expecting to be here so...abruptly." They scowl at the pavement, kicking at a bit of grit. "Getting caught in a cosmic lint trap is so unbecoming."

[antitimelord]

Zagreus, too, is headed parkward, and with a seeming air of unfocus, unsurprising for someone who has spent so much time trying to escape reality, linearity in general. But this is familiar enough ground, and why would he need to pay attention? This isn't so much his territory as the Dreaming, but it's occasionally interesting nonetheless. There are enough casually broken minds in the city with his name on them to attest to that.

This isn't the Dreaming, and so everything is a little blunted by comparison, all his senses and perspicacity snapped firmly back to their waking bounds, though admittedly still greater than human. Not that he's exercising any of that greater reach right now; Zagreus is a self-contained roil, which is to say, either an easy target or bait and trap both together.

[endless_epithumia]

Speaking of casually broken, Zagreus, the kettle called and insisted that they wore it better

Desire all but lights up when they sense that particular hot mess in proximity. Oh just look at him, going around all disappointed in everything like a child stuck inside on a rainy day. It would be criminal of them not to provide him some diversion.

"Hey!" they call out, stepping neatly into his path. "You there, fiction thing, what's a good place to eat around here?" Come to think of it, they have no way of being certain that he can eat. Maybe that question was rude. But if that's the case it'll make him all the more entertaining.

that's mr hot mess to you

[antitimelord]

Excuse me? Zagreus is, predictably, rather startled by this over-familiar intrusion, and what is equally discombobulating is the quick-sort his mind makes to find where he knows this person from, if he even does. It's a vague memory at best, with the cloudy-edged quality of a dream, and not a good clean directed one. A chaotic communal affair, then. "Well, I see you exist after all," he doesn't sound exceptionally pleased to learn this. But not exceptionally displeased, either. Had he told this rude entity his name? Or asked theirs? They probably were too busy being obnoxious to ask; and he did, but nothing came of it. He feels too spitefully unwilling to bother with a direct answer to their question, either. Maybe that can work in his favour. "Tell me who and what you are, and I'll make a suggestion." Weird entities like trades. And this is probably in the same camp as any other mannerless monster or faerie. "Make it interesting enough and I'll even treat."

[endless_epithumia]

Desire smiles, openly pleased at the grouchy figment's way of expressing curiosity. They're familiar enough with Faerie and the various courts' riddle-talk to feel comfortable playing this game, which might deliver some useful information about their conversational sparring partner.

"If you're looking to strike up a bargain I might be able to provide, depending on what it is you want," they begin, looking him over. Goodness, how can anyone be so overdressed in New York in the summer? It speaks to an incredibly obstinate nature. "As for myself, I suppose a simple view of it would be that I'm hungry." They pause for a moment, debating. They could give him a bit more to chew on, to see what he does with it, and besides that sounds a bit rude, all clipped like that. So they add in a low voice, "always. For everything."