01 🍎 Pleased to meet you; hope you guessed my name

[sauntervaguelydownwards]

[Video]
[It’s a new face, but a transmission that’s been made scores of times. This time the speaker is a dark-haired young man with great cheekbones, wearing sunglasses and a bewildered expression. He’s standing on the deck a healthy distance from the chapel, and when he speaks his voice is British, clipped, and dry.]

All right, when’s the next stop? I want to get off. Getting shanghaied onto Twilight Zone Cruise Lines is bad enough, but the maniacal holiday displays and the church are starting to make me nervous. I am not sitting through a Christmas sermon or anyone’s rendition of “Away in a Manger.”


[Deck/Greenhouse spam]
[Crowley had mostly been blowing hot air on the network; in truth the decorations delight him. They spark up an idea, and as soon as it flashes through his mind it takes hold and he knows he has to do it – it’s too tempting. There are cut trees everywhere, and a Greenhouse.

A smirk grows on his lips.

He wrestles an especially bright small tree through the Greenhouse door, dragging it to a spot directly in front of an array of orchids.] Pretty, hmm? [he asks the plants around him. He enjoys talking to – or rather threatening – greenery.] So shiny and delicate. Enjoy it, take a good look. [He tipped the tree, letting the water from the stand drain out.] Someday, this might be you.

Comments

[orderfromchaos]

I think maybe he's a cloud of sentient gas from Saturn or a very large agglomeration of rubber bands or something, who stole his only pamphlet on human holidays from an American. But yeah, there's a bias.

[strangehistorian]

Oh, thanks!

Or was that also sarcasm? I can't tell.

[changeitroundsome]

Can't say the need ever gripped me.

[sauntervaguelydownwards]

Don't knock it till you've tried it. You should see my houseplants.

[sauntervaguelydownwards]

My money's on a flying spaghetti monster with a subscription to Martha Stewart Magazine.

[orderfromchaos]

Talk to Chris, he runs all the interesting pools.

[punched_hitler]

No one's making you go to church.

But getting off at the next stop wouldn't do you much good. You'll end up right back on when we leave.

[sauntervaguelydownwards]

[This time Crowley laughs.]

[sauntervaguelydownwards]

Damn right they're not.

Yes, yes, I've heard. Pocket dimension.

[changeitroundsome]

I think I'll take your word for it.

[So crazy.]

[sauntervaguelydownwards]

If you're not into gardening what are you doing up here? I hear there's better fresh air in that enclosure thing.

[strangehistorian]

This is why I don't normally tell jokes. Everything gets so confusing.

[sauntervaguelydownwards]

Don't worry about it. What other jokes do you know?

[punched_hitler]

Although it's not so much a church as a place anybody can go, I think.

Something like that, I guess, yeah. This'd be my first experience with one.

[strangehistorian]

Not very many...

[changeitroundsome]

I use the herbs for my gris-gris. You gotta know a think or two about them, get it right, to make it work.

Can't say I've ever talked to my ingredients, though.

[sauntervaguelydownwards]

Go on, give it a try.

[sauntervaguelydownwards]

Will do. Which one is he?

[orderfromchaos]

He's the one with cyborg legs who cusses a lot.

[sauntervaguelydownwards]

That's what they all say.

Consider yourself lucky, then.

[sauntervaguelydownwards]

Your gris-gris? Interesting; what are you working in?

You ought to try it. Makes a world of difference, I can tell you.

[sauntervaguelydownwards]

A very succinct description. Thanks.

[punched_hitler]

Then you might just consider it true.

Are you not so lucky, then? [As in, have you got more experience than just this one?]

[changeitroundsome]

I keep my fingers in a lotta jar, but I'm a Bokor, by trade.

And why is it that you need them lookin' so green, I feel the need to ask?

VICTORIAN JOKES

[strangehistorian]

Oh, hm. Alright!

What's the difference between a light in a cave and a dance in an inn?