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go_exchangeTitle: disposable
Word Count: ~800
Rating: G
Summary: In which Crowley and Legion play cards. Also in which the importance of names is discussed.
(three vignettes about the Disposable Demon, aka Legion, aka Eric)
a/n: I actually love Legion a lot, so I’m delighted to get to share some small scenes and headcanons involving him~ I do hope you enjoy this! :D
Cards were a common enough pass-time in Hell—it was a suitably bastardly hobby to have, promoting gambling and drinking alongside it; it was a social activity while not necessarily promoting camaraderie; it passed the hours in the dingy basement offices.
What was slightly more unusual was seeing a demon play cards with himself—multiple selves, that was.
“Whatcha doin’ there?”
Legion glanced up, reflexively cringing. But Crowley had never discorporated him for nothing but the fun of it, as so many demons tended to, so he said, “Poker.”
“Don’t you know when you’re bluffing?” Crowley asked, with a nod towards one of Legion’s other manifestations.
“We don’t read minds,” the other said, eyes still on his cards.
“They’re separate enough from me that I can’t see their cards,” the first Legion said, still looking up at Crowley. “No fun, otherwise.”
“We like a fair game,” a third demon said, shrugging.
“Not a very demonic thing to say, that,” Crowley observed, and the Legion closest to him bristled.
“I’m quite demonic, thanks!”
“Of course, of course.” Crowley waved a hand, then grinned despite himself. “You’re the most terrifying of us all. Like a roach. Multiplies at will. Won’t die no matter what.”
Legion cringed—it was a comparison he’d heard before. But Crowley chuckled, still smiling; it seemed he hadn’t meant anything by it. After a moment, Crowley sunk down into a crouch.
“Deal me in?”
Legion—all of them—blinked in surprise. “Why?”
“Cause I want to play?” Crowley said it as if it should be obvious. “As long as you aren’t conspiring with... yourselves. I like a fair game, too. Hard to find something like that in Hell.”
Each Legion brightened, and the one closest to Crowley nodded. “Sure, then, if you want.”
... ... ...
It was easy to mistake Legion for a hivemind—that wouldn’t be entirely accurate.
“We’d appreciate if you didn’t discorporate us.” Legion shifted, fingers drumming against his clipboard. “It’s true it doesn’t really damage us, but it does still hurt. A lot.”
All of Legion’s manifestations were the very same Legion—they had no individuality to speak of. But they felt emotion and physical sensation as individuals, and resented when other demons—Hastur, most often—killed them out of irritation or for sheer amusement.
“I’d like to lend my assistance, Lord Hastur, but I’m, ah... stretched rather thin at the moment.” Legion backed hastily away, pushing through the crowded halls of Hell. “Apologies!”
The manifestation of Legion who’d been around for the longest—a primary form, some would think of it as—used singular pronouns, lending him the appearance of authority and autonomy. But he held no more practical importance than any other. Should he be destroyed, the next in line would simply become the so-called primary form.
“Don’t compare us to roaches. Or beetles. Please.”
It was easy to assume Legion was, by his nature, immortal. Very hard to kill, perhaps, but not immortal—as terrified to die, in fact, to lose his final manifestation, as any other.
It was easy to call Legion a disposable demon. That would be profoundly incorrect, at least as far as Legion himself was concerned.
“... Scarabs? Right, they were... worshiped, in Egypt, way back when. Okay, I guess, that’s cool, if you really have to...”
... ... ...
“How did you do it, Mister Crowley?”
Crowley looked up at the small demon. He’d been trying to nap, but Legion’s bright, determined eyes were hard to be cross with.
“Do what?” the serpent asked, with a yawn.
“Choose a name. A real one. For yourself.”
Crowley blinked. He was used to some demons forgetting or completely ignoring the fact that he’d changed his name; a question like that was the last thing he’d expected.
“What do you mean?”
Legion shifted. For once, only one of his manifestations stood before Crowley. “I mean... Legion, it... fits me, I guess. I don’t mind it. But it’s not really a name, you know.”
Crowley considered him for a moment, decided the request was in earnest, and then said, “I’ll tell you that if you tell me how you get your eyelashes so damn pretty.” Legion honest to goodness blushed at that, and Crowley laughed. “Kidding. There’s not much to it, though. I just picked something that sounded right. Sounded like me.”
Legion was still, then, his forehead creasing in deliberate and focused thought. Those long eyelashes fluttered when he blinked.
“Eric.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Eric?” he repeated, questioning but not critical. “Where’d that come from?”
Eric shrugged. “Dunno. Sounded like me.”
Crowley grinned. “Sure does. Good name, Eric. Good choice.”
Eric looked almost unsure how to respond to the positive reinforcement—little wonder, with how sparse such things were in Hell. Crowley knew it was virtually a crime, and if someone like Hastur or Ligur overheard there would be consequences. But then Eric beamed, and Crowley knew it was worth that risk.
“Suits you,” Crowley said, “Eric.”
Word Count: ~800
Rating: G
Summary: In which Crowley and Legion play cards. Also in which the importance of names is discussed.
(three vignettes about the Disposable Demon, aka Legion, aka Eric)
a/n: I actually love Legion a lot, so I’m delighted to get to share some small scenes and headcanons involving him~ I do hope you enjoy this! :D
Cards were a common enough pass-time in Hell—it was a suitably bastardly hobby to have, promoting gambling and drinking alongside it; it was a social activity while not necessarily promoting camaraderie; it passed the hours in the dingy basement offices.
What was slightly more unusual was seeing a demon play cards with himself—multiple selves, that was.
“Whatcha doin’ there?”
Legion glanced up, reflexively cringing. But Crowley had never discorporated him for nothing but the fun of it, as so many demons tended to, so he said, “Poker.”
“Don’t you know when you’re bluffing?” Crowley asked, with a nod towards one of Legion’s other manifestations.
“We don’t read minds,” the other said, eyes still on his cards.
“They’re separate enough from me that I can’t see their cards,” the first Legion said, still looking up at Crowley. “No fun, otherwise.”
“We like a fair game,” a third demon said, shrugging.
“Not a very demonic thing to say, that,” Crowley observed, and the Legion closest to him bristled.
“I’m quite demonic, thanks!”
“Of course, of course.” Crowley waved a hand, then grinned despite himself. “You’re the most terrifying of us all. Like a roach. Multiplies at will. Won’t die no matter what.”
Legion cringed—it was a comparison he’d heard before. But Crowley chuckled, still smiling; it seemed he hadn’t meant anything by it. After a moment, Crowley sunk down into a crouch.
“Deal me in?”
Legion—all of them—blinked in surprise. “Why?”
“Cause I want to play?” Crowley said it as if it should be obvious. “As long as you aren’t conspiring with... yourselves. I like a fair game, too. Hard to find something like that in Hell.”
Each Legion brightened, and the one closest to Crowley nodded. “Sure, then, if you want.”
... ... ...
It was easy to mistake Legion for a hivemind—that wouldn’t be entirely accurate.
“We’d appreciate if you didn’t discorporate us.” Legion shifted, fingers drumming against his clipboard. “It’s true it doesn’t really damage us, but it does still hurt. A lot.”
All of Legion’s manifestations were the very same Legion—they had no individuality to speak of. But they felt emotion and physical sensation as individuals, and resented when other demons—Hastur, most often—killed them out of irritation or for sheer amusement.
“I’d like to lend my assistance, Lord Hastur, but I’m, ah... stretched rather thin at the moment.” Legion backed hastily away, pushing through the crowded halls of Hell. “Apologies!”
The manifestation of Legion who’d been around for the longest—a primary form, some would think of it as—used singular pronouns, lending him the appearance of authority and autonomy. But he held no more practical importance than any other. Should he be destroyed, the next in line would simply become the so-called primary form.
“Don’t compare us to roaches. Or beetles. Please.”
It was easy to assume Legion was, by his nature, immortal. Very hard to kill, perhaps, but not immortal—as terrified to die, in fact, to lose his final manifestation, as any other.
It was easy to call Legion a disposable demon. That would be profoundly incorrect, at least as far as Legion himself was concerned.
“... Scarabs? Right, they were... worshiped, in Egypt, way back when. Okay, I guess, that’s cool, if you really have to...”
... ... ...
“How did you do it, Mister Crowley?”
Crowley looked up at the small demon. He’d been trying to nap, but Legion’s bright, determined eyes were hard to be cross with.
“Do what?” the serpent asked, with a yawn.
“Choose a name. A real one. For yourself.”
Crowley blinked. He was used to some demons forgetting or completely ignoring the fact that he’d changed his name; a question like that was the last thing he’d expected.
“What do you mean?”
Legion shifted. For once, only one of his manifestations stood before Crowley. “I mean... Legion, it... fits me, I guess. I don’t mind it. But it’s not really a name, you know.”
Crowley considered him for a moment, decided the request was in earnest, and then said, “I’ll tell you that if you tell me how you get your eyelashes so damn pretty.” Legion honest to goodness blushed at that, and Crowley laughed. “Kidding. There’s not much to it, though. I just picked something that sounded right. Sounded like me.”
Legion was still, then, his forehead creasing in deliberate and focused thought. Those long eyelashes fluttered when he blinked.
“Eric.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Eric?” he repeated, questioning but not critical. “Where’d that come from?”
Eric shrugged. “Dunno. Sounded like me.”
Crowley grinned. “Sure does. Good name, Eric. Good choice.”
Eric looked almost unsure how to respond to the positive reinforcement—little wonder, with how sparse such things were in Hell. Crowley knew it was virtually a crime, and if someone like Hastur or Ligur overheard there would be consequences. But then Eric beamed, and Crowley knew it was worth that risk.
“Suits you,” Crowley said, “Eric.”
(no subject)
Date: 2020-01-05 10:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2020-01-05 03:39 pm (UTC)I love the detail about how cards are played in Hell. And Eric clearly expecting trouble from Crowley but being guarded then Crowley is just nice to him and they have a secret time being nice to each other :0
It definitely makes sense that Legion, since he's seen as an infinite resource, would fall prey to other demons hurting him for the fun of it moreso than others :(
"It was easy to call Legion a disposable demon. That would be profoundly incorrect, at least as far as Legion himself was concerned." The name disposable demon is SO sad, so thanks for this!
And then he chooses a name, aw!! Thanks so much!!
(no subject)
Date: 2020-01-07 12:40 am (UTC)