Happy Holidays, Kindigo!
Dec. 7th, 2009 01:29 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
waxbean.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
go_exchangeTitle: The Great Escape
Recipient's Name:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kindigo
from:winterthunder
Rating: G
Summary: The houseplants were only afraid because they didn't have any other alternatives.
Warnings: crack?
Crowley walked around his flat with his plant mister, contemplating which one would get the axe. Would it be the verbena, which appeared to have two leaves sitting on the soil in its pot? Or maybe the salvia, which hadn’t given him quite the buzz he’d been expecting. On the other hand, the ginger had gotten a bit too big for its pot lately; maybe it was time to cut it down to size. Decisions, decisions.
“I haven’t been pleased with your performance,” he said, pausing in front of the salvia. “What use is a psychoactive herb that doesn’t have psychoactive effects?”1
He was reaching toward the salvia, which shuddered imperceptibly, when there was a knock on the door. Crowley’s face wore the expression of one who has been interrupted in the midst of his favorite pastime.
“I’ll be back for you,” he said, making his voice as ominous as possible as he headed for the door. He already knew who was on the other side. 2
“Crowley, are you still going to Warlock’s birthday party?” Aziraphale asked, before Crowley had even got the door respectably open.
“Yes. It’s not until two.”
“Oh, good. You simply must tell me, what persona should I take on?”
Crowley groaned. “You interrupted my morning to ask what you should wear to Armageddon?”
“Proper dress is important!” Aziraphale protested, sniffing. “It’s not every day the world comes to an end, you know.”
“A fact I am quite aware of, Angel. Come in, but I have something to finish before I decide what I’m wearing to the Apocalypse.” Crowley walked back over to the salvia and picked up the pot. “Your turn to be eliminated. Say goodbye to your friend, little plants. He just couldn’t cut it.”
“Crowley!”
“What?”
“That’s positively barbaric!”
“Aziraphale. What am I?”
“A demon, I know, but the plant has no way of fighting back! At least humans can choose, but a poor plant!”
“So?”
“You have to at least give them a fighting chance.” Aziraphale waved his hand and the salvia began to tremble. Crowley watched in amazement as the plant wrenched itself from his grasp. The pot shattered on the floor. Dirt spilled over Crowley’s white carpet. 3
“Now see what you-” Crowley began, but a high-pitched voice interrupted him.
“Run for it, lads!” The salvia was now dragging itself across the carpet, leaving a trail of brown in its wake.
A rustling filled the flat as plants from all over began to head for the exits.
“Now see here, just one minute!” Crowley said, jumping over the verbena and putting an arm across the door to the lounge. 4 “You can’t all just run out like this!”
“Why not?” screamed a litany of high-pitched voices. The effect was something similar to a junior school choir told to sing in different time signatures for the sake of ‘art.’ Most of the words were impossible to understand, but Crowley and Aziraphale were able to pick out some lines here and there. “You killed Achillea. You killed Madia. You killed Karo. You don’t give me enough water!”5
“Well, yes, but you’re houseplants,” Crowley tried to reason. “You’re supposed to sit in one spot and look attractive.”
“Charge!” yelled the ginger, and the plants surged forward.
“Aziraphale!” Crowley called out. “Some help here?”
“Now listen here,” Aziraphale said, feeling only slightly guilty at having caused the mass exodus. “What if Mr. Crowley agreed to show mercy to the weak amongst you?”
“Don’t listen to the devil!” the ginger yelled. “Just like we planned, Banana, unlock the door!”
“You… planned…” Crowley sputtered. The ginger bounced past his feet, but the banana tree hung back.
“How do we know you’d actually do what you say?” it asked.
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” Crowley snapped.
“Mr. Crowley swears upon the rest of the time remaining in the world,” Aziraphale said.
“That doesn’t mean squat, Angel, and you know it!” Crowley hissed. “You know what, forget it.” He waved a hand and the front door to his flat opened. “Go on, get out of here, you ungrateful plantae! Enjoy your few days of freedom before the world ends in fire and brimstone.”
“What do you mean?” asked the banana, but its words were lost in the stampede for the open door. Within seconds, all that remained of Crowley’s houseplants were trails of dirt leading out the door and down the stairs.
“Way to go, Angel.” Crowley threw himself onto the white leather sofa as the front door closed and the dirt disappeared from his carpets. “Now I have no plants.”
“You know it doesn’t matter,” Aziraphale replied, examining his fingernails.
“Well, yes, but you didn’t have to remind me,” Crowley grumbled.
~
When Crowley returned to his flat three days later, all his plants had returned to their accustomed places and stood motionless as he walked through the white rooms with his plant mister. He poked his fingers into the dirt of the ming aralia, which shivered as he gave it an extra squirt of water.
He paused in front of the verbena, which now had three dead leaves lying on the soil in the pot.
“Your friend here just isn’t cutting it,” he said, picking up the plant. There was a menacing rustle from all the greenery. Crowley hesitated before continuing.
“So I’ll just be moving it here to the counter, where it can get a bit of extra light.”
1-This was, of course, because psychoactive herbs had no effect on Crowley, but he saw no reason to inform the plant of this fact.
2-Crowley had no bills, and thus had no reason to be the target of bill collectors; and anyone selling anything was mysteriously routed in a circle and back to Crowley’s next-door neighbours, who were starting to get very annoyed at having the same salesmen show up repeatedly with no memory of ever having been there previously.
3-The dirt would disappear momentarily, of course, but that didn’t make Crowley any happier about having it there in the first place.
4-This, of course, was completely ineffective, save against the banana tree, but it looked cool.
5-Spoken by a stout ming aralia, with leaves that had begun to droop now that it was putting its effort towards escaping rather than looking lush, green and healthy.
Recipient's Name:
kindigofrom:
winterthunderRating: G
Summary: The houseplants were only afraid because they didn't have any other alternatives.
Warnings: crack?
Crowley walked around his flat with his plant mister, contemplating which one would get the axe. Would it be the verbena, which appeared to have two leaves sitting on the soil in its pot? Or maybe the salvia, which hadn’t given him quite the buzz he’d been expecting. On the other hand, the ginger had gotten a bit too big for its pot lately; maybe it was time to cut it down to size. Decisions, decisions.
“I haven’t been pleased with your performance,” he said, pausing in front of the salvia. “What use is a psychoactive herb that doesn’t have psychoactive effects?”1
He was reaching toward the salvia, which shuddered imperceptibly, when there was a knock on the door. Crowley’s face wore the expression of one who has been interrupted in the midst of his favorite pastime.
“I’ll be back for you,” he said, making his voice as ominous as possible as he headed for the door. He already knew who was on the other side. 2
“Crowley, are you still going to Warlock’s birthday party?” Aziraphale asked, before Crowley had even got the door respectably open.
“Yes. It’s not until two.”
“Oh, good. You simply must tell me, what persona should I take on?”
Crowley groaned. “You interrupted my morning to ask what you should wear to Armageddon?”
“Proper dress is important!” Aziraphale protested, sniffing. “It’s not every day the world comes to an end, you know.”
“A fact I am quite aware of, Angel. Come in, but I have something to finish before I decide what I’m wearing to the Apocalypse.” Crowley walked back over to the salvia and picked up the pot. “Your turn to be eliminated. Say goodbye to your friend, little plants. He just couldn’t cut it.”
“Crowley!”
“What?”
“That’s positively barbaric!”
“Aziraphale. What am I?”
“A demon, I know, but the plant has no way of fighting back! At least humans can choose, but a poor plant!”
“So?”
“You have to at least give them a fighting chance.” Aziraphale waved his hand and the salvia began to tremble. Crowley watched in amazement as the plant wrenched itself from his grasp. The pot shattered on the floor. Dirt spilled over Crowley’s white carpet. 3
“Now see what you-” Crowley began, but a high-pitched voice interrupted him.
“Run for it, lads!” The salvia was now dragging itself across the carpet, leaving a trail of brown in its wake.
A rustling filled the flat as plants from all over began to head for the exits.
“Now see here, just one minute!” Crowley said, jumping over the verbena and putting an arm across the door to the lounge. 4 “You can’t all just run out like this!”
“Why not?” screamed a litany of high-pitched voices. The effect was something similar to a junior school choir told to sing in different time signatures for the sake of ‘art.’ Most of the words were impossible to understand, but Crowley and Aziraphale were able to pick out some lines here and there. “You killed Achillea. You killed Madia. You killed Karo. You don’t give me enough water!”5
“Well, yes, but you’re houseplants,” Crowley tried to reason. “You’re supposed to sit in one spot and look attractive.”
“Charge!” yelled the ginger, and the plants surged forward.
“Aziraphale!” Crowley called out. “Some help here?”
“Now listen here,” Aziraphale said, feeling only slightly guilty at having caused the mass exodus. “What if Mr. Crowley agreed to show mercy to the weak amongst you?”
“Don’t listen to the devil!” the ginger yelled. “Just like we planned, Banana, unlock the door!”
“You… planned…” Crowley sputtered. The ginger bounced past his feet, but the banana tree hung back.
“How do we know you’d actually do what you say?” it asked.
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” Crowley snapped.
“Mr. Crowley swears upon the rest of the time remaining in the world,” Aziraphale said.
“That doesn’t mean squat, Angel, and you know it!” Crowley hissed. “You know what, forget it.” He waved a hand and the front door to his flat opened. “Go on, get out of here, you ungrateful plantae! Enjoy your few days of freedom before the world ends in fire and brimstone.”
“What do you mean?” asked the banana, but its words were lost in the stampede for the open door. Within seconds, all that remained of Crowley’s houseplants were trails of dirt leading out the door and down the stairs.
“Way to go, Angel.” Crowley threw himself onto the white leather sofa as the front door closed and the dirt disappeared from his carpets. “Now I have no plants.”
“You know it doesn’t matter,” Aziraphale replied, examining his fingernails.
“Well, yes, but you didn’t have to remind me,” Crowley grumbled.
~
When Crowley returned to his flat three days later, all his plants had returned to their accustomed places and stood motionless as he walked through the white rooms with his plant mister. He poked his fingers into the dirt of the ming aralia, which shivered as he gave it an extra squirt of water.
He paused in front of the verbena, which now had three dead leaves lying on the soil in the pot.
“Your friend here just isn’t cutting it,” he said, picking up the plant. There was a menacing rustle from all the greenery. Crowley hesitated before continuing.
“So I’ll just be moving it here to the counter, where it can get a bit of extra light.”
1-This was, of course, because psychoactive herbs had no effect on Crowley, but he saw no reason to inform the plant of this fact.
2-Crowley had no bills, and thus had no reason to be the target of bill collectors; and anyone selling anything was mysteriously routed in a circle and back to Crowley’s next-door neighbours, who were starting to get very annoyed at having the same salesmen show up repeatedly with no memory of ever having been there previously.
3-The dirt would disappear momentarily, of course, but that didn’t make Crowley any happier about having it there in the first place.
4-This, of course, was completely ineffective, save against the banana tree, but it looked cool.
5-Spoken by a stout ming aralia, with leaves that had begun to droop now that it was putting its effort towards escaping rather than looking lush, green and healthy.
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