[At least he knows where Jerusalem is. Among England’s dark, satanic mills, obviously.
Far too used to bafflement and pity for it to make a serious dent, he decides the pet name is the result of thirty years of maturity, and not a piece of condescending psychological warfare. Luke doesn’t hold back the smile that washes over his face. To top it off, all this talk of how humans are fantastic pacifies him like a familiar fairy tale that soothes his troubled heart.]
Never read that book. Didn’t know Crowley was a fictional character.
[He tries to respect religious beliefs. He does. Someone, somehow managed to beat that much into his head, so at least he’s not reacting with the obvious dripping disdain he reserves for magic.]
So he’s supposed to have given us knowledge of the universe? So… he’s the good guy? You make him sound like the Doctor.
[Because there’s something better than Jesus on this version of pasty Protestant island.
Before he can continue on with salient theological questions like “Do Crowley and Eve get together?” America gets an odd look.]
No. Neither of those things. They were giant one-eyed squids. The Mother was… [He looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully, as if he’s looking at memories playing out across the years] four? Five times bigger than this room? The rest were just big enough to swallow a person whole.
[He contorts in his arms in front of him, like tentacles squeezing the life out of some poor bastard before they’re devoured head first. Having performed that mime with the loving relish of a child recalling a story about the monster under his bed, he grabs one of the kebabs and tips it thoughtfully at America.]
You they’d have to rip in half.
[He grins flirtatiously, because that was indeed intended to be flirtation, and tears off a hunk of meat with his teeth. But, as it always does when you’re made to think about the circumstances of your existence, it all falls into solemn reflection and cringing please-don’t-be-mad-at-me smiles.]
They weren’t into free will. Or anything “British”. They don’t like that stuff? Y’know, like… emotion or culture or individuality.
action
Far too used to bafflement and pity for it to make a serious dent, he decides the pet name is the result of thirty years of maturity, and not a piece of condescending psychological warfare. Luke doesn’t hold back the smile that washes over his face. To top it off, all this talk of how humans are fantastic pacifies him like a familiar fairy tale that soothes his troubled heart.]
Never read that book. Didn’t know Crowley was a fictional character.
[He tries to respect religious beliefs. He does. Someone, somehow managed to beat that much into his head, so at least he’s not reacting with the obvious dripping disdain he reserves for magic.]
So he’s supposed to have given us knowledge of the universe? So… he’s the good guy? You make him sound like the Doctor.
[Because there’s something better than Jesus on this version of pasty Protestant island.
Before he can continue on with salient theological questions like “Do Crowley and Eve get together?” America gets an odd look.]
No. Neither of those things. They were giant one-eyed squids. The Mother was… [He looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully, as if he’s looking at memories playing out across the years] four? Five times bigger than this room? The rest were just big enough to swallow a person whole.
[He contorts in his arms in front of him, like tentacles squeezing the life out of some poor bastard before they’re devoured head first. Having performed that mime with the loving relish of a child recalling a story about the monster under his bed, he grabs one of the kebabs and tips it thoughtfully at America.]
You they’d have to rip in half.
[He grins flirtatiously, because that was indeed intended to be flirtation, and tears off a hunk of meat with his teeth. But, as it always does when you’re made to think about the circumstances of your existence, it all falls into solemn reflection and cringing please-don’t-be-mad-at-me smiles.]
They weren’t into free will. Or anything “British”. They don’t like that stuff? Y’know, like… emotion or culture or individuality.