Daegaer wrote in lower_tadfield,
@ 2003-05-14 14:56:00
Some lurk it hot
twitchycat was traumatised by the idea of Ligur kissing Hastur. I’m
traumatised by the idea of Ligur kissing Hastur.
Ligur lurked patiently beside Hastur. It was a dark and dreary night. He rather thought he liked it. Hastur had been pacing up and down for an hour or so, but was now practicing his looming. No one could loom like Hastur, if he was in the mood for it. Right now he was looming over the shorter and skinnier Ligur. Privately, Ligur rated the loom as at least an eight. He rather enjoyed being loomed at, although that wasn’t exactly a safe thing to admit in some of the circles of Hell. It was pretty much all right with Hastur though, he thought, looking up at the bigger demon. Now, angels are naturally six feet tall, and rarely bother deviating from that height. It makes the ranks so much tidier, for a start. Demons, being originally from the same stock would, one would think, also tend to be able to stare an angel in the eye without either getting a crick in the neck or having to bend over too much. Demons, however, tend to be more individualistic in some matters, and quite fancy a bit of variety. Ligur was by this time so used to being Hastur’s shorter, skinnier sidekick that it never occurred to him to be six feet tall any more. Hastur loomed for a bit longer, than went back to a standard lurk.
“Where is he? He should’ve been here hours ago!” Hastur muttered.
Time passed. Eventually a mechanical noise was heard and a horseless carriage pulled dramatically to a stop beside them. Ligur was vaguely disappointed. Hastur’d said that things looked different than the last time Ligur’d been up, but this horseless carriage didn’t look that different from the ones he remembered. Ligur stared in disgust at the demon that skipped lightly out of the carriage. Ligur was wearing an old mac — good lurking clothes, macs were — was skinny, and short. Crowley was wearing a very sharply cut suit, was slender, and the bastard was clearly six feet tall.
“’Ere, why’re you wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night?” Ligur asked, belligerently. “Don’t they make things all dark?”
Crowley bent down to make eye contact. Or eye/sunglasses contact anyhow. He gave a condescending smile.
“I can see in the dark,” he said. “Hello, Ligur.”
Ligur fumed, then smirked as Hastur loomed over the bastard, and intimidated him and reminded him that he was a little snake who’d better mind his Ps and Qs. No one could do a loom like Hastur, Ligur thought again. He was magnificent. All big, and solid and scary. Crowley went all small and scared and tried to get out of taking the basket and its Awful contents. The way Hastur wore the snake’s spirit down did Ligur a power of good. Or bad, more to the point. He really enjoyed the show, although he didn’t usually like whimperers. He really preferred the sound of screams, himself. But Hastur was a real pleasure to watch, an artist. They didn’t create them like that anymore. Ligur sighed deeply, and drank in the sight of Crowley miserably taking the intimidation Hastur was handing out.
“Cheer up, Crowley,” Hastur said with satisfied malice, “Ligur here would give his right arm for this chance, right, Ligur?”
“Huh? Oh. Yeah,” Ligur muttered, marvelling at the sharpness of Hastur’s smile — he liked a fellow who took care of his fangs.
Yeah, Hastur was really something, he thought, grinning as Crowley made one last attempt to slither away, but was forced to wait for permission to go. Hastur turned his evil smile Ligur’s way. He’d promised Ligur they could have a little fun once the bastard had signed for the delivery, and trouble was officially diverted Crowley’s way. It wasn’t like the bastard would have the guts to complain to anyone.
“So, what d’you fancy, Ligur?” he asked.
Ligur couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He wrapped his arms round Hastur’s neck and pulled him down to his level for a bit of slap-and-tickle. Crowley made a noise halfway between a hiss and a yelp. Hastur made a noise Ligur could only describe as a deeply scary growl. Phwooar, he thought. Hastur seemed to be taking it quite well, backing him up against a tree and banging his head several times on the trunk. But that was just his way of showing affection. Dimly, Ligur heard Crowley babbling about how he really had to get a move on, and he’d just take the basket, would he? And — and well, sorry to interrupt, guys, Chow. The horseless carriage’s engine burst into life and it shot off. Ligur really didn’t care. Hastur momentarily tried to extricate himself.
“What the —,” he snarled, looking round and back again, “fuck, Ligur?”
Ligur smirked with demonic glee.
“Oh, yeah. Please.”