PARADISA

[Crowley has been, as he is wont to do on occasion, engaging in his most favourite pastime of sleeping. Today, though, he wakes up, flicking idly through the journal as he dictates. ]

Oh joy, looks like I missed some spooky bollocks. That's my heart broken right now. I do so love to engage in spooky bollocks.

I feel robbed.

[Crowley tends to avoid most Earth holidays. Once you've lived through the first hundred or so of them, they tend to get rather repetitive. But April Fools is one he's always enjoyed. Of course, in most of the time he's been in Paradisa, April Fools was haunted by horrible, screeching singing, and as such, Crowley had remained in his room for a while, listening.

With the complete lack of people singing their feelings out, Crowley decided the castle had finally, at least, given its musical of death a rest, and headed out to do what any self respecting demon would do on a holiday such as this: make other's lives miserable.

And so, he has wandered around the castle, leaving little pranks here and there. Such as air horns on doors and leaving chocolate-coated onions in the kitchen.. The one he sticks around to watch, however, is his old favourite. The entire lobby floor is now waxed to an inch of its life, making it nothing but a promise of amusing arm flailing and possibly broken limbs.

Crowley himself sits at his favourite spot in the lobby, with a glass of wine, happily watching proceedings, his journal open to catch any fallout from his other pranks.]

This is much better than singing, I'm sure you'll all agree.

[There's the sound of pages turning, not from the main journal, but from one a short distance from this open one. Crowley has to wonder how many residents still even HAVE an old journal. Not many, he bets. Really, it doesn't bother him as much as he should, his newly found factoid. The passing of time is of little consequence to him. Still, it should probably be said, so after a moment, he deigns to speak]

It managed to pass me completely by, but I've passed the five year mark, living here now. Small change, really, but still something. [A few more pages turning] I think I'm the longest serving resident here, now.

...Thought I'd at least get a little trophy for that. Perhaps a commemorative plate. But nothing. Way to be cheap, Paradisa.

[Congratulations Muggle Studies students. You have Professor A.J Crowley to teach you the finer things about the world of muggles. He has his journal open on his desk, into which he dictates into as he wheels into the classroom an old TV and an even older VCR. Sorry he's from 1990, what do you expect?]

You've got exactly three seconds to get through the doors for my class before I send something nasty after you. Just a fair warning, kids!

[That done, and his journal still open, he turns on the TV, static crackling away, 'snow' all over the screen]

Today you're going to learn the ancient muggle art of programming a VCR. You need to get the TV onto a channel, get a blank cassette into the VCR, program it to the channel you want and record five minutes of that specific program. Student who does it fastest gets ten points ot their house or something. I don't care.

[He sits on his chair, putting his feet up on his desk and pulling out a hipflask]

You kids get right on that while I sit here and drink my...butterbeer and grade your efforts.

[Crowley hasn't been back in to Casa Guts since the Even Horizon mess. He's stayed away, giving South time to deal with what the castle had made him do to her, to find some security in her life again. But now she's given him the all clear, he's gone back to what is undoubtedly somewhere he can call home.

He wanders the rooms at first, noting any changes, checking on his housemates without making it look like he's openly doing so, and eventually, he heads back to his room]

Okay, you leafy little fuckers, you might of had a holiday, but now I'm back, you'd better pick up any slack those sissys let you -

[He pauses, noticing the black lab sitting with his menagerie. He frowns, confused, heading over to his already open journal and flicking through the pages desperately. He'd been in such a self-involved state for so long, this had slipped him by]

When did Lana leave the castle?

( Lana )

( Morgana )

( Spike )

[That done, Crowley dictates idly into the journal]

You know, I'm almost sad. There was no nudity in this movie lock in. I guess that's what happens when you cut Bad Girl out of the picture. Such a same, really. It would have made things interesting.

Well, well, this has been an interesting few days, hasn't it? All that chaos and embarrassment, and I didn't even have to lift a finger. Sometimes I think this castle is after my job. I'm not sure if I should feel flattered or threatened.

Anyway, for those of you idiots who haven't caught on yet, the journals are broken. But if you feel you really must pour all your thoughts and feelings into a magical book that is connected to the magical thought that kidnapped you, then go right ahead. Honestly, it's like being surprised that the rabid dog has bitten you.

[It hasn't stopped him writing all the little secrets in a notebook, though. Never know when they might come in handy]

Still. Thanks for the entertaining week, Paradisa. You've all been great.

Incidentally, as I promised I would, the answer to my riddle: The couple hear of the deadly scorpions that lived in the area, and put a glass of vodka under each foot of their child's crib. Scorpions don't like alcohol as they have no class.

Honestly, you take a small nap for a couple of weeks and the whole place goes down the pan. You people honestly can't be left alone for five minutes, can you?

[He'll give a scoff, flicking through the journal pages]

Not that I actually care or any bollocks like that, but people I don't hate: are any of you dead and/or left to greener pastures? I need to update my address book.

[Then, carefully, he'll start to write...]

RESOLUTION #1 - I will learn not to -

[There's a tap of a pen, then a sigh. He can't do it. Not without the angel]

Nope. It's not the same.

[So, Crowley is sitting in the lobby today, tossing a nutcracker up and down in the air idly, waiting. Waiting for what? Well, you. He does so love this time of year. It's a big boost to his net amount of evil, sort of like a Christmas bonus really. If Hell gave Christmas bonuses.

They don't.

He dictates cheerfully into the journal]

It's that time of year again. And, as tradition dictates, I'm offering the chance for anyone who wishes it to play a little game. Whoever kisses the most people by the time these fun little guys vanish gets a crate of alcohol of their choice, and bragging rights for the rest of the year. There aren't any rules, except don't lie about how many people you've kissed. I'll know and that is no way to win.

So. Who wants to play?

[[ooc: Open for planned and unplanned kisses!]]