Nine Inch Scales Mid-Story Retrospective: Tranquility in a story full of noise
Chapter 4 - The Fragile is one of my favourite chapters, and unsurprisingly is inspired by my favourite NIN album. It was a deliberate choice after three "loud" chapters to finally have a long period of rest, both for Crowley and Aziraphale.
Crowley took Aziraphaleās advice. After years of endless touring he finallyā¦ stopped. Time carried on, seasons changed, headlines came and went, and the world spun on. Eventually, Nine Inch Scales stopped being the biggest sensation. He was glad of it. Finally, the pressure ceased. He could walk down the street without people recognising him as much. At last, Crowley stopped moving.
He sorely needed to rest.
***
Emotionally, he was calmer. Quiet, even. Not numb, exactly; more like heād found the remote and turned the volume down. Then locked the remote in a box covered in padlocks. Theoretically, he could still reach it; the ache was still there, ever present. But it was muffled. Intentionally dulled. He was still capable of feeling, and that was the problem. The flood of everything would be unbearable. So, he didnāt open the gates.
Most of the chapter takes place by the ocean. The sea isn't silent exactly, but it's peaceful. White noise. Like static on a radio or the buzzing of an amplifier before a song truly begins.
The ocean isn't still either, its transitional. Transformative. And enduring. And so for these reasons, it felt like the perfect parallel to where Crowley is at this point in the plot: his sound dulled but not gone, his identity uncertain but being remade. And choosing to carry on, despite the events of The Downward Spiral.
Crowley wrapped his arms around himself, deep in thought. He breathed steadily, and closed his eyes, listening to the sea.
A lyric surfaced as he thought of the angel.
āStaring at the seaā¦ will he come?"
Crowleyās throat tightened as the words came, unbidden.
āIs there hope for me, after all is said and doneā¦ā
He didnāt write it down yet. The moment was too precious and honest, too heartfelt to be crudely rendered on the page.
It all leads to a song writing moment for Crowley where he finds peace at last in creation. It's a very different scene to the one where he writes Hurt in the previous chapter, but its set up in a similar way. I consider both scenes two sides of the same coin: one where Crowley has a realisation that makes him lose hope, and the other where he has a similar epihany but it leads to the opposite outcome.
I tried to cut a snippet from the scene for this post, but honestly I like how its paced and set out so much I couldn't bear to choose any one part over another. So here it is in its entirety:
Tonight, though, something was shifting.
A storm had crept in from the horizon, and the sky opened up to hammer rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sound was deafening and intimidating, beating against Crowleyās quiet sanctuary. But he didnāt shrink away. Instead, he made a hot cup of cocoa, and wrapped himself in an oversized jumper. He pushed the piano seat right up to the glass, close enough for his breath to fog against it as he watched. He sipped, watching the storm. Listening to the tempest. Playing bits and pieces of melody over and over in his head, his free hand miming the formation of piano chords.
The song changed in his mind. He could hear stringsā¦ and he sang the words that heād not dared write down yet.
Staring at the seaā¦ will he come?
Is there hope for me, after all is said and doneā¦
He could hear the song rising and falling like waves in his mind, but he darenāt move away from the window, where the sea itself was speaking to him, filling his head with sound. It wasnāt a happy song, but it was no Downward Spiral eitherā¦ no fury, no mindless destruction. This was something quieter. Deeper. A sorrowful surrender to the great below.
All the spoils of a wasted life
This wasn't about annihilation. It was certainly undercut with self-loathing and depression butā¦ it was about acceptance. It was about letting go of what no longer served him, of the life heād tried so hard to hold onto, of the self heād burned away, of hope that hurt more than healed him. It was a funeral and a rebirth. A quiet ego death overseen by the ocean, rendered in the synth and strings Crowley could hear clearly in his mind.
All the world has closed her eyes, tired faith all worn and thinā¦
For all we could have done, and all that could have beenā¦
Crowley breathed steadily between each line that got pulled from him, taking a pause to sip his cocoa. As the rain battered the glass, and lightning cracked the sky, he felt strangely at peace.
The destiny Iāve chose,
He thought of Aziraphale. Of a time long ago: the two of them wrapped in a blanket, sharing a Thermos of tea, watching the sea in what felt like another life. Aziraphaleās arm around him, steady and warm. A moment burned into his memory, even through the drug-addled haze of it all.
The currents have their say,
The time is drawing near.
Crowley imagined, just for a moment, that he was being held again. That Aziraphale was here with him, watching the sea. Just to enjoy the idea that someone saw him. Understood him. Loved him.
Crowley rose to his feet, and shouted back at the sea and the storm:
And I descend from grace!
He let the fleeting rage out, and it didnāt consume him. If anything, he came back to himself softer. He whispered, forehead pressed against the glass.
I can still feel youā¦ even so far awayā¦
I can still feel youā¦ even so far away
I can still feel youā¦ even so far away
I can still feel youā¦ even so far away
I can still feel youā¦ even so far away
He finished his cocoa, and calmly sat at the piano once more. The keys were waiting for him.Ā
The melody was still running through his soul.
And this time, it led somewhere.
If you enjoyed the above snippets, you can read the rest here on ao3
Went for an inspirational image instead of a relevent gif this time: This is how I imagined Crowley perching by the big windows on his piano seat, staring at the sea stretching out ahead.
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