I’m not saying it’s not an excellent plan for the future, Islington. I’m just saying you may need to rethink who exactly is going to be singing those hosannas past about the first five minutes of you taking your throne since for some reason I don’t think I’m jumping to any wild conclusions if I suggest you’re actually going to find *nobody* worthy and *all people everywhere* HATEFUL IN YOUR SIGHT.
“Islington was looking down on everything from far above, hovering in the air, as one hovers in dreams, as it had hovered in those long- ago times. There were buildings in that city that were many hundreds of feet high, but they were dwarfed by the gray-green Atlantic waves. And then it heard the people scream. There were four million people in Atlantis, and, in its dream, Islington heard each and every one of their voices, clearly and distinctly, as, one by one, they screamed, and choked, and burned, and drowned, and died.”
Oh, Islington, you do carry on a bit, but I guess it must be pretty annoying being locked up in a very cold room for tens of thousands of years with only one outfit (sure it glows, but wouldn’t socks be more useful?) and some trick candles and a taunting unopenable door (and some creepazoid contacts that make your pupils huge and black) just because one time one time! you accidentally let Atlantis be destroyed causing the death of millions.
It’s so unfair especially because
So obviously this is the angel Islington who doesn’t get out much but would really like to change that. And, you know, I think he does have a legitimate grievance about his conditions because between the unopenable door and all the open flames, his room is just a health and safety nightmare!
But while he waits for the tribunal to make its decision – which is taking forever – he spends his time dramatically walking, dramatically turning, dramatically standing, dramatically singing Irving Berlin (it’s the little twirl that does it), and dramatically plotting the hideous death of anyone who won’t kneel before Zod ever did him wrong, which, let’s face it, is going to be everyone.
As to what the whole program(me) is about, I’ll just say Neil Gaiman. If you know what that means then you’ll know what to expect, and if you don’t, well, I think trying to explain it is beyond my humble capabilities. The whole thing is six half-hour parts. Islington isn’t in the first episode, but he’s in the other five and is an important character throughout with hair that, as you can see, is very definitely very firmly attached to his head.
The Angel Islington(s) (Benedict Cumberbatch) singing his Neverwhere tune in a haunting round. Because why not? Made this over the weekend after seeing Neil Gaiman suggest opening up the clip in multiple browser tabs. It’s quite lovely this way.
The cardinal getting rid of the evidence – ALL of the evidence – of King Louis’s extremely inconvenient (despite being extremely dead) older brother.
It occurs to me that with his equal love of wax taper lighting and murder there really is no mystery about exactly which VERY BAD ANGEL would be the one twirling singing His Eminence the proper song to celebrate yetanother problem disappearing into smoke:
In return, Armand can explain to
the Marquis de Carabas
(who really isn’t too impressed with Islington)
that when you know what you’re doing, two thugs and a room full of candles are in fact*all you need!*
ICYMI, The Angel(s) Islington singing in a round. Neil Gaiman suggested opening the link to the clip of Benedict singing this in a bunch of browser tabs to get a round going. I just bypassed that and made it myself. It sounds amazing, btw.