[ So Crowley's decided to find himself a nice little niche* at the bar. It's like his second job, okay? Besides all these underage drinkers need an example to go off of. I mean how will they ever learn about hangovers and all that? And don't even try to lie and say you're not at least tempted to try one or two drinks. Forgetting the instant sober methodology...he won't tell anyone about that, because it'd make his example less than moot, besides hangovers aren't so bad** a few good teachers could prove really helpful in this sort of thing. ]
Right. So this magic business- [ He pauses like there's something he's mulling over in his head. His voice has a tinge of amusement in it as he asks this next question. Because he's read the guide and all that but frankly the only magic he's ever seen is Aziraphale's botched, horrible, job at that birthday party so...you know. ] how many of you buggers can pull a rabbit out of a hat?
* If it was up to him he'd be a bar tender but management is far too stiff and probably doesn't have a good recollection on what exactly a White Russian is; or that an Irish car bomb does, in fact, not necessarily involve said explosives. Though the things it might do to one's liver and GI tract is another story.
** Unless of course they involve blonde haired Germanic women and several autobahn excursions, with some not so kosher cyclist hitting, and later on you end up in some rather conspicuous lodgings. But that's a story for another day, oh yes, definately another day.