(no subject)
Instead of sitting at his usual table, Crowley, tonight, is draped across one of the pleasantly squashy armchairs by the fireplace. He doesn't look particularly happy about it, but then, a general air of crankiness is only to be expected when London is getting colder by the bloody day.
'Course, the bookshop always does seem that little bit chillier when Crowley comes home to find Aziraphael MIA. The angel hadn't left a note, though, so Crowley's confident that he'll be home later tonight.
So, Crowley, sitting by the fire. Because warmth is good. Yes. He's taking occasional sips of his tea, but the mug is mostly being left by one of the chair-legs in favour of the idle cleaning of the demon's nails. There're bits of soil under them, see; Crowley's been spending some quality time with the winter blooms that are due soonishly.
Poor things.
'Course, the bookshop always does seem that little bit chillier when Crowley comes home to find Aziraphael MIA. The angel hadn't left a note, though, so Crowley's confident that he'll be home later tonight.
So, Crowley, sitting by the fire. Because warmth is good. Yes. He's taking occasional sips of his tea, but the mug is mostly being left by one of the chair-legs in favour of the idle cleaning of the demon's nails. There're bits of soil under them, see; Crowley's been spending some quality time with the winter blooms that are due soonishly.
Poor things.