1 [Video] Forwarded to morning.
[It's something of a normal image -- a well-dressed (all in black) middle-aged man standing somewhat calmly in the center of the baseball diamond. One hand is in his pocket, a bottle containing a dark liquid tucked in the crook of his elbow -- the other, holding his communicator. By the look of things, the man has figured out how to use it -- as well he should. It's his bloody phone, after all.]
This place is charming.
[He has an accent -- and every single letter is clipped with barely restrained contempt. He pauses, before re-centering his focus.]
I'll be seeing the hounds of Hell upon my heels at any given moment, I expect. The headlines it will achieve --
[He shrugs a shoulder, and here, Crowley allows himself the luxury to look somewhat bothered. Something is wrong -- but like hell is Crowley going to explain what -- and the moment is gone in the blink of an eye.
He clicks his tongue between his teeth before he turns to business again.]
Tell me, are the Winchesters here? This reeks of their idiocy.
[And he shuts the device off, without waiting for a response. They can wait. He's a king, dammit.]
This place is charming.
[He has an accent -- and every single letter is clipped with barely restrained contempt. He pauses, before re-centering his focus.]
I'll be seeing the hounds of Hell upon my heels at any given moment, I expect. The headlines it will achieve --
[He shrugs a shoulder, and here, Crowley allows himself the luxury to look somewhat bothered. Something is wrong -- but like hell is Crowley going to explain what -- and the moment is gone in the blink of an eye.
He clicks his tongue between his teeth before he turns to business again.]
Tell me, are the Winchesters here? This reeks of their idiocy.
[And he shuts the device off, without waiting for a response. They can wait. He's a king, dammit.]