(no subject)
Crowley left his coat and scarf, but there's no snow outside. Even terraformed, Londinium is a central planet, close to the sun; its winters tend to be mild. So there's no snow outside. It's only dark, and cold, and Crowley's back, black-clad and ram-rod straight, is hard to spot at first, but for the noise of him crunching swiftly and stiffly over gravel and frost.
The demon's skimmer is a darker shadow still, crouched like an animal on the low-rise landing dais, reflecting only a little of the light from the windows of the house. By the first of the stone steps, Crowley's half bent over, and on the second, he turns with a too-loud "Fuck, fuck," moving along it like he doesn't know where he wants to be.
By the third, he has to sit down, and his hands make fists in the air beside his head.
The demon's skimmer is a darker shadow still, crouched like an animal on the low-rise landing dais, reflecting only a little of the light from the windows of the house. By the first of the stone steps, Crowley's half bent over, and on the second, he turns with a too-loud "Fuck, fuck," moving along it like he doesn't know where he wants to be.
By the third, he has to sit down, and his hands make fists in the air beside his head.