(Untitled)

[aj_crawley]

Crowley can't turn invisible, exactly. He doesn't have an invisibility cloak, nor any sort of trinket or talisman that'll do the job for him; neither is he possessed of the ability to make himself so through the quirks of - say - genetics, or radiation, or the bite of a super-powered insect

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[the_woodpecker]

An oblivious Head Barman collects a cup of coffee and meanders in the direction of Crowley's table, nodding at patrons along the way.

[aj_crawley]

Spying him coming, Crowley kicks out a chair - but the one beside him, rather than across from him, that Bernard might not obstruct his view of the bar.

(Or, more specifically, those patrons of the establishment seated at a certain number of tables.)

[the_woodpecker]

With an arched eyebrow, Bernard sits in the proffered chair and observes the bar at large.

"...Hunh."

[aj_crawley]

"Hunh?" he echoes inquiringly, swirling his wine gently in its glass.

[will_scarlett]

Will has been drinking tea all day as he plans the party and apparently Crowley switched his sugar, so he does an impressive spittake when he takes his next sip and curses,

"Bloody 'ell, that's na right."

[aj_crawley]

There's a bout of half-audible sniggering from a little way across the room, ill-concealed behind a glass of wine and a pair of sunglasses.

First strike.

[will_scarlett]

Since he's trying to figure out why the tea tastes wrong, Will only partly hears the sniggering, but does look around the Bar with a glare.

After a few more looks, he spots Crowley's sunglasses and shoots a curious look/glare,

"Were ye laughin' at me, sir?"

[aj_crawley]

"A little," Crowley admits, the very picture of cheerful but genuine remorse. "You did choke pretty spectacularly, after all."

[nitro_is_ace]

Ace just wants some soup after a day of biking. There's nothing more comforting than soup, right? Especially split pea soup. It's lovely.

But it needs a little salt, so Ace stops by a table on her way towards the couch with her mug of split pea soup and liberally salts her soup.

Three steps later she stops, spoon in her mouth.

...

Sweet split pea soup - the newest taste sensation?

[aj_crawley]

Someone to her left has... a sudden coughing fit. Yeah.

[nitro_is_ace]

Wait wait wait, she might be on to something here. Ace backtracks, and experimentally 'salts' her soup some more.

Really sweet soup.

...

This would be Ace, unscrewing the the top of the salt shaker and dumping the contents into her mug of soup. Don't tell Spoon.

[aj_crawley]

This time, Crowley isn't quite able to disguise the sound of disgust he makes. It sounds a lot like:

"Yeeuirghk."

[visible_sariel]

Sariel still hasn't got her memory.

She has, however, got dinner and this time, chips are part of it. It's only after she slides into a booth and sets her plate on the table in front of her that she reaches for the ketchup--why not? How's she to know that the container's lid will come away in her hand? Oops...

There's a yelp, followed by a Creole-sounding curse, as ketchup splatters her sleeve and the table alike. At least her uniform was already red?

[aj_crawley]

- Alright, see, that one was good enough to warrant a round of applause.

Crowley doesn't know why he doesn't do this more often, really.

[visible_sariel]

Has she been spotted? Meep! Was she *heard*? Double meep! Riiiight, somebody call security, she said 'damn it'.

There's now an extremely sheepish-looking girl glancing in the direction of the applause, face gone as red as dark skin will allow and clean hand blotting at the tabletop with a napkin. Prank? What prank? she's been caught making a fool of herself! "Um... sorry. It just came off when--" wait a second. He's applauding.

Comprehension dawns. "Oh no..."

[aj_crawley]

"Well done," he calls over. "That was pretty spectacular."

He's still applauding - but look at that face. The cheeky grin, the roguish raise of an eyebrow. How can Sariel be angry with that face?

[soapcarvedhands]

A tall, worryingly thin man makes judicious use of the sugar at his table. He pours one and a half measured teaspoons into his mug, with the look of one who has very little control and will exercise what he does have, thank you.

He sips.

"Aaraghg," he says, quite distinctly, looking at his tea as though it has sprouted fangs.

[aj_crawley]

"Fhrkhhh," comes the strangled sound of delight from a few tables over, where an equally tall (but slightly less thin)... person is having a limited amount of success concealing his mirth behind his fist.

[soapcarvedhands]

Harding--well, he knows conspiracy theories. He knows them so well that, most of the time, he ignores them.

But this is a little much!

He looks around for the source of the noise.

[aj_crawley]

Unfortunately, Crowley isn't quite able to recover his straight face in time - in fact, the pitting of his efforts against the laughter that's still trying to bubble out makes him look rather as though he's ingested something quite as foul-tasting as Harding's tea, and is caught by the age-old dilemma: spit or swallow?