(Untitled)

[aj_crawley]

Sitting near the fire with a newspaper in his lap, Crowley determines to send Prime Minister Brown a Christmas card or somesuch - or at least refrain from hassling the man for a while. There's little better excuse, you see, than the increasing likelihood of an early election for spending great swathes of time at home in London, rather than abroad,

Comments

[matrelli]

After a suitable interval, Angela, in a nearby armchair, says dryly:

"Nice to see another person this evening."

(Sylar, alas, does not count.)

[aj_crawley]

"Actually," Crowley says, flashing her an equally dry grin, "knowing this place, most of the menagerie might well be people. In one sense or another."

[matrelli]

"Really." That earns Crowley a pair of raised eyebrows. "Will it get put to rights, if that's the case?"

It's a clinical sort of question, tinged with curiosity -- but not concern.

[aj_crawley]

"Oh, probably," he replies, shrugging. "Things generally do, around here, though don't ask me how."

[river_meimei]

The front door slides open, and River steps through.

Her head turns towards the fire first; it's a moment before her eyes focus on Crowley.

[aj_crawley]

And it's a moment then, before - Crowley raises one hand in not-quite-a-wave, and his mouth quirks into a smile.

[river_meimei]

River studies him for a moment, with the reluctant warmth of someone who's trying to be (or stay) annoyed, and finding it somewhat difficult.

Then she gives in and smiles a little, and glances down at the floor as if to check on its location as she takes her first steps in his direction.

[aj_crawley]

"Been a bit," Crowley says, when she's within earshot - but there's no reproach in it, or regret. This isn't - this isn't the kind of thing where it matters much.