[It's said quietly, almost instantly, and Crowley draws his coat around him even tighter though he doesn't feel cold. He almost buttons it but his fingers are shaking just enough to make it difficult and the demon instead decides to just cross his arms, clearing his throat to get it out of his system.
Calm.
Crowley lets out a slow breath and suddenly he is in control again, closed off and nonchalant -- but the act has faltered and cracked and Crowley can't help himself, caged and cornered and somewhat bitter -- ]
I don't do that anymore.
[Aggravated as he turns away, sorely tempted to kick a rock.]
[Amazing, how she can slur four-syllable words. She looks at him harder, trying to figure something out that she is hopelessly too drunk and too affected by the Animus to fathom.]
Where was that?
[She steps closer, aggravated by his refusal to look at her or helpfully vomit up every piece of information she wants.]
[It's unintentional, please, and Crowley almost says it aloud when he realizes (again) that Naomi is affected and taking it out on her is unfair. Especially when by the end of this week she will know precisely what she saw and probably have no idea how to deal with it.
Great.]
It was in a church.
[It's said finally, and he looks up at her, eyes narrowed.]
But I would much rather ignore it ever happened, so -- if you would.
[She doesn't say anything at first, her mind trying to makes sense of what the hell she's processing. Samouel, the nice guy, the guy who feels like a jackass for doing the work that keeps him alive and breathing, torturing and shooting up a god of the underworld. IT's bizarre, weird, impossible, what?
Maybe it's an underworld thing. Her mind latches onto that conclusion and fists it tightly, letting her stare at him a moment longer but without the same need to understand it.
Finally she speaks, a little softer, wings mantling around her in a kind of resting position, wind still blowing in distinct shapes.]
Why now? Why- remember it now? They're just stars.
I don't even know why you came. I didn't call you, you just-
[She sort of gestures and then gives up, because wow, balance. Hard. She sways a little and, finding nothing to lean against, decides to sit down. Right now.]
[That gets his attention and Crowley looks over, his expression still wary and carefully locked away, but at least a little more relaxed at the show of good will.]
[The scotch comes to her hand obligingly and she just looks at it.]
It was for Gold. I hate him.
[She added the latter in the kind of placid tone in which you might say "I know him from work" or "he makes really good pulled pork." It's not especially convincing.]
[She presses the bottle into his hand happily. This is actually the happiest she's been since ever. Wine is awesome. Meanwhile, Naomi pulls her feet in closer Indian-style and keeps babbling.]
We used to have something, a long time ago. He's a cockroach and a terrible person. But he has really good taste in scotch.
[Sounding familiar? Transference of feelings, table for one. She looks at Crowley and then pauses, like she's trying to place him. She knows him- Hades, Crowley, whatever name. But...
Then it passes and she forgets about it. A bottle of wine appears out of nowhere, which she easily uncorks and starts drinking. It's regular-strength so it won't faze her, but it's delicious.]
[Crowley undoes the bottle easily, but not before he goes through his customary examination of the label, half-listening to Naomi talk. But at the final words, Crowley pauses before glancing over at her, almost... amused.]
Well.
[With the softest huff of laughter, not quite taking a drink from the bottle yet.
You don't drink good scotch from the bottle.]
Why do you like him if he's a cockroach and a terrible person? Surely not just for the scotch.
[Screw being classy, she's drinking from the bottle. And giving him a look and clinking the bottles together to tell him to GET HIS DRINK ON already gosh.]
He's smart. And I'm drunk. He's pretty funny, it sounded like a good idea.
[In a slight murmur to himself, allowing Naomi to clink her bottle against his -- and with a slight sigh, Crowley allows himself the indignity of taking a sip from the bottle.
And if I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I'd be an extraordinarily rich man.
[It's said somewhat lazily, taking another drink of his scotch. He lets it sit in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing and allowing the burn to run down his throat.]
[But the sharp retort is cut off by her continued... well, drunkeness, as Crowley has to stare at her for a few moments, because he honestly didn't expect that out of her mouth anytime soon.
It's enough for him to stop sulking and for his lips to twitch into a faint smirk, returning his attention to his own bottle of liquor.]
I just want it known that I'm never going to allow you to forget you just said that.
[And he gently inclines his bottle toward her before taking a drink.]
I have met thousands of psychopaths in my line of work, my dear, and you are forever my favorite one.
[It's said honestly (though Crowley does hold something of a soft spot for Castiel, the little crazy bastard), albeit with a slight laugh as he swishes around his scotch in the bottle, entertained.]
I doubt very much I'll meet anyone else with your particular set of skills and expertise in my future.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action;
[It's said quietly, almost instantly, and Crowley draws his coat around him even tighter though he doesn't feel cold. He almost buttons it but his fingers are shaking just enough to make it difficult and the demon instead decides to just cross his arms, clearing his throat to get it out of his system.
Calm.
Crowley lets out a slow breath and suddenly he is in control again, closed off and nonchalant -- but the act has faltered and cracked and Crowley can't help himself, caged and cornered and somewhat bitter -- ]
I don't do that anymore.
[Aggravated as he turns away, sorely tempted to kick a rock.]
I should know better.
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[Amazing, how she can slur four-syllable words. She looks at him harder, trying to figure something out that she is hopelessly too drunk and too affected by the Animus to fathom.]
Where was that?
[She steps closer, aggravated by his refusal to look at her or helpfully vomit up every piece of information she wants.]
Tell me.
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Great.]
It was in a church.
[It's said finally, and he looks up at her, eyes narrowed.]
But I would much rather ignore it ever happened, so -- if you would.
[Drop it.]
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Maybe it's an underworld thing. Her mind latches onto that conclusion and fists it tightly, letting her stare at him a moment longer but without the same need to understand it.
Finally she speaks, a little softer, wings mantling around her in a kind of resting position, wind still blowing in distinct shapes.]
Why now? Why- remember it now? They're just stars.
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[He speaks as if Naomi hadn't said anything at all, his tone blunt.]
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[She sort of gestures and then gives up, because wow, balance. Hard. She sways a little and, finding nothing to lean against, decides to sit down. Right now.]
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You should go inside.
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[So there. :| She indicates over yonder, elsewhere on the roof.]
I took scotch. From the party.
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Did you.
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[The scotch comes to her hand obligingly and she just looks at it.]
It was for Gold. I hate him.
[She added the latter in the kind of placid tone in which you might say "I know him from work" or "he makes really good pulled pork." It's not especially convincing.]
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The demon looks irritated before he extends his hand for the bottle.
He needed liquor to cope with the week.]
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We used to have something, a long time ago. He's a cockroach and a terrible person. But he has really good taste in scotch.
[Sounding familiar? Transference of feelings, table for one. She looks at Crowley and then pauses, like she's trying to place him. She knows him- Hades, Crowley, whatever name. But...
Then it passes and she forgets about it. A bottle of wine appears out of nowhere, which she easily uncorks and starts drinking. It's regular-strength so it won't faze her, but it's delicious.]
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Well.
[With the softest huff of laughter, not quite taking a drink from the bottle yet.
You don't drink good scotch from the bottle.]
Why do you like him if he's a cockroach and a terrible person? Surely not just for the scotch.
action;
[Screw being classy, she's drinking from the bottle. And giving him a look and clinking the bottles together to tell him to GET HIS DRINK ON already gosh.]
He's smart. And I'm drunk. He's pretty funny, it sounded like a good idea.
action;
[In a slight murmur to himself, allowing Naomi to clink her bottle against his -- and with a slight sigh, Crowley allows himself the indignity of taking a sip from the bottle.
-- at least Naomi has good taste.]
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I'm sorry accidentally cracking your mind open. I didn't mean to. I got my chocolate too far in your peanut butter.
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[It's said somewhat lazily, taking another drink of his scotch. He lets it sit in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing and allowing the burn to run down his throat.]
It's nothing.
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[And it's a little heartbreaking, to see her so ignorant (innocent?) of everything, her wide blue eyes freed of so many years of secrecy and weight.]
It looks awful.
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[It's said quietly, his eyes fixated on the bottle of scotch before Crowley clears his throat and takes another sip.]
Something far more personal and private than that.
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[Everything is obviously her business, wow.]
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[Crowley raises his bottle to his lips before he adds to himself, under his breath:]
And I'm a terrible cockroach.
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[Celestial being angel hearing etc. She toys with her wine bottle with one hand, bottle squeezed between her knees.]
I've known some good cockroaches in my time. They're bad people who throw great parties.
[She looks at him sharply, as if seeing him all of a sudden.]
Stop moping, Crowley. It's unattractive!
[Which is so important wow.]
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[But the sharp retort is cut off by her continued... well, drunkeness, as Crowley has to stare at her for a few moments, because he honestly didn't expect that out of her mouth anytime soon.
It's enough for him to stop sulking and for his lips to twitch into a faint smirk, returning his attention to his own bottle of liquor.]
I just want it known that I'm never going to allow you to forget you just said that.
[And he gently inclines his bottle toward her before taking a drink.]
Cheers, my favorite psychopath.
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[R U D E.]
Not anymore.
[... She takes a hilariously sullen drink of wine.]
At least I'm your favorite.
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[It's said honestly (though Crowley does hold something of a soft spot for Castiel, the little crazy bastard), albeit with a slight laugh as he swishes around his scotch in the bottle, entertained.]
I doubt very much I'll meet anyone else with your particular set of skills and expertise in my future.
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