[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.
[Crowley looks over at her, a little surprised himself before he laughs abruptly. It's a sharp sound, but genuinely amused, and Crowley even lets himself lean up against a bit of debris on the roof to look up at the stars properly.]
You are good.
[He repeats it as he allows the bottle of scotch to rest against his leg, letting the statement dwell on his tongue a bit before continuing.]
My memories taste a bit less excellent than that, given their overly extended cook time.
[She lets her head roll back so she can watch the sky too, and shifts her weight to her other arm so she can lift the wine bottle. The shift in position has her leaning towards him, their shoulders touching.
[Crowley leans his shoulder a little more into hers, allowing for the invitation for her to lean against him if she needs it -- but then she has to go and open her fucking mouth and the demon is sorely tempted to get up and let her fall over.
That, however, would be a waste of good liquor.
Crowley, if anything, has a good sense of humor regarding himself, though, and he lets the jib slide before continuing.]
Want to hear something hilarious that you won't find funny in a week?
[She looks over, eyebrows raised and a smile tugging at her lips. It's pretty hilarious that he thinks she'll just magically stop liking everything in a week- in a week, he keeps saying, or next week. Whatever. Weirdo.
[He has no idea why he's telling her this except for the fact that he thinks it's pretty hysterical.]
When I first took control of Hell, after the turmoil and mayhem had cleared out and the demons were used to me, they thought they were being clever and called me Lucky the Leprechaun behind my back when they thought I couldn't hear them.
[The joke was on them, as Crowley doesn't really take offense to people laughing at him, because he knows how truly marvelous he is, but he looks back on it pretty fondly.]
[Ah, yes, when he took control of the Underworld. Naomi remembers, she supposes, when she tries hard enough. His little story gets him a proper laugh that she won't echo in a week when she remembers everything, but honestly- it really is funny. He's so serious and perpetually irritated that imagining him as Lucky the Leprechaun is hilarious.
She leans into him and laughs and then straightens up, looking somewhat intent.]
That's it. Your memories taste like marshmallows- burnt on the outside.
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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.]
action;
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.
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[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.
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[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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[Now her sulking is giving way to a bit of a smile as a thought careens through her mind.]
I am good. Memories taste like manna.
[She smiles but there's a fleeting moment of confusion because, what the fuck is manna and why does she remember what it tastes like?]
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You are good.
[He repeats it as he allows the bottle of scotch to rest against his leg, letting the statement dwell on his tongue a bit before continuing.]
My memories taste a bit less excellent than that, given their overly extended cook time.
[Hell jokes are the best jokes.]
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You're no older than the rest of us, Hades.
[It's meant as a tease, like calling someone by their full first name when only their grandmother does that.]
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[It's a gentle correction, but a firm one, and he resumes his attention toward the sky.]
It rolls off the tongue much more easily.
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[She lets her head roll back so she can watch the sky too, and shifts her weight to her other arm so she can lift the wine bottle. The shift in position has her leaning towards him, their shoulders touching.
Then, under her breath-]
Princess.
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That, however, would be a waste of good liquor.
Crowley, if anything, has a good sense of humor regarding himself, though, and he lets the jib slide before continuing.]
Want to hear something hilarious that you won't find funny in a week?
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She just smiles.]
What.
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When I first took control of Hell, after the turmoil and mayhem had cleared out and the demons were used to me, they thought they were being clever and called me Lucky the Leprechaun behind my back when they thought I couldn't hear them.
[The joke was on them, as Crowley doesn't really take offense to people laughing at him, because he knows how truly marvelous he is, but he looks back on it pretty fondly.]
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She leans into him and laughs and then straightens up, looking somewhat intent.]
That's it. Your memories taste like marshmallows- burnt on the outside.
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