09-04-2019, 07:49 PM
[div style="width: 350px; height: auto; font-family: arial; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 12px; text-align: justify;"]//(chanting) im a basic bastard and i have NO SHAME
mobile!! (hence the super temp profile work lol)
Crowley couldn't precisely explain why he was here. Not officially, anyways. Downstairs hadn't told given him any orders to -- not that he'd be this involved if they had. And though it'd be impossibly easy to start enough drama to get some sort of commendation, he couldn't say he found the idea that appealing. He was hardly a proper demon in this way. He'd be found frequently causing minor chaos, and stopping far short of whatever the hell his demonic coworkers were doing. It helped that he got a lot of leeway from the wars and such he had supposedly caused. Not that he had a single paw involved in any of them -- it was hardly undemonic to lie, at least?
This is not the point. The point is, Crowley scared Aziraphale off again, and he's not sure how much back and forth he can take before he loses his mind. There's only so many times you can be spun on a merry-go-round of Aziraphale's alternating affection and .. resentment? No, not that, but something.
Aziraphale likes him, Crowley is sure of that much. He's happy to give Aziraphale his space, too -- it was hard for an angel to be friends with a demon, what with all that propaganda, he's sure.
So maybe it's just ... look. These places are sort of like ... no-go zones. He's heard of Heaven and Hell sending agents a couple of times, before ultimately just .. dropping it like some sort of goddamn hot potato. It was fascinating. Mysteries were like catnip to this particular demon, and, anyways, Aziraphale wouldn't think to find him here, which is sort of a double-edged blade, but it means he'll get a wonderful sulk while it lasts.
It's just a question of whether it's worth it. The mud here is particularly resistant -- unlike his plants, they stubbornly refuse to listen to what he tells it, and remains stubbornly stuck to his paws.
He just had to choose the filthiest place, didn't he? Now, Crowley has never been accused of being consistent or whatever the better word is, but even so he feels disinclined to back out. He's fucking done with pirates, and blood-ridden edgelords, or whatever. So the swamp hermits it was.
*Crowley had been a pirate for a good while, ages back. It didn't live up to the hype.
"Does anybody actually live here?" Crowley shouts sourly, fully expecting somebody to be listening. His tail, resembling its domestic counterpart's more than a serval's, twitches behind him. He wishes he could sleep for a fucking century again, but Aziraphale had made him promise. "Don't answer that. I'm looking to join." He lowers his voice to sit back on his haunches.
He hopes it'll be worth it and whatever it was Heaven and Hell were avoiding didn't come to bite him in the ass.*
*It would.
mobile!! (hence the super temp profile work lol)
Crowley couldn't precisely explain why he was here. Not officially, anyways. Downstairs hadn't told given him any orders to -- not that he'd be this involved if they had. And though it'd be impossibly easy to start enough drama to get some sort of commendation, he couldn't say he found the idea that appealing. He was hardly a proper demon in this way. He'd be found frequently causing minor chaos, and stopping far short of whatever the hell his demonic coworkers were doing. It helped that he got a lot of leeway from the wars and such he had supposedly caused. Not that he had a single paw involved in any of them -- it was hardly undemonic to lie, at least?
This is not the point. The point is, Crowley scared Aziraphale off again, and he's not sure how much back and forth he can take before he loses his mind. There's only so many times you can be spun on a merry-go-round of Aziraphale's alternating affection and .. resentment? No, not that, but something.
Aziraphale likes him, Crowley is sure of that much. He's happy to give Aziraphale his space, too -- it was hard for an angel to be friends with a demon, what with all that propaganda, he's sure.
So maybe it's just ... look. These places are sort of like ... no-go zones. He's heard of Heaven and Hell sending agents a couple of times, before ultimately just .. dropping it like some sort of goddamn hot potato. It was fascinating. Mysteries were like catnip to this particular demon, and, anyways, Aziraphale wouldn't think to find him here, which is sort of a double-edged blade, but it means he'll get a wonderful sulk while it lasts.
It's just a question of whether it's worth it. The mud here is particularly resistant -- unlike his plants, they stubbornly refuse to listen to what he tells it, and remains stubbornly stuck to his paws.
He just had to choose the filthiest place, didn't he? Now, Crowley has never been accused of being consistent or whatever the better word is, but even so he feels disinclined to back out. He's fucking done with pirates, and blood-ridden edgelords, or whatever. So the swamp hermits it was.
*Crowley had been a pirate for a good while, ages back. It didn't live up to the hype.
"Does anybody actually live here?" Crowley shouts sourly, fully expecting somebody to be listening. His tail, resembling its domestic counterpart's more than a serval's, twitches behind him. He wishes he could sleep for a fucking century again, but Aziraphale had made him promise. "Don't answer that. I'm looking to join." He lowers his voice to sit back on his haunches.
He hopes it'll be worth it and whatever it was Heaven and Hell were avoiding didn't come to bite him in the ass.*
*It would.
[align=center]![[Image: ezgif-7-f3e523f182d0.gif]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/463081660515221505/684393717838249984/ezgif-7-f3e523f182d0.gif)