People We Pretend To Be | Crowley

[arcy]

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[glow=#000,1,400]all you've ever done is been a noose to hang on to — ｡+ﾟ.[/glow]

[div style="width: 480px; height: auto; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 13px;"]Saying that she wanted to talk implied that she had an idea of what she wanted to talk about, only to turn around and say that they'll basically make it up as they go. Crowley, for one, is incredibly thankful for his sunglasses -- it allows him to continue to eye her suspiciously, all while still maintaining a friendly appearance.
To be entirely honest, Crowley has no fucking idea what she'd want with him, if she did have ulterior motives. Crowley never claimed to understand humans, and free-thinking animals even less. Everyone wanted something though. It was just a matter of how innocent it was.
"Do i look like the exercising type?" Crowley scoffs, but his voice is light*. All awkward, lanky limbs, he was. That was one thing that never changed -- and, anyways, if he had to do anything to maintain this mortal flesh of his, he'd have been dead millennium ago**. Regardless of his words, Crowley is prompt to trot after her. I mean, she's right, Crowley doesn't have a lot to lose.
*this is almost genuine. almost.
**crowley has, in fact, actually died/discorporated many, many, times.
"Came to me without a plan, then?" He keeps up the lighthearted tone. Why the fuck did she call him friend? Quite frankly, Crowley has never been referred to as friend in his goddamn life. Or -- well, for a few centuries, at least. And now it's by this weird hyena. "Fair enough, I 'spose," He shrugs. Would be pretty weird if you planned out your interactions, after all. I mean, nothing saying that she hadn't, and was just lying, but it was still pretty solid in theory.