11-29-2019, 06:30 AM
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It was probably strange for someone so completely uninterested in food to be able to cook, much less be good at it. Needless to say, though, if anyone knew anything about Aziraphale, they'd be able to fill in the blanks. The angel was a hedonist, and food was one of his favorites. And so, Crowley had taking up food preparation. It'd been a secret held close to his heart for a very long time -- what if it didn't match up to Aziraphale's standards, what if Aziraphale saw him? Crowley didn't like it. It felt vulnerable, and it felt dumb. In what scenario would he be cooking for him to spin up a lie about it being relevant to a temptation, anyways?
Aziraphale wasn't here though, and never would be, it was just Crowley, forever, now, but there'd just been Aurum, asking him to help. So .. Crowley had agreed. He didn't really get Thanksgiving even still, and he didn't care to, either. Everyone else was interested in it though, so he just sort of .. fucking hoped he wouldn't need to concentrate too hard for his terrible, light and pain addled brain.*
*Crowley had been doing real good at ignoring it, enough that he apparently wasn't getting scolded for being out so often, but that just meant Crowley was an restless idiot.
Thankfully, though, cooking was something Crowley knew by second nature by now. It wasn't something he did frequently, but, well -- he sure did have a lot of time to practice even so, didn't he? Being immortal and all. He hadn't even bothered with the pranks, despite what Aurum may believe. It felt a little too ... something. Too connected to Aziraphale to want to and, for that matter, Holidays were off limits. For people he cared about anyways -- Holidays had always been the best time to cause a bit of mischief when he was still employed by hell. Anyways, just because Crowley wasn't actively causing mischief didn't mean he wasn't going to act shifty as hell at all times, though.
Not the point.
"It's, uh, not a problem," Previously, Crowley may have gotten upset at being called nice -- he'd had something against four letter words, hadn't he? He was softer now, though, maybe to his own distress. Demons weren't made to be soft, but now Crowley had gotten a knife in his eye because he didn't want to leave a goddamn swamp, so there wasn't really a point in ... being what he was made to be. Not bothering to respond to Aurum's bit about the mischief beyond a smirk**, the serval's ear twitches as Aurum pulls away,
**Crowley didn't think there could be too much mischief, anyways. Just badly timed or badly planned mischief.
Feeling oddly light on his paws***, Crowley listens as Aurum announces the dinner. People better fucking show up quick, or Crowley will drag them out of their homes himself -- it was a bit of a roulette, wasn't it? People showed up, or they didn't, and it was hard to tell. Hm. He'd never been at this side of the event process. Yikes.
Still not the point. Crowley gets sidetracked a lot. He stands there for a long few moments, before his brain catches up with him. The serval, predictable and just as Aurum hoped, is quick to settle next to the lion. He's not really sure if he'll actually eat much, but considering the day, and how much work they'd put in, he was probably sort of obligated to. Would he have to give thanks, too? His tail twitches. There were a lot of thinks Crowley was thankful for, certainly, but he wasn't about to dig any of it up anytime soon. That was a fucking rabbithole of things Crowley doesn't want to think about and emotions Crowley doesn't want to feel. Funny how Crowley was so deadset on ignoring literally everything he felt in his life.
**it could just be the heavenly light trying to eat away his fucking brain or something, or just the fact he weighed fucking nothing anyways.
Aziraphale wasn't here though, and never would be, it was just Crowley, forever, now, but there'd just been Aurum, asking him to help. So .. Crowley had agreed. He didn't really get Thanksgiving even still, and he didn't care to, either. Everyone else was interested in it though, so he just sort of .. fucking hoped he wouldn't need to concentrate too hard for his terrible, light and pain addled brain.*
*Crowley had been doing real good at ignoring it, enough that he apparently wasn't getting scolded for being out so often, but that just meant Crowley was an restless idiot.
Thankfully, though, cooking was something Crowley knew by second nature by now. It wasn't something he did frequently, but, well -- he sure did have a lot of time to practice even so, didn't he? Being immortal and all. He hadn't even bothered with the pranks, despite what Aurum may believe. It felt a little too ... something. Too connected to Aziraphale to want to and, for that matter, Holidays were off limits. For people he cared about anyways -- Holidays had always been the best time to cause a bit of mischief when he was still employed by hell. Anyways, just because Crowley wasn't actively causing mischief didn't mean he wasn't going to act shifty as hell at all times, though.
Not the point.
"It's, uh, not a problem," Previously, Crowley may have gotten upset at being called nice -- he'd had something against four letter words, hadn't he? He was softer now, though, maybe to his own distress. Demons weren't made to be soft, but now Crowley had gotten a knife in his eye because he didn't want to leave a goddamn swamp, so there wasn't really a point in ... being what he was made to be. Not bothering to respond to Aurum's bit about the mischief beyond a smirk**, the serval's ear twitches as Aurum pulls away,
**Crowley didn't think there could be too much mischief, anyways. Just badly timed or badly planned mischief.
Feeling oddly light on his paws***, Crowley listens as Aurum announces the dinner. People better fucking show up quick, or Crowley will drag them out of their homes himself -- it was a bit of a roulette, wasn't it? People showed up, or they didn't, and it was hard to tell. Hm. He'd never been at this side of the event process. Yikes.
Still not the point. Crowley gets sidetracked a lot. He stands there for a long few moments, before his brain catches up with him. The serval, predictable and just as Aurum hoped, is quick to settle next to the lion. He's not really sure if he'll actually eat much, but considering the day, and how much work they'd put in, he was probably sort of obligated to. Would he have to give thanks, too? His tail twitches. There were a lot of thinks Crowley was thankful for, certainly, but he wasn't about to dig any of it up anytime soon. That was a fucking rabbithole of things Crowley doesn't want to think about and emotions Crowley doesn't want to feel. Funny how Crowley was so deadset on ignoring literally everything he felt in his life.
**it could just be the heavenly light trying to eat away his fucking brain or something, or just the fact he weighed fucking nothing anyways.
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[align=center]![[Image: ezgif-7-f3e523f182d0.gif]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/463081660515221505/684393717838249984/ezgif-7-f3e523f182d0.gif)