AIN'T WHAT YOU COULD BE — intro/training

[arcy]

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Crowley had been around for .. well, a long time. Like, a long time. He'd seen a lot of wars in his time, was "involved" in some. As such, in this context, it might be kind of .. strange, that Crowley doesn't know how to fight. Even when he was in a more common form. .. Listen, to be entirely honest, he'd just faked it. Miracles were his thing back then, and it's not like Hell wouldn't appreciate some sloth in the name of evil or whatever. He didn't have miracles now, though, so he kept on getting fucking trashed cause he was small and lanky and most certainly not a fighter. Slinky and graceless.
Still, the serval can't help but groan at the shouting he hears. He knows that sorta thing. He doesn't wanna do it -- the shouting alone causes his fucking headache to hike. He was sneaky. He was real sneaky. He could get out of it, right? .. He was also hurt, but he doubts three minor* injuries will stop this fucking dude, and he'll fucking know, if he's sticking around. So, first taking the chance to bury his head beneath his wings for a good few, healing seconds, he finally gets up, stumbling just slightly. Fuck. Shit. This sucks.
*surface level. More to it then that.
To be entirely honest, seeing the cheetah gave him a flash of .. anxiety. It's not him, it's not the other one, but for a second, he almost thinks it is.
He's pretty sure that demon wouldn't be here yelling about fucking training, though, so, after reassuring himself by glancing between Aurum and Snarl, he settles. Right. Right. If nothing else, both Snarl and Aurum are here. Neither of which he can spar with. Because he's fucking small. He's so small -- it's weird. Bigger than a cat, smaller than literally everyone else. He'd been considered pretty tall when he'd been human-shaped, but that was cause there was less fuckin shape diversity.
Right. Right right right.
"Crowley," The serval allows, sounding put out. He seats himself beside Aurum and makes himself small, shutting his eye, his fuckin -- his one goddamn eye, what the hell. This is gonna suck. If Crowley hasn't picked up fighting in six thousand years, he sure as hell won't now, probably. He's only ever been good as a ... as a distraction, in actual, live combat. Yknow. Barreling into people and climbing over their faces like a goddamn madman. True stories, that was all he'd done.

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