09-07-2019, 02:51 AM
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*Crowley would probably say for worse. He never [i]actually killed the underperforming plants like he intended to, and found himself, unfortunately, gratified whenever they came back to recovery. Which was not very demonic of him.[/i]
Crowley finds himself with a great, put-on sigh. Crowley, for whatever reason, wasn't able to miracle his plants to him. Which meant he couldn't retrieve his old plants. So he'd just have to replace them. Now, under normal circumstances, one would find it difficult to find potted plants ... anywhere, honestly. People tended to prefer the herbalistic type of garden. Crowley understood that, but Crowley didn't give a damn about healing.** And, in any cases, normal circumstances happened to other people.
*Crowley did, in fact, give a damn. Crowley is a liar. And, as a matter of fact, is fairly well informed on medical practices.
Now, a small wagon is probably rather undignified of Crowley. It didn't even go over the mud very well. Crowley is nothing but determined, head low as he stalks through the town, desperately hoping not to be spotted. Plant-tending wasn't a hobby Crowley tended to show off. It was just -- who the hell would look at Crowley, edgelord-asshole that he most definitely was, and would be like, oh, he fusses over useless houseplants. That makes sense.
Expecting to remain unnoticed*, Crowley inclines his head towards the wagon of plants. Once upon a time, Crowley had heard that talking to plants helped them grow. As usual, Crowley had his own take on that.
*Reality happened to like Crowley enough to bend to his will. Reality, as it happens, did not function as usual here.
"I probably shouldn't have expected much, but you lot are a bit on the small side," The serval says sourly, wings rustling against his back. And it was true, Crowley hadn't expected a lot from the Plants From An Unknown Source. But they were kind of sad, and wilty. Crowley finds them somewhat pathetic, but they were the best he could get his paws on in a short notice. Short notice being half a day. "You better keep an eye on that. Under-performers aren't welcome here," There's a threat somewhere in that difficult to parse sentence. Crowley himself isn't quite sure what the threat is -- in his long career as a plant caretaker, he's never actually killed one since his early attempts. Unintentionally or otherwise.
[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;"]The thing about Running Away From Everything You've Ever Known on a whim is that it's a stupid move. By this point, Crowley is used to doing stupid, dramatic things, but still finds himself distressed when he realizes he'd left his fucking plants to die back at home. One would probably not presume Crowley to be the plant-tending type, but he was, and he screamed at them, and he was also very invested in their wellbeing, for better or worse.**Crowley would probably say for worse. He never [i]actually killed the underperforming plants like he intended to, and found himself, unfortunately, gratified whenever they came back to recovery. Which was not very demonic of him.[/i]
Crowley finds himself with a great, put-on sigh. Crowley, for whatever reason, wasn't able to miracle his plants to him. Which meant he couldn't retrieve his old plants. So he'd just have to replace them. Now, under normal circumstances, one would find it difficult to find potted plants ... anywhere, honestly. People tended to prefer the herbalistic type of garden. Crowley understood that, but Crowley didn't give a damn about healing.** And, in any cases, normal circumstances happened to other people.
*Crowley did, in fact, give a damn. Crowley is a liar. And, as a matter of fact, is fairly well informed on medical practices.
Now, a small wagon is probably rather undignified of Crowley. It didn't even go over the mud very well. Crowley is nothing but determined, head low as he stalks through the town, desperately hoping not to be spotted. Plant-tending wasn't a hobby Crowley tended to show off. It was just -- who the hell would look at Crowley, edgelord-asshole that he most definitely was, and would be like, oh, he fusses over useless houseplants. That makes sense.
Expecting to remain unnoticed*, Crowley inclines his head towards the wagon of plants. Once upon a time, Crowley had heard that talking to plants helped them grow. As usual, Crowley had his own take on that.
*Reality happened to like Crowley enough to bend to his will. Reality, as it happens, did not function as usual here.
"I probably shouldn't have expected much, but you lot are a bit on the small side," The serval says sourly, wings rustling against his back. And it was true, Crowley hadn't expected a lot from the Plants From An Unknown Source. But they were kind of sad, and wilty. Crowley finds them somewhat pathetic, but they were the best he could get his paws on in a short notice. Short notice being half a day. "You better keep an eye on that. Under-performers aren't welcome here," There's a threat somewhere in that difficult to parse sentence. Crowley himself isn't quite sure what the threat is -- in his long career as a plant caretaker, he's never actually killed one since his early attempts. Unintentionally or otherwise.
[align=center]![[Image: ezgif-7-f3e523f182d0.gif]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/463081660515221505/684393717838249984/ezgif-7-f3e523f182d0.gif)
