tampered | Log: Complete

Log: Complete

When: Friday night 9/26 and on past midnight into 9/27 No Inner Monologue Day
Rating: PG?
Characters: Crowley

itsjustafruit and Sam Oliver

idkmybffsatan
Summary: Just a demon and Satan's bounty hunter having a drink?
Log:

Crowley was finding the Coliseum to be a friendly haunt. The liquor was good without much help from him, and the people playing pool hadn't quite learned not to play with the man who never took his sunglasses off. The waitresses hadn't even quite caught on to the fact that he almost never paid, let alone tipped.

He already had a pitcher of beer at his favorite table and was picking a pool cue while he waited for Sam to join him. He wasn't sure just what it was, but he had a feeling the young man had a little more story than he let on. Call it thousands of years of experience.

Maybe he'd find out more this evening. Maybe he'd just get Sam to buy the beer. Either way, he'd enjoy himself; he almost always did.

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It wasn't hard to spot Crowley upon entering the Coliseum. He wasn't your every day guy- sort of like the type you couldn't help but eye-stalk in a store. Sam also had the suspicion that Crowley had his teen-years dipped in the Goth sub-culture. Maaaybe.

"Crowley!"

Also, Sam wasn't going to buy the beer tonight. Or at least, that was what he planned: stretch that pool muscle a bit and wipe Crowley off his ass. Well, in a friendly way.

Crowley looked up (one assumed, although it was ever so slightly questionable with those dark glasses) and caught sight of Sam, breaking into a bright smile.

"Sam!" He waved him over. "Pour yourself a beer, I'll get the table going."

The accent said that Crowley had been living in England for a while - a few hundred years, give or take, long enough for the accent to rub off. He would be amused to know what Sam suspected of his teen years, given the fact that the demon hadn't actually had them.

Maybe it was the all the fashion in England to wear dark glasses inside a building. Or maybe it was just a Crowley-thing

"All I have to say is prepare your self for a beating, Crowley, " he cracked a grin, as he made his way over to the table.

Oh, if Sam only knew he was playing pool with a Demon. ...Not that he should be surprised with his recent luck.

Oh sure, sound like Hastur, why don't you, Sam? When your eyes are yellow and snake-slitted, sunglasses were a good idea, thank you very much.

"I'm fully prepared," Crowley said without a trace of irony or indication that he was fully prepared to use his wiles on those balls to ensure that Sam bought all the beer.

"Do you play much?"

Maybe you should give color contacts a try, Crowley. Inside sunglass-wearing tends to translate into, "I'm trying too hard to be cool," for some people. Just a tip.

"I haven't had much time recently, but yeah, Sock and I usually play a few rounds when we go for a drink."

Not man enough to play without your super-cool demon powers? Come on, put down those wiles and test your skills against Sam.

Try explaining your pupillary issues to an optometrist without having him run for an exorcist, why don't you? Besides, Crowley's perfectly self-assured in his coolness; there is no try, only do or do not.

"Who would you rather have here?" Crowley asked, racking the balls and setting the rack aside to let Sam break. "Sock or your friend, Andi?"

Not man enough? Certainly not. But Crowley's no man and never has been.

Hey, at least there's no need to powergrind your horns off in the morning. Unless you do- then that's a pretty troublesome morning routine you've got there.

He leaned in to strike the ball, however pausing as Crowley threw out his question.

"Sock."

It wasn't a matter of whether he preferred one over the other. Heck, he missed Sock's usual antics, even the ones that had rewarded him with weekend shifts. It was a solid fact that the City was 10 times less fun without Sock around. And Andi, what was there to say? She was Andi, even if he'd recently made himself out to be a complete freak.

What it all came down to was that the City was dangerous as hell, and for that reason he wanted Andi back at home. If half of the people here have blood on their hands, quite literally, how could one doubt that?

Nah, Crowley's never been one for horns; scales and a forked tongue are a whole 'nother matter....

And here's the funny thing: Crowley got Sam's reasoning. Sure, he probably could have tried demonic wiles to divine what was in Sam's heart, but he really didn't need to. He wasn't lying when he said he made a study of human nature.

"So," he waited for Sam's break before finishing his sentence, "is that because you think that Sock can take care of himself better? Or because you just like him better? Because isn't that sexist if you think he can take care of himself better?"

"Because anyone can see this place is a gathering place for murderers!" he replied, stepping back from the table before continuing, "It's not because I like either of the any better, or I don't think Andi can't take care of herself. No! It's not that at all."

What was it then? He didn't want to see either of them or even himself stuck in this place; but if forced into a position to choose, it would be Sock. And that was only for the mere fact that Sock was used to this weird shit. His partner-in-crime when it came to soul-hunting.

"If I had a choice, honestly? Neither of them."

Kind of vehement there, hm?

Crowley circled the table, making a show of looking at the lie of the balls. Appearances matter and all that.

"But that wasn't the question. The question was would you rather have Sock here or Andi and you said Sock with the sort of finality that says it wasn't even really a question."

He casually sank a pair of solids and stood up again. "What would Andi say about that?"

And as an afterthought as he picked up his beer, "Looks like you're stripes."

You've chosen to pick at a sore spot. Unless that was the whole point of asking him.

"All right, fine! Fine! I don't want her hurt, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I don't want her to have to wake up and face monsters and curses and whatever the hell that's out there. It isn't normal."

Crowley's last words didn't earn a reaction, with Sam too fastened to the matter at hand. The truth of the matter, he realized, was that danger didn't just mean monsters and curses. Danger was written out in red letters, tied to the fact that this could all be related to the devil- who else could send him to City in an another dimension? More importantly, why would he send Andi here? The Devil always had his motivations, didn't he?

"Could we just get off this subject, please," he sighed, leaning against the side of te table as he calmed himself down.

"Sure," Crowley agreed equably, refilling his glass and holding out the pitcher to top off Sam's.

"But now you have to pick a different subject, since my attempt at conversation went over like a lead balloon." And because hey, putting someone who's on edge on the spot to be interesting doesn't usually help them feel any less on edge.

It doubtless wouldn't be much consolation to Sam that Crowley wasn't even trying to put the guy on edge; it was just habit.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have carried on like that," he replied, embarrassment marked by the speed in which he finished his glass, "Things are sort of...complicated between Andi and I, so yeah."

He'd go for something easy then, a simple question that wouldn't draw on anyone's tempers.

"So, what is it that you do in your world?"

"Right, as though I'm going to tell you that I've spent the past 6,000 years 'causing trouble.'" Crowley froze and blinked... probably. His face moved as though there might be a blink behind the glasses. "Did I just say that out loud?

"I just said that out loud, too. Oh shit. This is not good. This is a curse, right? Did you just hear that?"

"....."

And so stared. No noise, no motion. Just plain staring with his mouth set in a half-gape.

"Yeah, I just heard that. I definitely just heard that," he spoke, surprisingly no change of inflection in his voice, well unless you don't count that squeak at the end.

"...What are you? Some vampire or something? Demon?" Because it's just my luck to make friends with someone who's not human.

Good-bye beer, nice knowing you and down the hitch, thank you very much.

"Shit."

Escape? Nah. He's on vacation.

"Do I look like a vampire?" Crowley looked down at his clothes. Well... "Okay, maybe I look like a particularly fashionable vampire, but I'm not a vampire and I'm on vacation, okay?"

Sam imitates this move, pouring himself and chugging it down almost as fast as the time he downed all those shots. There might be a fight over the remaining alcohol here.

"What do you mean, shit? I'm the one here who's talking to- talking to a who-know-what! Some type of creature that's lived 6000 years," he choked, "And you can't be on vacation from what you are! Whatever you are- God Damnmit, why does this alway happen-"

Out of alcohol? Bite your tongue. Not when he's waving the waitress over before there's a chance of that travesty happening.

"You've been talking to me for weeks. I don't think you've developed boils or had all your hair fall out." Crowley pulled out a cigarette and lit it while he waited for the alcohol. "And if you have? Not my fault."

Let's let Crowley catch up to the rest of what Sam said for a moment here, hm? Wait for it. Wait for it. Ah, here we go.

"What do you mean 'always happen'?"

On a second thought, he may bolt before he has to the chance to down it.

"But, it's not-"

Why was he scared? He had near-daily conversations with the God damn Devil (excuse the Pun,) he took weekly trips to the DMV to return used vessels to probably the crabbiest Demon in existence. What was there be to freaked out about?

"It's not normal, all right? Just like it isn't normal that the lady who works at the DMV is a demon--"

It seems that Crowley wasn't the only one to be hit by the curse.

More for Crowley if Sam does run.

"What do you mean it isn't normal? I spent six bloody thousand years on Earth. I'd say that's more normal than your existence. I've got seniority."

He stopped for a moment to try to remember who he might know who would be working in an American DMV, but most demons just didn't have the patience for the sort of exquisite torment and ripple effects that a DMV created and spread.

"Wait, what's the DMV demon's name?"

"Why would you even know-"

Oh, boy. Here it comes. Sam's synapses are firing, and he puts two and two together. 6000 years, knowing the name of other demons.

"Holy shit. You're a demon, aren't you?"

He sets his glass on the nearby table, tipping it over in his hastiness. Exits, exits- where were the exists again.

Well, at this point, what's Crowley going to say?

Yeah, demon, I think we can guess that it's probably not going to be reassuring.

"I told you I was on vacation."

"How does going on vacation change anything? Just because you're off to Hawaii or the City or wherever doesn't change the fact that you're a demon, just like being here doesn't change the fact that I- I-"

He almost slipped it there, nearly- if it wasn't for the fact that he had slapped his palm over his mouth. He'd already given away enough, now it was time to get the hell out of here.

"...I'm just going to go," he murmured, voice muffled by his hand.

"Bye," Crowley said without any sign of regret. "And by the way, I was an angel, too. Not that it's really a much better gig than being a demon. Ask Aziraphale.... Er... Bye."

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Log: Complete

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What's that? Is that midnight? I think it is.

oh shi-

It's a demon! Get in the car!

Re: It's a demon! Get in the car!

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