Crowley didn't know why he kept coming back to the bookshop. [AO3]
Muriel listened to his advice, no books were being sold. Her oddly polite "Kindly sod off!! Thank you!!" delivered with a hearty smile made Crowley's mouth twitch every time. He started sorting the books Jim had moved around, back the way they used to be, according to the order Az- he had last put them. Crowley replenished the fire extinguisher supply. He scoffed at the yellow duster and just miracled any dust he saw into the close proximity of customers who he could sense being nasty to the staff in the surrounding shops. Enjoy coughing for the rest of the day, jackass.
Crowley avoided the messy writing desk. He avoided plenty of things. Couples. Certain genre movies and music. Bentley, on days when hissing it to shut up shut the fuck up with the certain genre songs didn't work. He had plenty of thoughts he avoided like a professional.
But then he saw Muriel actively defiling the desk.
She had moved the once dispersed yellowing pieces of paper into one pile and gathered old tea cups to be taken to the kitchenette. There was a large leather bound notebook in her hands that she was maybe moving to a shelf.
"Leave. It," Crowley snarled, regretting his too harsh of a tone the moment the words spat out of his lips, but Muriel just seemed surprised. She'd gotten too used to his presence, he thought absently.
"Oh, is the mess intended? Is that another human thing?
"It's his mess. He doesn't- didn't-" Crowley tried not to groan in frustration. "Humans, people, don't like it when their personal stuff is touched."
Muriel's brows furrowed as she considered the revelation. "I guess that makes sense. I've never owned anything, angel's aren't supposed to crave possessions you see, but I do suppose if I did... I'd be upset too."
She let out a little nervous chuckle. "I'd rather like to give a permission first! I don't know what that would be like, I've never been asked." Her eyes widened and suddenly she looked like the book had burned her, and she quickly put it back down on the desk.
Crowley's irritation melted away. He couldn't stay mad at Muriel over anything. He'd forgotten how cruel Heaven was. Well, he hadn't, but spending such a long time with one angel had skewed his memory- Nope. He forced his mind to look for something else to think, anything else than that ecstatic smile when he’d obtained a rare book, or the pure, unfiltered delight when he ate or drank something delicious, or-
Crowley shook his head vigorously and started sauntering towards the door. He needed fresh air. Or a bottle of Aerstone, he wasn't sure which.
"It's okay, glad we cleared that up. Leave the desk be, uh, yeah. Bye."
In all earnestness he considered finally going on a trip of some kind. Somewhere warm and dry, Australia maybe. Maybe he'd just keep driving and see where he ends up. Few years of Wanderlust might do him some good.
He was back at the bookshop in three days.
Irked out of his mind, Crowley acknowledged Muriel's cordial greeting with a grunt and started meandering around the bookshelves, glaring at anything that could possibly be out of place. If he focused hard enough, he could make the old plant essence in the books shiver under his scrutiny.
With a sigh, he sprawled on the sofa like a deflating balloon. Muriel left him be, in some round about way she'd learned when he wasn't in a talking mood. Apparently she'd been taking 'Demon Crowley Behavior' notes and refused to show them to him. He didn't want to compel her, in fact he was appreciative of the silence. Trying to ground himself, Crowley took in a deep breath, taking in the slightly stale scent of ancient books, leather and glue and regretted the act immediately. Another thought to avoid.
He didn't feel like leaving, no matter how often the thoughts get up, get out, why am I here kept repeating in his head. Maybe reading could distract him for a while. He lurched upright and slunk around, browsing the ever so slightly trembling book spines.
A Change in the environment caught his attention and he glanced at the writing desk. Right, Muriel had touched it so it didn't look the same as before. Crowley hadn't seen the book she'd dropped on the table before, it must've been buried under other notebooks. There were multiple pages jutting out, and he saw some colorful markings on them. His curiosity won and he picked up the book, unwrapping the leather string and started to browse it.
His eyes widened until they almost bulged out.
Crowley slapped the book shut, snatched it and staggered towards the stairs. When Muriel inquired where he was going, Crowley tried to answer something akin to "just visiting the bathroom", but what came out was mostly unintelligible garble. This apparently didn't bother Muriel.
"... Is there a bathroom? Do demons need to use the toilet? Or is your corporation different from mine? Mine didn't come with an active digestion tract, at least to my knowledge, I haven't consumed anything yet and..."
Muriel's prattling died out when Crowley crashed into Jim's (Gabriel's? Who cares) old room and slammed the door shut. The door had enough sense to lock itself. He sucked in a preparatory breath.
Crowley plopped the book on the bed, waved it to flourish open and spread his hands and fingers, moving them in an 'arise' gesture. All the loose sheets of paper spread around him in the air in a half sphere. Crowley forgot breathing existed. His heart worked overtime, seemingly pumping all the blood to his cheeks and neck.
Tens, no, more like hundreds of adept drawings. Of Crowley, and Crowley only. Various ages of paper, he could sense the trace of power that kept the older ones pristine. Ink, pencil, charcoal, watercolor. Vibrant red and yellow colors used to depict his hair and snake eyes in great detail. Worrisome amount of drawings of him sleeping in various locations. Drawings from multiple eras, of countless of his different looks and styles. Drawings of his wings. None had his glasses. He was drawn smiling in most of them (Crowley didn't know did he really have that bright of a smile or was it just drawn like that).
Aziraphale doesn't- didn't draw, Crowley thought, numbly. He kept grabbing one paper after another, staring at the details. Some of them had text next to the drawings, proving him wrong. It was Aziraphale's small, tidy handwriting.
I miss his curls.
I miss seeing his eyes glint in the sun. Like flawless, yellow garnets.
Why did men's stockings have to go out of fashion?
He looked stunning in a hanfu. Oh, who am I kidding, he’d look stunning in a jute sack.
Attractive messy bun. Perfection.
He looks so peaceful while sleeping. Some day I wish to see him as calm and content while awake.
Crowley grinned madly. Why was he shaking? A hysterical laughter was trying to tear its way out of his throat. Oh, this was rich. What a weirdo. When that bastard came back, Crowley would needle him about these till the end of time. Absolutely ridiculous. Incredible. Straight up beyond belief…
To his horror, his grin twisted into a grimace and his silent laughter warped into sobs. Before he knew it, he had dropped down on his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks. He managed to pay enough attention to not get any on the drawings.
Well, fuck. Fuck. The overpressurized bottle holding his thoughts and emotions burst open.
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SilverStone Strider Titanium, la nueva línea de fuentes high-end y certificación 80 Plus Titanium SilverStone ha presentado su nueva línea Strider Titanium, fuentes de alimentación de alto voltaje para PCs del segmento entusiasta y para los overclockers que buscan récords romper records.
