@evasus liked for a starter !
There it is again. Those prodding tendrils of warmth--that annoying, saturating sensation of grace that he had learned to associate with, over the years, pomp and presumption. Unmistakably angelic, markedly mischievous.
Yes, mischievous. Oh, Crow, you’re slacking.
It takes him a second, but Crowley begins to recognize the signature--sweet, sickly sweet, disgustingly so; sweet and whimsical and just cunning enough to respect. He knows this. Hell, he can practically taste the candy.
Who else would it be other than his favorite estranged brother, the bastard Gabriel himself?
Eyes keen and willing, Crowley spins on his heels and grins like a snake.
“Don’t you know that London is spoken for?”
His voice is low and sibilant, smooth enough to match his expensive exterior, and almost, on a good day, sly enough to convince any passersby that he was a very important man. This facade is surprisingly opaque to humans; he enjoys using it to his advantage. Not so much to supernatural stock, astute buggers they are.
And he certainly cannot have Gabriel gluing coins to HIS sidewalks. He’d be out of work, for Hell’s sake.
