paradisalogs | Here I stand head in hand

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Here I stand head in hand

Who: Crowley and Faye
What: Definitely not going to make sure he's okay
When: Feb 14th
Where: Crowley's room
Rating: PG-13?

She doesn't head over there right away. She first watches the journal, gives him a chance to go wandering on his own. She keeps an eye out in the halls, periodically wanders past his usual haunts. Then, when there's no sign of him, she lets a few more hours go by--judging how long it would have taken for him to have done nothing about the holiday and her to have gotten annoyed about it. After that, a couple more hours for her to have theoretically stewed and gotten really mad. She knows the timeline well, after all. Can't show up too early. It's sometime in the evening--after she's definitely sure that no special dinner is showing up--that she finally heads to his room. The sun is going down, the halls are getting quiet, the castle is wrapping up its little bit of fun. ...Yeah, that should be enough time.

So, she wanders down to his room and takes one more moment to hesitate. Taking that final bit of time to make sure she that has her best annoyed face on when she finally raises her fist to bang on the door.

Heads up, Crowley. You have a seemingly-pissed-off Something for Valentines Day.

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Crowley had been busying himself with heavy alcoholism and brooding. The angel was gone, again. That intrinsic part of his own being torn away leaving him feeling...not quite whole again.

Fucking angel. He shouldn't make a demon feel like that. It wasn't right.

He glanced up at the ponding of the door. Ah. It had been a few days, hadn't it? People were let out of their rooms by now. His dearest was probably about ready for a blow up of epic proportions. The ones they both know are hiding layers of actual concern, that each knows they will never point out.

He almost wishes Aziraphale hadn't eaten the cake and the chocolates. Those would have made brilliant peace-making gifts. He rolls himself into a half-lying position, belly down on the couch to tilt his head at the door.

"It's open, you moody cow."

Edited 2012-02-25 20:46 (UTC)

Oh, Crowley. Always with the romantic words. Such a charmer.

The door gets a rough shove open, just to make her opinion of that little pet name perfectly clear. She doesn't have to fake that part.

It only takes her a moment to assesses the... damage. Luckily, it's easy to cover up with a disapproving scowl as she takes a good glance around the room. Judging the amount of alcohol consumed, looking to see what sort of despondent state his animals are in. It's funny the amount of information she's learned to glean from these kinds of things.

Finally, her scrutiny settles on Crowley himself. ...And, she can't really remember the last time she'd seen him so... crumpled. Slouching, yes. Surly, slumped, ranting, glowering... but not just flopped over pathetically like that.

It must be bad. She can't quite get herself to just outright yell at him, so she settles for propping her hands on her hips and snapping a very pointed, "Well??"

Oh ow. He forgot how loud noises could be. He winces, rubbing his temple a little. Someone, why was she so loud? Did someone break her internal volume button? Probably.

Not yet up to gaining a bit of dignity, he settles for squinting at her, his shades still askew on his face.

"Well what?"

She forgot how volume works when she forgot everything else about herself, probably. Can you really blame her for that?

Stalking a few more steps into the room, she just... halfheartedly glares down at him. Normally, he's really good at it... but every once in a while, Crowley makes it surprisingly difficult to be mad at.

"It's Valentine's day, if you haven't noticed."

Crowley blinks, before moving to look at his watch, as if that would be any indication of what the date was. Then, of course, he remembers that Faye pawned off his watch a long time ago. He sighs, defeated, moving to a sitting position, straightening his shades.

"Is it?" he asks distantly, before turning to give her a light smirk, not as full of mischief as usual, it was almost forced. "Come to give me my present?"

At least he's trying to be obnoxious. The fact that he's at least making the attempt is a little reassuring.

It's enough for her to roll her eyes at him.

"That is not how it works."

"Yes it is," he nods, as if proving some vast point that the entire universe hangs on. "It's supposed to be an even trade."

He gets up and rummages around, before finding the half eaten, crumpled box of chocolates under the bed, sliding it across the floor to her because he didn't particularly want to get within arms reach while giving her this gift.

"I got you chocolates but the angel ate them. Except for the Turkish Delights. He hates those."

And, oh, the disdain that fills her face as she looks down at that sad little present.

"You've got to be kidding me."

...Still, she stoops to pick them up. Halfheartedly picking through the wrappers and leftovers. She's not even entirely sure what a Turkish Delight actually is.

"And since when was it ever supposed to be an even trade? It's called Valentine's Day."

The demon gives her a full, long look. And honestly, at least he GOT her a present. Sure, it got picked apart by a pudgy angel, but the thought had been there. Sort of. He'd gone out to buy them and everything.

"...It's not a day of worship to you, you know," he said. "It's not 'Faye Valentine's day. It's named after a Saint."

"No, it's 'pamper your girl and show her how much you like her' day."

She gestures with the box of chocolates, then.

"Unless you're trying to tell me something with this."

Originally, she hadn't planned on picking on it so much. But, it's kind of hard to stop herself once she gets going. It's a long-standing habit, after all.

Oh. Oh that would be bad. Very bad. He struggled to get some even ground again.

"Look, it's not my fault Aziraphale ate them. I got you a cake too and he ate that. I was planning to get you some jewellery, but then I got locked in a room for three days."

And then he drank himself into a coma when Aziraphale went home. Badly planned show there, Crowley.

"I'm pretty certain it's still an even thing," he adds, somewhat petulantly.

Oh, he's lucky she caught wind of the cake debacle before, otherwise she'd accuse him of making it up. ...He's also lucky that it was supposedly the angel who did the devouring. She'd be a lot less sympathetic if he'd said that it had been one of his dumb animals. The fact that it was Aziraphale reminds her that maybe she can save most of the haranguing for later.

"Whatever. Neither of us gets anything. It is even."

With an aggravated little sigh, she just wanders past him to flop down on the couch.

He watches her, trying to force down the frustrated growl. Just comes in here, demanding things then just huffs and flops down on his couch. Damn woman who does she think she is?

Instead, he settles for going back to the couch, flopping beside her.

"Funny how the world works, isn't it?"

He paused, considering not even bringing That Subject up, in case she decided to ask for even more gifts. For freaking out and running off. Either were possible, really. Still, better have it out in the open.

"Been a year, now."

"Has it?"

Looks like she's opting for pretending that she didn't notice and hardly cares. Which, in the scheme of possibilities, is actually pretty good. No freaking out, no automatic demands (those can come later).

"You'd think I'd get a good Valentine's Day by now."

More picking on it, but that's all. Could be much worse.

"Hmmm, I checked."

That's a good sign. He likes that sign. It means he's not due a headache on top of the hangover that's threatening to make it's existence known to him in a short while.

"Seems you're forever doomed to be unlucky in that. Poor Faye."

Glancing sidelong at him. "Guess that makes two of us."

If she has a bad Valentines, so does he. That's just the way it works.

He sits back, giving a thoughtful hum.

"Guess we'll just have to do something now to make up for it."

She sighs a little while she looks for a cigarette.

"I can't decide whether I actually want to hear your ideas on how to do that or not."

"That sort of suggests I even have ideas," he says, rolling his eyes a little. "In case you haven't noticed, higher thinking hasn't been my strong point for the last few days."

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Here I stand head in hand

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