> > I’m rather a homebody myself. And I’ve got my business to attend to.
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Anonymous: “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” Crowley cooed, a hand sneaking forward to poke at the angel’s belly. “What’s it taste like? You must know, having had your share of it, right?” That grin positively wicked, by now, provocative and teasing. “If you know how to make it, you must’ve tried it, after all. ‘Real’ angel food cake, that is.” He added, lullingly mild. [a!Crowley]
“If you think that was an example of great wit, then I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” He stepped away and crossed his arms, letting them hang low over the spot Crowley had prodded. “Perhaps I shan’t be able to do it after all.”
Anonymous: “Yeah? Lessssee.” Crowley’s head poked out from behind a shelf, already grinning. He stalked over to the angel, snaking over to him and tipping his chin into the angel’s face, serpentine tongue flicking, testing the air, eyes narrowing playfully towards the angel from behind his sunglasses. “Doesn’t seem like it’d burn, but are you sure it’s real angel food cake you’ve got? Don’t lie to me, now, Aziraphale.” [a!Crowley]
“I never said I had any,” the angel protested, although he was laughing slightly. “Do you want some? I can make it. By miracle, if necessary.”
Anonymous: “Got any angel food cake? I’m in the mood or something that’ll burn my tongue.” Crowley answered in a light tone, but as Aziraphale heard it it was slightly muffled, since the demon in question was already rooting carelessly through the shelves for this so-sought book. [a!Crowley]
“Oh, don’t be absurd, dear.” The angel crossed his arms, turning away from the pot already on the range. “If you want a burning tongue, make yourself some Tabasco sauce. It’s only a name, you know that.”
Anonymous: Still gotta find that book, y’know. :: Crowley says loftily, opening the door and heading into the room beyond. :: Can’t hurt to have a bit of a snack while we look, yeah? [a!Crowley]
Well— a good snack never hurt anyone, I say. Not, I suppose, that it’s strictly true. What would you like?
Anonymous: Wouldn’t dream of it. :: Crowley croons, victorious, sliding off to the side where the countertop lifts up, so he can get to the door to the backroom. He puts a hand on the knob and looks over his shoulder, lofting an expectant brow. :: Well, aren’t you coming? Gotta make your guest some tea, right? Wouldn’t be proper if you didn’t, yeah? [a!Crowley]
I thought it was books you were after, not luncheon. *smiles* Why didn’t you just say so, dear?
Anonymous: Don’t think I’ll find it in the stacks, angel. :: Crowley dismisses off-handedly, but he doesn’t let his gaze shift from Aziraphale, at all – it’s intent, almost. :: Why don’t you let me take a look in the back, eh? Maybe you’re just too used to these shelves. ‘s it starting to all blur together, yeah? :: He teases, grin returning, devilish and obnoxiously charming. :: [a!Crowley]
Well… all right, since it’s you. But don’t misplace anything!
Anonymous: :: He smiles lazily, leaning forward on the counter again, this time with arms crossed, elbows holding his weight. :: ‘t's got something about trainers at the end, I think. :: Crowley adds innocently enough. :: Despite the fact they’re not stylish. Prolly got a tartan cover, to think of it. :: Raises a single brow a notch higher, this time, waiting. :: [a!Crowley]
Tartan… trainers… it does vaguely ring a bell. I’ll look, shall I? Feel free to look around in the stacks and see if you can find it yourself. *smiles*
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