Crowley wandered around, wondering where in That Being's Name he was. He hadn't passed out (at least, he didn't think so), but one minute he was tempting several geese to cross Charing Cross Road very very slowly (what lovely frustration that would precipitate) and the next he was here. Wherever here was. ...He also had a feeling that his thoughts were going in circles.
He absently pushed at the bridge of his nose, where his sunglasses used to sit. He sighed and made the effort to make his eyes less yellow. Really, the mirror he had found couldn't compare to his glasses. Strange mirror, though. Before that thought could proceed further, Crowley caught sight of someone sitting on a bridge.
More specifically, a divine someone.
Crowley didn't pick up his pace, but he did reach the figure more quickly than one would figure possible for his slow saunter.
The little mirror tied to the piece of paper in his pocket did not compare to the reflective capabilities of the river. It was placid and calm under the bridge, reflecting Rosiel perfectly in it's depths. With the bridge and the trees around, it seemed almost... picturesque.
Like those paintings humans made of angels, he thought vaguely, a smile spreading unbidden across his features, displeasure temporarily forgotten.
And then he noticed someone approaching him on the bridge.
This person appeared to be human, so Rosiel did not consider that any threat might be in evidence. He spread his wings just a little more than they had been, allowing him to look over his shoulder and see this person.
High cheekbones, dark hair, expensive taste in clothing... all in all, he seemed fairly attractive, and possibly useful, but then Rosiel noticed his eyes, and how they were slowly becoming less yellow.
Crowley was not disappointed. You can't be disappointed if you aren't hoping for something to happen. Still, he couldn't entirely dismiss the small twinge he felt when he realized that the person sitting on the bridge was not Aziraphale. Crowley grinned and pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his leather jacket pocket.
The sunglasses were horribly confused; one minute it was nothing, the next it came into being. It had so many questions! Where did it come from? Why had it come into being? ...Then it realized that it was just plastic and glass, and settled comfortably on Crowley's face.
"Name's Crowley," Crowley said, not offering his hand.
Rosiel turned, drawing his legs up on the railing, arms around his knees. As an afterthought, he started listening to what his senses had been telling him ever since he'd set eyes on the person, and was standing on the rail before he realized it. His wings had yet to disappear.
"Demon," he whispered softly, unbalanced anger lacing his voice but not quite dominating it.
This place didn't have an aura, just a sense of being loved. However he had gotten here, it was clearly not the fault of this impeccably dressed creature before him.
His wings vanished then, and he stood hand on his hip, brushing stray hair away from his eyes, far too pretty to be human. Or even male, really.
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He absently pushed at the bridge of his nose, where his sunglasses used to sit. He sighed and made the effort to make his eyes less yellow. Really, the mirror he had found couldn't compare to his glasses. Strange mirror, though. Before that thought could proceed further, Crowley caught sight of someone sitting on a bridge.
More specifically, a divine someone.
Crowley didn't pick up his pace, but he did reach the figure more quickly than one would figure possible for his slow saunter.
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Like those paintings humans made of angels, he thought vaguely, a smile spreading unbidden across his features, displeasure temporarily forgotten.
And then he noticed someone approaching him on the bridge.
This person appeared to be human, so Rosiel did not consider that any threat might be in evidence. He spread his wings just a little more than they had been, allowing him to look over his shoulder and see this person.
High cheekbones, dark hair, expensive taste in clothing... all in all, he seemed fairly attractive, and possibly useful, but then Rosiel noticed his eyes, and how they were slowly becoming less yellow.
He blinked.
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The sunglasses were horribly confused; one minute it was nothing, the next it came into being. It had so many questions! Where did it come from? Why had it come into being? ...Then it realized that it was just plastic and glass, and settled comfortably on Crowley's face.
"Name's Crowley," Crowley said, not offering his hand.
Reply
"Demon," he whispered softly, unbalanced anger lacing his voice but not quite dominating it.
This place didn't have an aura, just a sense of being loved. However he had gotten here, it was clearly not the fault of this impeccably dressed creature before him.
His wings vanished then, and he stood hand on his hip, brushing stray hair away from his eyes, far too pretty to be human. Or even male, really.
"Rosiel."
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