12-11-2019, 05:37 AM
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//mobileeee
Crowley probably wouldn't have admitted to remembering even a sliver of Aurum's previous almost-confession even under threat of harm. He genuinely didn't remember a lot -- a word here, a sentence there, but he remembers the .. feelings about it. And ignoring them. And the whole thing.
Needless to say, Crowley didn't want to deal with it.
He was content with what he had, probably. Crowley's experience with romance was limited to what he'd felt for Aziraphale exclusively, and as such he was rather used to m. ignoring it and pining from a distance. But he wasn't pining, and he didn't feel anything, and it was fine.
In full truth, though, well -- Crowley wasn't completely sure what he felt for Aurum. It was a little beyond friendship, but, well -- you couldn't put a label on relationships between immortal beings ot celestial intent or whatever, right? Not that Crowley was particularly celestial anymore but saying it has a particular ring.
Listen. Needless to say, Crowley is not ready for a confession, has not prepared for what to do if Aurum properly expands on what he said when he was hurt, and quite frankly has not even confronted his own feelings, and does not plan to. Which is unfortunate, but not the end of the world, exactly. Crowley's good at improvising, except when he's not, but, well -- people are a bit different, aren't they?
At the moment, reluctant and feeling open, Crowley is serval-shaped. Gardening isn't easy as a snake, lack of limbs. He's repotting a plant when he hears the shouting, just outside. Naturally, Crowley is torn between panic and apathy and .. Something vaguely positive. A lot positive but fuzzy around the edges, he means. Though, well, Aurum sounds .. off. The serval's ear twitches and he sits there for a long second, before -- unceremoniously and without any of the gentleness he usually employs with his plants, he shoves the plant in the pot. Dirt splils over his chest and paws, but he hardly worries about it.
"Aurum?" Wad he drunk or something? Crowley, though he imagines it looks somewhat ridiculous, finds this ... off, and so sticks out a forked tongue to confirm. .. .. Yeah. Weird. "Hell've you been drinking?" He says, promptly deciding to take whatever he goes on about with a grain of salt. Crowley says some weird shit when he's drunk, things he doesn't mean or want to say. Very promptly, albeit with a few false starts, having apparently struggled to convince himself to move, he circles the lion. A long-time quirk born of worry, careful in his surveying before he deems things safe. Which is to say, Aurum isn't going to completely topple in the next few moments, and he wasn't .. hurt ot anything. Once content, Crowley resumes standing in front of Aurum. Or -- sitting. Standing was .. uncomfortable. Whatever Aurum's going to say, though, it can't be that important, he's sure, but it's probably important to Aurum's drunken mind if he came yelling all this way.
Crowley probably wouldn't have admitted to remembering even a sliver of Aurum's previous almost-confession even under threat of harm. He genuinely didn't remember a lot -- a word here, a sentence there, but he remembers the .. feelings about it. And ignoring them. And the whole thing.
Needless to say, Crowley didn't want to deal with it.
He was content with what he had, probably. Crowley's experience with romance was limited to what he'd felt for Aziraphale exclusively, and as such he was rather used to m. ignoring it and pining from a distance. But he wasn't pining, and he didn't feel anything, and it was fine.
In full truth, though, well -- Crowley wasn't completely sure what he felt for Aurum. It was a little beyond friendship, but, well -- you couldn't put a label on relationships between immortal beings ot celestial intent or whatever, right? Not that Crowley was particularly celestial anymore but saying it has a particular ring.
Listen. Needless to say, Crowley is not ready for a confession, has not prepared for what to do if Aurum properly expands on what he said when he was hurt, and quite frankly has not even confronted his own feelings, and does not plan to. Which is unfortunate, but not the end of the world, exactly. Crowley's good at improvising, except when he's not, but, well -- people are a bit different, aren't they?
At the moment, reluctant and feeling open, Crowley is serval-shaped. Gardening isn't easy as a snake, lack of limbs. He's repotting a plant when he hears the shouting, just outside. Naturally, Crowley is torn between panic and apathy and .. Something vaguely positive. A lot positive but fuzzy around the edges, he means. Though, well, Aurum sounds .. off. The serval's ear twitches and he sits there for a long second, before -- unceremoniously and without any of the gentleness he usually employs with his plants, he shoves the plant in the pot. Dirt splils over his chest and paws, but he hardly worries about it.
"Aurum?" Wad he drunk or something? Crowley, though he imagines it looks somewhat ridiculous, finds this ... off, and so sticks out a forked tongue to confirm. .. .. Yeah. Weird. "Hell've you been drinking?" He says, promptly deciding to take whatever he goes on about with a grain of salt. Crowley says some weird shit when he's drunk, things he doesn't mean or want to say. Very promptly, albeit with a few false starts, having apparently struggled to convince himself to move, he circles the lion. A long-time quirk born of worry, careful in his surveying before he deems things safe. Which is to say, Aurum isn't going to completely topple in the next few moments, and he wasn't .. hurt ot anything. Once content, Crowley resumes standing in front of Aurum. Or -- sitting. Standing was .. uncomfortable. Whatever Aurum's going to say, though, it can't be that important, he's sure, but it's probably important to Aurum's drunken mind if he came yelling all this way.
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