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[demonicmiracle]

Hey, it's Anthony Crowley. You know what to do, do it with style.

Comments

[demonicmiracle]

Then absolutely not. My husband would kill us both.

I'll say yes to watching you beanbag someone else, though, sure. Now?

[undiagnosed]

Pussy
When else?

[demonicmiracle]

Can you wait half an hour? I do have a life outside of you.

[undiagnosed]

Bullshit, no one does

[undiagnosed]

Also, unrelated, yes

> action

[demonicmiracle]

I'll bring wine.

[It ends up being about forty minutes before he turns up to Archer's, apparently having taken a cab (that way he can all Aziraphale to come pick him up if he gets too drunk) and with a mid range bottle of wine in hand.

Because he's a decent guest.]

1/2

[undiagnosed]

[archer looks pretty happy to see crowley! he's not good at and doesn't really like making new friends, but crowley has really slotted into his tiny little circle. he's also not blindingly drunk for once, which says enough for how he finds the demon's company.

he reaches out to take the bottle of wine with a pleased hum.]

Wow. Not bad.

Re: > action

[undiagnosed]

[he turns the bottle over like he's reading the label, moving aside to let crowley in. normal stuff!

only the moment he moves he abruptly lifts his cane and shoots a beanbag out the end of it, right at crowley's midsection.

belatedly:] Head's up!

[demonicmiracle]

[In hindsight, he should have seen this coming.

Not that he's thinking much beyond ouch, as he goes down to his knees with a wheezing sort of groan, thoroughly distracted by a wave of pain and nausea. There's a flicker of something in the air behind him, a dark shadow visible before he pulls it back in, operating on instinct to keep his wings safe.]

You prick.

[The words are gasped out, he'll need a second to properly catch his breath.]

[undiagnosed]

[archer laughs, because archer is an asshole, though he's momentarily distracted by the shadow. he thinks, for a moment, someone had followed crowley.

that said, he does offer an arm to help him stand up properly again.]

How did you not see that coming? Seriously?

[demonicmiracle]

[Briefly, he considers punching Archer in the dick, but that would be a short-lived revenge, and any further action would be considered escalation.

Best to bide his time.

He takes the offered hand instead, wheezing a little as he hauls himself to his feet, his free hand curled protectively around his stomach.]

Didn't think you'd be stupid enough, honestly.

[undiagnosed]

You should always assume that! [he barks with a laugh, pushing crowley towards the kitchen.] God, you only bought one bottle?

[demonicmiracle]

Yeah, I'll remember that for next time.

[He's not exactly steady on his feet - he's used to pain, but being winded is a new and unpleasant experience - but he let's Archer push him about, rolling his eyes at the question.]

A bottle of wine is perfectly acceptable, not my fault you're an alcoholic.

[Well.]

[undiagnosed]

Oh, like you're not. [everyone he knows is some degree of alcoholic, so this is not news to him.] It's fine, I have mixers.

[demonicmiracle]

Might be, but my tolerance has gone down a bit since I got here.

[More like "a lot", but he isn't about to admit he used to drink three bottles of wine just to get faintly tipsy.]

[undiagnosed]

[archer doesn't even have the biology that crowley usually has and he needs more than that. that's a lifetime of emotional dependence on drinking.]

Really? Mine's gone up. Everything is weak here. [probably because he can't get the good shit on the money he's pulling in and this entire town is... puritan compared to new york.] Maybe it's the mountain air.

[demonicmiracle]

That's 'cause you're broke.

[He just assumes that's the case, and that Archer has been buying cheap shit purely to get drunk. Now that his own tolerance has significantly dropped, Crowley finds himself more inclined to buy higher quality, since he's only having a glass or two.

Also, he can afford it, because he has a good job, unlike some people.]

Anyway, think I might just be getting old. Awful as that is.

[undiagnosed]

No, I'm... not. [yes, he is, and crowley has the read on him.] Yeah, you do look pretty awful.

[he takes a couple glasses out the cabinet, pouring a big one for himself then leaves the wine bottle on the edge for crowley to see to himself.]

Ultimate goal... [archer swirls the wine.] Tase the mayor.

[demonicmiracle]

That's 'cause some arsehole shot me.

[Wine is probably not a good idea, honestly, but he pours himself a reasonable sized glass anyway.]

I'd like to see that, though you'd probably end up being carted off and turned into a Stepford person.

[Worth it, perhaps.]

[undiagnosed]

You should be more careful around here. You never know who might shoot you again.

[or stab. funny how many people got stabby when he broke into their houses. wonder if they're all armed by now. probably, because archer managed to get a gun relatively quickly. as shitty and poorly made as it is. ugh. he misses his walther.]

God, because I need more holes drilled into my head and injected with Russian mind-control chips like I need more holes in my head and-- you get the idea.

[demonicmiracle]

Reckon that might just be you I gotta worry about.

[Everyone else is normal, Archer!! They don't shoot people for shits and giggles.]

You're about to tell me you've actually had a Russian mind control chip put in your head, aren't you?

[He's a demon from Hell, and Archer's life still manages to baffle him every day.]

[undiagnosed]

Just once. It's complicated. [his dad might've been the leader of the KGB who wanted to mind control him into coming to russia for a paternity test... who then intended to kill him if archer wasn't his son. naturally, archer doesn't say any of this.] Jesus, go outside for once in your life. You barely know shit.