(no subject)

[aj_crawley]

The weather in London's been pretty kind, this spring. The last frost is some weeks behind them now (which is saying something, considering the wretched winter), so yeah, if you want to get technical about things, Crowley could have started Operation Re-Plant Fucking Everything some time ago. However, it's important to note that descriptors like 'kind' or 'mild' don't necessarily equate to 'dry' - and why, Crowley reasons, would he want to hang about in the half-hearted drizzle masquerading as April showers when he has a perfectly good alternative at the end of the universe?

If you catch the demon later in the evening, odds are he's sitting at a table with a glass of something cold and alcoholic for company, cleaning out the last specks of dirt from beneath his fingernails with a toothpick and a satisfied expression.

If you're looking for him earlier, though, your best bet is out in the grounds - or more precisely, the little plot he's rented out in one of the Milliways greenhouses. It might be a bit difficult to spot him, mind - most of the hardier shrubs, Crowley's left to their own devices out on Aziraphael's roof, so it's only a little plot, tucked away in the far corner. Plus, he's currently crouched down below eye-level, chin-deep in a small standing army of trellises - Devon Cream, honeysuckle, and the vibrant thatch of purple currently occupying his attention; Clematis caracasana.

Today, Crowley's checking up on his climbers.

[OOC: Sleeeeep. Slowtime currently in effect, chickadees, but post is open for new tags until it scrolls off the page.]

Comments

[wheatencrown]

Demeter's not normally in the Milliways' greenhouse, she doesn't really have much of a need for it, but she wants to plant something new and is hoping to find some ideas.

It takes her a moment to realize there's someone else in the greenhouse and smiles as she kneels down, "They're beautiful."

[aj_crawley]

"Whrgle," Crowley says, starting slightly at the woman's sudden appearance. And then:

"Er. I mean - thanks. Amazing what you can do with a firm hand, and that."

He'd been... absorbed, is all.

[wheatencrown]

"Yes, most people never seem to have the time to help a garden flourish properly."

She smiles warmly and reaches out to gently touch the clematis.

[aj_crawley]

- Not a woman, he realises, shaded eyes tracking her hand as she reaches out.

Oh.

"More fool them," he says, shrugging vaguely. "'S very relaxing."

Granted, most people probably don't derive quite the same therapeutic pleasure from threatening the helpless, but that's not Crowley's problem. Different horses, and so forth.

[wheatencrown]

Very gently she touches the stem and frowns, "For you?"

[aj_crawley]

"Yes," Crowley says, simply enough.

There are smudges of earth on his hands, and one high on his left cheekbone. The top button of his shirt collar is undone.

"'S an old hobby."

[wheatencrown]

"I see. You seem quite effective though I do worry if the poor dears can live up to your expectations."

Demeter gently nudges the clematis to help it grow.

[aj_crawley]

The - pulse of power is small but there, unmistakable as the  push  of sap and the  pull  of roots. It's like riding a bicycle, after all. Once you learn how, you never forget.

Crowley's eyes narrow slightly behind his sunglasses.

"I don't. Either way, I should think that'd be my problem, wouldn't it?" he says, pleasantly enough.

[wheatencrown]

"More theirs, but yes."

She removes her hand, wiping the dirt on her green dress,

"I'm Demeter."

[un_fallen]

Raguel is outside, beer in hand, walking aimlessly away from the lake. It's a nice day, and made nicer by the fact that there's some moisture in the air. He's humming absently to himself (humming... he must be slipping) and as he nears the greenhouse he detects a familiar presence.

Pausing at the door, he opens it and pokes his head in.

[aj_crawley]

Rustle rustle rustle.


Rustle.


"In or out," says a voice, floating over from (possibly) the far corner. "You're standing in the light."

[un_fallen]

"I'm standing in the light?" he says, and the words are more disgruntled than is apparent in his voice.

He does come all the way in, though, and threads his way between the plants toward Crowley's plot. Or where Crowley is standing, anyway - he really can't tell the difference between one green thing and the next.

"Whole place is light, from the looks of it."

[aj_crawley]

"My light," Crowley corrects amiably, which is true enough. The sun has started its slow descent towards the horizon, and the late afternoon light is angling in from the front of the greenhouse. Raguel was casting a shadow.

"It's not my fault you're built like a jeep."

(This may also be why Crowley is eyeing Raguel's progress a little narrowly. This isn't exactly china shop territory, but that doesn't mean he'll take particularly kindly to anything being kicked over.)

[un_fallen]

"Not my fault, either," he points out comfortably. He hasn't knocked anything over - yet - and is eyeing the plants Crowley's tending like he isn't quite sure what they are.

[aj_crawley]

"You know, I bet you can change around, and you're just not bright enough to work it out on your own," Crowley says, groping around behind him for (one assumes) the undersized shears that are actually on the other side of the pot. "I mean, you thought you couldn't get at your wings either, and look how that worked out."

[un_fallen]

"That was different," he says, picking up the shears and holding them out backward.

"Okay, that was simpler, but I have at least had wings before. Always had this shape, though. Guess I'm stuck with it."

[aj_crawley]

"You know, that's the sort of lack of ambition that only leads to me annoying you into accomplishing whatever it was anyway."

Shears in hand, Crowley eyes the honeysuckled section of trellis in front of him, and then - snip.

[hadyougoing]

[ooc: HOLDING YOU TO IT. hahaha tell me to delete if you don't have the brain. *just turned in a paper, JAZZED*]

Ava's not really sure how anxious she needs to be about Buffy (and sort of Andrew). She hasn't wanted to talk to her, but she admits grudgingly that that's helpful in neither a tactical nor an interpersonal sense.

In order to avoid the fact that she's avoiding her: greenhouse!

Ava isn't really a plant-growing person. But she is a plant-admiring person. (Sadly, Peoria's arboretums were nothing to write home about.)

"Honeysuckle!" she says cheerfully.

This is not for Crowley's benefit, as she does not see him-- but, uh.


Is it just her or is it a little demonic in here?

[aj_crawley]

She's probably in for a surprise, then - because up pops Crowley's head from between the trellises, sunglasses and all, like some bizarrely fashionable jack-in-the-box.

"?" he says, looking around.

[hadyougoing]

And indeed, cue one startled Ava, who utters a yip-like noise and starts back.

"--Oh!" she says.

"Uh. Hi!"

[aj_crawley]

" - Oh," he echoes intelligently, a little taken aback. "Er - hi?"

Was she talking to herself?

Awkward.

[hadyougoing]

"I just said--"

Ava flails vaguely towards the delicate-blossomed vines of the honeysuckle.

"Honeysuckle. Because I saw it ... and it's pretty ...?"

Beat.

"Is this stuff yours?" The disbelief is only slight, but it is there; she still expects demons to be all about the destruction, and not, you know ... the horticulture.

[aj_crawley]

"Yes?" he hazards. If Ava's question is tinged with disbelief, Crowley's answer carries an equal smidgen of defensiveness.

Hey, everyone needs hobbies, right?

After a moment, perhaps feeling that further elucidation is required, he adds, "I'm not - I'm keeping it here until the weather's good enough for me to schlep it all back home."

[hadyougoing]

"Oh!" she says.

Politely.

"That's smart ..."

Slow, and a little wary, she approaches. Crowley has always (meaning the twice she's seen him) struck her as a nice enough demon, but running into Verity is definitely kicking those vestigial survival urges back into high gear.

"You're. Um." She points, then after a moment appears both surprised and chagrined.

"... I actually have no idea."

[aj_crawley]

Crowley appears to be doing a little memory-searching himself, but - she's right. Of course, the first time they met, they'd both been... otherwise occupied, and the second time the whole creepy Evil Dead tree thing had been kind of distracting.

"Crowley," he offers a little sheepishly, unfolding from his crouch by the honeysuckle and brushing some loose dirt from the knees of his trousers.