(no subject)

[aj_crawley]

The door slams open, admitting, in a gust of icy air, a tall, bad-tempered black pillar. Trailing irritable muttering behind it like a comet its tail, it makes its way over to the fireplace, where it eventually sheds enough layers to reveal itself as Crowley.

Flagging down a waitrat to obtain a mug of hot tea, he ensconces himself in the closest armchair and starts trying to warm his hands near the open flames.

London's having a Cold Snap.