Avoiding summonings was something Crowley felt he had perfected into an art over the millennia. Whoever it was that had spilled the beans to humans on how to ring up a demon on demand had probably earned themself a nice and tidy commendation for a) finding new inventive ways to torment fellow demons, and b) finding new and inventive ways to damn human's souls to hell. Thankfully, it was one of the few things Crowley hadn't been credited with.
However, there was always once in a while that a summoning managed to slip through the cracks-- or in John Constantine's case, when a summoning managed to sledgehammer its way through any and all defenses Crowley had. It was unpleasantly like being drunk through a straw, just slurped out of whatever it was he had been doing (sulking in the Bentley with his plants) and spat out someplace he'd least want to be (his old flat where his replacement had been squatting in after he was booted out).
Crowley landed in the summoning circle, spilled gracelessly onto his ass, groaning unhappily. If it had been anyone other than John fucking Constantine that had summoned him-- he'd convince himself he'd have unleashed unholy fury on the unfortunate human. But despite his best efforts, Crowley knew himself better than that. He knew his faults, and being possibly the worst demon to crawl out of that damned pit was right at the top of the list.
Instead of any kind of fury, unholy or otherwise, Crowley just sort of. Sat criss-cross-apple-sauce on the floor of his ex-flat, trying not to look at all the awful changes his replacement had made, and looked flatly up at Constantine. Like all the fight had gone out of him, like there wasn't any point at all.
"No. Whatever it is, whatever you're trying to get, the answer is no."
He'd expected some kind of argument, complaining even, the typical whining that came with trying to get just about anything out of Crowley when their paths crossed. It was a common bit of banter between them both; Crowley acting all put upon and needing to be 'forced' to help out a warlock played into both their reputations nicely after all. Kept both of them out of as much trouble as they might otherwise have been in and meant that the usually common goal they shared of making sure Earth continued to exist for the next few millennia at least was met.
He'd never seen Crowley like this. There was a general air of defeat about him that Constantine felt wouldn't be moved with even the most creative of arguments and it was starting to become clear that he was right about something happening to the demon, but not in the way he'd expected. He'd thought Crowley might have been punished by downstairs or maybe even limited, less able to help like before. But this...
Crowley was hurt and that was unnerving.
Constantine shifted his weight to scrub out part of the sigil and felt the holding power snap immediately, something that any other demon would have taken as an open invitation to make short work of the warlock (or at least try). But he wasn't concerned about that as much as fishing out a flask and offering it to the demon.
"Christ you look like you need a drink. Hadn't planned on coming here first if it makes you feel better, but the angel wasn't in town and summoning them is harder."
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timeasmymeasure
/stumbles in through door 13 weeks late with a soggy depressed demon
Date: 2023-12-11 05:58 pm (UTC)However, there was always once in a while that a summoning managed to slip through the cracks-- or in John Constantine's case, when a summoning managed to sledgehammer its way through any and all defenses Crowley had. It was unpleasantly like being drunk through a straw, just slurped out of whatever it was he had been doing (sulking in the Bentley with his plants) and spat out someplace he'd least want to be (his old flat where his replacement had been squatting in after he was booted out).
Crowley landed in the summoning circle, spilled gracelessly onto his ass, groaning unhappily. If it had been anyone other than John fucking Constantine that had summoned him-- he'd convince himself he'd have unleashed unholy fury on the unfortunate human. But despite his best efforts, Crowley knew himself better than that. He knew his faults, and being possibly the worst demon to crawl out of that damned pit was right at the top of the list.
Instead of any kind of fury, unholy or otherwise, Crowley just sort of. Sat criss-cross-apple-sauce on the floor of his ex-flat, trying not to look at all the awful changes his replacement had made, and looked flatly up at Constantine. Like all the fight had gone out of him, like there wasn't any point at all.
"No. Whatever it is, whatever you're trying to get, the answer is no."
my favourite kind!
Date: 2023-12-24 02:05 am (UTC)He'd never seen Crowley like this. There was a general air of defeat about him that Constantine felt wouldn't be moved with even the most creative of arguments and it was starting to become clear that he was right about something happening to the demon, but not in the way he'd expected. He'd thought Crowley might have been punished by downstairs or maybe even limited, less able to help like before. But this...
Crowley was hurt and that was unnerving.
Constantine shifted his weight to scrub out part of the sigil and felt the holding power snap immediately, something that any other demon would have taken as an open invitation to make short work of the warlock (or at least try). But he wasn't concerned about that as much as fishing out a flask and offering it to the demon.
"Christ you look like you need a drink. Hadn't planned on coming here first if it makes you feel better, but the angel wasn't in town and summoning them is harder."