un_fallen | (no subject)

Crowley's hair is wild, his grin even wilder.

"There," he says, a little breathless himself. "Who needs stimulants, right? Still, that said - "

An abrupt flash of silver as Crowley picks his moment, and tosses something across the distance to Raguel.

It's the flask.

He catches it more out of surprise than intention, but he's grateful for the reflexes that have been kicked back into service since he took up the sword again.

"Oh, so there was a purpose to that," he says cheerfully. "Other than adrenaline, I mean."

He unscrews the top and drinks deeply enough that it seems the adrenaline might be getting the better of him.

"Nope," Crowley replies, smiling the same sort of smile that Aziraphael has learned to fear from the passenger seat of the Bentley. "But it was on the ground, I was nearly on the ground... Waste not, and that."

"Point," Raguel says, and screws the top back on to toss the flask back over.

"Hey, I think I figured out the air current thing while you were gone. Sort of."

He tries to demonstrate, but the winds that had been so cooperative a few minutes ago now seem bent on throwing him out of the sky.

"Yeah," Crowley says eventually. "Wow."

"Oh, shut up," he says amiably, "it was working a minute ago."

"No, I believe you," Crowley continues, which wide-eyed look of sincerity might be more effective if he hadn't just taken a large swig from the flask. "I do."

Raguel glares at him a moment longer, then swoops in with a threatening growl. It probably looks from the outside like a very badly-thought-out sort of attack. Actually, he's just after the flask.

Which means it's probably unfortunate that Crowley's immediate reaction is to ~~squawk and~~ clutch it protectively, dropping a few feet in something that's part purposeful dodge, sure - but also a certain measure of dumb surprise.

And it's definitely unfortunate that he hadn't screwed the lid back on, yet.

"Argh," he says, dripping.

Raguel does make some attempt at hiding his laughter, but dodging around behind Crowley and doubled over, holding one hand over his face, is not very secretive.

"Uh. Is there any left?" he manages.

"You know, I don't know," Crowley says levelly, "because I have alcohol in my eyes."

"Oh," Raguel says, but the giggles don't seem to be subsiding.

Eventually, though, he gets himself under control enough to move warily in front of Crowley and offer him... some kind of cloth that might once have been a handkerchief. There's no telling where it came from. It's a little frayed around the edges, but it is, at least, clean.

After a few near-collisions, they manage the clumsy exchange of flask for (possibly) handkerchief; the upside to Crowley's temporary blindness is that he can't really make out what he's wiping his face with until it's done.

Oh well, at least it's clean.

Well, it's certainly not pretty, but if Raguel had come out with monogrammed silk, he'd have been even more surprised than Crowley. As it is, it's practically a miracle (cough) he had anything on him at all.

He takes another few gulps from the flask while Crowley gets himself cleaned up.

"Actually, it doesn't even look like the level has gone down at all," he says, peering at it.

"Oh good," Crowley says dryly, squinting across at Raguel (damply). "I'm so relieved."

There's no real ire in his voice, though - even if Raguel probably shouldn't fall asleep around Crowley any time soon.

"Having more liquor is going to be important very soon," he points out. "Like when it's colder."

He seems to take pity on Crowley, though. He screws the top back onto the flask and prepares to throw it to him.

"Ugh," says Crowley, succinctly expressing his opinion on that.

Giving his eyes a final wipe, he bunches up the handkerchief and sends it sailing back across to its owner.

"Anyway," he continues, sanctimonious and wholly hypocritical, "I hope we've learned our lesson about dangerous mid-air stunts?"

"Lesson?" he says blankly, stuffing the piece of cloth back into a pocket. "So what would you call that dive you like to do, if an unarmed feint was a dangerous mid-air stunt?"

"I'd call it 'not assaulting someone with an open flask of eye-burning liquid in their hands'. And anyway," he adds smugly, "if you want to get technical about it, the dangerous bit of that one isn't exactly in what you'd call mid-air."

"Oh right," he says, with a very slight roll of his eyes. "A long drop and a sudden stop, isn't that what they say? Only the stop's not quite as sudden. And it's less messy."

He brightens in spite of this rather morbid idea.

"And we got a flask out of it."

"I rest my case," Crowley replies. "My actions brought us alcohol, and yours only resulted in its loss. That seems like a pretty fair arbiter of was that a bat?"

"It wasn't a loss if we still have the same-- oh," he says, staring off in the same direction.

"Prrrrobably? Too late for birds, anyway, and most of them don't come out this far." He grins.

"Unless it was a really, really big bug."

Crowley makes a face.

"Eurgh. I'll hope it was a bat, then, and just... be sure to keep my mouth shut. Something kind of unsettling about thinking you see something moving out of the corner of your eye when you're practically at cruising altitude."

"I doubt it was a bug," he says, relenting a little. "Not enough food out here for them to get that big. But if you want to avoid the bats we could always go higher. Or lower. Really low."

He gets a rather predatory look at this idea. They aren't quite as high as they'd been at the beginning of Crowley's dive, so if he really listens he can hear the creatures' calls all around them.

He can't read Raguel's mind, but the facial expression is hard to miss, and Crowley narrows his eyes suspiciously.

"Why, what's really low?"