(no subject)

[un_fallen]

Crowley has been surprisingly charitable for most of the time spent in Raguel's new apartment - criticizing everything, of course, but only in the most general way. He pronounces it barely habitable, which Raguel takes to mean that he's done a decent job. And if the shower (and by necessity, the bathroom) has slightly larger dimensions when Crowley walks out of it than when he walked in, Raguel doesn't mention it.

It's late afternoon when they step out into the hallway and furtively climb the ladder to the roof. It's not much of a view, but the sunlight through dry air casts sharp shadows that make the grunge a little harder to see.

"You don't think anyone will notice us, with the sun still up?" Raguel asks, a little nervously.

Comments

[aj_crawley]

"Fair," Crowley says with a shrug. And then wryly, "Though for something like down time, at least, I can always make the argument that sloth is in the job description. Not that it'd go over well, but it'd be worth a shot."

[un_fallen]

"Have you ever tried that?" he asks, awed.

"I mean. Can you, without getting fidgety?"

[aj_crawley]

"Can I what? Make the bluff, or be slothful?"

[un_fallen]

"Be slothful," he says. "I guess you can bluff after that thing about eating people. Even with Chianti they don't go down too well."

He stops at a nondescript door. It looks to be the back way into a club, judging by the pounding bassline drifting through from the other side.

"Here we go," he says. "Cross your fingers."

[aj_crawley]

"Please," Crowley's in the middle of saying. "I've made sloth into an art for- oh. Fingers crossed."

[un_fallen]

The door is locked from this side, naturally, but on the second try this doesn't seem to deter Raguel. The door swings open, and instead of a dingy hallway with thumping techno and a sleepy bouncer or two, they're greeted by the familiar warm light of the bar. It's not quiet, exactly, but at least there's no bassline.

"Bingo," he says, grinning, and gestures Crowley inside.