steal a kiss, tag; Crowley

There were a lot of things that Annie had managed to adjust to in the months that she’d lived in New York – she’d learned to ignore (mostly) the never ending streams of people that flooded both sides of practically every street in the city no matter what time of day or night. She’d stopped shooting looks of near death at the drivers who not only drove on the wrong side of the street, but that had absolutely no care at all for the fact that they were operating two tons of steel and metal and glass that had the ability to crush any poor pedestrian that might happen out in front of them to a pile of grease and blood, and drove like sloshed grannies to boot. The language – despite the fact that the words seemed, on the surface, to be the same, was entirely different and that wasn’t counting dialects, accents, and whatever colloquialisms that the so called melting pot of the country had managed to create. It was close to absolute nonsense to Annie, but she’d managed to sort it out enough to at least be capable of carrying on a conversation, with most people, anyhow.

In the last few weeks, she’d adjusted to being called doll, sweetheart, babe, honey, love and any other number of pet names that the customers at the bar tossed out more frequently than they did tips. She had even grown rather fond of the place that she’d started work at a month or so ago, now, despite the fact that what the Americans described as ‘rustic’ seemed to her more of what was the country cousin of rustic. Rough hewn tables polished to a gleam scattered around the outside of the bar were surrounded by maroon leather bench tables, while copper plates, stuffed animal heads and a suspiciously empty shotgun rack served as the predominant decorations for the place. Plastic table clothes and worn linoleum had a habit of creating an interesting cacophony of squeaking and scraping sounds to throw into the mix of random human congestion and movement through the place, and underneath it all came the slightly tinny music from the mulit-colored ‘authentic’ jukebox that sat against the side of the bar in front of what was loosely defined as the dance floor.

That, in her opinion, was one of the actual eyesores of the place – though that wasn’t entirely accurate, she didn’t mind the looks of it, but more times than not the caterwauling and whining that came from the machine was the hardest part of this job. The things that the Americans called music more often than not made her want to cry inside, and not because of the overwhelming sadness of the hundredth version of ‘she loved me and then she ran off with my truck, my house and my dog’, but rather from the fact that there were a hundred or more different versions of that same story. She had contemplated earplugs, at one point, but that idea had quickly been discarded, seeing as that would make it rather impossible to hear the orders of the customers. Her flatmate had suggested that she find a different place to work, if it really was such a source of aggravation, but she had quickly come to like the couple of people that she worked with; the older woman that had hired her on was gruff on the outside, but Annie could tell that she was sweet as could be underneath. The other bartender that she shared a shift with was cute, though safely out of any sort of competition with Mitchell given the bartender’s orientation, so Annie could gab and flirt without any concerns – which was nice.

The customers were hit and miss, though there’d been a few that she had gone past the nickname stage with and on towards a first name basis, and she was loathe to abandon them before she’d had a chance to get to know them better. She did so enjoy hearing everyone’s stories, and if there was anything that she did like about the states, it was that a lot of people looked to their bartender for advice, or for a friendly ear and she rather excelled at both, she thought. Tonight, however, she had yet to see any of the faces that she’d come to put a name with…though at least the music wasn’t entirely traumatic at the moment, she mused. The band wasn’t one she was entirely familiar with, but she’d at least heard of them, and she was fairly certain that she’d seen flyers for one of their concerts last summer. Or the summer before? She frowned slightly before glancing up from her perch behind the bar as the doorbell jangled, announcing the arrival of another person, an unfamiliar one, at that. Casting a brilliant smile in his direction, she hopped off of the stool that she’d been settled on, crossing the step or two to the edge of the counter, letting her elbows rest against it as she waited for the man to make his way to wherever he would be sitting. ”Hello then,” She said her British accent easily and immediately discerned, her tone chipper. ”What can I get you?” She questioned, her fingers tapping lightly against the bar in time to the music.

OOC :: SONG

i feel irrational, so confrontational, to tell the truth i am getting away with murder
AND IS IT IMPOSSIBLE TO NEVER TELL THE TRUTH BUT THE REALITY IS I'M GETTING AWAY WITH MURDER
getting away, getting away, getting away i drink my drink and i don't even want to
I THINK MY THOUGHTS WHEN I DON'T EVEN NEED TO, I NEVER LOOK BACK 'CAUSE I DON'T EVEN WANT TO

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Crowley had just had about enough of it all, he’d been hard at work torturing all day and had ruined three perfectly good suits in the progress. It didn’t help that he no longer had a tailor and he’d been struggling to find himself one. After hours of moping around his temporary home he had finally decided to get out there and continue his search. He decided to go for a less forceful approach with it all and settled for inconspicuousness, by turning up to a local bar. He tumbled in, and was quickly agitated by the amount of noise, he was so used to sitting at home and just drinking to his heart’s content in silence. There was one bright side to being in a bar rather than at home, and that was that people talked. There was a lot you could find out in a bar from drunken idiots and their runaway tongues, and what better place to get information, considering he knew there would probably be some abnormal folks running around there. He looked around, taking in the appearance of every man woman and abstract character in there. He searched for a stool at the bar, and shuffled towards it slumping onto the seat. He despised other people pouring his drink, especially when it was someone he had never met, because, as far as he was concerned, everyone was working for Lucifer unless proved otherwise. Whoever was pouring his drinks, or making his food could so easily slip something into it, maybe even a bit of rock salt and he just wouldn’t notice. He leant his elbow on the bar and waited for the bartenders attention, scanning the room. When she eventually came over to serve him, he smiled awkwardly. ”Double whiskey if you don’t mind.”


He rolled his eyes as he heard the jukebox blaring out some new age rubbish. He’d found that all new songs were very repetitive lyrically, and he despised this “alternative rock” genre nonsense. He looked around, trying not to give his game away, and glared directly at the jukebox, twisting his hand slightly. It cut the song, lifting the record from the player and putting it away, grasping another one and slipping it on. Crowley smirked, relaxing to the new music, much to the dismay of the other punters, but he didn’t care, he finally felt at home and smiled inanely at the bartender. He wondered if anyone else had cottoned on that it was he who changed the record but everyone had just gone back to their drinking instead. He found his telekinesis came in handy from time to time, and it got him out of tricky situations, especially when it came to being trapped or interrogated. He’d rarely stayed long enough for anyone to ask him any revealing questions and had always made a swift, quiet escape. He waited for the bartender to return with his drink before making any comments, he didn’t want to offend her and end up with something unpleasant in it. “You’re not from around here are you? Not with an accent like that. You’ve gotta be from the old country…” he guessed confidently. It was no surprise he’d guess the accent, considering the fact that he was from Ireland and he’d heard the British accent more times than he could count. He’d not met a lot of people in New York that had come from Britain, in fact, it had been so close to none that he thought they’d all remained on the isle. He had liked it back in his old country, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and he was doing better over here as a crossroads demon compared to back over there as a tailor.

He tuned his hearing into the background, trying to listen out for conversations concerning his needs, but he heard nothing but endless drivel about a football game, or how their boyfriends were dirty little cheaters. Generally things Crowley cared nothing for, especially at this time, and even though most of the conversations were ample for him to step up and offer them a deal, he decided against it. He didn’t need their souls right now, they were no good for him at all. They all went to hell and that was just an oil well he wouldn’t be able to tap, especially now Lucifer was back on the board. Crowley had gone from King to mere pawn in seconds, but his title of crossroads king still stood. No one could take that away from him no matter how hard they tried. He downed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass back down on the table, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. He grabbed a note and placed that on the table, sliding it towards the bartender. “I’ll have another one of those, darling. Keep the change.” he offered, winking at her and tapping away at the song. It finished not too soon after, but he couldn’t be bothered changing it to something he liked. If he did it twice, someone would get curious and may start looking for the person changing it, and for all he knew there could be a hunter in here. He was rather impressed with the bartender, considering it had been a long time since he’d been in the presence of one. Not only was she good with the customers, subconsciously managing to get them to open up to her, but she was also a sight for sore eyes. He looked over to the back corner where a rowdy crowd had stumbled in and taken over a table. He could see that a fight was completely possible, but it wasn’t his problem, unless they brought the fight over to him. He ignored them, wondering if he should move to a different bar for peace and quiet, but settled for staying, considering the circumstances. He hadn’t been recognised in here yet, which was a good start, as long as he could keep up this façade he would be fine.

*****************************************

Stuck in the Middle with You - Stealers Wheels
Tagged: Anna “Annie” Sawyer

The man that strode into the bar was not what Annie would call her particularly normal type of customer. He wasn’t just some schmuck with a few pounds of his pay day left burning a hole in his pocket, or one of the bone tired guys that just wanted a few quiet minutes before heading home to the missus and the munchkins. He certainly wasn’t one of the uni crowd, looking to rack of a few extra quid by sharking a few dorm mates at the pool table that sat, currently abandoned, to the side. No, this one was smooth, and confident, his almost monochromatic attire carefully pressed and polished, not a single strand of hair or bit of thread out of place. Annie felt her mood brighten, almost immediately, instantly assured that her night was looking up.

”Sure,” Annie replied brightly, her hands sliding back along the counter towards the edge of the bar that she used to push herself entirely upright, taking him in with a glance as she straightened. ”Though, if I was wearing that suit, and that tie… I’d definitely be ante-ing up for the top shelf variety.” She advised with a half glance behind her towards the shelves in question that staggered the slightly pockmarked mirror-lined wall behind the bar. Glancing back towards her customer just long enough to register his acknowledgement and response, she was pleased to see that her assessment in general, at least, had been correct, and tucking herself up onto her toes, her fingers snagged one of the faceted bottles from one of the top shelves, rather than going for one of the more commonly accessed bottles for the ‘regulars’ that contained the cheaper alcohol. It got the job done, from what she’d seen, but the after effects hit like a bus – the cheaper the liquor, the bigger the bus. Twisting off the lid, she plucked a tumbler from the back counter, counting the seconds as the slightly amber hued liquid filled the glass to be sure that she didn’t chintz. Or overdo it. Soft and squishy center or not, her boss had been more than clear that there was no such thing as charity here at her bar, and every drink would be paid for, and paid for exactly. Of course, Annie didn’t really have to worry about whether or not her drinks would be taken off her pay at the end of the week. The most she ever did was make a cup of tea that she’d later surreptitiously tilt down the sink when no one was watching.

The jukebox glitched, causing her to pause briefly in the pouring of the drink, but by the time that she’d looked over towards the ancient machine, it had sorted itself out. She gave it an odd look, briefly, but within the same moment she was back to the task at hand, topping off the last few drops of whiskey, careful not to have splashed the alcohol, but rather, pouring it gently and smoothly. Something about… bruising the bouquet? She couldn’t quite recall the reasons, but she took pride in her job, and she was going to be sure it stayed that way. ”Old country. Heh,” She said, with an amused smile, the humor reaching to glint a moment in the dusky blue hued eyes that watched him. ”Nobody ever called it the old country before, but I guess they wouldn’t while I was there, would it. It was just… ‘the country’. I like that.” She said, chuckling lightly. ”But no, not from anywhere ‘round these parts. Bristol, that’s where I’m from. Was, I guess, now.” She corrected, plucking a napkin from the wire rack and setting it onto the bar in front of him, the tumbler that held his drink nestled carefully in the almost exact middle of the napkin, even without her paying it much in the way of attention. ”Only been here a few months, rather. I guess it shows, yeah?” Annie questioned, with the fall and rise of a single shoulder, in that ‘what can you do’ sort of shrug a she capped off the bottle and set it back onto the shelf it had originated from.

She turned back easily, another glance given towards the jukebox as the lyrics of the song wound past, some inner irony appreciated, though she didn’t let it distract her for long, especially as the familiar ‘ting’ of a glass hitting the counter met her ears. ”Sure, you’re the boss.” She replied amicably, cool fingers plucking the bill from underneath his fingertips as he slid the cash across the table. She knew she’d been right about the night turning around, she confirmed to herself, as she did the quick math on the tip, which was a nicer one by far than she’d gotten from any of the other blokes in the bar so far that night. ”Cheers, darling.” Annie said glibly, with an easy smile as she twisted around to pluck up the bottle once more, filling up the glass, and half-turning the lid back onto the bottle and set it on the counter next to him in one smooth motion. Her fingers snagged a dishrag from behind the counter, wiping at the nonexistent smears on the counter out of habit, before her attention was drawn to the door once more, a group of slight more familiar faces stumbling their way in. ”I’ll be back, yeah?” She said, to Crowley, casting him a smile before she slid down the bar.

It didn’t take more than thirty seconds or so to gather up the pail, scoop up the ice, and settle the half of a dozen already ice cold beers into the metal bucket, which was then nestled against her hip. Two drafts in mugs, and she was on her way across the bar towards where the group had settled, winding her way through the path of tables and chairs with ease. ”All right boys, here you are – bucket of six for two, and two for one from the tap,” She declared, to a disjointed chorus of replies which involved some ‘thank you’s’, and at least one, ‘you’re a doll’. ”Yeah, yeah, what would you do without me.” She replied dryly, settling the drinks onto the middle of the table, and sliding the two glasses in front of the flannel-clad fellow nearest her. ”You gents going to want anything else? Kitchen closes in half, so if you want your wings you best tell me now.” Annie stated, about to begin asking them something else when her breath was expelled instead into a sharp ”Hey, then!” And with a flick of the towel still held in her hand, she swatted at the arm of the man next to her, shooting him a look as she side stepped away from the hand that he’d been trying to slide up the back of her leg. ”Keep those to yourself, then, Billy, while you’ve still got ‘em, got it?” She countered, her tone stern, but not quite severe.

Even still, the instinctive reaction to retreat had taken an effort on her part, a fight or flight response such as was imbedded in human nature never died – even when the human did, and in those few seconds that she’d had to force herself to stay both solid, and in place, she’d slipped. The chill was brief, but instantaneous, cutting through the bar like a blizzard wind, and mentally cursing, she did her best to pretend she didn’t notice, wagging her finger in the direction of the table. Fortunately, they were too far pissed to really have noticed, she surmised, and most certainly too far gone to even guess at making a connection. ”Sure, I’ll put the order in,” She replied, with a slightly stiffer smile, by a smidge, before she retreated from the table without trying to look like that was what she was doing. ”Fifty of the gut-rots,” She called, through the swinging door into the kitchen, taking a moment to smooth out the jersey fabric of her layered outfit before looking back towards the customer she’d cut away from. ”How’s that drink going?” She questioned, giving him a smile as she drifted back towards where he’d remained perched.

i feel irrational, so confrontational, to tell the truth i am getting away with murder
AND IS IT IMPOSSIBLE TO NEVER TELL THE TRUTH BUT THE REALITY IS I'M GETTING AWAY WITH MURDER
getting away, getting away, getting away i drink my drink and i don't even want to
I THINK MY THOUGHTS WHEN I DON'T EVEN NEED TO, I NEVER LOOK BACK 'CAUSE I DON'T EVEN WANT TO

*****************************************

He found himself rather enjoying this top notch whiskey that she had given him, and was longing for more. It just hit his lips in a most pleasant way, making him tingle throughout his body, and giving him the kick a lot quicker than the other stuff. It wasn’t too sharp, and certainly didn’t taste cheap, making him feel more at home than he had been before. He liked this bartender; she was a cheery face to meet and made it feel that little bit cosier in the club. He watched her as she poured drinks for other customers and took it to the back table. He admired how precise she was with everything and she was completely pleasant to look at, because the truth was, he’d walked into too many bars where the bartender had been covered in tattoo’s head to toe, putting him off his drink completely. He downed the drink in front of him, dipping into his pocket for another note, and waited patiently for her to walk back past. He felt a strange chill, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. He slapped them down quickly and shrugged off the feeling; look back towards the bartender, as she slowly slipped past him. He slipped it into her back pocket and smirked inanely at her, wondering if she had noticed or whether he had gotten away with it. He spun the glass in his hand, staring blankly into it and thinking hard. Maybe he shouldn’t be hunting tonight, he felt like he deserved a break and never really took one, so why not now? This club was quite relaxing, despite the noise and he felt relaxed for the first time in a long time. The alcohol was good and the company was fantastic so where would be a better place to enjoy a drink and kick back. He needed some time off; he’d worn himself out from all the torture and had quite bluntly got bored of all the blood.

He raised his eyebrows at the bartender, smiling slightly. “It was good. he answered tipping the glass slightly and running it round his hand. He decided that he needed to slow down and bide his time, because if he drunk any quicker, the bartender may get distrustful. The one thing he didn’t like about this bar the noise coming from the back table, they were increasingly getting louder and louder, but he couldn’t blow his cover, not yet. He sighed, and started deeply into his empty glass, he couldn’t decide if he wanted another or not, especially since he wasn’t really savouring the taste. He raised his glass to the bartender, requesting another drink, a pleasing smile on his face. He placed it down again on the counter in front of her and waited for it to be refilled. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as the people in the back became more and more agitating, pulling his wallet aggressively from his pocket. He looked back up at the bartender pursing his lips in thought. “What’s your boss’s policy on drinking on the job?” he asked cheekily, slamming another note down on the table and winking. He hoped that the policy wasn’t too harsh and that she would be allowed at least one drink, considering he was paying for it. Money to him was no object, because when he ran out, he could always so easily and quickly get more. He could go all night drinking and never run out of money, but he may arouse suspicion if he did, she he decided that he would limit himself to five drinks, but that meant that he would have to find another reason to stay in the bar for as long as he did. After much deliberation, he settled for hitting on the bartender, realising that it was a typical thing to do; only, he did it with a touch of class. There was no denying that he stuck out in this bar, but everyone was too drunk to really pay attention. He cracked his knuckles, his hands feeling uncomfortably stiff from staying in one position too long.

He was still feeling slightly unnerved by the sudden cold that had spread through the bar like wildfire, but disappeared just as quickly. It confirmed that someone in the bar was not completely as they seemed, but he just had to figure out whom. He furrowed his brow deep in thought, several ideas swimming through his mind.It could easily be one of the men that walked in a few moments, and it would certainly make sense considering it only happened in their presence, then again it could be the shifty bloke sat near the window behind me, the one who has been giving me the eye all night. The truth was Crowley didn’t actually know who it was, but he would find out soon enough. They would slip up again and reveal themselves accidentally to him, making them open for being kidnapped. He would have to coax them outside first before bagging them and zapping them from here to his hideout. Doing it this way ensured that they would have no idea where they were and so would be to tell anyone else where the hideout was should they escape. Crowley had thought the whole thing through for far too long, his plan intricately woven so tightly that not even the Winchesters would be able to un-weave this one, or at least, he hoped they wouldn’t be able to. The thought of them angered him, causing him to crush the glass in his hand. He didn’t feel the shard pierce his palm, nor did he feel the warm trickle of his blood dripping how his hand. His eyes were firmly fixated on the floor behind the bar; his mind had completely left the room. I’m sick of those god damn Winchesters messing up my plans, they have ruined everything for me one too many times and I’m not taking it anymore… I will sort them out one way or another….

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Lyrics: Getting Away with Murder by Papa Roach
Tagged: Anna “Annie” Sawyer

Her fingers slid, tucking and plucking and smoothing at the various layers of her outfit, still disgruntled at the wandering touch of the flannel-wearing buffoon, her head curling towards her shoulder and glancing down, as her fingers pulled a bill from the slit of a pocket at her hip, a moment of surprise and amusement glinting in her gaze. It didn’t take her long to ascertain that it had been tucked away by the man still at the bar; the boys in the back never tipped more than whatever few singles they could scrape together after drinking themselves into the wind. Honestly, Annie was relieved that she could leave the boys at the table in the corner well enough alone, for about the next fifteen or so at least, she guessed, given their current degree of inebriation and how quickly she estimated they’d be going through their beers. The wings should be up just about at the same time that they were empty, and after that the timetable would probably up to about twenty. Eating and drinking at the same time was not something that she’d found men to be particularly adept at. Besides, the man at the bar was a new face, and one that she wouldn’t mind seeing around again. All right, so he wasn’t Colin Firth made flesh in front of her, fair enough, but he had a roguish sort of charm and there was something about his smile that made her want to giggle. Not that she did, but the momentary inclination was there, as he turned his attention to her, offering her a smile, before staring introspectively into the now empty glass. ”Always like to hear that,” Annie responded, with a smile, loitering close by while he debated if he’d have another.

She expected that he would, given the underlying current of tension, and the sense of annoyance that hung to him like a second skin, though impressively enough, his conversation with her up to this point and his tone had been nothing but cordial, and polite. Like a proper fellow, and not the type of guy that would grab a girl’s arse when she wasn’t paying exact attention, she thought, with a mental face made in the direction of the table that held said ingrate. Still, by the time that the suited gentleman’s glass had hit the table, she was already reaching for the bottle she’d set nearby, offering him yet another smile as she went to fill up the tumbler once more. ”Oh, Bess’ opinion is, if it’s got green, it drinks,” Annie replied, with a little laugh, glancing back up towards Crowley with an amused flicker. ”Long as no one gets too pissed to do their job, but –“ Eyeing the contents of the glass until it was just a touch over the ‘right’ amount for a double, she set the bottle back down, looking up towards him with the first hint of reservation for the night. There was never any way to tell how anyone would react to the only line that she’d ever been able to come up with that made her seem just a ‘little’ crazy, rather than full on bonkers. ”I know it’s weird, but I’ve got this thing – I don’t really like to eat, or drink in front of people?” She offered, her brows quirked upwards a bit in a sort of sympathetic and simultaneously sheepish expression. ”It’s just – a thing.” She said, again. ”But if I did, I would love to take you up on that.” Annie added, hoping that the last of her string of comments would be enough to ease any weirdness by the first.

The next moment pulled her gaze away as another burst of noise from the table drew her attention, her lips pulling in a faint frown in the direction of the men that seemed intent on doing nothing but cause trouble. A soft sigh pulled from her, her fingertips tapping a random pattern against the bar under her hand, as she watched them distractedly. All that she needed was them starting some sort of row, and her ending up stuck with the charges for the broken glasses and the chair. It was inevitable, she’d come to realize. In a barfight, no matter how small or raucous, there would always be a chair broken. A chair. Just one. It was like… an unspoken mandate. Her gaze shifted, briefly, a momentary glance towards Crowley, a quiet chuckle offered in reply to his passing, mumbled complaint about the surly faced man behind him, shaking her head as she looked back towards the table of hooligans once more. ”That’s just Jamie,” She reassured him, her hands twisting the dish rag one way and then the other as she loitered. ”He’s harmless, really, and that whole staring thing -- he’s got that, um, what do you call it, the lazy eye – always makes everybody think he’s creeping them out, when he’s probably not even looking at you. He comes in for the two for one and the free tellie.” She explained, straightening, and looking back towards him just in time to see the glass shatter, splintering in his palm.

”Oh my god!” She exclaimed, at his side in an instant, reacting faster than she could think, flickering from one side of the bar to the other, her hands catching his injured one, an expression of worry and fret immediately on her features. ”Oh, look at you,” Annie almost crooned, one hand cradling his as the fingers of her other hand started the process of plucking out shards and fragments of glass without any concern for herself. It wasn’t like it could actually cut her, after all. ”You want me to ring up an ambulance?” She questioned, the dish towel that she’d been clutching pressed against his wrist and under his hand to catch the blood that seeped from the injuries, in a relatively vain attempt to keep it from dripping onto his very expensive suit. ”You poor thing.” She half chided, half fretted at him.

i feel irrational, so confrontational, to tell the truth i am getting away with murder
AND IS IT IMPOSSIBLE TO NEVER TELL THE TRUTH BUT THE REALITY IS I'M GETTING AWAY WITH MURDER
getting away, getting away, getting away i drink my drink and i don't even want to
I THINK MY THOUGHTS WHEN I DON'T EVEN NEED TO, I NEVER LOOK BACK 'CAUSE I DON'T EVEN WANT TO

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Crowley raised his eyebrow at the woman, intrigued by the fact that this woman, who appeared to be one of the most confident women he had ever met, didn’t like to eat and drink in front of strangers. He beamed at her, licking his lips lightly. “I supposed dinner is out of the question then?” he jested lightly, watching her intently as she panicked over his bleeding hand. He watched as she pulled out the glass from his palm, without a single moment’s hesitation or concern for herself as she did so. There was something strange about this girl, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, it was as if she wasn’t your typical bartender, she had true compassion for the people she served and was that glint of hope that not all humans were arrogant and self-absorbed. He shook his head as she offered to call him an ambulance, knowing full well that when he left the bar, he would be able to heal and continue on with his work. He placed his hand gently on top of hers as she pressed a dish cloth to his wrist. He squeezed lightly on her hand, letting her know that he was okay and that she needed to stop worrying. The thing was, Crowley had been hurt a hundred times before, he’d been shot in the chest with rock salt, stabbed and punched around, so a little bit of glass was nothing in comparison. He chuckled to himself picking up the bits of broken glass off the counter and holding them gently in his hand, ensuring that they didn’t pierce the skin on that hand too. “Would you be so kind as to get me a drink? Oh and maybe an alcohol soaked rag.” he smirked at her, trying to put a smile back on her face. He couldn’t actually feel anything in his hand, but he needed to seem authentic instead of sitting there doing nothing about it. He’d already refused the ambulance and he had seen humans put alcohol on their wounds many a time, but never truly understood why.

“Make it a shot of Sambuca… with a bit of coffee in if you don’t mind.” He didn’t know if she would know what he was intending to make, but at times like this he liked his drinks hot, and letting someone else set his Flaming Sambuca on fire just took all the fun out of it. “As for the alcohol soaked rag make it whiskey. And you needn’t worry, I will pay for the amount of whiskey you use on it.” he reassured her. It didn’t take her long to serve him, and it was no surprise really considering that she was a perfectly efficient bartender. He waited till he thought she had turned her back, before touching the edge of the glass. Within seconds the Sambuca had set on fire and he downed it in one, feeling the after burn coursing through his body, leaving a warm sensation. He took the rag gently from her hand, pressing it down firmly on his. He hissed slightly, feigning the pain of the alcohol hitting the wounds. He rolled his eyes and bit down hard on his tongue, waiting a few moments before tying the rag round his hand. His other hand dived into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and flicking it open in one swift movement. He grabbed a crisp note from it and passed it to Annie, feigning a smile as he did so. He looked back towards the man who she had named as Jamie, whose lazy eye seemed to be firmly fixated on him. His mind wandered, recognising the man, but unable to figure out where from. He wondered if the man had been a client of his, or maybe a demon he had wronged, but he remembered that if it had been the latter, he would know by now at least.

He sighed, looking back towards Annie, admiring her wonderful personality. It had been so long since he had been in the presence of a nice human, considering the last person he had been in the company of had threatened to gut him over a soul. He bit his lip in thought, tapping his foot away to the jukebox, which appeared to be stuck on one song. He nodded slightly to himself before settling on another drink, deciding that another whiskey really wouldn’t go amiss. “Another whiskey if you don’t mind beautiful. This money’s burning a hole in my pocket.” he laughed rather loudly, amused by his own joke. The thing was, he was a pyrokinetic, and had the ability to control fire if and when he needed to. He was never in need of a lighter or a box of matches, even though he carried one around as to not raise suspicions from anyone who appeared to be watching him. He whistled cheerily to the song, keeping up his front of being a friendly individual. The matter of the fact was, he had no need to worry about being found out as he had more than enough practice when it came to putting on a different façade in public. To everyone else he was a respectable businessman from New York who had come over from Scotland, but he had never told anyone why. He’d never really thought that part of his disguise through, and he’d never really needed to because no one ever asked. People were never as curious as they used to be, and avoided asking any personal questions about anyone unless they were truly planning on getting involved in that person’s life, and likewise people never felt obliged to tell people their stories unless asked. It was a never-ending loop until someone brave enough enquired about the others past. Crowley took in a deep breath, and looked Annie in the eyes. “So what’s a brilliant woman like you doing working in a bar like this? And don’t tell me it’s for the company.” He laughed, holding his hands together on the bar and leaning forward, feigning an interest in her life.


*****************************************

Lyrics: Getting Away with Murder by Papa Roach
Tagged: Anna "Annie" Sawyer

”Oh… “ Annie blurted out the single word, with a blush, and a slight duck of her head inwards, at his gentle tease about dinner, though the intent was serious enough. ”Well, it’s… that’s very lovely of you, really, I … it’s just that I’m… sort of … seeing someone. And I’m really – it’s complicated, you know, new place, new faces, and really, I haven’t got my feet back under me at all, and there’s just so much going on right now –“ She stammered, happy for the distraction of cleaning out the little pieces of glass from the cuts on his hand so she didn’t have to look at him to see just how badly he would have to be reaction to her absolute inability to form a complete sentence. ”Oh god, I’m just… You’d think I was special needs, wouldn’t you.” She muttered, letting out a soft breath, daring to glance up towards him as he squeezed her hand gently. His reaction surprised her, admittedly, her posture smoothing out some as she realized that he didn’t seem entirely put off by her response to his question – or to her touch. It was… surprising. And rather pleasant, actually. ”You’re sweet for thinkin’ it though.” She added, with a little less of an idiotic stammer, a smile still lingering on her lips, though suddenly she felt the need to clarify. ”The dinner part, that is, not the... special needs and you know what, I’m going to go and get a drink, and a glass and… ” Taking the time, this time, to walk to the break in the bar and slide behind it rather than just blink to the other side like she had when she’d heard the crunch of glass, she quickly set to filling his request.

”Right off, sure.” She replied, her teeth pinching at the corner of her lip for a moment. She wondered if there was going to be any forms that she’d have to fill out, though the thought made her shudder slightly. Funny, the things that purgatory made you hate after the fact…. Bringing the drink back, and setting it carefully in front of him, she snagged a towel to gather up the shards from the hand where he’d collected them, and very carefully set about wiping off the bar to make sure she’d gotten all the pieces, and all the blood. Bess was going to have her ass if she found out about this, she just knew it, trying to keep the worry from creeping into her expression. Sure he seemed fine now, but what happened when he developed some sort of infection and sued? No, she convinced herself, stealing a glance back up towards him and his charming smile. He wasn’t the type. ”Oh, no, this one’s fine, really, on the house.” She assured him, dumping the shards and bloody rag into the wastebasket, reaching for a clean handkerchief from under the counter and dousing it liberally in the purest grade whiskey that she could find. ”You really don’t have to use this, though, if you don’t want to,” She started, glancing up in the mirror behind the bar to see if he was paying attention… just in time to see his fingers rub against the side of the glass, following a split second later by a small eruption of flames. She forgot for a moment both what she was saying, and what she was doing, only noticing that the rag was more than dampened when she heard the whiskey splash against the counter beneath, her gaze jerking back towards the bottle.

Setting it down a bit too hastily, she twisted the handkerchief over the bin of glasses waiting to be washed, squeezing off the excess before she turned back around to offer him the cloth. ”I’m sure we’ve got a proper first aid kit around here somewhere, if you’d like,” She added, finally finishing her comment, her gaze lingering on the glass that he had downed only seconds after setting it ablaze. Old Annie would’ve written it off as a trick of course, a trick of the light or her mind playing tricks on her, but this Annie knew better. This Annie knew there were all sorts of things out there that shouldn’t be. Like her. Sure,” She said, with a quick smile, collecting the just emptied glass, and setting it off into the bin, before picking up the whiskey bottle she’d just had in hand, and topping off another glass to set in front of him. She chuckled, at his comment of the money, a nervous sort of giggle that cut itself off quickly. ”I wouldn’t go saying that too loud , not everybody in here has scruples, if you know what I mean.” She advised in all seriousness. ”Good chaps, until they’ve had one too many, and then I swear all the smarts that god gave them just disappears in a whiff of smoke.” She declared, with a somewhat easier smile, letting her weight settle against an elbow on the bar in front of him.

”Well, truth be told, -- and as sad as it might seem, it is, actually. It's loads of fun. Well, most times, at least. It's like... Christmas. Or Halloween. Probably more like Halloween, I suppose. Only with presents. -- I come in every night, and I never know what I'm going to find. Annie explained, glancing briefly towards the table in the corner that, while rowdy, had not grown much worse since their arrival, and she checked the clock over the swinging door to the kitchen. She had at least a few more minutes before the wings were done, she gauged, before turning her attention back towards Crowley. ”Meet new people, see new faces ... and everybody's got a story to tell, you know? Some fantastic stories.” She explained, looking pointedly at him. ”Like you – a guy like you, in a suit like that, walking into a place like that… something tells me you’ve got a bit of an… extraordinary story to tell.” She suggested, her head tilting to lean against her shoulder lightly as she watched him, all the more curious now than before as to who, or what, this fellow was. ”I’m Annie, by the way. It’s a pleasure,” She declared, holding her hand out towards him, with a grin.

i feel irrational, so confrontational, to tell the truth i am getting away with murder
AND IS IT IMPOSSIBLE TO NEVER TELL THE TRUTH BUT THE REALITY IS I'M GETTING AWAY WITH MURDER
getting away, getting away, getting away i drink my drink and i don't even want to
I THINK MY THOUGHTS WHEN I DON'T EVEN NEED TO, I NEVER LOOK BACK 'CAUSE I DON'T EVEN WANT TO

*****************************************
Crowley chuckled to himself as the girl tried to explain everything to him. He wasn’t exactly understanding of it all, but he didn’t really care much for people’s stories. He’d planned it all out, he would make as many friends as he could, before striking and finding out who has the information he required. He never really did anything without an ulterior motive, and his façade was flawless. He listened to her talk about the fact that she was “seeing” someone and how she dragged herself down in a strange way. He was confused by this girl, in the sense that, she didn’t appear to be normal, but she wasn’t abnormal in the demon kind of way either. The way he saw it was there were two types of women; the loud proud women who spoke there mind, and the slightly withdrawn and socially awkward women, but he just couldn’t place the bartender at all. She didn’t fit properly, and regardless of how hard he tried, he couldn’t figure her out at all. He smirked as he watched her words stumble aimlessly from her mouth and her nervousness around him, contradicting his previous thought about her confidence. He bit his lip and looked at her, controlling his urge to just laugh, in his head trying to control his facial expression, switching it to a far more concerned face. He had been trialling her, changing the song on the jukebox several times, and setting his drink of fire, but she didn’t seem to have cottoned on, which made him think that she was either completely oblivious, or just ignoring them, like a human that didn’t want to believe anything that wasn’t physically possible. He tapped lightly on the desk, before loosening his tie and undoing the top button. He looked way too formal to be sitting in a bar drinking to his heart’s content, and with the amount of people in the bar, he’d rather not be noticed by any of them or get into a fight.

He nodded politely as she handed him another drink before staring into it thoughtfully. She had told him not to pay for the rag and she had also mentioned something about everyone having an interesting story to tell. He never expected someone to delve into his past, and it made him panic slightly. He needed to think something up fast, considering he couldn’t remember his past from when he was completely human. It was as if when the soul goes, the memory goes with it and is replaced with the memories of the demon that controls the vessel. His mind starting spinning as he thought deeply about his background story, taking great care not to have gaps in the story so that should she ask a question, he would be able to answer it without fault or delay. He knew that his vessel had been a man originally from Scotland who had moved to New York and was some form of journalist, but that was all, and besides, that did not sound half as appealing as the job he really did have. His brain was running like a steam train bound for the end of the world with no stops, and it didn’t seem to show any signs of slowing down. He didn’t dare look at her until he had a proper think about what words were going to come out of his mouth. That was the thing about Crowley; he had often been one to speak before thinking about what was truly coming from his mouth. Under those circumstances he had barely got away with a scratch, but he never learnt his lesson, it was just in his nature. This time was different and intricately thought out, after finally deciding that he needed to take his interrogations to a different level and try a different method of getting his victims to talk, considering the torture front wasn’t exactly going to plan, especially since he’d got a bloody hunter involved.

He took in a deep breath before downing his drink and slamming the empty glass on the bar. He had finally thought his story through and was going to play off her more sympathetic side. “Well… The name’s Fergus…. Fergus MacLeod. Yeah I know silly name, but it’s kind of a heritage thing.” he mumbled, before raising his voice a little louder so the bartender heard more clearly. “I lived in Scotland, on an island called Mull. I had a beautiful wife and two wonderful children, both girls. One was called Lily, she was three, and the other was called Molly, she was just six months old. I went away on a business trip, took a flight to New York to meet a client. And when I got back….” he started to feign choking back tears, crocodile tears filling up his eyes. “The door was swinging off its hinge, and the living room was trashed, but that wasn’t the worst of it. I got upstairs and there they were… drenched in their own blood, the walls painted red. That was the day that I truly died, and this…” he choked, pulling on his jacket before letting it fall back to his chest. “Just a shell… New York… city of dreams… more like the bringer of nightmares… if only I hadn’t gone on that stupid trip.” He sighed loudly looking at the bar without looking up at Annie. Crowley was a liar when he needed to be, and he was damned good at it, knowing that if he looked her straight in the eyes she would see the falseness that shone in the tears. He bit down on hard on his lip as if to show her he was trying to hold it all back, before placing his hand to his forehead, massaging it gently before letting his hand fall gracefully to the table. The façade he held up was so flawless that he doubted even any demons in the room would be able to tell otherwise.

*****************************************

Lyrics: Getting Away with Murder by Papa Roach
Tagged: Anna “Annie” Sawyer

”Hold that thought,” Annie said, holding up a finger, as the man across the bar mulled over the answer to her question, casting a slightly annoyed glance at the window behind her as the bell ‘dinged’, announcing the arrival of the wings. ”Order up.” A woman’s voice, deep and tired, rumbled from the back kitchen, and Annie quickly set to filling up the two draft beers and snagging the bottles of beer to replace the ones that had been delivered in the pail earlier, setting it all on the tray, along with a thick handful of napkins and a large number of small plastic cup and lid sets filled with an assortment of ranch and bleu cheese. ”I’ll be right back.” Annie assured Crowley, before she hoisted up the tray and made her way towards the table. Swapping out filled for empties didn’t take long, and this time the men’s attention was too thoroughly settled on the arrival of food and fresh, cold beers to be bothered with harassing her any. Small miracles, she thought, with a sigh, as she hurried back towards the bar, dropping off the tray at the end of the counter and sliding her way back down to where she had been resting before. ”Sorry ‘bout that.” She said, suddenly struck again by the urge to make a cup of tea, despite the three or four untouched ones that were set underneath the bar, but managed to resist it. Instead, she fussed again at the counter, rubbing the already spotless and slightly gleaming surface with a dishrag as she waited for his response.

”No, not silly at all. Definitely more interesting than ‘Anna’,” She asserted, as he introduced himself, the furious scrubbing at the nonexistent spot on the bar stilling as he continued, something in his expression and tone as his story began making her pause, all of her attention settling on him. She could feel her stomach drop, a little, as he spoke of his wife, and the young girls, all too painfully aware of the use of past tense as he described them. Her weight settled, dropping onto the stool she kept behind the bar, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of her, her expression slipping into one of shock, and into sympathy and horror as he got to what she had concluded to be the near inevitable ending, though she had desperately hoped for it to be anything but. She could picture it… all too easily. Far too often, she’d seen a similar scene, so many deaths, violent and all too soon… ”I….” she tried to speak, but her words failed her, her own eyes glinting with sympathetic tears, her hand curling over his and squeezing lightly, her lips pinching together tightly. ”I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” She could feel the heart that didn’t exist inside of her ache, a shallow breath taken in. ”Did they… did they find who…” She knew it didn’t always ease the pain. She knew that first hand. Confronting Owen with her own death hadn’t been the magic band aid she had hoped it would be… but it had been a start.

”I’m so sorry.” She said again, watching him and blinking back tears, her eyes flaring wide as watched his breath escape in a somewhat icy fog, her hand snatched back from his, as she stared down at the glass that he’d recently emptied, and the hint of frost creeping through the few drops of moisture clinging to the outside of it. She picked it up hurriedly, turning half away, as she closed her eyes for a moment, forcing the cold back inside of her. ”I’ll get you another drink.” She offered, a little shakily, setting to quickly making another of the shot that he’d requested, the Sambuca with the touch of coffee in it, feeling guilty at the thought that perhaps her little Christmas in July act had been missed in his own distraction.

i feel irrational, so confrontational, to tell the truth i am getting away with murder
AND IS IT IMPOSSIBLE TO NEVER TELL THE TRUTH BUT THE REALITY IS I'M GETTING AWAY WITH MURDER
getting away, getting away, getting away i drink my drink and i don't even want to
I THINK MY THOUGHTS WHEN I DON'T EVEN NEED TO, I NEVER LOOK BACK 'CAUSE I DON'T EVEN WANT TO

*****************************************

Crowley had never lied to the extent that he just had now to this girl, and the thing was, he didn’t feel at all bad about it. How could he? He didn’t truly have a soul and there was nothing left of his vessel. All that was left was a demon who didn’t really know good emotions, but then, why would he considering that he had spent pretty much all his life in Hell. Lucifer had been just as much a dick to Crowley in Hell than he had been to him on Earth and there was nothing he could ever really do about it. He felt helpless against the king of Hell, and the truth of the matter was, Lucifer would always have the upper hand on Crowley, no matter how hard he tried to hide this fact. Crowley had spent the past few months in hiding and it was degrading, stopping him from ever really going out, or making deals. He needed to keep under the radar and he was struggling with it as it was, he certainly didn’t need anyone ratting him out, and if there were anything abnormal in this pub, there was always that slight chance of him being discovered by Lucifer.

He took in a deep breath and sighed as the girl blabbed slightly to him, making him slightly annoyed. Sympathy was an emotion that he couldn’t get in humans and he would never understand; it was a feeling that he would never really have to deal with. He knew what he should have said in that moment where she semi-insulted her name but he found he couldn’t really force the words out, as if they were recoiling in his mouth. Eventually, after a few moments of struggling with himself he managed to form a sentence on his tongue. “Well, I think Anna is a lovely name.” he assured her, smiling slightly as he began to tell his twisted story, delving further and further into his lie, watching her reactions as he went. He hoped that she would not wheedle out the lie and catch him out, especially not this early in the game, not when he needed someone to talk to while he sussed out who was the abnormal entity in the room. He’d sensed it a few times now and it was giving him quite the chills.

Crowley smiled inside, realising that playing the sympathy card had finally paid off. He was winning Annie over and he loved the thought about as much as he loved torturing people. He noticed the icy air as he breathed out slowly, and frowned in confusion looking up at Annie, who had rapidly taken the glass from his hand. She was acting more and more suspicious in his mind, and he pondered the thought of her being inhuman for a moment, but if he up and told her what he thought, she may suddenly lose interest in him and get annoyed with him. He had to be sure before he straight up asked her, waiting for her to bring him a drink. He watched as she brought the flaming Sambuca back minus the flames and waited for her to turn her attentions back to him. He looked up at her, attracting her eyes to him before looking back down at his drink, he tapped the edge of the glass gently with his index finger, igniting the drink instantly before looking back up at her. He needed to know that she had seen what he had done, and if she didn’t react badly, then he would know if she was not what she seemed.

“Another one of these if you don’t mind.” he chuckled before downing the shot swiftly. The liquid tickled down his throat, warming his entire body quickly, not that he ever really needed it. He always found that no matter how cold a room was, he was always quite warm. He didn’t mind, because it meant that he would never complain in the winter, but it did mean that he had to be extra warm for disguise purposes. He didn’t want people to know he couldn’t feel the cold, the last thing he needed was for people to question his abnormalities and suddenly discover what he was. He sighed heavily, realising that he had suddenly slowed down with his drinking, and that his cover was going to be blown if he didn’t sink back into his depressive state. Normal humans wouldn’t randomly go from happy to sad and then laugh straight after telling a depressing story. He hung his head, his hand still on the shot glass that she had given him. He wondered if she had noticed his mistake, but new she wouldn’t have, considering he had sunk quite quickly again.

Crowley wasn’t one for really caring about people’s opinions on him, but he also wasn’t one for letting people know the true him unless he was making a deal, and he hadn’t made one of those for quite some time now. His business had slipped since Lucifer had returned, and it depressed him in a weird sort of way, because demons couldn’t get depressed, they just got angry or even. He missed the days when he could just make a deal without the fear of demons hunting him down and trying to serve his head on a silver platter to the King of all dicks. He was sick of being walked over and he wanted to over throw Lucifer as soon as was possibly, even if that meant hunting down a place that had previously just been myth and if that required for him to torture and kill creatures until he had a definitive answer then so be it. He looked at Annie, smiling weakly, his eyes watering and held his hand over the bar, wanting to grasp hers. “I’m sorry for opening all that up to you, it’s very rare I let go like that… I didn’t mean to upset you or scare you.” he choked, biting his lip gently.

*****************************************

Lyrics: Getting Away with Murder by Papa Roach
Tagged: Anna "Annie" Sawyer

In the aftermath of shock, and sadness and the twinges of guilt that arose at the story that he shared with her about his family, she pretty much missed or entirely skipped over the patent comment about her name. Like that mattered, in the scheme of things. Anna was at a loss for words. And that, for her, was something of a feat. She was always talking, chattering on about anything at all that crossed her mind – which could provide a useful insight to the random way in which her brain connected facts and cross referenced, if someone cared to pay enough attention, but in general, she was content to flutter from one subject to the other without a moment’s hesitation, bringing it all back around in some amusing full circle comment towards the end of the conversation. Like a stand up comedian, only without the planning, or intent. Part of it was just the way her brain worked, plucking up little pieces here, little pieces there, and shoving them all together and mixing them up until it created… something. A final image. A grand picture that would give her some clue, to… well… another, grander picture. She had seen too much come back around to not pay attention to everything, even when she didn’t mean to.

Little pieces. The suit, far too posh and hand-tailored to be an off the rack piece, and definitely too upper class for this bar. His concern about being watched, his suspicion about Jackie… the fire, which he repeated with ease as she set the refilled drink in front of him, waiting to make sure he had her attention before he tapped his finger against the edge of the glass, sparking the liquid to life without effort. She had seen quite a few things, and quite a few tricks and abilities in her day… but she hadn’t ever seen that one. She didn’t know what to make of it, or make of him. She didn’t like the nagging sensation of paranoia and fear that crept into the back of her throat as she stared at the now empty glass, her brain working in overdrive as she tried to sort out everything from the conversation they’d had so far. She liked him and she felt a lingering sadness for him, which contradicted the sharp pang of worry that crept into her expression. There were two ways she could take this. The first, being that this was another soul in need that had stumbled into her path – and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time; the second, being that he was trouble bundled up in an attractive package and a really nice suit. Had he been sent to track her down, to deliver a message? From Purgatory? About Mitchell?

She had hoped, desperately, that the trouble that they’d had in England would have stayed behind. Priests intent on exorcising anybody’s demons, ancient grudge-holding vampires, vampire armies, ghosts with the sole intent of making her miserable, or dragging her back into Purgatory, werewolves intent on worming their way into her friends’ lives solely to be able to pick them off one by one… Death and blood, that is what they had left in their wake. And she wanted it to stay that way. It had to stay that way, she resolved, suddenly, the edge of fear and worry fading from her expression, her features resolute as she looked up to him, an almost weary sort of smile tugging at her lips. ”No – don’t apologize, it’s good to talk about it, even when it doesn’t feel like it. That rage… that grief, it sits, and it eats away all the things that make us good, like poison.” She said, quietly, her hands settling gently to clasp his in them, her tone making it clear to the trained ear that she had had more than her share of experience in those particular departments. ”I’m sorry. I know nothing will ever make it right… but if there’s anything I can do, anything at all, I’ll do my best. You don’t have to do this alone, you know, you’re not – alone. Whatever you’ve been through… whatever you’re going through, I’d like to help.” She said, gently, not wanting to come on too strong, but feeling a compelling need to make sure he understood.

i feel irrational, so confrontational, to tell the truth i am getting away with murder
AND IS IT IMPOSSIBLE TO NEVER TELL THE TRUTH BUT THE REALITY IS I'M GETTING AWAY WITH MURDER
getting away, getting away, getting away i drink my drink and i don't even want to
I THINK MY THOUGHTS WHEN I DON'T EVEN NEED TO, I NEVER LOOK BACK 'CAUSE I DON'T EVEN WANT TO

*****************************************

Crowley had never been sympathized with in his life, and even though everything he had just told Annie was a lie, it still felt… strange to him. He wasn’t used to sympathy, considering he’d spent his life being hated and people wanting him dead, even when he was alive. He’d managed to crawl his way out of Hell and out into a suit, breathing in the fresh air, which was now dirtied with his presence, but he didn’t care, he was free. That’s all demons ever really cared about, freedom, considering the fact that Hell was still hell even for them , Lucifer treated them all like dogs, and like dogs some obeyed and stayed with their master, while others turned on him, their teeth bearing, and they were all hunted now. It was only last week he’d heard about one of his followers being ripped apart by a hound and he felt sorry for the poor bugger, but there wasn’t a lot he could have done for him. One by one they were getting picked off and at any time it would be his turn, and nobody gave a crap about it, he was alone in this whole thing, but did he want sympathy? No. He wanted Lucifer and Meg tied to a stake, and to be burnt over and over again slowly so that their skin would crackle off. Those kinds of thoughts towards Lucifer were light compared to what he had dreamt about doing to him. The amount of times he’d sat and laughed in his dreams about ripping his skin off with his bare hands, and the amount of times he’d fed him to his hound. He relished in the thought of one day killing him, and this made a small smile creep across his face as he lifted the glass to his lips and took a drink.

He tapped the edge of his glass lightly, shooting Annie a small smile, hoping that she would know what it meant. He didn’t really have much left to say to her on the matter of his fake family and fake background story; he’d pretty much covered everything that he needed to cover. For the amount he’d drunk, he was surprisingly sober, but that tended to happen with the mood set he was in, which was depressing and low. If he had, had a good day, say he’d managed to get one step closer to getting into purgatory, then he would probably have got drunk a couple of drinks earlier and saved himself a fortune. In his experience, being depressed was expensive, especially for women and the excessive amount of chocolate and ice-cream they wanted to consume when they were down, but in his experience, the best cure for depression was a drunken night out even if it did cost him an arm and a leg to do so. He took in a deep breath whilst staring intently at Anna, noticing that she hadn’t said anything about his little fire trick, or his music switch. Maybe she wasn’t what he thought she was, or maybe she was just overly good at hiding it, and he’d been so sure she wasn’t human, but the evidence was lacking and he had no other reason to pursue the fact. “It’s fine sweetheart, I don’t need help. Years of therapy and all that ‘what’s done is done, it wasn’t your fault’ bollocks has got me through….eventually. I still can’t help but wonder… what if I had been there? Would I have saved them or died with them? Either way I’d still be with my family…. Distressing thought isn’t it.” he mumbled, his lips pursing as he began to stare into space again, wondering how long it would take for her to see right through his lies, but he knew that they were flawless. It wasn’t often his lies had been so intricately weaved, but he didn’t take this woman for a fool, and knew she wouldn’t have fallen for a petty ‘my wife left me’ excuse, considering he’d heard so many men use that before him.

“So… anything praying on your mind dear? Think of this as a…. free therapy session with a man who has enough advice for every person in the world.” he chuckled to himself, folding his hands on the table and staring at her, waiting for her reply intently. Crowley had seen many things with his time on Earth and within a split second of a problem being presented to him, he’d be able to solve it. He’d realised that quite a lot of people on Earth had spent most of their life making irrational decisions based on illogical reasons and it drove him absolutely mad. In his eyes, humans were supposed to be intelligent and yet they couldn’t decide whether or not “they wanted Suzie or Mandy” or whether “their marriage was failing.” Even he could see when things were about to go wrong and what the quick easy fix was, but people were oblivious to the long term fixes, and that’s where he would step in. Right now he was giving out advice for free as he felt generous, but normally he would make a deal so that they wouldn’t need to decide. For example if it was John Doe who wanted Suzie and Mandy, then he would get them without the worry of either party dumping him or whatever because he would have signed a contract indirectly with Hell. Crowley needed to get this girl to open up to him, maybe she would reveal a piece of information that would help him figure out what she was exactly, or maybe she would just turn out to be one of those whiny barmaids that wanted to be an actress but never got their because her dad hated her or something. He’d met the type before and he just found them agitating, but he had high hopes that Annie would not be one of those types, and that she may actually have an interesting story for him to hear.

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Lyrics: Getting Away with Murder by Papa Roach
Tagged: Anna Annie Sawyer

Annie shook her head, again, at his words of his family, her hand reaching to settle on his bandaged one lightly, wanting to offer him some small comfort. ”You shouldn’t do that – they would want you to be alive, to have your life. The dead… most of them at least, and especially ones that were family, loved ones, they want… the people they’ve left behind to be happy. As much as they can be, anyways.” She said, her voice quiet, her gaze looking at him for a moment, her brows drawing together slightly as she spoke. ”They’ll wait, as long as they have to, and until then they’ll want you to be here, doing whatever it is that you’re meant to.” She offered, her lips painted into a very small smile, for the moment, her attention focusing only on him, the rest of the bar and the other customers forgotten entirely as she watched him. Her head tilted, then, as he spoke, offering his own assistance, his own shoulder to cry on, the small smile drifting from her face as the world around him shifted, briefly, the world drifting away as he came into sudden clarity in front of her, her gaze shifting from looking at him, more to through him, or past him, her hand drifting from his to settle half forgotten on the bar.

”The darkness you carry… it’s…“ Her brows creased further together again, a shiver running down her spine then, her arms crossing in over her stomach briefly as she blinked at him, her worried blue eyes settling on his. She was hesitant, again, uncertain as to how much he would want to hear, how much he would be willing to hear, but she had to try. ”The darkness will consume you, if you let it. I can feel it, like… the boogey man, hovering. Your … therapists, your head shrinks, they can’t… they don’t know the truth of it, or those that do, it’s their job to clean it up – and you do not want to cross paths with some of those types, they’d sell their grandmother for popcorn at a show.” Annie said, with another shudder, her gaze searching his as she tried to find a way to express more clearly to him what it was that she was feeling, what it was that was lurking around him, a weight of … malevolence, like a shroud, shrinking around him a little more with each breath. ”I.. don’t know what it is, that is following you, if it’s something that happened because of what happened to your family, or if it’s got something to do with… “ She glanced down, to the empty glass that she had in hand, offering a bit of a sheepish smile as she quickly set to refilling it with the liquor and the splash of coffee. ”However it is you do that.” She nodded, towards the glass, waiting for him to set it ablaze again.

”It’s not… like anything I’ve seen before.” She admitted, a little reluctantly. She wished that she had more, that somehow she could offer some sort of advice, some immediate cure all that would lift the fog from him and clear the heaviness from him. She would have to ask Mitchell when she saw him again if he had ever heard of anything like whatever this… sense was. She couldn’t define it, couldn’t put a finger on it, it wasn’t like with Mitchell and George, how she’d just somehow known. This was something… different. Something that almost felt like it didn’t even belong here, not that she was particularly warm and fuzzy on a lot of the vampires that she’d met so far what with them trying to kill her and her friends every time she turned around, and she had only had nominally better luck with the werewolf populace at large, but she knew enough to know there were exceptions to every rule. ”Do you have… any idea what I’m talking about, or do you think I’m entirely off my rocker and spouting rubbish?” She asked, after a moment, watching him worriedly, realizing that all that she’d been babbling on about in the last few minutes could very easily be seen entirely as the ranting of a mad person. ”I promise, I only want to help.” She said, hoping to assure him that she was not, in fact crazy, and that she did, honestly, want to offer some form of support, even if she couldn’t offer answers exactly this moment.

bloody tempting liar that's what some of themcall me
'FORE THEY'RE CRAWLING AT MY FEET WITH SOME NEW PLEA
i'm the king of the crossroads so come on let's have a stroll
AND WHILE WE'RE AT IT, WHY NOT STRIKE A BARGAIN FOR YOUR SOUL.
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Crowley listened intently to Annie’s words, and though they never directly affected him, he was sure that what she was saying was true, and that the dead didn’t wish death upon anyone, especially if the dead had managed to land themselves a one way ticket to the pits of Hell. Even that was something Crowley didn’t wish upon anyone, because even to him, Hell was the last place in the universe he wanted to be. He would rather elope to the Sun and fry himself because at least then the pain would be quick and that would be the end of it, not repetitive pain and torture every day for the rest of your life. If Crowley had, had his way, Hell would be less on the physical side of torture and more on the mental side, and more orderly, rather than human bits flying everywhere by anyone that decided to take on the job. It was one thing to be tortured, but a complete other to be taken off the rack and do the torturing, and it was that method that turned humans into demons. Another thing Crowley disagreed with when it came to Hell is that it was run by an Archangel, one who had seen God and disobeyed, being cast down. Regardless of this fact, Crowley had discovered that Lucifer was still and angel through and through, disregarding his demons as mere pawns in his master plans. He wanted the dead just as much as he wanted humans dead so that angels could rule and have complete control over again, but that only ever happen over Crowley’s dead body. Crowley was going to continue his hunt for purgatory, no matter how long it took for him to do so, and he was determined to take Lucifer down by any means necessary and if that meant putting his neck on the line on several occasions, or torturing a countless amount of supernatural beings then so be it, he would gratefully take on the task of taking down the king of Hell.

His ears perked up as Annie spoke more deeply to him, telling him how all the psychiatrists were wrong and that they would never understand; but he already knew this, simply from the fact that hell tended to get most of the psychiatrists being dragged through its doors, because they had spent their entire lives taking people’s money for lies just to make them feel better, and lying was a sin. ”No, you’re right, they have no idea what I’m going through. And trust me, it’s nothing like the boogey man, he’s a lot more terrifying.” he laughed nervously, looking down at his drink, staring straight into it as if to be deep in thought. He drank the rest of the drink and set it on the table, watching her as she refilled it and rambled on about him being haunted somewhat, but he knew he wasn’t, she just couldn’t see what he was yet. ”Oh… you mean this?” he tapped his glass, setting it alight, before sighing deeply.”It’s a hell of a long story, and even though I think you’re lovely, I’d rather not talk about it…” the thing was, he didn’t want her to know what he was just yet, not until she admitted what she was, whether that was willingly, or with a little nudge from him. ”But does that mean you’re ‘haunted’?” he asked, feigning being timid. ”I don’t want to sound rude, but I did notice your little ‘cool’ trick.” He still couldn’t quite put his finger on what she was but he knew she was a supernatural creature, he just needed to get her to openly admit it and then it would be a home run for him, everything would be so much easier for him here on out with her, and maybe he would be able to get the answers he wanted without torturing this girl, because the truth was he actually quite liked her, enough to not want to torture her for answers.

”Don’t worry, you’re not talking rubbish. I just… it’s a trick that I picked up on my travels… a trick I wish I didn’t have. I have quite a few. Some that I’m not proud of, and others that are quite useful from time to time. I’m sorry… I’m weirding you out. I’ll go now.” but this was all part of his plan, his ploy to get her to play right into his hands. He knew that she wasn’t weirded out by him, in fact he had sensed that she was quite intrigued by him, and curious to his background story, but he wasn’t going to give her any of it, not until she openly admitted to what she was, and what that was he didn’t know yet, but it couldn’t be one of Lucifer’s demons, otherwise she would have handed him straight to him by now, but instead she had drawn on a long conversation with him, which confirmed his suspicions that whatever she was, she was a free agent and was serving under no one but instead posing as a waitress at a bar taking orders from a human. He had given what she was a lot of thought, finally settling for some form of ghost, or a shadow, either of which he would be happy with, considering there was every chance that, that particular ghost had crawled its way out of purgatory and may or may not have the location for him, the thought of which excited him immensely, especially since it meant that he would be one step closer to achieving his goal and defeating Lucifer. The barmaid could be the key to it all, and finally he would find the appropriate gold mine of souls that he needed to become more powerful than the devil himself and over throw him. He had already planned it; he wasn’t going to kill Lucifer, no that would have been too kind, instead he was going to set him to an eternity of torture, just like he had done to Demons and humans before him.


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Lyrics: King of the Crossroads by Doreikage1
Tagged: Anna "Annie" Sawyer

Annie couldn’t help but be concerned as she watched the emotions play out over the man’s face, his features creasing, his brows furrowing together darkly. It was clear that he was troubled, and that there was a great deal more going on than he was willing to let on, or talk about – and that was after admitting the horrifying deaths of his wife and his children. She couldn’t imagine. She had suffered purgatory, and her own death, and had seen the horror of the massacre in Bristol, but still she could not quite imagine what kind of wound something like that would have left on his soul, and in his heart. Her heart ached for him. She shook her head slightly, not as in contradiction, but in unspoken sympathy as he spoke of the boogey man, as if he had known him, had met him, had survived in his presence, but then what else would something like a massacre of one’s own family feel like? ”I’m so sorry,” She offered quietly again, her hand curled still over his wrapped hand, unable to offer any more comfort than that touch, which seemed so small in comparison to what he had endured. She wished she could do more. She nodded, then, at his gesture to his drink as he set it alight briefly, before downing the drink.

”It’s all right – you don’t have to, of course.” Annie assured him, as he opted to keep the story of his little fire trick to himself for the time being. The last thing she wanted to do was make him feel as if he was being pressured or corned into something. She hesitated, at his next words, her teeth catching at the inside of her cheek and pinching a little, her hand slipping back from his, to grab the dishtowel again, twisting it a little between her fingers as she watched him. She hated admitting what she was, to those that couldn’t tell. It was always awkward, and there were always so many questions that they had, and while most times, after the initial shock, she didn’t mind talking about what she was and what it meant and everything, she was also painfully aware that they were not alone. Still, he had offered her his story, it was only fair that she should reciprocate. ”No!” She exclaimed, as he started to rise to his feet, having come to the conclusion apparently that she wasn’t willing to offer much in return, and she reached out a hand again, to try and convince him to stay. ”Please, I want you to stay – you’re not weirding me out. Trust me. You’re hardly the strangest thing I’ve seen, and I want you to stay, I want to help you, if I can.” She offered, pleaded, watching him with her warm gaze.

”I’m not haunted – “ Annie started, gesturing for him to sit again, patting the bar, and pulling down the bottle of good Scotch that he had ordered earlier and setting it down for him. ”And my cold trick, my… drinking ‘thing’… it’s all the same ‘thing’. I’m the thing that would do the haunting, usually, if you believe in that sort of thing.” She explained, hesitantly, watching his reactions closely. ”I’m a ghost.” She went on, her voice low and meant specifically for his ears alone. ”I have been, for a few years now, ever since my fiance’ killed me. Threw me down the stairs of the flat we had together. But it’s all right, I’ve moved on from that – took me a while, I’ll admit, but I’m stronger now, for it. I don’t eat, or drink… because I can’t. I can… feel through other people, when they do, if I try, but … I don’t have a body, anymore, so… I can’t really… you know. Swallow, or anything.” She offered, watching him. ”I’m not like… all vengeance is mine, and all that, most of us, aren’t, really. Usually it’s just like everyone says, some unfinished business, sometimes just passing on a message, or seeing something put right, or seeing someone happy again….” She offered him a slight smile, hoping that he would understand some of what she was trying to say, and really hoping that he wouldn’t be so weirded out or traumatized by it that he took off for the hills.