12 [Video]

[integrity]

So.

[Crowley is in his apartment, carefully turning something over in his hand. It's a silver knife -- and Crowley is wearing gloves so it doesn't burn him -- but why he has such a thing is beyond anyone's guess. Maybe Crowley just feels like being particularly creepy today. Who knows. Who gives a shit. Not Crowley, that's for sure.]

I thought someone had been feeding my dog something particularly disgusting, as apparently she's gained something of a fanclub within the Port, because she's gained weight. And not only has she gained weight, but she's been eating copious amounts of small fuzzy kittens lately, which is putting a damper both on my budget and my carpet.

Unfortunately, that isn't the case, because some insipid insect within the Port has decided it would be funny to impregnate my dog. Now --

[Crowley will just allow the importance of that statement to fall upon the ears of his loyal and adoring public for a moment before he continues speaking.]

Whoever did this has two options. They can speak now or forever hold their peace. Either way, their eyeballs will be ripped from their sockets and dangled from my windowsill as a warning to anyone else stupid enough to screw my dog.

Cheers.

[Click.]

Comments

[video]

[shifting]

...I said I can turn into one.

I'm a shapeshifter.

[video]

[integrity]

Why in the living Hell have you turned into one before?

[Crowley doesn't sound particularly happy about this little piece of news.]

[video]

[shifting]

[Sam frowns, and is distinctly aware that the truthful answer is also probably the wrong one]

Why does it matter?

[video]

[integrity]

[Lucifer had said that one of his associates had seen the dog out and about, but Crowley hasn't necessarily made the connection. Not quite yet.]

For every reason, none of them you would understand.

[video]

[shifting]

You know, it's hard to have a conversation with you when you're puttin' me down every other comment. Just gonna point that out.

...Mostly it was to see if I could.

[Private]

[integrity]

[Yeah, okay, fuck that, because Crowley has just obtained a crucial piece of information.]

What are you doing with Lucifer.

[His flippant tone is gone, now. He's deadly serious.]

[Private]

[shifting]

[he blinks.] I'm not doin' anything with him. I know him, he's come over for dinner an' such, but it's nothin' more organized 'n that.

[Private]

[integrity]

... Lucifer has come over to your house for dinner.

[Now he's looking less serious and more dumbfounded.

It's kind of a hilarious look on Crowley.

He's not often dumbfounded.]

[Private]

[shifting]

Just the other night. And I'd made him breakfast at the club a time before that.

There a point to this?

[Private]

[integrity]

[Oh. Sweet. Jesus. This is extraordinary. This is something. And if Crowley weren't extraordinarily good at what he does, he would start laughing in absolute glee, because what is this?

But no, Crowley is clever. And as a result, he simply narrows his eyes.]

You do realize that, should it come down to it, he would rather have you skewered over a post than save your hide or anyone else's but his own.

[Private]

[shifting]

Right. [absently. Sam seems rather unconcerned (and unconvinced).]

But back to the hellhounds - can I give it a shot or no?

[Private]

[integrity]

Give me two days to decide.

[He had told Castiel he would give him two days to give Crowley a legitimate reason not to cull them. He always keeps his word.]

But should they prove to be less than a liability than I thought, I won't give them out to anyone without proper cause.

And Lucifer won't be getting one at all.

[That is said firmly. He could give zero fucks if Sam Merlotte has one. He likes Sam quite a lot. But like fucking hell is Lucifer getting one of his dogs.]

[Private]

[shifting]

[Sam nods slowly. It's not a definite - but it's a chance, which is more than the puppies had fifteen minutes ago.] No, yeah, 'course. They'd be your pups, after all.

...And if you do decide to keep 'em, my offer'll still be there.

[Private]

[integrity]

[Every individual has a weakness. His just happens to be his obnoxiously persistent annoying bitch of a useless friend. That's all.]

Naturally.

[Airily.]

-- on a related note... I'd like to see that trick of yours.

[Private]

[shifting]

...Right now?

[Private]

[integrity]

The hellhound, yes.

[Crowley shrugs a shoulder.]

I'm curious as to how authentic it is.

[Private]

[shifting]

...All right. Just give me a sec to set up the NV somewhere...

[Sam looks for a convenient bookcase shelf. He's shifted for curious people over the NV before, but Christ does it never stop being awkward.]

[Private]

[integrity]

I could just go there.

[Crowley almost never asks permission. Feel special. :C]

[Private]

[shifting]

[he appreciates that. And - well, Edgeworth isn't home. He'll just put Gizmo (their Pomeranian) in another room.]

It'd probably be easier. You need the address?

[Offline]

[integrity]

No.

[And Crowley is suddenly in the same room as Sam, leaning against a wall.]

It's a trick of the trade.

[shifting]

[Sam doesn't jump - thanks to a number of visits from Lucifer, he's starting to become used to sudden appearances. But Gizmo, who had been sleeping under his desk, gets up with a start and barks at Crowley furiously.]

Hey, knock that off. [almost conversationally, turning a stare on her. The fluffy Pomeranian opts for a low growl instead, standing warily near her master. Sam sighs and scoops her up.] Let me just put her in another room. You want something to drink?

[integrity]

... you own a Pomeranian?

[Crowley is positively incredulous. All offer of drink forgotten.]

[shifting]

[a laugh from the other room before he comes back, grinning easily] She's Edgeworth's, really. Since sharin' an apartment with him she's become both of ours. Not my first choice of breed, but she's sort of grown on me.

[he strips his shirt off]

[integrity]

They're such annoying yappy dogs.

[Hrgh. Crowley prefers his large hellbeast, tyvm.]

[shifting]

Most of the time that's the owner's fault. They're small, so they treat 'em like a baby. ...'Course I suspect some of them of having complexes. The dogs, I mean.

[he's stripping casually as he talks, down to his boxers by the time he stops. (Normally he'd only have to unbutton his jeans, but he's becoming bigger, not smaller, and jeans are expensive.)]