𝘚𝘌𝘓𝘍 𝘗𝘙𝘖𝘊𝘓𝘈𝘐𝘔𝘌𝘋

Crowley’s leg lifted to cross over the other, the ice in the glass clanged rhythmically as he lifted the whiskey to his lips. He pulled the sunglasses down his nose ever so slightly so he could peer over them. He wasn’t terribly interested in conversing with the masses. He was on vacation; being self proclaimed king of hell was tiring work. “Excuse me, do you work here?” The demon smirked; placing the glass of whiskey down on a table next to his sun lounger. “I’m quite thirsty and could use another drink.”