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[goodtobebad]

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[goodtobebad]

Aw, sorry to hear it.

[ Crowley, of course, doesn't know shit about books, nor does he really care, except he's been listening to Aziraphale prattle on about them for several centuries now, and what he knows is that the angel gets mighty put-out when denied something he wants. Especially when he'd been close to getting it.

He keeps the Bentley's speed to a modest 80, by the way. ]

Would dinner make you feel better? We could order in if you don't want to risk another awkward come-on.

[oh_bebop]

[ Just listening is more than enough, listening for long enough to know a thing like that about him, which is more than anyone else has ever cared to do... Aziraphale shoots him a small, grateful smile across the cab.

His eye happens to catch sight of the speedometer at the same moment that Crowley mentions the "come-on" so it's a bit of a toss-up which of the two is responsible for the little distressed sound that leaves him, though he can't quite bring himself to utter an admonishment when he can see that Crowley's making an effort, and so he fumbles in the glovebox for the CDs, mumbling to himself: ]

Music, music will surely... [ Then, in a normal voice: ] I, uh- yes! Yes, I think it just might, though I really don't think that will happen again. Unless the delivery person happens to be drunk.

[ An awkward laugh for an awkward statement. Thankfully, Queen begins to serenade them. ]

[goodtobebad]

You really think that fellow was only flirting with you because he was drunk? I mean, sure, not backing off right away, that was the alcohol, but -

[ Crowley trails off, mouth twisting a bit as he half-shrugs. ]

Anyway, what d'you want? You can get anything delivered these days.

[oh_bebop]

Well, I'd told you of my "Scent of an Angel" theory. So it was either that or that.

[ And he's perfectly happy to leave it at that, bobbing his head along to the music as he tries very hard not to actually see anything out the window. ]

Hmm. I believe the traditional human go-to for this sort of situation is pizza. What do you say to Italian?

[goodtobebad]

Whatever you like, angel.

[ Crowley never eats much. That's not the point, for him. Still, though - ]

You honestly think humans only flirt with you because of - of angelic pheromones?

[oh_bebop]

Italian it is, then!

[ The drink options change though, and that is the point, for him- The general partaking. And the company, of course. ]

I see no other reason why they would. This corporeal form is rather...soft. Now you, on the other hand. Tall, dark and- Umm. Tempting them so, how you do. It must happen to you all the time... [ And oh, there's a thought. His expression takes on the look it gets when he's sobered up. ]

[goodtobebad]

Lots of people like soft.

[ Crowley makes a face. ]

If I'd been around more in the nineteenth century, I would've had to beat them off you with a stick.