[Crowley, on the other hand, hasn't moved, just sitting in a hallway with his back to the wall, sleeves rolled up and arms draped over his knees. He's felt the need for some quiet, tobacco-assisted contemplation after all that bullshit. He's exhausted, but his Mirror is more so, and is sort of curled up in the back of Crowley's mind muttering obscenities to himself about certain countries.]
[Crowley's communicator beeps and he tugs it out. Looks like America got away safely, though Crowley can hear a good portion of the mansion burning or otherwise falling to pieces. He stares into the feed, still completely deadpan, because there is no emotion on, below, or above Earth to deal with watching your own body struggle past crucifixes, deer heads and innumerable genitalia.]
my dick is basically one of those whales i mentioned
[Crowley's communicator beeps and he tugs it out. Looks like America got away safely, though Crowley can hear a good portion of the mansion burning or otherwise falling to pieces. He stares into the feed, still completely deadpan, because there is no emotion on, below, or above Earth to deal with watching your own body struggle past crucifixes, deer heads and innumerable genitalia.]
Was the forest of phalluses really necessary?