Prompt from Carmarthen: Crowley, dove, gray, silk, top hat, London.
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Another drizzly, gray day in London. Hardly surprising. After all, if what the angel had heard was true, He'd been in something of a snit lately. And if He was unhappy, everyone was unhappy.
Crowley tugged his top hat farther down on his head. He was awfully proud of it, that hat. Brand new, and black silk. It was part of his new look. For his part, Crowley was glad human fashions changed as quickly as they did. It got awfully boring wearing the same clothes for too long. He'd mentioned it to Aziraphale once, but he didn't think the angel had gotten the hint.
The rain picked up, coming down in large, heavy drops. If this kept up much longer it would be like back in the day, with the whole forty days and forty nights business. Rather a mess, that one had been. He remembered the humans, stuck in their big boat with the birds and the beasts. They might have started out feeling special, but by that point they were pretty well fed up. Doves and olive branches and whatnot. Noah had just sent out those doves because he'd bloody well run out of ravens, hadn't he? Now, of course, doves had a special place in history, and they were rather smug about it too.
Just glorified pigeons. What was the big deal?
Crowley smirked. Wouldn't everyone like to know what had really happened to that last dove?
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