Having a fairly good idea where John's thoughts were going, Crowley smiled faintly. He felt very much the same about the privileged classes, despite being a member, and wondered if that was one reason he and John got on so well. As well as a bastardly demon and a snarky human (or vice versa) can get on, anyway.
Focussing on his friend and not allowing himself to think of anyone else at all, Crowley did finally manage to get to sleep. He woke half an hour before the plane landed, thanks to an ill timed overhead announcement that everyone very much regreted, and the end of the flight was, if anything, worse than the beginning.
It was a very cranky demon who stalked first off the plane into the terminal. He blew through customs, John in tow, and stopped at the baggage claim long enough for John to grab his bag, which somehow managed to be ready and waiting at the door for them.
As the sliding glass door opened, introducing them to the humidity and noise of New York City, Crowley visibly relaxed. Pushing his sunglasses back up his nose and smoothing his hair, he went to the first taxi in line and climbed in, slumping into the back seat and ignoring the protests of the passengers who'd been waiting in line. He allowed John to give the driver directions to Zatanna's place, translating them into Farsi and adding a little something of his own about drivers who take the long route in order to run up the meter, then just sighed and stared out at the Long Island traffic, letting the tension of air travel drain away.
no subject
Focussing on his friend and not allowing himself to think of anyone else at all, Crowley did finally manage to get to sleep. He woke half an hour before the plane landed, thanks to an ill timed overhead announcement that everyone very much regreted, and the end of the flight was, if anything, worse than the beginning.
It was a very cranky demon who stalked first off the plane into the terminal. He blew through customs, John in tow, and stopped at the baggage claim long enough for John to grab his bag, which somehow managed to be ready and waiting at the door for them.
As the sliding glass door opened, introducing them to the humidity and noise of New York City, Crowley visibly relaxed. Pushing his sunglasses back up his nose and smoothing his hair, he went to the first taxi in line and climbed in, slumping into the back seat and ignoring the protests of the passengers who'd been waiting in line. He allowed John to give the driver directions to Zatanna's place, translating them into Farsi and adding a little something of his own about drivers who take the long route in order to run up the meter, then just sighed and stared out at the Long Island traffic, letting the tension of air travel drain away.