Chapter Text
The rain had turned to drizzle about an hour ago, creating a light mist that danced through the light of the street lamps. Most people would have been in bed by now, curled up under the blankets, but there was one person currently pacing down a dimly lit alley, a scowl present beneath a pair of dark sunglasses. He rounded a corner, but paused as he glanced at the end of the street.
Under one of the previously mentioned street lamps sat a dog. Specifically, a large black dog with eyes that caught the light and turned them into pinpoints, as though the stars themselves were contained within. The dog cocked its head to the side, pointed ears flopping over slightly.
Crowley watched it for a second before stalking over, leaning against the wall and folding his arms loosely.
“I understand it’s your job, but this would go much smoother if you were able to talk.”
The dog just stared up at him, head tilting to the other side. Crowley growled in the back of his throat.
“You can have it after. Just…do your little warping thing and let’s get this over with.”
The dog let out a whine, but stood, shaking its head to flick the rain away. As it did, it seemed to push itself up onto its hind legs, before standing fully. The dog was gone, and in its place was a young man. Black hair stuck up wildly from his head, as dark as his eyes. He was dressed casually, with black hoodie and jeans, though Crowley noted it was far more well maintained than most demons (not including himself, of course.). The man appeared to be somewhere in his early 20’s, and Crowley knew he was a relatively new demon, working for barely 300 years. The man brushed some fur from his sleeve.
“I prefer the term ‘transforming’ to ‘warping’.”
Crowley waved a hand dismissively.
“Yeah, yeah…anyway, what is it? Make it quick. I’ve got…better things to do than stand here sharing pleasantries, getting wet.”
The man rolled his eyes, but nodded anyway. He had enough sense not to argue with the senior demon.
“Lord Beelzebub has requested an update on the Antichrist. They’re anxious to know that everything is going according to plan.”
Crowley frowned.
“That’s it? They sent you to come and ask me that? Why can no one just send a bloody text message these days!”
The man shrugged, shifting uncomfortably on the spot.
“I don’t make the rules. That’s just what they told me to do.”
“But why you? You’re an omen, why send a- a shaggy dog to do a messengers work?”
“It’s a slow night for omens. And I’m not shaggy.”
He bared his teeth slightly, residual reflexes from his other form. Crowley swung round in a circle, hands on his hips in annoyance.
“Alright, fine. Tell Lord Beelzebub that everything is fine, it’s all under control and I’m whispering evil thoughts into his head yada yada yada.”
The man nodded once, lips pressed tight together and eyes narrowing slightly.
“Right. Want me to include the ‘yadas’ as well?”
He flung his hands up in surrender when Crowley turned to face him.
“Kidding! I’ll tell them it’s all going well. I’ll leave you in peace. Okay?”
Crowley breathed out slowly, letting his boiling anger reduce to a simmer.
“Fine. Look, what…what’s your name, they never did tell me.”
The man smiled slightly. Senior Demons like Crowley didn’t usually bother to know the names of those beneath them, and Omens were in a league of their own. Most just called them ‘Dog’ or ignored them completely.
“Casimir. Though my friends call me Cas.”
“Right, well, we’re not friends, so off you pop Casimir. Trot off back downstairs, there’s a good boy.”
Casimir held out his hand, raising an eyebrow.
“Forgetting something?”
Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, reaching into his pocket and grimacing as he pulled something out.
“Oh yes. Always tip the messenger. Do you want it now or-“
Casimir had already transformed back into his hound form, sat on his haunches and eyes fixed on the item in Crowley’s hand. He tossed it through the air, and Casimir caught it in his obscenely sharp teeth. His tail wagged slightly as he chewed on the piece of meat.
Messenger demons always required a tip when they made their deliveries. Most wanted items of value, like gold, or clothing (one was known for collecting novelty mugs), but on the odd occasion where Omens were summoned to deliver messages, they were given pieces of meat or bones. Crowley found it grotesque.
Casimir licked his lips before giving Crowley a quick bow of his head and trotting past him into the shadows.
“Omens…strange creatures. Still…at least I’ve still got some time. Maybe the Angel still has some of that wine…”