Anthony J. Crowley was not so much ambitious as he was, to use the modern lingo, a huge troll. In the years following the Apocalapse* and Adam's Hard Reset on the Game Console of the Universe, Above and Below had returned to business as usual. This meant that Crowley had returned to business as usual - that is, feeding ducks in the park and racking up commendations for his clever use of trolling to bring to the surface the ugliest, most petulant sides of humanity.
One of his latest achievements of note was the creation of Twitter, and thus Twitter Flame Wars. Aziraphale had, as per their Arrangement, countered this by encouraging more people to post pictures of their pets doing silly things to brighten others' days. Crowley had then countered this counter by whispering to tabloids and celebrity rags that the public would like nothing more than to hear about the Kardashians at least once a day and twice on Saturdays**.
It was so easy to receive commendations in this age of excess. Hell's bureaucracy finally caught up to human credit card companies and began offering "Point Perks" for each human soul tarnished by a demon's misdeeds. Crowley had since gained over 300,000,000 points on his Satanic Express Platinum Hellcard, and the reward for this tier was an apprentice/slave. Slavery had been out of style for centuries, so Crowley opted for an apprentice. The process included filling out a 50 page matchmaking survey in triplicate, officially declaring his intent to acquire an apprentice and having this signed, stamped, sealed, signed again and notarized and finally apostilled, each step taking place in a different department for which there was a long queue, a dispassionate receptionist, and a set of increasingly incompetent managers who must be yelled at no less than three times in order to process something correctly. Hell's bureaucracy certainly had come a long way since Crowley had first had it implemented.
Crowley was now back in his flat, waiting to greet this young demon whom he would take under his wing. On one hand, he was looking forward to training a demon who would have some blessed creativity for once. The denizens of Below tended to be nasty brutes with no concept of subtlety whatsoever, and spending a lot of time with said nasty brutes eventually sapped the younger demons of that wonderful human ingenuity they'd had in their previous lives. Crowley's apprentice, should he prove worthy, would be a triumphant rescue case. A new hope for young demonkind!
On the other hand, given that this was Below he was dealing with, they probably had in mind to stick him with someone… difficult.
Either way, a sharp first impression was of the utmost importance. Crowley himself was always sharp, so if there was any slack, it would be due to one of his plants.
"Listen up, you lot," he said as he brandished the spray bottle. "A guest is stopping by today and you'd better be on your best behavior. If I so much as find a leaf-" He paused and spritzed a not-as-perky-as-could-be philodendron; it immediately shaped up. "-out of place, I'll cut you into mulch. Think about it before you try to disobey. You wouldn't want your friends to live out the rest of their lives on a bed of your remains, would you?"
The plants shivered in fear, each making an effort to green up as Crowley's gaze roamed over them. He spritzed them a few more times for good measure before sauntering off to sit on his chic leather sofa, legs crossed in a pose that exuded nonchalance and casual jerkassery on a level only found in briefcase-toting, richer-than-thou yuppies at Starbucks***.
With a wholly underwhelming pop and accompanying tiny plume of smoke, the guest arrived in Crowley's living room. It was a skinny demon who stumbled as he poofed in, unused as he was to his new corporation.
"Hey, is this the residence of a Mr Crawly?" the young demon asked. He - for the corporation appeared male - had a horrendous lisp that grated on Crowley's nerves. Worse even than being called Crawly was Mithter Crawly.
"It's Crowley. Anthony J. Crowley."
"Sure thing, Mr Crowley. Or would you prefer 'boss'?"
The lisping in both those titles was a daunting prospect. "Anthony, please."
"Anthony, okay. Pleasure to meet you and all that. I'm to be your new apprentice. Name's Sollux Captor."
"Er… Tholluckth or Sollux…" At the mortification on the other demon's face, he quickly corrected himself. "Right. The latter. Gotcha."
Crowley made a show of looking over his apprentice and tsking in mild annoyance at what he saw. The youngster was in a teenage body and was skinny to the point of appearing emaciated. His clothes were a wreck: a rumpled hoodie in an ugly mustard color and worn, mismatched sneakers, one red and one blue. He wore red and blue 3-D glasses even though they were nowhere near the cinema. This would not do. Crowley voiced his displeasure. "I specifically requested someone stylish."
Sollux poofed a handbook into existence, and along with it a copy of Crowley's matchmaking form. He flipped through them and said, "It says here on page six that you'd prefer an apprentice of like kind."
"Yes, like kind as in stylish, a cool cat, hip, fashionable, with it. A right flash bastard, just like me."
"Like kind as in alike in demon nomenclature. It's in the small print."
"Speak English to me, kid. No habla legalese. Or lisp."
"Fuck you. LISP is a perfectly good programming language."
"I don't speak nerd, either." The kid got points for wit and attitude. No points for being a nerd.
Sollux poofed the books back out of existence. "It means you get stuck with me because we're both snakes. Or did you somehow manage to overlook this fan-fucking-tastic forked tongue of mine? Really convenient, that. Can't even say my own name most days."
"That somehow trumps all the other 50 pages of preferences I marked down?"
"Well, this is Hell you're dealing with."
"It's outrageous! The least they could do to reward their best field agent is with an actual reward."
"Stop being a whiny asshole. No one cares."
"Seriously, kid, who signed off on this?"
Sollux shrugged. "Hastur, Duke of Hell. He said something about having a grudge against you but he can't remember why."
Didn't it just figure.
*Also variously known as the Nopocalypse, The End of the World (not!), The End of the World (psych!), and Armageddoff.
**The Kardashians were an evil unto themselves, and one that Crowley had no hand in creating. He did, however, admire them for the ruthless efficiency in which they inspired low-level hatred in just about everyone, and he did not decline the commendation he was offered for their existence.
***...ordering Iced Quad Venti Non-Fat Sugar-Free-Syrup Caramel Macchiatos with Extra Whip and Chocolate Sauce, the rich bastard equivalent of a Diet Coke with a Super Sized Big Mac meal at McD's. Humans outdid themselves every time.