A/N: Regurgitating part of a story I've since taken down(for good reson). Liked this part tho~
If the plants were terrified when he was home in his usual mood, it was nothing compared to the fear with which they watched him now. Crowley was as unstoppable- and probably just as dangerous- as a force of nature.
Mind you, he would probably be the only force of nature singing Queen.
He turned around with a gleam in his eye and a sly smile on his lips. It was like watching a snake on legs- which, in a way, he was. He advanced casually towards the plants, a Homebase (c) plant mister in hand. The plants got as close as they could to one another without actually being in the same pot- they were shaking so hard they were in danger of losing their leaves.
He loomed over them for a moment, leeringly, casting their quivering forms into his shadow. He began by prowling around them slowly, like some predatory cat circling its prey just before the kill, squirting the mister every now and then.
The plants relaxed slightly; getting a good spray of water was always great for calming stressed roots.
He set his mister on the floor and reached down to pick up an especially fine specimen of Neomarica gracilis. It hardly reacted- the water had made it drowsy and relaxed. Drunken almost. He twirled the potted plant in his hands and perused the luscious green leaves with his long pale fingers, massaging it into a state of stupor and false security. "Now, my beautiessss," he hissed.
The plants froze, suddenly alert; hissing was never a good sign. "I have not been too happy asss of late. Not too happy at all." A collective shudder rippled through their leaves.
Still holding the plant, he walked towards a pair of glass sliding-doors, slid them open and walked out onto the balcony, still within earshot (or leafshot) of the trembling plants inside. "It'ssss nice up there issn't it? Very cool here… Very high… " He let his sentence dangle threateningly. All the plants inside were creating their own miniature earthquakes now.
The demon slowly lowered his sunglasses, fixing the petrified plant with a chilling stare. For a moment everything became still. It was as though the air had stopped moving in light of the gravity of the situation. He growled one word:
"Grow."
And in one simultaneous instant, twenty-five already flourishing plants shot into flower.
All at the wrong time of the year.
Crowley grinned, pleased with his work and set the blossoming plant down with the rest. Who said you needed green thumbs to be good at gardening?