"So, uh, how has your time in hiding been?" Glancing anxiously up at the faux nonchalance-expressing demon, Aziraphale inquired after him, naturally permanently concerned about what he had been up to. It was rather difficult for the angel to stare directly into his friend's eyes, as the omnipresent feature of Crowley's conspicuous sunglasses obscured his yellow eyes and vertical slits that he had for pupils, which was probably for the best; Aziraphale would never admit it, but Crowley's eyes were a constant reminder of his demonic nature, which perturbed the somewhat more celestial being. Oblivious to the profound thoughts of his acquaintance, the demon replied as casually as he could, secretly pleased that Aziraphale was genuinely asking after his well-being.
"Well, you know, just the usual…" He trailed off, maintaining an almost apathetic tone as he neglected to mention his continued sneaky endeavours that caused humans to create yet more misery for one another, such as manipulating the traffic on a motorway (when he was well out of the way, of course – the last thing he wanted was his beloved Bentley getting trapped between a congregation of horrendously less beautiful vehicles, especially since it had been newly renovated), which caused many humans to be significantly more disgruntled; traffic is a bugger, after all. That was one thing humans, demons and angels alike all agreed on – not that angels travel by car often, certainly not by choice anyway but I digress. As Aziraphale squinted his eyes suspiciously at Crowley, the demon spoke up in return in order to tactfully steer the conversation away from his misdemeanours.
"How's your new bookshop coming along? Not many customers, I trust?"
"Naturally. That is, of course, part of my personal ineffable plan." The demon couldn't help but smirk at his angel's inevitable use of their collective favourite member of vocabulary. However, before either of them could say another preferential or regular word, a Queen song promptly erupted from Crowley's suit jacket pocket. It startled them both, the demon in particular, as he still wasn't used to being in possession of a mobile, yet he did harbour an acute adoration for gadgets. After pausing for a moment and glancing over to Aziraphale, as if silently asking for permission to answer his call, Crowley reached a manicured hand to the inside of his tailored suit.
"Yes?" The demon asked with a false confidence, given away by the slight tentativeness in his voice. A strange voice emanated from the mobile phone, which was far too loud, as if the person on the other end didn't think that form of technology was doing its particular job or something.
CROWLEY.
"Oh, bugger…" Crowley muttered under his breath. The person on the other end of the phone, the voice of whom the demon recognised immediately heard his curse, yet chose to ignore it, while Aziraphale simply gazed confusedly and worryingly (he had a right to be concerned, judging by the expression on his friend's face) at him. No one spoke for the next few moments, but eventually, the voice on the phone emitted sound, forcing his words upon the demon through a metaphysical wall of static due to the technological way of Hell attempting to make contact.
LONG TIME NO SEE OR SPEAK, CROWLEY. THAT IS OF COURSE YOUR FAULT. YOU WERE QUITE DIFFICULT TO TRACK DOWN, CROWLEY. HASTUR WAS THE ONLY ONE WILLING TO ATTEMPT SUCH A TASK.
"And I assume he failed spectacularly?" Knowing he was done for, no matter what he did or said next, Crowley decided that he had nothing to lose in answering back, therefore maintained his general sass. The voice made no comment on the demon's semi-rhetorical question, instead continuing his narration of events, which could also be interpreted as personal insults to Crowley, in his usual monotone.
YOU WILL BE PUNISHED FOR YOUR EXTENDED VACATION FROM HELL, CROWLEY. BUT JUST NOT IN THE WAY YOU EXPECT. HAVE FUN, CROWLEY.
Before Crowley even had chance to reply or make another sarcastic comment, he disappeared.