It feels like time has stopped, and it's not his deed.
That the redhead is astounded is an understatement. Eight people — and not just eight random people, mind you, because if you know, then you know. But, eight people where his efforts have influenced their lives, and the act is vice versa. Be that as it may, why — and how — did they get specifically here in all fifty states of the USA?
"Hi, Nanny!" speaks Warlock with a wave of his hand. His hair covers nearly all of his face, and it's unmistakable that he's experienced a growth spurt according to his height and the deepening of his voice. It's been years since he's last seen Ashtoreth, yet the adolescent memories of the two together are still present. An assumption of numerous schoolmates is that being an Ambassador's Kid suggested that he had it all. Yet, his father was never physically present, and his mother tended to everything that wasn't him. The long-haired teenager is thankful to have crossed paths with his nanny.
With a smirk, Nina and Maggie silently regard each other with a mysterious facial expression that only they can ascertain. Anathema delivers a joyful smile and covers her chest with her hands. Collectively, the three women always considered Crowley exceptional, and the moment with him and Warlock proves this.
"Are you ever going to let us in, Mr. Six Shots, or are we supposed to live out here?" questions Nina with a whiff of sassiness that the redhead is all too acquainted with when sitting in Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death — or any instances on the streets where the woman emerges from the shadows to aggravate him playfully.
Crowley arises from his revere and unknowingly forms his mouth into an O. This has to be the strangest day of his existence, and that's to an extent since he's a millennium-years-old and has seen a lot. His exact age is inconclusive since 1) he doesn't remember, and 2) who's really counting when he effortlessly acclimates to Humans in human-form and graciously struts through Hell, Heaven, and Earth like a Hollywood rock star?
Thankfully, Muriel voices for them. With a protective grasp, they smoothly shift themselves and their friend to the side to open the entranceway into their home. They softly instruct, "Hello, yes! Please come into our home. Please kindly remove your footwear and place them in the shoe bucket."
The guests do as advised. The Them, who are questioningly subdued, stand behind the older women they traveled with. Something is suspicious encircling the quartet, and the snake can almost smell it. Having Adam and Warlock together unnerves the Angel-Demon, mainly because of his failure with the Antichrist and three-way swap with other infants. Following the fire (which he had only heard about because of Hastur and Ligur's consistent flaunting through Hell), two nuns survived and are presently in America. What makes it even more bizarre is that they don't have the memories or names they did as nuns and are now lovers.
The redhead almost forgot how parallel Maggie and Muriel are in their brightness. The blonde steps before Crowley with glowing cheeks and releases a content sigh, then says, "Mr. Crowley, it's mighty good to see you."
Anthony Jophiel Crowley finally recognizes that though he's a snake, he's capable of speaking, too. Sometimes, however, his speech pattern isn't as smooth as he wishes, especially with the occasional hissing. He responds, "Oh, um, ngk. Er, right on, Maggie. It's good to see you, too."
"Let's move to the sofa, Mr. Crowley," whispers Muriel. They're so invariably calm, yet the Angel-Demon, with closer inspection, can see the exertion on their face as they endure his weight. With self-reproach, he inwardly chastises himself for being impotent and relying on others. Routinely, the younger woman will disclose to him the contrary, but their efforts have not deterred his sentiment.
Eight people are in his and Muriel's home, and they will already witness a vulnerable state. Or, actually, maybe not...
Muriel adjusts their hold around Crowley's waist to be behind his back and, away from prying eyes, draws Lazari from Heaven. It's unclear as to what it's for until they lean towards their friends' ear and whisper, "Step."
Crowley frowns and peers at Muriel, who bites their lip in anticipation yet provides a supportive nod. It's as if it's just the lease occupants in the condo as the duo interact as if they're not in the presence of guests. In a way, they're technically not since some have invasively started implementing their own tour of the residence. The man loosens his grasp from around the woman's shoulder and determinedly drags his right, socked foot forward. Then, he takes a complete step with his left foot.
No stiffness with boosted mobility. The Angel-Demon gasps at the Inspector-Constable with marvel and adoration.
Did Muriel miracle a temporary relief, or something equivalent, for Crowley? It appears as such. Unfortunately, the miracle will tatter as the day progresses because Crowley's circumstances as a Falled-Angel-turned-Red-Bellied-Snake are unchangeable, no-matter how many coatings of Lazari are applied to the impairment. He would know since he's pastly attempted to launch a miracle from Heaven, Hell, or the two entities merged to repair his unending punishment. For safety precautions, he settles on the comfortable couch and grabs a decorative pillow to hold.
Maggie and Anathema return from the hallway. It seems they've stowed their bags in one of the rooms. Technically, Crowley and Muriel live in a three-bedroom condo, but the third bedroom is like-an-office-but-isn't, and so that's where the Plants are located. Perhaps it's more like a greenhouse, but the two immortals don't know the distinction between them from what they've heard and seen on television, so there's that.
"Mr. Crowley, this place significantly outranks your old home," compliments Maggie. The comment causes the redhead to pause because he doesn't recall an opportunity where the woman was invited to his Mayfair home; the woman detects his perplexity, then adds, "Mr. Fell invited me once to discuss some tune. He said you were in your room and were resting."
All of that equates to heartache. Like yesterday, he recalls Aziraphale gifting him a high-quality speaker with cassette tapes. The curly-haired man conveyed, "It's never too late to go old-school, my sweet dear."
God — or Satan — this heartbroken feeling he possesses is distressful.
"So, like, is there a reason there's nothing in the fridge, freezer, or cabinets besides alcohol?" asks Anathema.
Warlock responds before either Crowley or Muriel can. "He doesn't need it."
It's an innocent comment, but the pronoun is noteworthy. From the couch, the snake turns his head and regards the towering teenager. They have a nonverbal conversation that suggests that the cat is out of the bag — or has been, to begin with.
"You know," rhetorically says Crowley with conviction.
Warlock bobs his head with a gentle smile. "I've always known, Nanny. Whatever you want to be is OK with me. I'll always love you either way."
Oh, it feels as if Crowley's heart is being squeezed from his chest as he regards everyone and their varying colors. Behind his sunglasses, his face feels flushed, and teardrops attempt to escape.
"Well, if you're his nanny, then you must be ours, too," reasons Adam. His voice has deepened, too. He continues with his defense for The Them, "It's only fair, especially with you knowing my biological dad and us knowing you since we were kids."
Crowley can only clear his throat and nod.
All of this is overwhelming in the best way possible. There's one significant piece missing, yet he's not on the planet.
Nina perimeters the island and joins the masses in the living room. She sits in an available seat, withdraws her phone from her pocket, and types a question into Google. Finally, with excitement, she expresses, "Ha, exactly what I thought. There's an H-E-B a few miles from here, and if we're to be living here, then that—" she points to the kitchen, "—must be stocked."
Ah, and like that, we're back on course: The Crowley that the barista knows all too well materializes when he says with faux-displeasure, "You still haven't told me what you're doing here."
"First of all, you didn't even verbally ask. And secondly, as surprising as it may be to you: We all missed you," responds Nina.
Well, the redhead has no response to that. Somehow, he's 0-2 against Nina getting the last word in his home.
The clan of ten is going to H-E-B to essentially purchase the entire store. And, as presumed, of course, it'll go smoothly. Why wouldn't it?