Crowley shrugs. "Eh, whole evening ahead. We'll see if inspiration strikes. If nothing else you've spent enough time in my car to know the Best of Queen by heart whether you like it or not, so there's always that."
Talk drifts from there, to cars and music and the sushi (which really is blessed good, Crowley has to admit). When his turn is called, Crowley has been well fortified with sake and fish, enough that he merely grimaces and murmurs "Fair warning, angel, any teasing or calling this bebop and I'm out" before walking out.
The unspoken rules of karaoke, Crowley knows, usually demand picking something with hidden meaning, or embarrassing, or that will let you utterly show off. Being here not exactly under duress, he has done none of these things. He picked a safe option. Safe and predictable by Crowley standards, at least. Also, not very long.
The guitars kick in, and Crowley manages a solid rendition of "I'm in Love With My Car" by Queen. He does throw himself into it, because Crowley does nothing without panache, and it's a crime somewhere to sing Queen half-heartedly. He paces along the stage and throws his head back when appropriate and if his voice isn't angelic, if it's lower and smokier and sounds like black leather instead of white velvet...well, it fits.
He gets a smattering of applause when he finishes, bows extravagently, and saunters back to hand the microphone to Aziraphale, who's next. "You're up, angel. Hand me the drinks."
....gonna timeskip to singing if that's okay? If not let me know and I'll edit
Talk drifts from there, to cars and music and the sushi (which really is blessed good, Crowley has to admit). When his turn is called, Crowley has been well fortified with sake and fish, enough that he merely grimaces and murmurs "Fair warning, angel, any teasing or calling this bebop and I'm out" before walking out.
The unspoken rules of karaoke, Crowley knows, usually demand picking something with hidden meaning, or embarrassing, or that will let you utterly show off. Being here not exactly under duress, he has done none of these things. He picked a safe option. Safe and predictable by Crowley standards, at least. Also, not very long.
The guitars kick in, and Crowley manages a solid rendition of "I'm in Love With My Car" by Queen. He does throw himself into it, because Crowley does nothing without panache, and it's a crime somewhere to sing Queen half-heartedly. He paces along the stage and throws his head back when appropriate and if his voice isn't angelic, if it's lower and smokier and sounds like black leather instead of white velvet...well, it fits.
He gets a smattering of applause when he finishes, bows extravagently, and saunters back to hand the microphone to Aziraphale, who's next. "You're up, angel. Hand me the drinks."