"Wilde!" Crowley says it impatiently, as though it should be obvious what he's asking despite his own complete inability to put the question in words. He waves a hand. "You know, you and Wilde and...and gentleman's clubs and the gavotte, all that, what was--"
He stops, swallows. Shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Looks somewhere else. "Uh. All that. What...was that like?"
All right, so he's a fucking coward. That's not news.
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timeasmymeasure
What in all your dealings with Crowley tells you he even knows the word?
Date: 2020-03-13 05:18 pm (UTC)He stops, swallows. Shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Looks somewhere else. "Uh. All that. What...was that like?"
All right, so he's a fucking coward. That's not news.