Highway to Hell Forum

[Completely unaware that his computer's camera was also affected by the hacking and had turned on, Crowley could be seen sitting on a barstool with his usual drink in hand. His shoulders were hunched and his lips were pressed together tightly in a way that showed that he was displeased with something. It looked as if all of his patience was being tried and, not before long, he picked up his phone and turned it on, the screen lighting his face. After staring at it for a moment, he set the small device down on the bar top and tilted his head back to drain what was left of his drink. The demon seemed even more agitated as he grabbed the bottle and poured himself a second drink before the pattern repeated itself; the squaring of his shoulders and the taught purse of his lips. Each sign of agitation led him to pick up his phone and check it again before throwing it back against the counter with a sound of frustration.]

What the hell are you too busy for, it wouldn't kill you to pick up your bloody phone!

[His voice sounded bitter as he picked up his glass and finished what would be his second drink of many; he didn't touch his phone again, nor did it go off for the rest of the night.]

[The webcam feed opens on a woman's bedroom from the vantage point of a desk. The room is in full view, enabling any viewer to take in its entirety. The walls are decorated with old opera posters in black frames, ranging in dates from the early nineteenth century to more modern shows. A queen bed sits directly opposite the camera, currently bare of any sheets. A voice from off-screen breaks the silence with a powerful stroke.]

What you want!
Baby, I've got it.
What you need!
You know I've got it.

[The voice hums as a figure struts up to the bed, her arms full of violet sheets.]

All I'm askin' is for a little respect.

[She bobs her head, brown hair piled high in a messy updo atop her head. She's cloaked in a white terrycloth robe that moves with her every twitch, fluttering as she dumps the sheets on the bed and begins piecing through them to find the edges.]

I'm about to give you all of my money.
And all I'm askin' in return, honey
Is to give me my profits
When you get home.

[Her voice is a honey-sweet contralto, packed with belting power tempered by an overlaid softness as gentle as the violet sheets she shakes over the bare bed. She continues to sing without music as she makes the bed, tucking in the corners and smoothing the sheets with her palms. She's utterly unaware that she's being watched, as evidenced by the raw strength and power in her singing voice.]