Anthony J. Crowley was not a happy demon. His quest to find a way back home was not progressing as quickly as he’d hoped it would. He was a bloody demon! He shouldn’t be stuck here in this blessed country in BFE who knows where. He was supposed to be back home snuggled up in his cool satin sheets and snogging his Angel. Instead he was up at the arse-crack of dawn standing on a creaking dock as the rank stink of dead fish and unwashed bodies assaulted his olfactory senses. The demon didn’t like to think of himself as being particularly squeamish but there were a dozen places he’d rather had been right at that moment then standing there in the chill pre-dawn air trying to avoid stepping in fish-guts and the pit only knew what.
“Lovely places you take me to,” He muttered caustically and fished out a cigarette from his pocket. A few seconds later and the harsh tang of nicotine-laced smoke was filling his lungs and helping to combat the horrible stench of dead-fish. Bless him but he knew there was a reason he’d avoided most sea-side wharves and docks ever since the dawn of time. Too bad he’d forgotten how disgusting the docks could be. The twentieth century had been one of his favorites by far but it had also made him soft. Crowley had gotten spoilt and used to his creature comforts. This shady looking dock with it’s seedy looking ships did not look particularly promising. He started to wonder if it wasn’t too late to back out now. Hunching down in his trench coat, the dark-haired demon took another drag off the cigarette before flicking the ash free gracefully with one pale hand. They weren’t very impressive looking hands. Much like Crowley, they were slender and delicate looking but hid preternatural strength and cruelty when the situation called for it. “I’m starting to wonder if this is such a good idea, Hayate.”