"I only mention it because I'm fairly certain that on the weekends this place is full to capacity with flannel and jeans and the occasional leather jacket." He said, resting his forearms against the bar as he watched him. For someone who had admitted to wanting to avoid the Winchesters, the demon seemed determined to stay in contact or close to them in whatever way he could. Michael wondered if perhaps Crowley had simply stopped resisting their ability to be everywhere. Like turning into the skid, or so he might have imagined if he'd ever actually driven a car before. Or trying to spread one's body out when sinking in quicksand.
That had been true in his case. One was sand and the other was water, both had combined to drag him below with Lucifer hand on his heel and Castiel's boot on his head. Or his Father's boot was on his head. It was difficult to say but still very easy to be angry about.
He said a quiet 'thank you' to the bartender when his bourbon was put down in front of him. He hadn't really intended to drink, he'd meant to keep his hands busy without having to put on his spinner ring. Not that he cared much for Crowley's opinion of him in the long run, but as Ravenmoore's new big gun in the department, it felt important not to give away any lingering issues he might have had post Cage. He thought he was doing well, he didn't speak to any of the hallucinations he saw now, or at least he didn't do it in public anymore. But thinking on it now, the drink seemed a good idea for more than just keeping his hands occupied.
"Something about the Winchesters." He said, taking a quick drink. "Something that is likely to make me apoplectic with rage, right? It's not being this close to an archangel that is making you so anxious, so what is it?"