Anthony J Crowley: Vaguely Sauntering Downward (_crowley_) wrote in snapthread,
"No." They wouldn't miss any of the people. Mind, Crowley didn't much talk to any of them -- or hadn't bothered to yet, anyway, one never knew about what might happen in the future. "But still some less than others." Like the one who ate the flamingos. Or the one who had tried warning Crowley off from misbehaving when they'd first arrived.
Anyway, he was glad that Aziraphale turned down the idea of flamingos in the abode. The angel was more of an only-barely-controlled chaos sort of person anyway when it came to his living spaces (as opposed to Crowley, who lived in sparse minimalism most times) and a bird or twenty would not have improved matters.
So even though none of this was Crowley's idea at all, it somehow felt like a win when he took Aziraphale's leading hand and they wandered out into their new and very small world. With his free hand he plucked his sunglasses off the collar of his shirt and slipped them off. "Where do they generally live? Flamingos? I want to say --Africa?"