"Probably not your head, maybe just your tongue," Crowley did actually smirk at that, a faintly wicked gleam in his eyes. "Until you grew a new one with better taste. And really, it would hurt me as much as it would hurt you, I like your tongue." And all the things he could do with it, and that was a train of thought Crowley needed to ease up on, or he would never get things finished.
Ah, complicated. Always such a good word, but really the best one he could have used for the situation. "Complicated with Winchester's soul, and all that going on, and Castiel." His expression darkened a little at the mention of the angel, though he shrugged it off quickly. "All meant I've had to adjust my planned schedule a little bit. I'm adapting though." He always would.
Ah, the Colt and the Angel blade. The one of a kind gun and those swords that were oh so rare to get. Plus Ruby's knife, but that never left her for more than a moment. "There's one other way." He drained the rest of his glass before he leaned over and grabbed the black leather bag by the side of the chair, handing it out to Kol. "Present for you. Those are the bones of a sod named Fergus Roderick McLeod." No mention of who that man had been, a name that hadn't actually passed Crowley's lips in centuries. Just the bag being handed to his vampire, with a name that had all the meaning in the world.