Crowley looked down at her. She was crying, meek, helpless and while such things generally disgusted him. there was a touch of pity in him for her. She was young, she didn't understand where she was. To be so suddenly deposited from home to a strange city. A city that was nothing like where she had come from, if her language and dress were any indication.
"Come," he said, hobbling her over to a chair and setting her in it. "Sit down and I'll try to explain."
The first thing that should probably be cleared up was who each of them were. It might help calm her tears if she didn't feel so... alone. And he really wanted to stop her tears, if for no other reason than he didn't particularly care for tears. The question became, then, what name to give this strange woman. Crowley was a peculiar name, even when peculiar names were fashion, but he was afraid if he had her call him Anthony he might just gag. That was a name out of necessity and though it made him appear more native, he was still, and always would be, Crawly.