Forget Me Not

Greener plants

The demon flops into the driver's seat of his Bentley and tosses his new book in the backseat. It lands in a half-open cardboard box with a thud. Crowley slouches down, panting. He looks over his left shoulder, half expecting to see an old friend sitting next to him. The sideways smile drops off his flushed face and he shifts his gaze frontward. Crowley smacks his dry lips and swallows hard. He's not here, Crowley, he thinks to himself.

Crowley sits in thought for a moment. His head feels too heavy for his neck so he lets it fall back against the headrest. Out of the corner of his eye Crowley can see his beautiful plants. They've been one of the only long-time companions in his life. Some of those plants he's kept alive for decades and he's cherished each one. Of course he's hard on them because tough-love makes the greenest plants but he really does love them. Talking to his plants and drinking whiskey have kept him sane for too long. The plants know his deepest secrets and have spent long nights listening to their owner spill his bleeding heart.

The plants have always been lush and magnificent. Crowley wouldn't accept anything less. He thought that his little garden was the peak of excellence but he's noticed a change in recent months. The leaves are greener, somehow. He started to notice it when he began bringing them to Aziraphale's bookshop. His angel's loving care had brought out the last drops of chloroplast. Somehow even the blessed plants were made better by Aziraphale.

Crowley rubs the leaf of a prayer plant between his fingers. A lump form's in his throat. I can't sleep here tonight. He takes a deep breath and puts the car into gear. Crowley knows driving drunk is bad but he only need to go a mile up the road.

The old Bentley pulls crooked into the valet parking of a swanky hotel. Crowley slinks out of the driver seat and immediately throws up in a potted plant. The valet, a boy who probably hasn't bought a razor yet, watches Crowley with eyebrows raised and mouth agape.

"Uh- sir!" The boy calls as Crowley lumbers towards the hotel entrance, "you- you can't-" Crowley turns to face him. "Your car, sir. I'd be happy to park it for you."

The demon looks the kid up and down, in his oversized uniform. "Not the shlightess chance," he slurs.

The valet looks nervous but swallows the lump in his throat and manages, "well, you can't park it here. Sir," he adds quickly. Crowley narrows his eyes at the boy before walking back to his car. He gets the keys from his pocket but doesn't open the driver's door. Instead he gets a box from the backseat.

While maintaining eye-contact, Crowley saunters up to the 19 year old valet. He cocks his head and leans in closer than needed. "I almost got my- n-didn't belong- my things," he tells the valet. Seeing the defeated look in the kids eyes Crowley decides to quit being an ass. He snaps his fingers and the Bentley re-parks itself inline with the luxury cars under the port. "Better?" He asks, genuinely.

The kid looks at the Bentley dumbfounded, then at Crowley and back to car. "Wh- yeah sure that's- yeah that's good." With a nod, the demon makes his way back to the doors. The valet calls out once more, "sir? Uh- they sell-" he makes a sour face and look to the potted plant, "they sell mints in the lobby shop."

Crowley decides to take the advice and buys a tin of Black Bullet mints, mostly because he thought the tin was cool. The demon pops 2 in his mouth before going to the check-in desk. Most all guests are wearing 3-piece suits and have designer luggage. He decides it's probably best to sober up and he'll come back to the hotel bar later.

The desk clerk gives Crowley a judgmental look when he set his cardboard box on the counter. "I need a room. Suite would be preferable," he says leaning on the counter, checking his nails. The clerk gives an eye-roll that he thinks Crowley doesn't see.

"For tonight?" The man scoffs, "a suite the day of will be quite impossible."

Crowley shoots the receptionist a nasty look. "Could you check? If not a single king would be fine." The man looks at Crowley and his box on the counter, sighs, and then clacks away on the keyboard.

"No. No suites, like I said." He glances, yet again to the box, "look our rooms start at £200 a night. There's a Comfort Inn just a few miles or so north of here. That might suit you better."

Crowley has had a bad day and he's not at all in the mood for this bullshit. He takes his glasses off and stares daggers into the clerk. "Look," he narrows on the name tag, "Dave. It's been a long day so here's what's going to happen. You're going to find me the best room you have available, for your sake it better not be an available suite, and for your lack of hospitality it's going to be on the house."

Dave was caught off guard by the eyes but has regained his senses enough to be offended. He scoffs, "I absolutely-" Crowley snaps his fingers. "Will?" Dave seemed uncertain of his own words, "I absolutely will. There... there aren't any suites but there is a premium king on the 6th floor I can offer you."

Crowley snatches the room key, "was that so hard? Oi! Bellhop," Crowley stops a young man rolling luggage across the lobby. "Would you mind taking this," he places the box on the luggage cart and squints at the room key, "to 606?" The bellhop looks less than pleased, through his fake smile. Crowley pulls a crisp £50 note from his coat pocket, "for your trouble."

The man's demeanor changes immediately, "of course, sir, no problem at all!"

"Thank you. Certain people have made me need a drink," he shoots a nasty look to the desk clerk.

In the bar Crowley asked the bartender what their strongest liquor is. He gets down a simple enough looking bottle. "George T. Stagg, 69%, 138 proof," he says proudly. "It's pricey but have you ever had real Kentucky bourbon? This is the best." Crowley orders a triple which runs him almost a grand. He downs it right there. It is exceptionally bold and with a surprisingly delightful palette. The bourbon is also very effective. Crowley clears his throat and retires to his room.

The Stagg has the demon's motor skills skewed by the time he gets to the 6th floor. Just enough to take the edge off and it's exactly what he wanted.

***
Hey thanks for reading. Catch that with the Kentucky Bourbon? Had to rep my bluegrass state! Anyways please vote if you're enjoying!