(@crwlee)

(@crwlee)

Warlock's face shifted through several emotions in a few seconds.  His still half-shut eyes lit up when Nanny called him 'dear boy' and the corners of his lips twitched into a tired smile before dropping again when he glance down at the word 'grown'...he realized he was probably taller than Nanny now, nothing like the spindly pale 11 year old he was last time they saw him.   

And then Nanny's voice changed and he froze as his face shifted to confusion and recognition when he looked up.  He'd heard that voice before in a dream.  It had been a whisper, but that same dream had provided his chosen surname...

Then that question...'how'.  His eyes turned panicked for a moment.  He'd never told ANYONE, even Nanny, that he saw their wings or about the other strange things concerning himself. Even as a kid he knew it wasn't normal, and despite Nanny's obvious affection for him, he was afraid of them rejecting him.  His hand reached up and ran through his hair mechanically as he quickly selected a 'sane' answer.  His eyes turned cold calm, masking the panic, as he forced a smile.

"Your voice," was all that came out, a little harsher than he intended. He reached a hand towards the light switch on the wall next to him and mentally flicked it on.   His hand was close enough that a human would think he'd actually touched switch.  He blinked a little in the light and went to pick up Nanny's glasses from where they fell on the carpet.

warlock-nottheantichrist-dowling‌:

Warlock tensed up. That was not a voice he expected to hear again, not while he was awake at least.  If he hadn’t just thrown a shoe at them, he’d assume this was just another dream.  He studied them for a minute.  There was no mistaking that was Nanny Ashtoreth…same eyes, same wings, same voice.

“Nanny?  What’re you doing here?” he asked. Not that he didn’t want them here, he was just a little shocked.  It’d been a long time since he’d seen them, way to long in his own opinion.  “And sorry about the shoe, though you were someone else,” he said, walking a little closer, but still keeping his distance. 

   “Checking up on you dear.” and out came the voice again, with the Scottish brogue he hadn’t used since Warlock here was just a child. “My how you’ve grown.” forgetting himself for a moment to long faced with the child he’d practically raised. 

   Until that single brain cell he most certainly shared with Aziraphale ticked back into his skull, and he realized he wasn’t exactly dressed in a way dear Warlock should remember. “Hold on –” the voice of Ashtoreth dropped away then, as Crowley’s brows knit. “ – how’d could you tell it was me?” it wasn’t like it was the farthest of stretches. When he’d modeled his Ashtoreth look he’d kept his favored color scheme, a little cinch at the waist, a touch more of a feminine look ( not that his normal attire didn’t already play fast and loose with humanities concept of ‘gender’ ) but it was still rather surprising to the demon, and to be honest a relief.