'Coursssse not,' Crowley agrees easily. He may or may not be allowing his sibilants to deliberately draw themselves out. 'Inexplicable dream, good wine; only natural for you to be a bit ssscatterbrained.'
He's still lounging in the prow, unconcernedly drinking his wine, but his tail is slowly snaking its way out of the water, the tip drawing itself around behind Aziraphale's shoulders, and the rest of it following, long enough to loop twice around Aziraphale's body. He's not constricting, hardly even touching the angel, in fact, but the potential is tangible, played up for the sake of irritating provocation.
And then, in belated answer to Aziraphale's question, 'Nah, I'm good.'
In fact, he is still rather curious about the nature of the dream, but, though he's always been more philosophically inclined than his counterpart, he's also also a wretched opportunist.
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He's still lounging in the prow, unconcernedly drinking his wine, but his tail is slowly snaking its way out of the water, the tip drawing itself around behind Aziraphale's shoulders, and the rest of it following, long enough to loop twice around Aziraphale's body. He's not constricting, hardly even touching the angel, in fact, but the potential is tangible, played up for the sake of irritating provocation.
And then, in belated answer to Aziraphale's question, 'Nah, I'm good.'
In fact, he is still rather curious about the nature of the dream, but, though he's always been more philosophically inclined than his counterpart, he's also also a wretched opportunist.