"Well good!" he says, making another face as he takes another swig of his drink, clicking it down and spinning around to fully face the demon, chewing on the side of his tongue as he regards him.

This is tricky business, he knows that much. Really, he shouldn't be associating with Crowley, not after what he's told him, what his gut is telling him to do. Run, run, run, and keep on running. But oddly enough, he finds he wants to stay.

"So what sort of name is Crowley anyway? British, from the sound of it, but isn't Crowley an Irish name, mostly? You an Isles boy?"