[ Ah.

The gracious ordeal of being known is that, at least in some cases, Crowley doesn't require a translator. ]

It's a waste of breath worrying about whether Heaven is looking for ways to hatch that particular egg while we're adrift in an offshoot universe, I'm sure. [ The mortifying ordeal of being known is that he can't especially hope that putting it in his best "I do hope it doesn't rain at the regatta" tone has done him any good. He's made time to worry anyway. His first best talent.

The Almighty isn't here. By all accounting, She was either gone or keeping things very hands-off at home, too. Or maybe She got back into office and dropped the two of them here like scruffed kittens, out of the way for war to proceed apace. To be dealt with later, when they can't interfere.

No one's place to know her mind, of course. Ineffable as ever.

He'd like to not assume the worst. But he'd like a lot of things. Not to be a glorified funnel for an ancient terror likely to prey on his only friend, primarily. ]

But I don't suppose there's a threshold at which you intend to stop arguing with me in either case.