Words held power. As a demon Crowley understood that very well. The right word spoken at the right time could start wars, or end them... get you free pancakes at iHop... or send an angel into a harmless fit of fluttering. He was especially fond of that last one.

He sneered at the strange little man but the expression softened as Azriaphale tripped and tumbled over his own thoughts.

"You were looking for a new weapon, didn't like the sword."

The spoken of weapon was collected from the angel's hands, his demonic fingers quickly brushing over Azriaphale's, before it was left on the counter.

"I was the lost cause."

Even now surrounded by all these interesting and strange objects nothing spoke to him. Maybe the angel would have better luck than he did. Second time's the charm? He issued a warning before Azriaphale's search began.

"Mind your fingers."