Crowley sits at his antique wooden desk with papers scattered all over the place, scratching his head a few times and pondering over which leather book he should check next. He begins to tap a quill on the edge of his hand, while quickly skimming through every spell book he owns in the hopes of finding the correct location spell to use. Plus the one he needs has to be precise, and able to break through an ancient warding hex done by a powerful source of magic. There's a bottle of scotch that's half empty with a couple unopened bottles sitting off to the side that date back to the early 1700s, suggesting that his taste in liquor is as fashionable as his decor, along with a small detailed jar filled with a little cloud inside that swirls around in random motions as if it has a mind of its own. There's also a few books teetering over the edge of the desk that had been hastily tossed aside after being flipped through, along with a crumbling map of the world that still has Latin words such as Ameri, and Ev Ropa, and several Latin variations surrounding the boarders; indicating that he must have been at this for a long time.

The antique-looking room is filled head to toe with old mementos from Crowley's past. A few medieval weapons, and small torturing tools here and there that are slightly rusty from use, a couple expensive looking marble busts from Rome retrieved when they were originally made, along with a fancy fireplace lined with gold, and covered in antique objects dating anywhere from the Victorian era, to the mid 1900s. This massive room looks like something out of a museum, or an old film full of antiques all neatly organized and dusted regularly rather than a part of Hell where there's supposed to be torment and despair; not comfort and patience.

There's also a detailed red rug that lines the cold stone floor, adding more of a luxury feeling to Crowley's office, along with his Hellhound Juliet, who's curled up on the rug and happily snoring away with a few dog toys scattered around beside her. There are several dusty bookshelves that are stuffed with ancient novels, and leather bound journals, dating anywhere from what little was saved from the fire in the Library of Alexandria; all the way up to the Renaissance periods throughout Europe and East Asia. There are also a few famous paintings that are mantled above his desk and along what little space he has on the stone walls. Most of them appear to be keepsakes from his past life; but others are from famous painters such as Botticelli, Monet, and Uccello that he had either bought or stole throughout the many years he's walked the earth.

Crowley's fingers grasp around the empty glass cup as he pours himself another drink to wash away the torment of skimming through ancient texts to find one simple spell. He almost regrets not having a clock down here to help him keep track of the time that breezes by, especially for those rare events where time actually matters to him.

"'Just look at the pretty pictures Crowley, it'll only take a few more hours Crowley.' What Hell was I thinking; this will take a century and a half!" He mocks himself deliberately for his own entertainment while flipping through the leather bound book with crisp yellow pages that have faded Latin words written in huge walls of text, along with detailed hand-drawn pictures of herbal ingredients, flasks, and a few creatures that are essential to the spells. His eyes glaze over the words quickly, resting his chin on one of his hands all while sighing deeply and clearly not enjoying himself while doing this tedious task.

Time passes by slowly underground, the hours feel like months; and the days feel like years. Most people would get sick of it by now, but Crowley has been living life like this for a few centuries. There's no concept of time in his head, there's only when and where. Time is only irrelevant when the Winchesters are involved; given their reckless nature towards his pets, and selfless decision making that results in everyone around them getting slaughtered one way or another really burdens the whole eternity aspect. In his eyes he sees them as destructive toddlers, and he has to pick up their toys when they break them; and replace them before they start to cry.

Crowley's fingers move away from the cup after taking a few swigs as he flips another crumbling page in a thick book labeled "Benignus et Malignus Maleficis Artibus Inserviebat." He makes a few mental notes about some of the spells he stumbled upon, but so far none of them have what he is looking for. As thorough as he may be, he catches himself going back a few lines and re-reading a few sections while skimming through the brief entries all based on location spells for any type of creature; including Angels. This book in particular looks like its seen better days, and there appears to be important pages torn from it done by previous owners who have had this before he found it. He doesn't really care about those spells that have been plucked like unkempt feathers, unless it's the one he's looking for; then certainly there's a chance for blood to be spilled until he finds it again.

"It's only a matter of time before what you want will come to you. I've got an eternity, time is in my hands." He assures himself with a quick twitch of his lips gleefully, forming a smug grin while skimming along with excitement in his eyes, glancing down towards the small jar on his desk, almost as if he was stuck in some sort of trance for a few seconds. It's one thing to find a decent location spell to track something or someone; but it's another to find one that can break a powerful hex that's forbidding the spell to take action in the first place.

He already knows why what he's been searching for has been hexed; after all, they fled the country praying that this would keep him away, and that's part of the reason why he's desperate to locate it; because it wasn't meant for him to find. Despite his usual effort to keep himself well polished on the outside and hygienically maintained, his mentality has been a wreck lately ever since he caught wind of something that once belonged to him. He also had been locked away in his own world for quite some time now, completing the hunt for whatever means possible to assure himself that he will find his possession before the Winchesters do.

One of the bookshelves that's besides Crowley tucked away in one of the corners resemble the same mentality his mind's been in for a few days; bits and pieces are missing here and there, ruffled books and torn journals with missing pages loosely about, dusty and full of dirt, and overall disorganized and unkempt. He was willing to defile his skilled organizational habits to further his advance in finding his lost relic which says a lot about him, and how much this means to him. He's been pulling off random books or journals based around how useful they could be, and a few ingredient recipes here and there in the hopes of finding this particular object.

He lets his mind graze across the pages on autopilot, shaking his head at a few of the misleading spell titles all while using his finger as a bookmark. Eventually he reaches the section he was looking for, and completely changes his dull attitude into something more attentive. After what feels like another eternity, Crowley takes in a deep, collective breath and slightly rejoices a little by filling up his glass to the brim, and drinking the majority of it within mere seconds all while having a smug expression plastered across his face. Relief washes over him, knowing that he had finally found the right spell to help him reclaim what was rightfully his in the first place before anybody can take it away from him again.

He rises up from his comfy antique chair followed by a few snaps and cracks from his bones being in the same position for too long. He begins to walk towards another small desk he has off to the side in his room, where he keeps a bowl of fresh blood used for spells or 'phone calls' to the other Demons. There's also a selection of various hard-to-find ingredients lingering on one of the shelves, he hastily reaches for the flasks he needs while carrying back the bowl to his desk where he has a map of the entire world spread out over the surface. For a brief moment in time, it almost feels like the King of Hell has a moment of clarity, despite not having a soul anymore he still shows that he feels some kind of emotion other than anger and hate towards his new found discovery.

He sets everything down in a peculiar way, skimming through the wall of ancient text to find the recipe again while uncapping the flasks and jars he had set down beside the bowl.

"Now where o' where could my little darling be...?" He quietly mutters the words to himself while adding in the required ingredients. When he reaches the last part of the instructions, he carefully holds the bowl over the entire map, the blood inside the bowl seems to be reacting to the ingredients as he recites the Latin phrases. The blood begins to bubble, and creates small tendons as if it were living and writhing about in a violent manner, after he finished reciting the spell he gently pours the mixture over the map and taking out a small match from one of his pockets with a shimmer of excitement in his hazel eyes; dropping it onto the liquid coated mixture and watching with amusement as it bursts into flames, leaving a delightful scent of Lilacs and Roses lingering through the air instead of the usual cloudy smell that thickens the room. The flames nearly touch the ceiling, and they feel just as hot as Hell itself as it burns through the excess remains of the paper that doesn't hold any knowledge or use to him anymore. Eventually the flames calm down and simmer away, far from the usual U.S boarder that he's grown quite used to popping up whenever he does a location spell for his lost items.

"Hello love, what do we have here...?" A confused expression twists across his face; surely he was mentally prepared for the Winchesters to be involved, but also relieved that he doesn't have to deal with that mess just yet. His fingers touch the small smoldering piece of paper that reveals a small town located in London, named Bristol.

Immediately the colour drains from his face, everything he was doing was just a waste of time if it happened to be located in the one place that was in the back of his mind for several years. He hadn't gotten around to looking for it as the Winchesters have been frolicking around and damaging his demons, and he had a strong feeling that it was left in London for all these years.

"Well that's a bloody shocker, now isn't it?" The sarcasm drips from his voice, hinting that he had probably suspected whatever he was looking for must have been hidden there from the start. He puts his hand to his face for a few seconds before grabbing his glass cup and taking a quick swig, and setting it back down on the desk in a careful manner. He then swipes away the empty bowl in a small fit of rage, sending it flying towards one of the walls as it clatters against the impact and rolls around for a couple seconds before coming to a complete halt on the rug. Waking up Juliet in the process and causing her to growl directly at him for waking her up; before promptly curling up again and falling asleep in a matter of minutes.

His eyes narrow a little due to being annoyed, after trying for a few years he'd finally found the right spell to break the warding hex that kept him away from his treasure. Without any moment to lose, Crowley's eyes gaze down at the seared piece of paper that's still on the desk, crumpling it up and placing it inside his pocket; returning his smug grin to his face while snapping his fingers and vanishing instantly from his cozy little office, and emerging back on the surface to locate what was rightfully his for all these years.