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The problem with the decline of the British Empire, Crowley thought, was the travel. Back when England ruled the world (or at least tried to), all he had to do to spread evil all over the place was to whisper in the right ears, beguile a few Lords, and poof! war in America, riots in India, and truly disastrous foreign policy decisions being made in the Middle East. Not to mention the sweatshop and the workhouse.
Now, though, the center of power had shifted and for his sins* he was forced to travel to America and beyond for a few weeks every year. Air travel itself wasn’t terrible as he always flew first class**, but dealing with Americans for weeks on end made him more tetchy than usual.
His first stop, naturally, was New York, where he would meet with his bankers to discuss his portfolio*** and more than incidentally induce more greed in the heart of every financial manager and account executive in a five mile radius. After that it was on to Washington and endless meetings with vapid politicians****, most of whom barely needed pushing toward a lust for greater power. The fellow who ran the upper chamber was solidly one of Hell’s and Crowley hadn’t even had to lift a finger! Still, there was work to be done; airport security wouldn’t be nearly as ridiculous without Crowley’s intervention. So he had to make a few appearances to plant ideas in the right minds (or the wrong ones) in order to set things in motion*****.
His least favorite, but most important, stop in the US was San Francisco. He had to listen to an endless stream of annoying young men explain their ideas for ‘disrupting the market’ or some such bollocks before deciding which awful ideas to bestow some of Hell’s riches on. He did get more than a few souls out of the whole process, but that barely made up for the time wasted listening to a lot of utter toerags explain how delivering sex toys via drone was the wave of the future.
To make things worse, he couldn’t even go straight home afterward. The rising influence of China meant he needed to stop in Beijing and wile a bit there, and then he had to stop in Abu Dhabi to tempt some emirs°. By the time he got back to London, he was invariably ready to set several dozen things on fire, drink his mortal body weight in alcohol, and sleep for a week. His mood was never improved by the state of his houseplants, which inevitably had gone to pot after being watered by the angel in his absence. It took quite a lot of screaming to get them back into proper shape.
The angel himself usually didn’t make an appearance until Crowley had been back a few days. When asked about it Aziraphale would mutter something about jet lag°° and allowing Crowley to readjust to London time, but Crowley knew it was because the angel wanted to give him time to cool down. Not realizing, of course, the best thing to help Crowley relax was his own prim, fussy, divine self.
And that was always the thing that kept Crowley going through his long weeks sowing trouble, fomenting discord, and generally wiling wiles: the knowledge that enough evil done at once would ripple through the entire year leaving him with ample time to lounge about London and spend time with the only angel worth knowing.
*Well, maybe not his sins, but he had taken credit for them anyway
**First class was one of the Other Side’s; rumor had it Gabriel had invented it during his one and only flight on commercial air travel
***Properly diversified amongst the most rapacious and least ethical companies available
****Mostly conservative, but with the occasional independent or extreme progressive thrown in for variety
*****Or keep them in motion. He has a bet with himself on just how long he can keep the war in the Middle East going
°He hasn’t stopped in Moscow since the late 80s on the grounds the Russians were getting along just fine without him
°°Not that demons even got jet lag