"People are people." he repeats, sated enough in the sentiment. He sips at his coffee a bit more while listening intently to the man's tale, which is just as grandiose as everyone else's aboard... likely the reason they're all there.

"If it helps, nothing is forcing us to do the labor. I won't even wear the uniform." he replies, gesturing to himself. He's dressed in all black, more stylish than the weird silicon-valley polo tees he'd been assigned.

Crowley not only doesn't wear the uniform, but he doesn't do the chores, acknowledge his 'team' at all, or participate in any world-saving missions. A veritable barnicle on this train, nothing more than wasted space.