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go_exchangeTitle: Opportunity Cost
Gift for:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nomnomnim
author:paddyabroad
Pairing: hinted Crowley/Aziraphale
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. And I like firefox. No really.
Warning: High ration of business vocabulary…
Note: Christmas fic fornomnomnim! I hope you like this, sorry for it being short.
Summary: Crowley should have known the consequences for skipping on hell’s meetings…
Crowley had been tremendously fast in reacting when the millionth re-run of Mr. Nobody turned into Hastur growling his name. As long as the other was not coming over in full hellish baron-self, Crowley had a slight chance to remain ahead of the situation. He thought.
“Where were you?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he kept himself from brushing his dark shades back onto the ridge of his nose. It was a tell-tale sign of nervousness if they had not yet slid down at all.
“You have missed the meeting.”
Yes, he had. Very much on purpose. Staff meetings in hell were hellish, at best. Crowley had never understood how the evil ones had fallen for one of their own tricks. They had been the kings of bureaucracy, the lords of business administrative mayhem and the emperors of mandatory attendance of international conferences, which were always scheduled so that you had to get up at 3am to match the other participants’ time zone.
Now they were having monthly staff meetings, set agendas for bad deed supply and work achievement evaluations in hell, too.
Needlessly to say that the evaluation bar in the diagram that read ‘Crowley’ in flaming red letters was not even scratching at the amount indicated as ‘barely okay’.
“I have had an important customer acquisition that kept me from attending,” he knew the vocab, but should have been aware that even Hastur was not buying that excuse.
“You have a private meeting now,” his boss sneered.
“Private one with Mephistopheles-”
It was time to run.
“Just you.”
Run faster.
“Starting-”
Further!
“In three, two, one; now.”
*****
Meanwhile, in a small book store…
Aziraphale blinked at the gray box in front of him.
It blinked back.
That was, the screen flickered before turning blue. An annoying jingle later (it could only have been devised by the other side), it stopped moving.
Aziraphale dared to exhale, not having noticed he had been holding his breath.
Carefully, he touched the devil’s box’s…. handle. A small arrow moved across the view.
He had understood their reasoning. Know you enemy and all that. For some reason, he had been the chosen one, because he was living among humans, Metatron had intoned. They were getting too common, it would draw attention if he had no idea.
Camouflage and information, he silently told himself before clicking at the source of all evil.
Only, that instead of a picture of the ruler of all hell, they had for some reason chosen a red fox as their symbol.
******
“Sit,” his body obeyed without checking in with his mind, which was still screaming at him to run. That was the bad part about bodies, they were too easily manipulated. But he really hoped he would still have this one after this ‘meeting’, as he had grown rather accustomed to it.
“I have the feeling you are not taking this … this… this undertaking seriously enough,” Mephistopheles still seemed to have trouble always finding the right words.
An old dog hardly ever learns new tricks.
A searing pain shot through the body and Crowley remembered why sometimes not having one was truly advantageous. Then again, if Mephistopheles read your mind and decided to punish you for it, you would be punished. Body or no body.
“There is a task for you, Crawly” Mephistopheles continued as if he had not just pierced him with white hot pain.
He consulted a paper that had, in big Century Gothic, a word written on top: Memo.
“You will do a com-pe-ti-tor a-na-ly-sis,” he read out.
Crowley did not think that he was just too vain for wearing glasses. He really did not.
Maybe he did. Another shot of pain from the scalp of his head to the tips of his toes reminded him to really pay more attention to his thought process.
“What do you mean,” he wheezed “competitor analysis?” He still was more fluent than the economical dyslexic vice president in front of him.
Without blinking an eye, Mephistopheles increased Crowley’s physical anguish.
“The competition. For souls. The other side. I demand all this,” Mephistopheles said, as he dropped a stack of papers heavily in front of Crowley. “By the next meeting.”
Crowley’s eyes scanned over the top paper: distribution analysis, portfolio analysis, SWOT analysis. Each of those would take him ages – a deadline of their next meeting was just impossible.
“Precisely,” Mephistopheles showed a rare smirk. “You can also analyse the beauty of our own business strategy for the 21st century while you are at it. Bureaucracy. Now you are dismissed.”
Oh yeah, those words he knew.
*****
Committees, the internet and strawberry covered cheetos; there were many ideas both sides claimed as their own. Crowley had his own strategy to create minor mayhem for as many people as possible – and now he was facing the invoice for it.
Traffic jams, telephone marketing and all sorts of recharging plugs have been outsourced to often human-led entities, which worked to fulfil their purposes without needing as much as a franchise license.
Instead he was supposed to be doing the big stuff, like analysing the competition’s weaknesses. But he was not a demon for being obedient. He already knew one very special weakness of the other side, one that he would not even think about in Mephistophele’s presence.
When he arrived where his old brand-new looking black Bentley was taking him, the said weakness was just waving at a perplexed customer. The teen had been lost on his way, only entering the old bookstore for directions, and leaving with a brand new computer.
“I thought your side had stopped trying to go for charity? Didn’t you claim it led to greed and caused a black hole in the funding?”
“Hello Crowley,” Aziraphale said, turning to him. “Tea?”
The angel did not wait for his reply, simply turning back into his shop. Crowley wondered whether he had become that predictable as he followed the other in.
He decided that he had trained the angel well, as instead of the black tea a pot of coffee was placed in front of him. He knew Aziraphale drank no coffee.
“You looked like you needed it.”
Maybe Mephistopheles would consider the angel’s nature and caring attitude a weakness for the competition, but Crowley was certain he would use a great amount of imagination before reporting the angel.
The opportunity cost was just too high…
Gift for:
nomnomnimauthor:
paddyabroadPairing: hinted Crowley/Aziraphale
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. And I like firefox. No really.
Warning: High ration of business vocabulary…
Note: Christmas fic for
nomnomnim! I hope you like this, sorry for it being short.Summary: Crowley should have known the consequences for skipping on hell’s meetings…
Crowley had been tremendously fast in reacting when the millionth re-run of Mr. Nobody turned into Hastur growling his name. As long as the other was not coming over in full hellish baron-self, Crowley had a slight chance to remain ahead of the situation. He thought.
“Where were you?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he kept himself from brushing his dark shades back onto the ridge of his nose. It was a tell-tale sign of nervousness if they had not yet slid down at all.
“You have missed the meeting.”
Yes, he had. Very much on purpose. Staff meetings in hell were hellish, at best. Crowley had never understood how the evil ones had fallen for one of their own tricks. They had been the kings of bureaucracy, the lords of business administrative mayhem and the emperors of mandatory attendance of international conferences, which were always scheduled so that you had to get up at 3am to match the other participants’ time zone.
Now they were having monthly staff meetings, set agendas for bad deed supply and work achievement evaluations in hell, too.
Needlessly to say that the evaluation bar in the diagram that read ‘Crowley’ in flaming red letters was not even scratching at the amount indicated as ‘barely okay’.
“I have had an important customer acquisition that kept me from attending,” he knew the vocab, but should have been aware that even Hastur was not buying that excuse.
“You have a private meeting now,” his boss sneered.
“Private one with Mephistopheles-”
It was time to run.
“Just you.”
Run faster.
“Starting-”
Further!
“In three, two, one; now.”
*****
Meanwhile, in a small book store…
Aziraphale blinked at the gray box in front of him.
It blinked back.
That was, the screen flickered before turning blue. An annoying jingle later (it could only have been devised by the other side), it stopped moving.
Aziraphale dared to exhale, not having noticed he had been holding his breath.
Carefully, he touched the devil’s box’s…. handle. A small arrow moved across the view.
He had understood their reasoning. Know you enemy and all that. For some reason, he had been the chosen one, because he was living among humans, Metatron had intoned. They were getting too common, it would draw attention if he had no idea.
Camouflage and information, he silently told himself before clicking at the source of all evil.
Only, that instead of a picture of the ruler of all hell, they had for some reason chosen a red fox as their symbol.
******
“Sit,” his body obeyed without checking in with his mind, which was still screaming at him to run. That was the bad part about bodies, they were too easily manipulated. But he really hoped he would still have this one after this ‘meeting’, as he had grown rather accustomed to it.
“I have the feeling you are not taking this … this… this undertaking seriously enough,” Mephistopheles still seemed to have trouble always finding the right words.
An old dog hardly ever learns new tricks.
A searing pain shot through the body and Crowley remembered why sometimes not having one was truly advantageous. Then again, if Mephistopheles read your mind and decided to punish you for it, you would be punished. Body or no body.
“There is a task for you, Crawly” Mephistopheles continued as if he had not just pierced him with white hot pain.
He consulted a paper that had, in big Century Gothic, a word written on top: Memo.
“You will do a com-pe-ti-tor a-na-ly-sis,” he read out.
Crowley did not think that he was just too vain for wearing glasses. He really did not.
Maybe he did. Another shot of pain from the scalp of his head to the tips of his toes reminded him to really pay more attention to his thought process.
“What do you mean,” he wheezed “competitor analysis?” He still was more fluent than the economical dyslexic vice president in front of him.
Without blinking an eye, Mephistopheles increased Crowley’s physical anguish.
“The competition. For souls. The other side. I demand all this,” Mephistopheles said, as he dropped a stack of papers heavily in front of Crowley. “By the next meeting.”
Crowley’s eyes scanned over the top paper: distribution analysis, portfolio analysis, SWOT analysis. Each of those would take him ages – a deadline of their next meeting was just impossible.
“Precisely,” Mephistopheles showed a rare smirk. “You can also analyse the beauty of our own business strategy for the 21st century while you are at it. Bureaucracy. Now you are dismissed.”
Oh yeah, those words he knew.
*****
Committees, the internet and strawberry covered cheetos; there were many ideas both sides claimed as their own. Crowley had his own strategy to create minor mayhem for as many people as possible – and now he was facing the invoice for it.
Traffic jams, telephone marketing and all sorts of recharging plugs have been outsourced to often human-led entities, which worked to fulfil their purposes without needing as much as a franchise license.
Instead he was supposed to be doing the big stuff, like analysing the competition’s weaknesses. But he was not a demon for being obedient. He already knew one very special weakness of the other side, one that he would not even think about in Mephistophele’s presence.
When he arrived where his old brand-new looking black Bentley was taking him, the said weakness was just waving at a perplexed customer. The teen had been lost on his way, only entering the old bookstore for directions, and leaving with a brand new computer.
“I thought your side had stopped trying to go for charity? Didn’t you claim it led to greed and caused a black hole in the funding?”
“Hello Crowley,” Aziraphale said, turning to him. “Tea?”
The angel did not wait for his reply, simply turning back into his shop. Crowley wondered whether he had become that predictable as he followed the other in.
He decided that he had trained the angel well, as instead of the black tea a pot of coffee was placed in front of him. He knew Aziraphale drank no coffee.
“You looked like you needed it.”
Maybe Mephistopheles would consider the angel’s nature and caring attitude a weakness for the competition, but Crowley was certain he would use a great amount of imagination before reporting the angel.
The opportunity cost was just too high…
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-14 03:43 am (UTC)This is quite clever, Secret Author.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-14 06:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-14 09:54 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-16 04:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-14 10:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-14 09:15 pm (UTC)I loved this. And I'm so glad the opportunity cost of reporting Aziraphale is too high!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-15 12:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-16 12:41 am (UTC)Супер блог!
Date: 2011-07-09 10:02 am (UTC)