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go_exchange2024-12-26 05:27 am
Happy Holidays, kirathaune!
Summary: While caring for Warlock, Crowley and Aziraphale take on additional roles, seeking opportunities to extend their influence beyond just one boy...
Rating: General
London, 1995
When Warlock was six, he found himself being educated by two peculiar tutors: Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese. They were polar opposites, and Warlock often wondered if they enjoyed their incessant bickering more than actually teaching him.
The tutors lived on-site from Monday to Saturday, occupying the guesthouse that had been converted into their quarters. This arrangement meant they were always present, much to Warlock's chagrin. His days, once full of carefree play, were now consumed by lessons in history, mathematics, physics, literature, and social sciences. To his dismay, there was even a course dedicated to decorum.
Mr. Harrison was strict and no-nonsense, fond of snapping an imaginary cane whenever Warlock fidgeted. He occasionally slipped into a high-pitched voice, reminiscent of Nanny Ashtoreth, when scolding Warlock. “Young man, we do not throw apples at the gardener!” he’d chide, wagging his finger dramatically.
Mr. Cortese, on the other hand, was meticulous to a fault. He adored lengthy explanations, peppering his lessons with stories about London’s social customs and conducting the most detailed history lectures. He emphasized step-by-step processes. "Warlock, precision is an art," he’d say, only to earn an exasperated groan from his student. Cortese's love for fine dining led to long lunches, incorporating lessons on London's refined table manners.
He had a peculiar way of lecturing about morality, using phrases like "Heaven forbid!" and waxing poetic about obscure virtues, which reminded Warlock of Brother Francis.
Despite their quirks, Warlock was learning—though not always what his parents had intended. He’d begun devising elaborate plans based on loopholes he learned in Mr. Harrison’s legal discussions and creating convoluted financial strategies with Mr. Cortese. The American attaché was delighted with Warlock's newfound knowledge, boasting about his son’s "astounding intellect" at international gatherings.
Days became monotonous, yet Warlock, though slightly despotic, developed a keen interest in self-directed learning, constantly posing questions to his tutors. The Montessori approach proved effective, with both tutors—having collaborated directly with Maria Montessori and her son—delivering top-notch presentations. However, Mr. Harrison's tended to jump straight to answers, often skipping whole processes, and contrasted with Mr. Cortese's meticulous step-by-step and repeated explanations. Both often tested Warlock's patience.
***
The celestial duo's tutelage of the young Antichrist seemed to proceed as planned, with Warlock gleefully applying his newfound knowledge to orchestrate mischief. Both Aziraphale and Crowley observed with a mix of pride and trepidation.
Crowley, however, was getting bored. Teaching a six-year-old wasn’t exactly his idea of fun, and he needed something to keep himself entertained. One day, while lazily flipping through a magazine during Warlock’s lessons, an ad for an advertising agency caught his eye. “London’s Best Ads—Shaping the Future of Marketing,” the tagline read. Intrigued, Crowley decided to apply.
He started his new '9-to-6' job at the agency, though his idea of a workday was far from conventional. He’d stroll in well past eleven and leave around four, grumbling that the office hours were far too rigid. “Technology will fix this nonsense, I'll wait till they figure it out,” he lamented to himself one day, biding his time for more flexible work arrangements.
At the firm, Crowley quickly made his mark by masterminding a series of memorable advertisements. One such campaign was for Tango Orange, featuring the iconic "You Know When You've Been Tango'd" slogan.
Aziraphale, ever the counterbalance, observed Crowley's ventures with a mix of admiration and concern. Determined to temper the demon's influence in the advertising world, he subtly intervened by promoting campaigns that emphasized tradition and subtlety, hoping to steer the public's preferences away from the brash and sensational.
Crowley quickly rose to prominence in the agency. Demonic ingenuity made him a natural at marketing. His campaigns were sharp, persuasive, and—on occasion—just on the right side of ethically questionable. His crowning achievement was a billboard campaign for a new soda brand that caused traffic jams across London due to its hypnotic design.
Aziraphale, naturally, was appalled. “You can’t just manipulate people like that, Crowley,” he exclaimed one evening, wagging a scone at him.
Crowley smirked. “That’s literally my job, Angel. Manipulation is the cornerstone of advertising.”
Aziraphale decided he couldn’t let Crowley wreak unchecked havoc on London’s consumer base. He began discreetly countering Crowley’s efforts. If Crowley launched a campaign glorifying fast food, Aziraphale would orchestrate a surge in local farmers' markets. When Crowley promoted a chain of gaudy nightclubs, Aziraphale funded pop-up libraries.
Crowley, never one to miss an opportunity to insert a touch of flair into his work, also had a particular fondness for crafting ads that indulged his love of suave, chaotic energy. This was evident in his contribution to a campaign for Red Rock Cider, which became an instant classic.
The ad featured a parody of James Bond tropes, complete with a dashing secret agent who found himself in increasingly ridiculous predicaments—like dodging henchmen while wielding a glass of Red Rock Cider instead of a martini. The tagline, 'It’s not red, It's got no rocks. But it’s as smooth as James Bond,' delivered in a velvety voice-over, struck just the right chord of sophistication and absurdity.
Crowley reveled in the opportunity to combine his two passions: advertising chaos and his well-documented obsession with James Bond films. He’d once privately admitted to Aziraphale, “If the bloody MI6 had a demon like me running their ad campaigns, they wouldn’t need a double-O program. They’d have the world at their feet just by selling the idea of Britishness.”
The Red Rock Cider ad not only became a commercial success but also cemented Crowley’s reputation as the firm’s creative genius. It even earned him a cheeky nickname among his colleagues: 'The Advertising Devil.' He wore it with pride, naturally.
Aziraphale, observing this, sighed as he meticulously composed an ad campaign for a rival cider brand. His focus was on tradition and authenticity, showcasing pastoral orchards, contented farmers, and a serene countryside. The tagline read, 'Cider the way it was meant to be.' It was a gentle jab at Crowley’s bombastic approach, but Aziraphale hoped it would resonate with the quiet, nostalgic souls in the crowd.
When Aziraphale brought his latest ad concept to Crowley’s flat for an impromptu critique session, Crowley glanced at it with a smirk.
“Pastoral serenity? Really, angel? You think people drink cider to feel like they’re frolicking through orchards?”
“Well, they certainly don’t drink it to dodge explosions while fighting henchmen in tuxedos,” Aziraphale shot back, trying not to laugh.
Crowley raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You underestimate humans. They love a bit of drama. It’s why I keep winning at this game.”
“Winning?” Aziraphale said, voice prim but with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, my dear, the cider you’re advertising is barely drinkable. I daresay it would lose in a blind taste test.”
Crowley leaned back, folding his arms. “Taste tests don’t matter, angel. It’s all about the image. Sell the dream, and they’ll drink whatever you tell them to.”
***
Back at the Dowlings’ estate, Warlock’s studies continued throughout all of primary school. Under the watchful eyes of Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese, he covered a vast array of subjects. The two tutors, though diligent, often found themselves unintentionally backtracking on their teachings. Yet, by the time they caught their slips, the damage was already done. Warlock had a knack for curiosity that couldn’t be contained; he would investigate topics he wasn’t ‘supposed’ to know yet, often coming back with sharper insights than his tutors anticipated.
“What do you mean, the economy doesn’t work that way?” Warlock once quipped, holding up a detailed chart of a fictional trade system he had devised. Mr. Harrison groaned, realizing he’d accidentally given Warlock an advanced economics lesson weeks earlier. Mr. Cortese, meanwhile, tried to praise Warlock’s ingenuity while sneakily confiscating the chart before it could spark another international incident.
Around the age of eight, Warlock discovered a passion for drawing. At first, his sketches were simple doodles, but they quickly grew more intricate. Mr. Cortese attempted to steer him toward classical styles, showing him how to sketch detailed landscapes and elegant portraits, while Mr. Harrison insisted on diagrams, modern art and functional blueprints—'Art with purpose,' he called it.
But Warlock had little interest in being influenced by his tutors when it came to art. His drawings soon took on a life of their own, blending whimsy and chaos in equal measure. A simple garden sketch might include Rover in a top hat, conducting a choir of ducks, while a blueprint for a treehouse turned into a castle complete with a moat and crocodiles.
One evening, Aziraphale noticed one of Warlock’s sketches left on the desk: a surprisingly accurate depiction of what appeared to be Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese having a heated debate, but with Mr. Harrison depicted as a thundercloud and Mr. Cortese as a fussy peacock.
“This is... quite astute,” Aziraphale said, holding it up for Crowley to see.
Crowley smirked. “The kid’s got an eye for detail. He’s not half bad, at least he didn’t add a halo.”
Warlock’s art became an outlet for his boundless imagination and a reflection of his observations. His tutors eventually relented, realizing they couldn’t control his creative whims. Instead, they chose to focus on guiding his technical skills while letting him explore the wild ideas that filled his sketches.
***
Their rivalry in the advertising world became a sort of game. Crowley would roll out an audacious new strategy, only to find it subtly thwarted by Aziraphale’s quiet interventions. “You’re spoiling all the fun, angel,” Crowley complained one evening as they sat in Aziraphale’s bookshop.
“Someone has to,” Aziraphale replied, smiling serenely over his cup of tea.
One evening, Crowley returned home triumphant, waving a newspaper. “Look, angel!” he said, practically glowing. “Red Rock Cider just won ‘Ad Campaign of the Year.’ The humans can’t resist me.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide a small smile. “Well, you’re certainly persistent.”
“Persistent?” Crowley scoffed. “Angel, I’m a marketing legend!”
“For better or worse,” Aziraphale muttered, shaking his head.
For better or worse, everything was going according to plan.
no subject
I can totally see Warlock escaping the boundaries of his instruction - and his instructors.
Love the link to the ads! OMG some of them are just bonkers.
Thanks so much for my lovely prezzie!
Brilliant
no subject