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go_exchangeTitle: Why the Books Don't Like Crowley
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seularen
Author/artist:myst_walker
Pairing: could be Aziraphale/Crowley if you squint
Rating: PG-13 for very mild profanity and naked mathematicians
Summary: Set a decade or so pre-novel. Crowley returns from a special assignment in Spain and decides to visit Aziraphale. References to Archimedes and Doctor Faustus, and a Shakespeare quote for good measure.
When Crowley got back to London after a month on special assignment in Spain, he had quickly headed to Aziraphale's shop. Not because he'd missed the angel or anything barmy like that; Crowley had just been...bored, that was all. However, as he entered the shop—ignoring the ever-ubiquitous 'Closed' sign on the door—Crowley was nearly bowled over by a wave of intense loathing.
It wasn't divine loathing though; it wasn't even mortal loathing. It was book loathing. Crowley glanced around the dim shop. Shelves were empty and everywhere books were stacked in neat piles on every available horizontal surface. Ah, Aziraphale was organizing.
Kind of.
The angel did this once or twice a year: pull all his books off their shelves and reshelve them elsewhere. Aziraphale told Crowley he did it so that he could clean everything, but the demon not so secretly suspected Aziraphale just did it as an excuse to spend an entire week cloistered with his books. And if customers came by, the angel was then able to guiltlessly claim he was closed for renovations.
The books always hated when Crowley interrupted their personal time with Aziraphale. Selfish bastards always wanted the angel all to themselves and had no problem letting Crowley know that. The little sneaks never did it when Aziraphale was around, of course, but as soon as the angel had his back turned the books blindly glared at Crowley with all the wrath that glue, ink, and paper could muster.1 The French Revolution books were particularly vehement and hopeful that an..."accident" would befall Crowley in the near future.
"Hey, angel!" Crowley called, sneering at a pair of unhappy atlases. "You in here?"
"Back from Spain, Crowley?" Aziraphale called from somewhere on the other side of the room. "Make yourself comfortable; I'll be over in a minute."
More like ten, Crowley thought, shooting the books another glacial stare. Spying a sickly, outdated green couch, Crowley flopped down on it. At least it was soft and not too dusty. The coffee table in front of the sofa was naturally covered with books that had recently been pulled from their shelves. Crowley skimmed the titles until his wandering eye landed on a new reprint of Archimedes's works. The demon grinned slyly as he picked up the book. Oh, Crowley remembered Archimedes. Before the Arrangement, that man had single-handedly stopped Crowley and Aziraphale in the midst of a fierce battle.2
Crowley chuckled at the memory. Archimedes had been running through the streets, shouting "Eureka!" and dripping wet. And stark naked. Aziraphale had been a much more prudish angel back then, and he'd gone immediately beet red at the sight of all of Archimedes's...assets. Crowley still fondly recalled the awkward conversation that ensued once Aziraphale accosted the man and tried to convince him to put on a towel.
Ah, good times, Crowley thought, still grinning, snake like as ever. Putting the book back, Crowley continued reading titles. It seemed he had stumbled upon part of Aziraphale's mathematics section although there was also the occasion theater piece or French dictionary on the table too.
"Ooh, hello there," the demon chuckled, picking up a thin black volume. It contained one play written by a man named Christopher Marlowe. The play was called The Tragical History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus. Crowley was able to read through most of Act I before Aziraphale finally surfaced from the sea of books.
"How are you, Crowley? Was Spain nice? Oooh, you're reading Doctor Faustus!"
The demon smiled as he closed the book. Doting on his books always put Aziraphale in such a bubbly mood.
"You know," Aziraphale continued, voice hardening a little, "that play was performed a great deal when it first came out."
"Very popular play," Crowley commented idly.
"Oh, indeed," Aziraphale replied, his voice starting to take on that angelic righteous tone. "Until an extra devil came out on stage for one of the scenes, and then people panicked, and the play wasn't performed for awhile. It was around 1611 or so. Remember, Crowley?"
The demon squirmed a bit. That was one of the few—very few—things that Crowley was vaguely sorry for. He'd actually rather liked the play to be honest. Sure it had been a little pretentious,3 but it had fireworks. Really nice fireworks that had been shot out of a trapdoor and somehow not burned the stage down. Crowley grinned as he remembered them.
"You're not sorry at all, are you?" Aziraphale glowered.
Crowley shrugged. "But you were an accomplice. You helped me get a devil costume."
"I was drunk!"
"That probably makes your position worse, y'know," the demon snickered.
Muttering very unangelic things under his breath, Aziraphale snatched the book away from Crowley with a huff.
Crowley tried to appear contrite but failed spectacularly. "C'mon, angel! The looks on their faces were bloody priceless."
"Really, my dear, you nearly gave poor Edward Alleyn a heart attack." Holding the play book securely, Aziraphale lovingly ran a hand over its worn cover. Sitting down beside Crowley on the ungodly green couch, Aziraphale cradled the book in his lap and considered it pensively. "Is it accurate?" he asked finally, his eyes riveted to the play although the question was directed at Crowley. "The parts about never being out of Hell, I mean."
Crowley rolled his yellow eyes, and they glowed dully over the tops of his sunglasses. "Oh yes," he snapped sarcastically, "even as we speak, I am inwardly writhing in torment."
"Well, I only wondered," Aziraphale sniffed, ever so slightly indignant.
Crowley pushed his sunglasses up until they completely covered his eyes. "Leave these frivolous demands which strike a terror to my fainting soul," he grumbled under his breath.
Blue eyes widened at the unexpected request that was so very not like the flashy demon. "Ah, Crowley, I didn't mean to pry—"
"Hah!" the demon cut him off with a laugh.4 "Act 1, Scene 3, lines 82 and 83, Mephistophilis to Faustus. A literary reference you didn't immediately catch? Angel, you're slipping."
"Oh, haha, you were...referencing the play." Aziraphale smiled awkwardly, laying Doctor Faustus on the table with the other theater books. "Um, Crowley..."
"So are we going to go eat or not?" the demon asked, standing and stretching. His slender body arched briefly, and when Crowley relaxed, his clothes fell back into place without a single wrinkle.
"Mmm, I suppose we should," the angel murmured, propping his elbows on his knees. He smiled again but more gently now. "You have a lean and hungry look."
Crowley raised an eyebrow. "That's not Marlowe."
"No, it's Shakespeare." Aziraphale fixed his companion with a bemused expression. "Did you really miss me so much?"
"What? You mean in Spain?" Crowley sneered. "Pfft, as if."
"Then I suppose dining alone tonight will be no hardship for you," Aziraphale replied airily, rising from the couch and preparing to get engrossed once more in his books.
"Come on, angel..." Crowley purred in his most enticing voice. "I'll even treat."
Aziraphale's face broken into a broad and unangelically smug grin. "I knew you missed me. Hold on just a moment, dear boy, and I shall fetch my coat."
Crowley smirked as his companion temporarily disappeared into the backroom. It was always a good day when he was able to tempt Aziraphale into choosing him rather than staying with his books. From time to time, it was good to remind the books who Aziraphale's real favorite companion was.
-fin-
_______________
1 Which was a considerably impressive amount.
2 Not so fierce, actually. They had been in a market place chucking overripe fruit at each other.
3 A lot pretentious actually. As if Hell would really be concerned over just one person, especially a whiny twit like Faustus who would've probably gone to Hell anyway even if he hadn't sold his soul. And Lucifer? Totally out of character.
4 It was a rather forced laugh, but Aziraphale pretended not to notice.
A/N: When my theater professor told my class about the legend of an extra demon coming out during a performance of Doctor Faustus, I immediately thought of Crowley, haha. Oh, and the lean and hungry quote referred to Cassius from The Tragedy of Julius Caesar.
For:
seularenAuthor/artist:
myst_walkerPairing: could be Aziraphale/Crowley if you squint
Rating: PG-13 for very mild profanity and naked mathematicians
Summary: Set a decade or so pre-novel. Crowley returns from a special assignment in Spain and decides to visit Aziraphale. References to Archimedes and Doctor Faustus, and a Shakespeare quote for good measure.
When Crowley got back to London after a month on special assignment in Spain, he had quickly headed to Aziraphale's shop. Not because he'd missed the angel or anything barmy like that; Crowley had just been...bored, that was all. However, as he entered the shop—ignoring the ever-ubiquitous 'Closed' sign on the door—Crowley was nearly bowled over by a wave of intense loathing.
It wasn't divine loathing though; it wasn't even mortal loathing. It was book loathing. Crowley glanced around the dim shop. Shelves were empty and everywhere books were stacked in neat piles on every available horizontal surface. Ah, Aziraphale was organizing.
Kind of.
The angel did this once or twice a year: pull all his books off their shelves and reshelve them elsewhere. Aziraphale told Crowley he did it so that he could clean everything, but the demon not so secretly suspected Aziraphale just did it as an excuse to spend an entire week cloistered with his books. And if customers came by, the angel was then able to guiltlessly claim he was closed for renovations.
The books always hated when Crowley interrupted their personal time with Aziraphale. Selfish bastards always wanted the angel all to themselves and had no problem letting Crowley know that. The little sneaks never did it when Aziraphale was around, of course, but as soon as the angel had his back turned the books blindly glared at Crowley with all the wrath that glue, ink, and paper could muster.1 The French Revolution books were particularly vehement and hopeful that an..."accident" would befall Crowley in the near future.
"Hey, angel!" Crowley called, sneering at a pair of unhappy atlases. "You in here?"
"Back from Spain, Crowley?" Aziraphale called from somewhere on the other side of the room. "Make yourself comfortable; I'll be over in a minute."
More like ten, Crowley thought, shooting the books another glacial stare. Spying a sickly, outdated green couch, Crowley flopped down on it. At least it was soft and not too dusty. The coffee table in front of the sofa was naturally covered with books that had recently been pulled from their shelves. Crowley skimmed the titles until his wandering eye landed on a new reprint of Archimedes's works. The demon grinned slyly as he picked up the book. Oh, Crowley remembered Archimedes. Before the Arrangement, that man had single-handedly stopped Crowley and Aziraphale in the midst of a fierce battle.2
Crowley chuckled at the memory. Archimedes had been running through the streets, shouting "Eureka!" and dripping wet. And stark naked. Aziraphale had been a much more prudish angel back then, and he'd gone immediately beet red at the sight of all of Archimedes's...assets. Crowley still fondly recalled the awkward conversation that ensued once Aziraphale accosted the man and tried to convince him to put on a towel.
Ah, good times, Crowley thought, still grinning, snake like as ever. Putting the book back, Crowley continued reading titles. It seemed he had stumbled upon part of Aziraphale's mathematics section although there was also the occasion theater piece or French dictionary on the table too.
"Ooh, hello there," the demon chuckled, picking up a thin black volume. It contained one play written by a man named Christopher Marlowe. The play was called The Tragical History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus. Crowley was able to read through most of Act I before Aziraphale finally surfaced from the sea of books.
"How are you, Crowley? Was Spain nice? Oooh, you're reading Doctor Faustus!"
The demon smiled as he closed the book. Doting on his books always put Aziraphale in such a bubbly mood.
"You know," Aziraphale continued, voice hardening a little, "that play was performed a great deal when it first came out."
"Very popular play," Crowley commented idly.
"Oh, indeed," Aziraphale replied, his voice starting to take on that angelic righteous tone. "Until an extra devil came out on stage for one of the scenes, and then people panicked, and the play wasn't performed for awhile. It was around 1611 or so. Remember, Crowley?"
The demon squirmed a bit. That was one of the few—very few—things that Crowley was vaguely sorry for. He'd actually rather liked the play to be honest. Sure it had been a little pretentious,3 but it had fireworks. Really nice fireworks that had been shot out of a trapdoor and somehow not burned the stage down. Crowley grinned as he remembered them.
"You're not sorry at all, are you?" Aziraphale glowered.
Crowley shrugged. "But you were an accomplice. You helped me get a devil costume."
"I was drunk!"
"That probably makes your position worse, y'know," the demon snickered.
Muttering very unangelic things under his breath, Aziraphale snatched the book away from Crowley with a huff.
Crowley tried to appear contrite but failed spectacularly. "C'mon, angel! The looks on their faces were bloody priceless."
"Really, my dear, you nearly gave poor Edward Alleyn a heart attack." Holding the play book securely, Aziraphale lovingly ran a hand over its worn cover. Sitting down beside Crowley on the ungodly green couch, Aziraphale cradled the book in his lap and considered it pensively. "Is it accurate?" he asked finally, his eyes riveted to the play although the question was directed at Crowley. "The parts about never being out of Hell, I mean."
Crowley rolled his yellow eyes, and they glowed dully over the tops of his sunglasses. "Oh yes," he snapped sarcastically, "even as we speak, I am inwardly writhing in torment."
"Well, I only wondered," Aziraphale sniffed, ever so slightly indignant.
Crowley pushed his sunglasses up until they completely covered his eyes. "Leave these frivolous demands which strike a terror to my fainting soul," he grumbled under his breath.
Blue eyes widened at the unexpected request that was so very not like the flashy demon. "Ah, Crowley, I didn't mean to pry—"
"Hah!" the demon cut him off with a laugh.4 "Act 1, Scene 3, lines 82 and 83, Mephistophilis to Faustus. A literary reference you didn't immediately catch? Angel, you're slipping."
"Oh, haha, you were...referencing the play." Aziraphale smiled awkwardly, laying Doctor Faustus on the table with the other theater books. "Um, Crowley..."
"So are we going to go eat or not?" the demon asked, standing and stretching. His slender body arched briefly, and when Crowley relaxed, his clothes fell back into place without a single wrinkle.
"Mmm, I suppose we should," the angel murmured, propping his elbows on his knees. He smiled again but more gently now. "You have a lean and hungry look."
Crowley raised an eyebrow. "That's not Marlowe."
"No, it's Shakespeare." Aziraphale fixed his companion with a bemused expression. "Did you really miss me so much?"
"What? You mean in Spain?" Crowley sneered. "Pfft, as if."
"Then I suppose dining alone tonight will be no hardship for you," Aziraphale replied airily, rising from the couch and preparing to get engrossed once more in his books.
"Come on, angel..." Crowley purred in his most enticing voice. "I'll even treat."
Aziraphale's face broken into a broad and unangelically smug grin. "I knew you missed me. Hold on just a moment, dear boy, and I shall fetch my coat."
Crowley smirked as his companion temporarily disappeared into the backroom. It was always a good day when he was able to tempt Aziraphale into choosing him rather than staying with his books. From time to time, it was good to remind the books who Aziraphale's real favorite companion was.
-fin-
_______________
1 Which was a considerably impressive amount.
2 Not so fierce, actually. They had been in a market place chucking overripe fruit at each other.
3 A lot pretentious actually. As if Hell would really be concerned over just one person, especially a whiny twit like Faustus who would've probably gone to Hell anyway even if he hadn't sold his soul. And Lucifer? Totally out of character.
4 It was a rather forced laugh, but Aziraphale pretended not to notice.
A/N: When my theater professor told my class about the legend of an extra demon coming out during a performance of Doctor Faustus, I immediately thought of Crowley, haha. Oh, and the lean and hungry quote referred to Cassius from The Tragedy of Julius Caesar.
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-17 11:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-18 12:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-18 04:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-18 04:57 am (UTC)Okay, enough of the caps.
First of all, the references! Ah, you made me swoon with every name-drop! And the bit with Faustus!! It's one of my absolute favorite books, and I could just imagine Crowley bursting on stage.
And their voices! You had Aziraphale and Crowley down so well I thought I was reading canon. Their voices at the end especially convinced me.
And really, just the books in general. I bloody love books. You couldn't have picked a better topic. Absolutely wonderful.
And of course the footnotes! Had me giggling incessantly. Bloody brilliant.
Thank you so, so much!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-18 04:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-18 05:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-18 03:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-18 03:45 pm (UTC)Although, being inclined as I am, I am now thinking, 'careful, those books are watching you shag!'
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-19 12:59 am (UTC)But argh, what's this? I read there is supposed to be an illustration? I can't see one and I would love to!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-19 10:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-19 02:20 am (UTC)I have no idea why, but this is actually, I think, my favorite part of the whole thing.
Okay, except for the third footnote. Because Lucifer being totally out of character...yes.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-19 08:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-17 02:49 am (UTC)Not to mention >The books always hated when Crowley interrupted their personal time with Aziraphale.>
Cozy and funny.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-04-28 12:27 pm (UTC)