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go_exchangeTitle: A fine winter hunt
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kalamburd
By:caedesdeo
Rated: G overall (I think), no warnings unless bog mud and fluffy bathrobes count. Rather fluffy, slight pre-slash if you squint.
Wordcount: 1454
“Aziraphale? Aziraphale!” Crowley burst through the front door of the little bookshop, completely ignoring the faded ‘closed’ sign in the window1.
There was no sign of the angel, but his Presence was further into the building so Crowley carried on, and burst through the door into the shop’s backroom2.
Where he promptly froze, assailed by a sudden overwhelming sense of Holiness radiating from the object Aziraphale was now clutching in front of him in surprise.
“Angel, what the He...Hea…Manchester are you doing?” He demanded.
Aziraphale blinked at him, before looking down at the item in his hands and lowering it in an embarrassed way.
“Oh, ah, Blessing a butterfly net?” He offered, slightly sheepishly. “Sorry about nearly attacking you with it, dear. I didn’t notice you come in the shop.”
Crowley gave him a Look over the top of his sunglasses.
“I can feel that, and I almost felt it in a rather fatal way. Why, is what I want to know.”
“You mean you weren’t contacted about it?” Crowley’s Look turned into confused alarm.
“Yes! I mean no! I mean, that’s why I’m here, I’ve been trying to block them. Clearing my mind seems to have helped for now.” It was now Aziraphale’s turn to look confused3.
“That’s Occlumency, which I’m fairly sure shouldn’t work. And it’s not that bad, surely?” Crowley opened his mouth, clearly about to protest that yes, it was that bad, then paused after visibly trying to work out what Aziraphale was on about.
“Angel, unless you’ve been at the tranquilisers again and are on some form of celestial high, you’re either insane or on about something else.”
“The recent accident in Limbo, what else would I be on about?” Said Aziraphale, slightly put out be Crowley’s comment4.
“Hell! After me! For, you know, the Armageddon that didn’t happen. They’ve been biding their time, and, wait, what accident in Limbo? Nobody told me about any…oh. Ah.” Aziraphale looked closely at the demon hovering in his doorway.
“Crowley, did you actually pay attention to what your superior’s were trying to tell you, or did you just fly into a blind panic and rush over here the moment they tried to contact you?” He asked.
“I do not ‘fly into blind panics’. I rush very calmly into precisely co-ordinated, fully Technicolor panics and no, I didn’t listen. I was too busy fearing for my life!”
“Well, stop being silly then and check the message.”
“Fine.” Crowley said, rather grumpy at being called silly. Aziraphale watched in fascination as his eyes rolled rather inhumanely backwards behind his sunglasses, and he made a noise best described as ‘Ngk’5.
“Gah, that was worse than normal. Must have been for ignoring it.” Crowley said, shaking himself briefly to get rid of the lingering pain. “Mind you, still better than hold muzak.”
“Crowley, get to the point. Is or isn’t the message about the recent outbreak from Limbo?” Aziraphale asked, mildly impatient.
“Yes. They want me to bring back some of the souls to add to our lot. Which is rather daft, as they’ll get recalled when the paperwork goes through.”
Aziraphale nodded, having thought much the same when his instructions arrived.
“Ah well, I suppose we’ll just have to make the best of it.”
Crowley arched an eyebrow at him. “We, angel?”
“Yes, I thought we should try and get them together. That way it’ll be quicker and we can retire for a nice lunch afterwards.”
“….Agreed. But you’re buying. And keep that Blessed net away from me, Aziraphale!”
1 It wasn’t surprised, having often been ignored. The lock, which had been fastened, was however surprised to find itself open. This was because Aziraphale had found that if people couldn’t get in the bookshop, they couldn’t buy the books it contained.
2 He was determined to make a dramatic entrance, as he felt the situation demanded it.
3 This was only fair, as it ensured an even spread of confusion, with a side helping of bewilderment.
4 The safari incident, to which Crowley was referring, hadn’t been his fault no matter what the demon said about his weight and certain native tusked mammals.
5 Really, Heaven’s memo system seemed much more civilised than what looked like a mild possession6. Although the memos were rather too easy to lose.
6 If Crowley started spitting out anything green, either ectoplasm or pea soup, he’d better not get any on the books and he could clean it up himself.
“What was it you said? ‘Don’t worry Crowley’, ‘I know what I’m doing Crowley’, and my all time favourite, angel, ‘Oops’!” Crowley was most decidedly not happy, as the two unrecognisable beings trudged into the room. He was carrying a small jar7 full of glowing sparks, or presumable he was carrying it. It appeared to be welded to him by the contents of a small, prehistoric bog.
“I didn’t know the ice was that thin, or what was underneath it! Really Crowley, do I look any cleaner than you?” Aziraphale asked, to which the answer most decidedly had to be no.
They were both covered from top to toe in thick, black, stinking mud that was resisting all their efforts to will it away. Crowley suspected a combination of inadvertent curses uttered due to falling into a frozen duck pond. As it had been closer, and as Aziraphale had flat out refused to let the substance near his books, they’d ended up back at Crowley’s flat.
“At least the rain proved that it’ll wash off.” Aziraphale said, in the slightly desperate way of one trying to find a silver lining in a hurricane. Crowley ignored him, and willed another shower into existence in his bathroom. The quicker they both got clean, the better.
“Angel, just go take a shower. Feel free to leave as soon as possible afterwards, yes?” He said, before attempting to stalk off8.
Of course, the angel was still there when he came back. And for some reason was drying off the human way, sat on his couch in one of the most ridiculously fluffy bathrobes Crowley had ever seen9.
“Aziraphale, why do you bother to do things the long way? A little sloth never really hurt anyone, eh?” He said, sitting in the matching armchair in a particularly boneless way.
The angel finished trying to rub his hair dry, and looked at the demon through a halo of lightly tangled strands. “There’s just something rather reassuring about doing it this way, and you’ll not tempt me that way, old serpent.” However, he did will the robe into an approximation of his normal outfit having realised that the alternative was to try to walk through London in a bathrobe10. “Anyway, we still need to divide up the souls. And have food, although I don’t suppose you particularly fancy the Ritz anymore?” Aziraphale said.
Crowley shook his head. “No, but there’s a very nice little bistro round the corner that’ll deliver. And I say I get a larger share for not being the one who led us onto the ice.” He said.
“Crowley, you held the jar and complained most of the time! I did most of the work, so I should claim more of the results.” Aziraphale countered.
They spent the rest of the evening bickering about the jar of souls, eating just a little too much good food, and drinking just a bit two much wine. Crowley used various temptations on Aziraphale, to little effect, whilst the angel’s logic got gradually more muddled as they made inroads through the wine. In the end, they gave up, split them evenly, and agreed to never mention the mud again.
The paperwork made it all rather a moot point anyway.
7 They’d got reprimanded about the jar by a little old lady, who actually believed them when they said they were collecting butterflies despite it being the middle of winter. She’d gotten stroppy about there not being air holes in the lid, and really you can’t explain that souls don’t need to breathe.
8 It’s rather difficult to stalk anywhere when your limbs are attempting to glue themselves together. He’d been tempted to shift forms, until he realised a snake had more surface area in contact with the floor than a human did, and being peeled off his own floor was just one humiliation he wasn’t prepared to risk.
9 Although this wasn’t an extensive list, the robe in question made Aziraphale look like a tumble-dryer’d fluff-ball. It wasn’t flattering, but it was very comfortable.
10 Humans, although perfectly willing to ignore angelic, demonic, or mud-covered beings, would probably choose the moment he stepped outside in the robe to become a lot more perceptive. Sod’s law, really.
Happy Holidays,kalamburd, from your Secret Author!
For:
kalamburdBy:
caedesdeoRated: G overall (I think), no warnings unless bog mud and fluffy bathrobes count. Rather fluffy, slight pre-slash if you squint.
Wordcount: 1454
“Aziraphale? Aziraphale!” Crowley burst through the front door of the little bookshop, completely ignoring the faded ‘closed’ sign in the window1.
There was no sign of the angel, but his Presence was further into the building so Crowley carried on, and burst through the door into the shop’s backroom2.
Where he promptly froze, assailed by a sudden overwhelming sense of Holiness radiating from the object Aziraphale was now clutching in front of him in surprise.
“Angel, what the He...Hea…Manchester are you doing?” He demanded.
Aziraphale blinked at him, before looking down at the item in his hands and lowering it in an embarrassed way.
“Oh, ah, Blessing a butterfly net?” He offered, slightly sheepishly. “Sorry about nearly attacking you with it, dear. I didn’t notice you come in the shop.”
Crowley gave him a Look over the top of his sunglasses.
“I can feel that, and I almost felt it in a rather fatal way. Why, is what I want to know.”
“You mean you weren’t contacted about it?” Crowley’s Look turned into confused alarm.
“Yes! I mean no! I mean, that’s why I’m here, I’ve been trying to block them. Clearing my mind seems to have helped for now.” It was now Aziraphale’s turn to look confused3.
“That’s Occlumency, which I’m fairly sure shouldn’t work. And it’s not that bad, surely?” Crowley opened his mouth, clearly about to protest that yes, it was that bad, then paused after visibly trying to work out what Aziraphale was on about.
“Angel, unless you’ve been at the tranquilisers again and are on some form of celestial high, you’re either insane or on about something else.”
“The recent accident in Limbo, what else would I be on about?” Said Aziraphale, slightly put out be Crowley’s comment4.
“Hell! After me! For, you know, the Armageddon that didn’t happen. They’ve been biding their time, and, wait, what accident in Limbo? Nobody told me about any…oh. Ah.” Aziraphale looked closely at the demon hovering in his doorway.
“Crowley, did you actually pay attention to what your superior’s were trying to tell you, or did you just fly into a blind panic and rush over here the moment they tried to contact you?” He asked.
“I do not ‘fly into blind panics’. I rush very calmly into precisely co-ordinated, fully Technicolor panics and no, I didn’t listen. I was too busy fearing for my life!”
“Well, stop being silly then and check the message.”
“Fine.” Crowley said, rather grumpy at being called silly. Aziraphale watched in fascination as his eyes rolled rather inhumanely backwards behind his sunglasses, and he made a noise best described as ‘Ngk’5.
“Gah, that was worse than normal. Must have been for ignoring it.” Crowley said, shaking himself briefly to get rid of the lingering pain. “Mind you, still better than hold muzak.”
“Crowley, get to the point. Is or isn’t the message about the recent outbreak from Limbo?” Aziraphale asked, mildly impatient.
“Yes. They want me to bring back some of the souls to add to our lot. Which is rather daft, as they’ll get recalled when the paperwork goes through.”
Aziraphale nodded, having thought much the same when his instructions arrived.
“Ah well, I suppose we’ll just have to make the best of it.”
Crowley arched an eyebrow at him. “We, angel?”
“Yes, I thought we should try and get them together. That way it’ll be quicker and we can retire for a nice lunch afterwards.”
“….Agreed. But you’re buying. And keep that Blessed net away from me, Aziraphale!”
1 It wasn’t surprised, having often been ignored. The lock, which had been fastened, was however surprised to find itself open. This was because Aziraphale had found that if people couldn’t get in the bookshop, they couldn’t buy the books it contained.
2 He was determined to make a dramatic entrance, as he felt the situation demanded it.
3 This was only fair, as it ensured an even spread of confusion, with a side helping of bewilderment.
4 The safari incident, to which Crowley was referring, hadn’t been his fault no matter what the demon said about his weight and certain native tusked mammals.
5 Really, Heaven’s memo system seemed much more civilised than what looked like a mild possession6. Although the memos were rather too easy to lose.
6 If Crowley started spitting out anything green, either ectoplasm or pea soup, he’d better not get any on the books and he could clean it up himself.
“What was it you said? ‘Don’t worry Crowley’, ‘I know what I’m doing Crowley’, and my all time favourite, angel, ‘Oops’!” Crowley was most decidedly not happy, as the two unrecognisable beings trudged into the room. He was carrying a small jar7 full of glowing sparks, or presumable he was carrying it. It appeared to be welded to him by the contents of a small, prehistoric bog.
“I didn’t know the ice was that thin, or what was underneath it! Really Crowley, do I look any cleaner than you?” Aziraphale asked, to which the answer most decidedly had to be no.
They were both covered from top to toe in thick, black, stinking mud that was resisting all their efforts to will it away. Crowley suspected a combination of inadvertent curses uttered due to falling into a frozen duck pond. As it had been closer, and as Aziraphale had flat out refused to let the substance near his books, they’d ended up back at Crowley’s flat.
“At least the rain proved that it’ll wash off.” Aziraphale said, in the slightly desperate way of one trying to find a silver lining in a hurricane. Crowley ignored him, and willed another shower into existence in his bathroom. The quicker they both got clean, the better.
“Angel, just go take a shower. Feel free to leave as soon as possible afterwards, yes?” He said, before attempting to stalk off8.
Of course, the angel was still there when he came back. And for some reason was drying off the human way, sat on his couch in one of the most ridiculously fluffy bathrobes Crowley had ever seen9.
“Aziraphale, why do you bother to do things the long way? A little sloth never really hurt anyone, eh?” He said, sitting in the matching armchair in a particularly boneless way.
The angel finished trying to rub his hair dry, and looked at the demon through a halo of lightly tangled strands. “There’s just something rather reassuring about doing it this way, and you’ll not tempt me that way, old serpent.” However, he did will the robe into an approximation of his normal outfit having realised that the alternative was to try to walk through London in a bathrobe10. “Anyway, we still need to divide up the souls. And have food, although I don’t suppose you particularly fancy the Ritz anymore?” Aziraphale said.
Crowley shook his head. “No, but there’s a very nice little bistro round the corner that’ll deliver. And I say I get a larger share for not being the one who led us onto the ice.” He said.
“Crowley, you held the jar and complained most of the time! I did most of the work, so I should claim more of the results.” Aziraphale countered.
They spent the rest of the evening bickering about the jar of souls, eating just a little too much good food, and drinking just a bit two much wine. Crowley used various temptations on Aziraphale, to little effect, whilst the angel’s logic got gradually more muddled as they made inroads through the wine. In the end, they gave up, split them evenly, and agreed to never mention the mud again.
The paperwork made it all rather a moot point anyway.
7 They’d got reprimanded about the jar by a little old lady, who actually believed them when they said they were collecting butterflies despite it being the middle of winter. She’d gotten stroppy about there not being air holes in the lid, and really you can’t explain that souls don’t need to breathe.
8 It’s rather difficult to stalk anywhere when your limbs are attempting to glue themselves together. He’d been tempted to shift forms, until he realised a snake had more surface area in contact with the floor than a human did, and being peeled off his own floor was just one humiliation he wasn’t prepared to risk.
9 Although this wasn’t an extensive list, the robe in question made Aziraphale look like a tumble-dryer’d fluff-ball. It wasn’t flattering, but it was very comfortable.
10 Humans, although perfectly willing to ignore angelic, demonic, or mud-covered beings, would probably choose the moment he stepped outside in the robe to become a lot more perceptive. Sod’s law, really.
Happy Holidays,
kalamburd, from your Secret Author!
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Date: 2008-12-20 07:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-21 03:47 am (UTC)Cheers!