(Untitled)

[a_fell]

A flood of people from the theatre; a night out at which is not, perhaps, what it was but it's still an occasion worth dressing for - an explosion of colour and noise bundled carefully into black cabs and ferried away to home, or drinking, or whatever illicit encounters are lined up for the night

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[aj_crawley]

Crowley has his hands in his pockets as well, but the pockets of a thick, black wool overcoat that reaches nearly to the knees of his suit. And really, for February, it's not all that cold, but he's wrapped fair up to his nose in a black scarf, too.

The shape of his cheeks suggest he's grinning underneath, though.

[a_fell]

"Well that was quite the charming performance," Aziraphael eventually opines. "I don't think I've had a chance to see it done since the late '50's, in Stratford. And that one was memorable only for Rosalind's unfortunate speech impediment, which caused the front three rows to rather wish they'd brought umbrellas."

Possibly he's a little nervous.

[aj_crawley]

There's a rather thoughtful silence.

"I think I saw that one" Crowley says, finally. "Did they tour? 'S not the kind of thing you, you know, forget. Thime thravelth in diverth patheth with diverth perthonth."

A sideways glance at Aziraphael, who looks torn somewhere between amusement and a quiet horror. The corner of Crowley's mouth twitches, behind his scarf, and he obligingly turns up the volume, for the benefit of passers-by in the street.

"I'll thell you who Thime ambleth withal, who Thime throth withal, who Thime gallopth withal, and who he thtandth thtill withal..."

[a_fell]

Amusement and quiet horror evolves quickly into disbelief, followed closely by uncontrollable snorting as Aziraphael tries frantically to maintain some trace of decorum. He eventually manages a muffled mumble, from behind a hand clasped in desperation over his mouth.

"Crowley, people are staring."

[aj_crawley]

"Well I'm not embarrassed," he says, with the blithe serenity of those deliberately causing a scene. "Why, are you embarrassed?"

[a_fell]

"I'm not usually the sort to embarrass easily."

He lowers his hand and smiles widely at Crowley.

"Which would be a cue for you to make a jest at the expense of my wardrobe, I believe."

Arms held out from his sides and an eyebrow raised; possibly he's feeling so confident because for once it's almost not warranted - not a scrap of tweed in sight. Tonks may well have had something to do with this suit.

[aj_crawley]

The lift of a single, disbelieving eyebrow in response to Aziraphael's first statement is more effective than any amount of scoffing, but Crowley lets it slide without further comment.

The enquiry about the suit, though, gets both eyebrows. Crowley's careful, though - has been careful, all night - not to get caught staring, and looks away again quickly.

"No," he says, with a light shrug. "I like it."

[a_fell]

"It's not quite up to your standards, I'll admit - I thought that woman in the ticket office was going to offer to show you to your seat personally, which would likely have put the usher out."

The amusement in his voice now is the product of a good couple of hours' Rational Thought. Aziraphael rather hoped Crowley hadn't noticed how short he'd been with her.

He slows, slightly, as they approach an underground station.

"Are we still Ritzward bound? Or are there other engagements waiting?"

[aj_crawley]

Crowley drifts to a halt, contemplating the staircase leading down to the ticketing machines and platforms. Or, rather, the jam of people packed in close on a Saturday night, the noise of their collective conversations, the thunderous rattling of the trains...

He appears to be weighing the night-time chill of mid-February and the significant reduction in journey time.

Neither of these are pros.

" - Well, if you want to go to the Ritz, we could walk? If you don't mind, I mean. It'll take, what, twenty minutes? Twenty-five?"

[a_fell]

It startles a smile from the angel and he hunches his shoulders slightly - deference to the cold or a shrug, either way his voice is curious as he replies.

"I'd thought you'd be cold. I'd much rather walk, myself - it'll make the tea all the more rewarding." His smile shifts a little, turns teasing. "And there's a moral lesson I'm sure we can all learn from, there..."

[aj_crawley]

Crowley makes a face, turning away before Aziraphael can finish, and letting the angel trot to catch up with him. He's grinning when he does, though - they both are.

"Must remember to pick up an events guide for the next few months - or a theatre guide, at least. I haven't been out - you know, properly Out - for way, way too long."

[a_fell]

"It's too easy not to make the effort."

He hunches his shoulders again.

"I'm sorry."

And there's a moment or two of silence before he continues brightly.

"There's a Gilbert and George exhibition thingamajig running until the 25th, if you'd like to pop along?"

[aj_crawley]

Pensive silence.

...Poker face.

"...They're the ones who did the 'Naked Shit Pictures', right?"

[a_fell]

"Among other things."

That would be 'outrage'. He's walking just a little bit faster, so Crowley can't see the grin on his face.

[aj_crawley]

What goes around comes around; after suppressing his sniggering, it takes him a few moments to catch up with Aziraphael, shooting the angel a smile over the top of his scarf as he draws level.

"Well. When would you like to go?"

[a_fell]

Aziraphael doesn't mean to stare, so. It's the blasted smile that does it. Far too long a moment and then he looks away, sounding ever so slight subdued.

"Oh, I imagine I should be free - oh, I don't know. Next Sunday?"