(Untitled)

[a_fell]

The theatre's just a minute's walk from St James' Park, so it makes sense for the two of them to meet there without having to make it about any issues other than convenience. It's been raining a little throughout the afternoon; just enough to freshen the air and discourage most casual walkers. The late afternoon sun is warm now, though, slanting

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[aj_crawley]

The weather is one thing Crowley is never optimistic about, but that's alright; the bloody-minded certainty of most English that it'll clear up any second now more than balances it out. Even now, people are starting to repopulate the park, telling each other that they knew it was only a short shower.

The demon dodges a woman too absorbed in a phone conversation to watch her step, and weaves his way through the small cluster surrounding an ice-cream cart that seems to have materialised from thin air.

He raises his hand in an almost-wave when he spots the angel, and changes course accordingly.

[a_fell]

Aziraphael smiles and raises his own hand in response. He looks as though he's about to stand to greet Crowley, but changes his mind when a portly gentleman, apparently too cheap to invest in the traditional mid-life crisis means of transportation, barrels past on a skateboard. The angel blinks after him for a moment, taken rather aback, then tilts his head to smile up at Crowley.

"Lovely afternoon, isn't it?"

[aj_crawley]

"Well, it is now," he allows, eyeing the sky suspiciously. There's barely a cloud to be seen, however, so after giving the blue expanse a final warning glare, Crowley rearranges his coat and seats himself beside Aziraphael.

A few dozen yards distant, there's a rather loud and sudden crash, as the portly gentleman has a close encounter of the high-speed kind with the ice-cream vendor's sandwich-board.

After a moment, a lone skateboard wheel rolls, unharmed, out of the wreckage.

[a_fell]

"Really, my dear," the angel murmurs, the corners of his mouth tilting irresistably upward.

[aj_crawley]

"Oh, he's fine," Crowley replies, waving his hand unconcernedly. "The fat ones bounce right back. Or is that the young? Whatever."

[a_fell]

Aziraphael echoes Crowley's movement surreptitiously.

"He is fine." It would have been quite a nasty sprain, but it's entirely too nice a day to allow for that sort of thing. The skateboard, though (there's an exclamation of dismay as the remaining wheels, quite without warning, fall off) is quite beyond repair. The fact that the angel has never liked the noisy things is probably entirely irrelevant. "And isn't it refreshing to see public-spirited citizens taking time from their busy ice-cream-buying schedules to help him up?"

There might just be a hint of smug.

[aj_crawley]

"Absolutely," he replies, cheerfully. "After all, they can hardly decide without the pictures."

[a_fell]

"It's perfectly possible, you know. It's not as though the options are overwhelmingly difficult to remember."

Aziraphael likes magnums.

[aj_crawley]

"Maybe not ten years ago. But we've got to keep up with the Joneses, now. You know they have something like thirty-seven different flavours of ice-cream in the States?"

[a_fell]

"And yet the traditional English icecream man digs his heels in and refuses to acknowledge such decadence. If you're wanting anything more exciting than vanilla with violently red strawberry sauce, you're rather expected to play extortionate prices in supermarkets."

Aziraphael clears his throat.

"So I've heard."

[aj_crawley]

"I should think," Crowley says, unable to keep the laughter from his voice, "that you have, yeah."

[a_fell]

"Hush, you. I'll have to introduce you to the apple and cinammon one I found, one of these days. Then you'll be singing a different tune."

[aj_crawley]

The demon wrinkles his nose, looking slightly dubious.

"Bit sweet, isn't - oh, what am I saying. It's you, of course it is."

[a_fell]

"There's nothing wrong with predictability," Aziraphael says sniffily, folding his arms.

[aj_crawley]

"Did I say there was anything wrong with predictability?" he asks, eyebrows raised. "I never said there was anything wrong with predictability. I just don't adore sweet things as much as you do."

[a_fell]

Aziraphael taps his fingers against his lips, lost in thought for a moment or two. Then he grins.

"I shall refrain from quoting scripture at you. I'm feeling magnanimous."

Job chapter twenty comes to mind. Twelfth and thirteenth verses.