(Untitled)

[a_fell]

The hotel room doesn't exactly have a bearskin rug, but it does feature a fireplace; wood-burning and crackling merrily away when they come in. Since none of the other rooms feature fireplaces, the concierge was no doubt surprised when Aziraphael thought to ask that an extra bundle of wood be sent up just after they arrived. They hadn't actually

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[aj_crawley]

If the room did have a bearskin rug, it would certainly be in use. As it is, once they traipsed back upstairs last night after a late dinner in the hotel's (admittedly rather good) restaurant, Crowley took the opportunity - and the excuse of their current geographical latitude - to heap upon the bed anything remotely blanket or pillow-like that could be put to service. Considering the woollen throws and thick cushions that decorated much of the rest of the suite's furniture, this amounted to... quite a lot.

Really, you'd hardly be able to tell he was in there at all, were it not for the fact that a few minutes ago, when Aziraphael's absence finally registered, the squashy mountain started to shift very - very - slightly.

Eventually, a pillow shuffles aside, the corner of a blanket is poked out of the way, and one yellow eye squints out of the darkness.

"Time's't?"

[a_fell]

"Local time is about 9:30 AM," Aziraphael says, entirely too brightly. "Did you have a nice lie-in?"

He doesn't look away from the book, but one hand meanders over to the nearest table to find his tea. The mug bears a striking resemblance to one of the chipped ones from his own cupboard.

[aj_crawley]

"...Not yet, 'parently."

Half nine indeed.

Nevertheless, the mountain of blankets rustles and whispers and shudders with sudden seismic activity, and after a moment, Crowley's head appears at the other end, followed by just enough of one arm to prop his chin on.

"How long've you been up?"

He may look as though he's looking blearily at Aziraphael, happily ensconced in his fireside armchair. He's not, exactly.

There's tea.

But it's all the way over there.

Ugh.

[a_fell]

"Only about an hour," he says with a reassuring smile. "Did you know they have something called a super-jeep here? They do tours in them. All over, from the look of it." He takes a sip from the mug and turns a page with the other hand.

"And there are snowmobiles for sale, though I don't imagine you're in the market for--" He breaks off when he glances up to see Crowley looking like a disgruntled tortoise, poking out from the mountain of blankets and pillows. The hand on the book clenches, then comes up to (unsuccessfully) hide his low, sudden laughter.