Good Omens drabbles
For penknife:
"What's this about, again?" Aziraphale whispered as the elderly art curator ran across the screen.
"It's an adaptation of the all-time best-selling book. How can you not know what it's about?" Crowley said.
"I'm sure that's not in the bible," Aziraphale frowned as Vatican assassins committed acts of evil. "What was he in? That fair-haired fellow?"
"The other best-selling book," Crowley sighed. "And he's been in lots of things. Do naked mediaeval poets ring any bells?"
"Oh, yes," Aziraphale said. "He has a very nice, er, range of roles."
"Right," Crowley said. "You like his . . . talent."
Aziraphale coughed delicately.
For puddingcat:
"Hello?" Aziraphale said, peering at his visitor.
"Hello," the young man said, smiling toothily. "Infernal Revenue."
"I've nothing to hide," Aziraphale said, proudly starting up his computer. "My tax-records are impeccable."
"You're really not cooking the books," the man said in astonishment, paging down. "You're a rare sort. I'm not looking for you. I'm from Infernal Revenue."
"Ah," Aziraphale said, surreptitiously blocking the view of the back door. "He's not here."
The door slammed and a powerful engine started outside. The young man rolled his eyes.
"Everyone acts like I'm the Devil Incarnate."
Aziraphale felt it kinder not to respond.
For argyleheir:
"This really is a lovely part of the world," Aziraphale said, finishing his wine and looking around the square. "We should stay here a while longer."
"I think it's time we moved on," Crowley said, not looking up. "I'm tired of Spain."
"I think we should get involved," Aziraphale said, tight-lipped.
"It's against the rules," Crowley hissed.
"Because you people are so law-abiding."
"Your people are sticklers for the rules too," Crowley said unhappily. "Come on. We have to go."
Aziraphale nodded, finally. They left, sorrowful and unseen.
In the distance the planes, heavy-laden, drew ever closer to Guernica.
For phoenikoi:
"Take my wife -- please!" Aziraphale said.
Crowley whined in physical pain.
"Your comic act's getting worse," he said. "I'd never have believed it possible, but it is."
"I just need to polish things up a bit," Aziraphale said cheerily. "Cup of tea?"
"Polish things up," Crowley mused as Aziraphale headed for the kitchen.
Aziraphale sneeringly avoided the suddenly-appearing patch of slippery, polished floor. He did, however, step right on the banana-peel.
"That's not funny," he whimpered pathetically.
"You're the one who thinks the old jokes are best," Crowley sniggered. "I'm sure slapstick will be back in fashion any decade now."
"What's this about, again?" Aziraphale whispered as the elderly art curator ran across the screen.
"It's an adaptation of the all-time best-selling book. How can you not know what it's about?" Crowley said.
"I'm sure that's not in the bible," Aziraphale frowned as Vatican assassins committed acts of evil. "What was he in? That fair-haired fellow?"
"The other best-selling book," Crowley sighed. "And he's been in lots of things. Do naked mediaeval poets ring any bells?"
"Oh, yes," Aziraphale said. "He has a very nice, er, range of roles."
"Right," Crowley said. "You like his . . . talent."
Aziraphale coughed delicately.
For puddingcat:
"Hello?" Aziraphale said, peering at his visitor.
"Hello," the young man said, smiling toothily. "Infernal Revenue."
"I've nothing to hide," Aziraphale said, proudly starting up his computer. "My tax-records are impeccable."
"You're really not cooking the books," the man said in astonishment, paging down. "You're a rare sort. I'm not looking for you. I'm from Infernal Revenue."
"Ah," Aziraphale said, surreptitiously blocking the view of the back door. "He's not here."
The door slammed and a powerful engine started outside. The young man rolled his eyes.
"Everyone acts like I'm the Devil Incarnate."
Aziraphale felt it kinder not to respond.
For argyleheir:
"This really is a lovely part of the world," Aziraphale said, finishing his wine and looking around the square. "We should stay here a while longer."
"I think it's time we moved on," Crowley said, not looking up. "I'm tired of Spain."
"I think we should get involved," Aziraphale said, tight-lipped.
"It's against the rules," Crowley hissed.
"Because you people are so law-abiding."
"Your people are sticklers for the rules too," Crowley said unhappily. "Come on. We have to go."
Aziraphale nodded, finally. They left, sorrowful and unseen.
In the distance the planes, heavy-laden, drew ever closer to Guernica.
For phoenikoi:
"Take my wife -- please!" Aziraphale said.
Crowley whined in physical pain.
"Your comic act's getting worse," he said. "I'd never have believed it possible, but it is."
"I just need to polish things up a bit," Aziraphale said cheerily. "Cup of tea?"
"Polish things up," Crowley mused as Aziraphale headed for the kitchen.
Aziraphale sneeringly avoided the suddenly-appearing patch of slippery, polished floor. He did, however, step right on the banana-peel.
"That's not funny," he whimpered pathetically.
"You're the one who thinks the old jokes are best," Crowley sniggered. "I'm sure slapstick will be back in fashion any decade now."