Happy Holidays, emerald_embers!
The Hijinks of Heaven and Hell: Part 1
Author: ea_lyons
Rating: PG-13
For: emerald_embers
Beta: vulgarweed
Pairings/Characters: Lucifer/God; Beelzebub/Sahaqiel (implied); Crowley/Aziraphale; Crowley/Pollution (implied); Pollution/Famine and the ducks of St. James Park. Plus a whole slew of supporting demons and angels, though no Apocalypse or Anti-Christ(s) making a grand appearance. Maybe next time.
Prompt: I love humour, romance, fluff, gen, Christmas fic; or if it's anything with the horsemen I love dark humour, mild dubcon and POV fics.
Disclaimer: Do I look like Terry Pratchett or Neil Gaiman? No? Then obviously I don’t own any of the characters herein. Except maybe the characterizations of God; Lucifer; Beelzebub and only Someone knows how huge the supporting cast is!
Author’s notes: This turned out rather big, didn’t it! I’m not sure if this is exactly what you wanted Emerald and I apologize if it isn’t. I just got into a groove and worked with it and it turned into this huge arsed thing! Due to the size though, I did get in most of your requested characters and likes.
This story begins in a quaint coffee shop-slash-textbook store overlooking an unobtrusive junior college in Southeastern America. There is a small stage tucked in an out of the way corner; one of the latest acts is a young roguish man that looks to have jumped out of the 1950's beat culture. For all that the other students don’t understand, his voice is hypnotic and as alluring as a snake charmer’s flute and you needn’t understand the words for the temptation to take place. It had been at the end of his line of haiku that the so-called beatnik spotted a well-known, sweet-faced little doe of a woman, and with a genial nod in her direction brought his act to a close. Slipping off the stage like an oil slick he snaked over to the woman’s table and gestured to the waitress for his usual cappuccino.
"What’s shakin’, babe?" he said, his voice a low rough purr that could have been from the hand-rolled cigarette he now had in his hand. "Haven’t seen you about in a while now."
The woman looked at him through her thick pink plastic spectacles, her nose scrunching up in distaste as he puffed a huge plume of smoke into the condensed air that smelled of book glue, cheep coffee and stale cigarettes. "Why do you smoke those things?" she asked him, instead of answering his question just as the waitress set down his drink.
"Nasty habit," the man said pleasantly. "You’re avoiding the question. Like I said, haven’t seen you about."
She snorted and sighed. "I’ve been in India actually."
"Trying to convert Hindus?" was the question that was piped from the other end of the table.
"Hmm? Oh no! After that little incident that your people brought about and having to do some very serious miracle-working to make it fall out correctly. . . I decided a nice little vacation where no one would expect me and no one would bother me with insistent prayers to help their sick dog or some-such wouldn’t be too terrible an imposition upon the world as a whole. Right?" The small woman looked up into the man’s dark eyes for confirmation.
He shrugged. "I’m not exactly an expert on what’s right, love. Besides, does this look like my usual haunt? Hardly! I needed a break too and I’m blessedly glad you took one for yourself. I mean, it’s about time you learned to."
She glared at him and seethed. "I know when to take a break," she said testily.
"Says The Almighty God who wouldn’t listen to Her servant when he’s trying to get Her to ‘sit down and have a bite, no universe was made in a day. You need your celestial beauty rest miss! It’ll do you no good to not have it!’ You do recall that, don’t you?"
She blushed, a soft dusting of pink rose to her cheeks, making the young man grin. "Must you always bring that up?"
"Would you rather I brought up our annual status report meeting?" he asked, the soft easy grin turning feral. "At least that’s the excuse we use when talking to our under-secretaries. I mean, we both know what it’s really about. Getting the two of us away from the dunces that each of our management positions seem to require we meet up with on a regular basis. You couldn’t stop helping everyone to get a proper tan much less note that I was openly ogling you and would have jumped you had my bloody beeper not chosen that precise moment to go off!" he fumed remembering the annoying little thing and how he had later, snarling, removed the marquess Andras’s bowels for disturbing him.
"I had wondered why you were suddenly so quiet," she said contemplatively with a small chuckle. Her eyes seemed to light up which really never bodes well for anyone, just ask Job, and she looked at him with a serious expression. "I have a wager!"
"Who’s soul this time?" came the bored reply.
"No one’s soul, really, more like someone’s happiness!" she said pleasantly, her tone quick and decisive like that of a well researched politician or historian. Not that she was either, but she did do a bit of study in both arts at one time or the other.
He knew that tone though and felt he should probably try to find one of those nuclear fallout shelters ASAP because this was liable to hurt someone. Anyone really! Including possibly him. He shrugged his shoulders, or tried rather, and got a very funny shiver instead. "Do I really want to know what you mean by that?"
Her smile was like the cat’s that got the whole pitcher of cream and the family’s whole cornucopia of prized winning tropical fishes as an entree! He should have kept his blessed mouth shut! "I wager that you can not make my servant, Aziraphale, fall madly in love with your servant, Crowley, and vice-versa in five tries."
"Why five?" he asked curious. Her challenge wasn’t too difficult. There were always loopholes and such that he’d have to look for, but he figured he might be able to pull it off.
God shrugged her shoulders in a careless gesture. "Three is too few and seven is too cliched anymore for my taste," she said effectively causing The Devil to raise a perfectly sculpted brow.
"That’s saying something," he said at length as he always felt she was a bit of a traditionalist at heart. "What are the terms then? If I were to use some of my people to collect information about these two would that go against your rules, love?" He asked this carefully, looking for ways to get around any of her hard nosed rules without being outside them.
She grinned slightly and shook her head. "No, not at all! You, and only you, have to get these two together and make them happy. If you need assistance and your people comply who am I to judge?"
"Is that a trick question?" he asked expressing his obvious disbelief at her last question.
"It is but a friendly wager, Lucifer. You can handle those sorts, can’t you now?" she asked knowingly her grin widening.
"Of course I can!" he snapped. "So, if I’m capable of pulling this off, what’s in it for me?"
"Lots of sex!" she said pleasantly, a few college students took notice and twittered a bit, but otherwise didn’t trouble either of the two beings. "And if you can’t, I’m calling you up and having you make your famous meatloaf."
"Oh now that’s just cold!" he said slightly upset, but he knew the reasoning. It wouldn’t do to offer him what he wanted for not doing the job. He stood up stiffly and saluted her with his Styrofoam cup that was still half filled with coffee. "Fine, woman! I accept your bleeding challenge. Now, since all my blood has gone on vacation into my jockstrap, I’ll be leaving you with this lovely violinist and go take a cold shower before I figure out how to get those two wankers together."
Part 2
Dust motes danced merrily in the minute splash of sunlight that the front windows had afforded. Twinkling like tiny stars they waltzed over to the proprietor of the musty bookstore relishing in the glory that they would never be swept out into the streets. That this was their haven. Swirling about one another in their frenzy to be the first to reach the man some ended up getting caught up by their brethren and were hurled to the ground. Those that made it to their goal shamed all the angels in their happiness, however, the book he was reading held him utterly spellbound.
A rapping at the closed and locked door snapped the angel out of his book-induced trance, causing him to look up sharply. It looked to be a deliveryman of some sort and Aziraphale’s grudging sense of duty caused him to go to the door.
"Yes?" asked the angel as pleasantly as he could after being interrupted, still clutching his book in one hand. "May I help you?" came the suddenly frigid response as he noted the sudden spike in a demonic aura about the man. He didn’t like this, it might have something to do with the end that wasn’t, or just a random hit on an angel. One could never be sure with what a denizen of Hell had on his mind.
The man in question gave a jerky motion as if he were a marionette with only some of his strings still attached. He stared uneasily at Aziraphale for a long moment and then shuffled into the room looking everything over with a well precision eye. The demon possessing the human was making a note of every single detail it found in the front room. From the dust bunnies, which were metamorphosing into dust tigers, to every single bit of crinkly paper that made up the first edition books, while keeping its other senses attuned to the Principality’s every move.
The demon had been given orders, after much wrangling on Beelzebub’s and Moloch’s part*, to go to the surface and openly observe Aziraphale. He had been told there might be a promotion if he did this and that a very high official wanted it. Questioning things, especially things that got you promotions, got you frowned at, so few ever did.
The angel watched him warily, knowing intuitively that he shouldn’t make any sudden or rash movements towards the intruder. He just stood there at the door while his things were meticulously looked over, flipped through and, in one instance involving a pair of Argyle socks the angel had kicked off in the showroom for their offensive odor, snuffled at. It really was bordering on the impolite and he felt he should try to dissuade the man-thing from getting too close to the Chinese Evergreen Crowley had left with him a few weeks prior. He cleared his throat loudly.
"Excuse me, my fine sir, but is there anything you need?" the angel asked in a clipped tone as he set himself as a seller of books (or as an obvious deterrent to selling books) rather than as an angel.**
"Need?" came the soft reply just before he touched the Chinese Evergreen. "Yes, I was told to give this to you." He pulled out a long yellowed envelope.
Aziraphale took it gingerly, opening it with an unusual care often reserved for very old documents. Pulling out the paper within he read the scrolling script analyzing it as only an angel could. His eyes widened as he read it, all the letter said was, ‘Call a friend and have a chat!’
* It should be noted that at one point both demons were quite good friends until sometime in the 1500's when a Peter Binsfeld named Beelzebub the Demon of Gluttony (which couldn’t be further from the truth). Moloch did not take kindly to the man’s ability to leave him out of the Sins entirely and blamed Beelzebub as a result. Luckily, Beelzebub’s faster than Moloch since Moloch would hurt him terribly if he could just get a hold of him.
** Actually, this is mostly false. Cherubim, of which Aziraphale used to belong, are known throughout Heaven to horde books and covet them closely to the point of being especially territorial. Luckily, they are the only angels that would want the books they have and so God doesn’t Fell them.
Part 3
The sun slid lazily from the windows of the bedroom seemingly seeking the supposed occupant, who was rarely ever in bed at this hour. Trying desperately to catch up, the sun’s rays fell onto the deep oak wood floor; slipped unnoticed out into the hallway; ended up somehow in the kitchen before reversing and heading for the living area and patio. Had the sun been able to shrug, it would have. You’d think a snake would stay in bed until the sun was properly up. Still, it didn’t matter, the sun had found who it was looking for and shined down upon him.
Currently, Crowley couldn’t be bothered with poetry or anthropomorphizing the earth’s only star. Of course, could he have been, he wouldn’t be taking a cigarette lighter to his fiddle-leaved fig and slowly burning the usually obsequious plant’s leaves all the while making disapproving sounds.
"Honestly," he murmured with a quiet sort of rage tickling at the back of his throat. "I feed you. I give you water. Shelter! And this is how you repay me? By looking like this? You deserve this, you know. Deserve every single leaf I roast off. Every single root I bring to the surface and cram down the garbage disposal is your fault. Are you happy with how much you have displeased me? You should have known better!"
He would have wrenched the plant free of its pot then in a fit of displaced anger and had his way by beating it up against the railing and sending sod down upon the hapless Londoners and tourists had it not been for Aziraphale.* The sound of Crowley’s cell phone playing "In The Arms of an Angel" made him drop the plant and sprint through the door as the plant clinked against the glass-top patio table. Snatching up the phone from where it resided somewhere between the white couch cushions, he snapped it open and pushed the talk button.
"Hallo?" he said in a rather put-upon voice. It just wasn’t fair! He’d tried several times to get the angel’s ring tone to be something other than that utterly retarded (and in his opinion obviously gay) song. He would have given anything for it to be something else! Even, dare he think it, a piece from The Sound of Music!
"Crowley? Oh good, you’re there!" said Aziraphale cheerfully expressing himself which in Crowley’s firm wisdom meant that either (a) the angel wanted to do lunch; (b) the angel wanted to go feed the ducks or (c) the angel needed a lift to the nearest (or furthest) carboot sale he could find. Crowley glanced at his calendar and gave a silent sigh of relief . . . cross out option C at any rate. "There’s this lovely Italian place down around the block from me that just opened, I was wondering if you’d mind trying it out. The food there smells wonderful!"
Crowley glared out the patio doors at the small fig tree who was actually trying to pull itself together and look greener despite the abuse dealt to it. "Fine," he said testily. "I suppose I could come get you and . . ."
"Oh that won’t be necessary, Crowley," said Aziraphale in that jovial tone that all demons should fear. "We can meet there. It’s not that far from the shop."
"O-kay," said the demon as he vaguely sauntered back outside onto his balcony and began playing absentmindedly with the tartan Zippo lighter he’d been torturing the plant with. It’d been a present from the angel and the one of the few tartan things the demon owned.** "I’ll meet you there then. Ciao!"
* It was probably a good thing as his neighbor across the street was just outside watering her begonias and would have seen this as a sure sign Mr. Crowley (who she always rather felt was a bit on the dangerous side, always wearing those sunglasses after all!) was indeed dangerous and possibly psychotic. She would’ve phoned the police; they would have come and tried to have a word and would have all ended up in Antarctica. Luckily, Aziraphale called.
** Best to not speculate just what else tartan Crowley owned. For the record though, they were all gifts from the angel and Crowley refused to be seen with them unless Aziraphale made a fuss. It was the only reason he kept them around. Not for any sentimental reasons . . . no!
Part 4
The arguing of demons is said to sound something like the whine of machinery before it dies and can’t be fixed. This is, at this moment anyway, completely false! Instead the arguing of demons sounds more like the whining of five year olds trying to shout each other down about who’s right about whatever it is they’re arguing about. It doesn’t work very often with children, so it should be noted that it rarely works well with demon lords. Especially The Demon Lord. Lucifer was getting a headache as his subordinates railed at one another. Their collective voices got louder and higher in pitch as they slowly lost every semblance of control and began turning into the creatures of some horror-movie-watching-child’s nightmares.
"Shut up!" Lucifer screamed into the din, causing the others to give pause and look at him closely. "Am I surrounded by complete morons? Did I not tell you this would be a discussion? Shut up! All of you! Don’t even think right now or breathe!" His eyes glowed a dull sullen red as he instinctively exposed his elongating fangs in a snarl. His claws, too, were threatening to lengthen and tear the surface of the table they were all situated around. At least it was a cheap plastic thing and not his desk in his office.
"My Lord," came a tentative reply. All eyes snapped to Duke Hastur. It was well known that he hadn’t come back with Crowley and had been caught in an ansaphone by the scheming snake. Why The Devil had ignored it, and incidently ripped out the newly revived Ligur’s jugular with a flick of his wrist instead, was a mystery amongst the other demons.
However, they would not question their good fortune at being overlooked. Still, it seemed the foolish duke had done it now and there’d be no help forthcoming from any of them. The others at the table weren’t stupid.
"Shut up! Bless it all! What are you? A complete and utter idiot?" snarled the demon king with the first two fingers of both hands massaging his temples. "Do not disobey again or I’ll kill you and that means I’ll have to go looking for that asinine lackey myself."
Eight pairs of inhuman eyes stared widely at him as fear danced in them and the others did not dare move. Lucifer had about had enough and was ready to call in an early day. To where ever it was good demons died and went to his head hurt!
"I’ll ask and only one of you will answer, then when I am finished questioning you, you will all leave and go elsewhere until I have need of you again. Understood?" said Lucifer calmly. The demon princes and one duke nodded vigorously.
"Well then?" said Lucifer seriously. "What do we now know of this Aziraphale? What can I use to my advantage?"
The demons fidgeted and had it not been so serious a prospect, their king would have laughed. However, it was a serious matter, and he was rapidly losing his hard won patience. He would have snarled for not the idiot, Hastur, speaking up again.
"My Lord," he said uncertain if he should speak with his lord so out of good-humor it was palpable. "The demon that was sent up has brought back very little. He took note that the stinking angel filth collects many books on many different subjects. He also seems to hoard these bits of parchment for when the agent came to his abode it was closed and locked."
"Books?" said Lucifer as he thought that over. "Books are things Cherubim prize above all others. He is a Principality, is he not?"
Beelzebub flipped through some of Crowley’s old reports, looking them over with a trained and practiced eye. Nodding once to himself he looked at his boss with keen interest. "The snake states that he is indeed a Principality, many times over in fact. However, in one of his much earlier reports it does state that the angel was originally a cherub. I do not understand it."
The other princes looked thoughtful for a reposed moment and then shifted slightly at Hastur’s (had it been any other demon) polite cough.
"There is something else," said the duke quietly, his voice echoed ominously off the orange painted walls. "The angel had a healthy verdant plant sitting on his desk. Plain as day! The worthless bastard Crowley keeps such plants himself! I suggest that we capture this angel and use him as bait for the lying, sniveling worm! When he comes to fetch him then we can slowly and agonizingly kill them both in front of one another."
The demon princes looked up expectantly at the leader, but recoiled quickly and ducked their heads like naughty school children. The Prince of Darkness looked absolutely bored as he flicked imaginary dust off his claws.
Giving off a gusty sigh he stood pacing around the table to where the other, much lower demon, sat resigned to his fate. "Hastur," said the Demon King. "If it were any other demon and any other angel I would but gladly offer them up to you. However, these two, are to be an amusement to me and I need them alive and well. We must see to it that neither comes to harm!"
He glared hard around at his other advisors and waved his hands in an unconcerned fashion. "Now, get out of my sight! I want to go to my office where the color of the walls doesn’t make me want to gouge out my eyes for the sixth time!"
He started to stalk towards a bright green door before turning to the demon princes and the single duke and glared around, watching them carefully. "Beelzebub," said Lucifer at long last. "You’ll be accompanying me to the surface. Be ready in five minutes."
Beelzebub twitched knowingly and sighed. "Yezzz zzzir!" he buzzed in frustration and glared at Moloch who had started snickering quietly at the Lord of Flies obvious lisp. "Shut up you!"
***
The sign over the bookshop had long since faded, the once bright gold had faded to a dull bronze-brown and the deep blue background looked as though someone had attempted to paint orange water. The windows beneath were grime smeared and dusty as though the owner could not be bothered to clean them. The door too was scarcely an entryway at all, being the same dirty blue as the sign. The steps had not been swept and dirt lurked even more convincingly than a duke of hell at the corners. The two demons let themselves into the store with barely a token resistance from the tarnished and probably rusted lock. It was probably pure will that kept it from seizing-up and never letting a person out. The bell above the door jangled irritably and a harsh glance from the second demon was all it took to silence it.
"This place looks like shit!" sniffed Beelzebub as he waved dust out of his personal space quite taken aback by the way the angel seemed to decorate. "A fresh coat of paint can’t cost that much."
"Or a broom," muttered Lucifer darkly as he leaned over the counter and looked underneath it curiously.
"You know, going around it would be a better venture and the plus side would be I wouldn’t have to look at your ass!" The Prince of Hell swept his short blond hair back with a gloved hand and sighed. Honestly, he was the wrong demon to have brought to this little thing. Sure, he had a good little thing going on with his angel Sahaqiel, but they had been in a serious working relationship back when they’d both been angels. It was only natural for them to continue it even if party lines had been divided up in a rather nasty and unnecessary way.
Lucifer glared at his second-in-command and then chuckled. "Tell me, Beel, what do you make of all this?" he asked instead of the retort that had hung on his tongue just a second before.
"This is a sign of a deranged mind." Beelzebub knew deranged minds when he came face to face with them in Hell. It was always worth a pause to note the vacant look in their eyes and slightly pleasant smile on their face. It was enough to drive most demons batty. "Or at least a mind starting to unhinge. Are you sure we should futz around with this? I mean, they’re mostly just business partners right now. Should we be trying to put them together?"
"Maybe this is why She wants them together?" asked The Devil cryptically as he eyed Blood Dogs of the Skull Sea and picked it up and leafed through it before quickly pocketing it. "There’s the possibility that our operatives might be a bit miserable simply because they’re the only two up here that live as long as they do."
"Well, we could always reassign Crowley and assign someone else to this gig. Give them both some breathing room." The suggestion fell flat at the look on Lucifer’s face. "Ok, fine! Not going for that then. I’m not on the trolley with this then."
"You’re suggesting things. Mind, not exactly the right things, but at least you aren’t going to be bottled up. Which is why I brought you and not Azazel or Asmodeus," said the demon king seriously. "They still don’t quite understand how I can be railing about God one moment and wanting to screw Her senseless the other, which gives you a one up. You aren’t gaping at me that I chose to go along with this wager. They’re probably still sitting at the table stunned!"
"Let them have seizures then!" exclaimed Beelzebub seriously, remembering the awful decor of the room. Honestly, whose idea was it to paint the break-room Burnt Sienna? Whoever came up with it should’ve been shot at any rate. "Okay, so I’m here because I’m not a goof. I’ll buy that . . . hmm. Well, have you ever thought about giving Crowley permission or assigning him to the job of laying the angel?"
Lucifer shrugged helplessly. "That’s the bit of bother I have actually. I don’t know if that’ll be considered cheating."
"Well that’s all wet!" sneered the other demon. "Aren’t we suppose to cheat? As a general rule?"
"Except here. It wouldn’t do, you know," said The Devil remorsefully as he slipped into the backroom only to appear a moment later with a harsh scowl taking up residence on his face. While Holiness couldn’t hurt him as severely as it could the lesser demons it still left him with a mild irritation.
"Too many Bibles?" asked Beelzebub, seriously alarmed at the look on his boss’s face.
Lucifer shook his head in a distracted manner. "No," he said for emphasis. "Too much wine!"
It took everything the Prince of Demons had not to start laughing hysterically. He had forgotten that his boss had a certain intolerance to the alcoholic drink. Ever since Jesus had turned water into wine The Devil had been allergic to it. Having one’s mouth break out into horrible pus-filled sores was no laughing matter of course, but still to have one of the most feared beings come running out of a room due to too much wine was just too funny.
Lucifer’s long won cool was starting to wear thin again and his demonic aura was starting to frazzle, he opened his mouth to berate his second when he felt the angel approaching. Grimacing he looked at the other demon, whose own head had whipped around at the angelic presence closing in.
"Looks like we’re outta time, mate," said Beelzebub casually, clenching his teeth in an effort to not start buzzing. "I don’t feel Crowley with him though."
"Doubtful," said Lucifer slowly, collecting himself long enough to grab the other demon’s elbow and start towards the door. "It’s only their first non-business date and they probably didn’t realize this, right? I don’t exactly expect the angel to allow sudden instant shagging right after."
"Well that’s something," muttered the demon prince as they made it out the door and into the open where they weighed their options carefully. After a quick scan of the environment they chose the more traditional method of transport available to them. In a flash of blood-red fire they were gone just before Aziraphale came around the corner.
Post 2
Author: ea_lyons
Rating: PG-13
For: emerald_embers
Beta: vulgarweed
Pairings/Characters: Lucifer/God; Beelzebub/Sahaqiel (implied); Crowley/Aziraphale; Crowley/Pollution (implied); Pollution/Famine and the ducks of St. James Park. Plus a whole slew of supporting demons and angels, though no Apocalypse or Anti-Christ(s) making a grand appearance. Maybe next time.
Prompt: I love humour, romance, fluff, gen, Christmas fic; or if it's anything with the horsemen I love dark humour, mild dubcon and POV fics.
Disclaimer: Do I look like Terry Pratchett or Neil Gaiman? No? Then obviously I don’t own any of the characters herein. Except maybe the characterizations of God; Lucifer; Beelzebub and only Someone knows how huge the supporting cast is!
Author’s notes: This turned out rather big, didn’t it! I’m not sure if this is exactly what you wanted Emerald and I apologize if it isn’t. I just got into a groove and worked with it and it turned into this huge arsed thing! Due to the size though, I did get in most of your requested characters and likes.
This story begins in a quaint coffee shop-slash-textbook store overlooking an unobtrusive junior college in Southeastern America. There is a small stage tucked in an out of the way corner; one of the latest acts is a young roguish man that looks to have jumped out of the 1950's beat culture. For all that the other students don’t understand, his voice is hypnotic and as alluring as a snake charmer’s flute and you needn’t understand the words for the temptation to take place. It had been at the end of his line of haiku that the so-called beatnik spotted a well-known, sweet-faced little doe of a woman, and with a genial nod in her direction brought his act to a close. Slipping off the stage like an oil slick he snaked over to the woman’s table and gestured to the waitress for his usual cappuccino.
"What’s shakin’, babe?" he said, his voice a low rough purr that could have been from the hand-rolled cigarette he now had in his hand. "Haven’t seen you about in a while now."
The woman looked at him through her thick pink plastic spectacles, her nose scrunching up in distaste as he puffed a huge plume of smoke into the condensed air that smelled of book glue, cheep coffee and stale cigarettes. "Why do you smoke those things?" she asked him, instead of answering his question just as the waitress set down his drink.
"Nasty habit," the man said pleasantly. "You’re avoiding the question. Like I said, haven’t seen you about."
She snorted and sighed. "I’ve been in India actually."
"Trying to convert Hindus?" was the question that was piped from the other end of the table.
"Hmm? Oh no! After that little incident that your people brought about and having to do some very serious miracle-working to make it fall out correctly. . . I decided a nice little vacation where no one would expect me and no one would bother me with insistent prayers to help their sick dog or some-such wouldn’t be too terrible an imposition upon the world as a whole. Right?" The small woman looked up into the man’s dark eyes for confirmation.
He shrugged. "I’m not exactly an expert on what’s right, love. Besides, does this look like my usual haunt? Hardly! I needed a break too and I’m blessedly glad you took one for yourself. I mean, it’s about time you learned to."
She glared at him and seethed. "I know when to take a break," she said testily.
"Says The Almighty God who wouldn’t listen to Her servant when he’s trying to get Her to ‘sit down and have a bite, no universe was made in a day. You need your celestial beauty rest miss! It’ll do you no good to not have it!’ You do recall that, don’t you?"
She blushed, a soft dusting of pink rose to her cheeks, making the young man grin. "Must you always bring that up?"
"Would you rather I brought up our annual status report meeting?" he asked, the soft easy grin turning feral. "At least that’s the excuse we use when talking to our under-secretaries. I mean, we both know what it’s really about. Getting the two of us away from the dunces that each of our management positions seem to require we meet up with on a regular basis. You couldn’t stop helping everyone to get a proper tan much less note that I was openly ogling you and would have jumped you had my bloody beeper not chosen that precise moment to go off!" he fumed remembering the annoying little thing and how he had later, snarling, removed the marquess Andras’s bowels for disturbing him.
"I had wondered why you were suddenly so quiet," she said contemplatively with a small chuckle. Her eyes seemed to light up which really never bodes well for anyone, just ask Job, and she looked at him with a serious expression. "I have a wager!"
"Who’s soul this time?" came the bored reply.
"No one’s soul, really, more like someone’s happiness!" she said pleasantly, her tone quick and decisive like that of a well researched politician or historian. Not that she was either, but she did do a bit of study in both arts at one time or the other.
He knew that tone though and felt he should probably try to find one of those nuclear fallout shelters ASAP because this was liable to hurt someone. Anyone really! Including possibly him. He shrugged his shoulders, or tried rather, and got a very funny shiver instead. "Do I really want to know what you mean by that?"
Her smile was like the cat’s that got the whole pitcher of cream and the family’s whole cornucopia of prized winning tropical fishes as an entree! He should have kept his blessed mouth shut! "I wager that you can not make my servant, Aziraphale, fall madly in love with your servant, Crowley, and vice-versa in five tries."
"Why five?" he asked curious. Her challenge wasn’t too difficult. There were always loopholes and such that he’d have to look for, but he figured he might be able to pull it off.
God shrugged her shoulders in a careless gesture. "Three is too few and seven is too cliched anymore for my taste," she said effectively causing The Devil to raise a perfectly sculpted brow.
"That’s saying something," he said at length as he always felt she was a bit of a traditionalist at heart. "What are the terms then? If I were to use some of my people to collect information about these two would that go against your rules, love?" He asked this carefully, looking for ways to get around any of her hard nosed rules without being outside them.
She grinned slightly and shook her head. "No, not at all! You, and only you, have to get these two together and make them happy. If you need assistance and your people comply who am I to judge?"
"Is that a trick question?" he asked expressing his obvious disbelief at her last question.
"It is but a friendly wager, Lucifer. You can handle those sorts, can’t you now?" she asked knowingly her grin widening.
"Of course I can!" he snapped. "So, if I’m capable of pulling this off, what’s in it for me?"
"Lots of sex!" she said pleasantly, a few college students took notice and twittered a bit, but otherwise didn’t trouble either of the two beings. "And if you can’t, I’m calling you up and having you make your famous meatloaf."
"Oh now that’s just cold!" he said slightly upset, but he knew the reasoning. It wouldn’t do to offer him what he wanted for not doing the job. He stood up stiffly and saluted her with his Styrofoam cup that was still half filled with coffee. "Fine, woman! I accept your bleeding challenge. Now, since all my blood has gone on vacation into my jockstrap, I’ll be leaving you with this lovely violinist and go take a cold shower before I figure out how to get those two wankers together."
Part 2
Dust motes danced merrily in the minute splash of sunlight that the front windows had afforded. Twinkling like tiny stars they waltzed over to the proprietor of the musty bookstore relishing in the glory that they would never be swept out into the streets. That this was their haven. Swirling about one another in their frenzy to be the first to reach the man some ended up getting caught up by their brethren and were hurled to the ground. Those that made it to their goal shamed all the angels in their happiness, however, the book he was reading held him utterly spellbound.
A rapping at the closed and locked door snapped the angel out of his book-induced trance, causing him to look up sharply. It looked to be a deliveryman of some sort and Aziraphale’s grudging sense of duty caused him to go to the door.
"Yes?" asked the angel as pleasantly as he could after being interrupted, still clutching his book in one hand. "May I help you?" came the suddenly frigid response as he noted the sudden spike in a demonic aura about the man. He didn’t like this, it might have something to do with the end that wasn’t, or just a random hit on an angel. One could never be sure with what a denizen of Hell had on his mind.
The man in question gave a jerky motion as if he were a marionette with only some of his strings still attached. He stared uneasily at Aziraphale for a long moment and then shuffled into the room looking everything over with a well precision eye. The demon possessing the human was making a note of every single detail it found in the front room. From the dust bunnies, which were metamorphosing into dust tigers, to every single bit of crinkly paper that made up the first edition books, while keeping its other senses attuned to the Principality’s every move.
The demon had been given orders, after much wrangling on Beelzebub’s and Moloch’s part*, to go to the surface and openly observe Aziraphale. He had been told there might be a promotion if he did this and that a very high official wanted it. Questioning things, especially things that got you promotions, got you frowned at, so few ever did.
The angel watched him warily, knowing intuitively that he shouldn’t make any sudden or rash movements towards the intruder. He just stood there at the door while his things were meticulously looked over, flipped through and, in one instance involving a pair of Argyle socks the angel had kicked off in the showroom for their offensive odor, snuffled at. It really was bordering on the impolite and he felt he should try to dissuade the man-thing from getting too close to the Chinese Evergreen Crowley had left with him a few weeks prior. He cleared his throat loudly.
"Excuse me, my fine sir, but is there anything you need?" the angel asked in a clipped tone as he set himself as a seller of books (or as an obvious deterrent to selling books) rather than as an angel.**
"Need?" came the soft reply just before he touched the Chinese Evergreen. "Yes, I was told to give this to you." He pulled out a long yellowed envelope.
Aziraphale took it gingerly, opening it with an unusual care often reserved for very old documents. Pulling out the paper within he read the scrolling script analyzing it as only an angel could. His eyes widened as he read it, all the letter said was, ‘Call a friend and have a chat!’
* It should be noted that at one point both demons were quite good friends until sometime in the 1500's when a Peter Binsfeld named Beelzebub the Demon of Gluttony (which couldn’t be further from the truth). Moloch did not take kindly to the man’s ability to leave him out of the Sins entirely and blamed Beelzebub as a result. Luckily, Beelzebub’s faster than Moloch since Moloch would hurt him terribly if he could just get a hold of him.
** Actually, this is mostly false. Cherubim, of which Aziraphale used to belong, are known throughout Heaven to horde books and covet them closely to the point of being especially territorial. Luckily, they are the only angels that would want the books they have and so God doesn’t Fell them.
Part 3
The sun slid lazily from the windows of the bedroom seemingly seeking the supposed occupant, who was rarely ever in bed at this hour. Trying desperately to catch up, the sun’s rays fell onto the deep oak wood floor; slipped unnoticed out into the hallway; ended up somehow in the kitchen before reversing and heading for the living area and patio. Had the sun been able to shrug, it would have. You’d think a snake would stay in bed until the sun was properly up. Still, it didn’t matter, the sun had found who it was looking for and shined down upon him.
Currently, Crowley couldn’t be bothered with poetry or anthropomorphizing the earth’s only star. Of course, could he have been, he wouldn’t be taking a cigarette lighter to his fiddle-leaved fig and slowly burning the usually obsequious plant’s leaves all the while making disapproving sounds.
"Honestly," he murmured with a quiet sort of rage tickling at the back of his throat. "I feed you. I give you water. Shelter! And this is how you repay me? By looking like this? You deserve this, you know. Deserve every single leaf I roast off. Every single root I bring to the surface and cram down the garbage disposal is your fault. Are you happy with how much you have displeased me? You should have known better!"
He would have wrenched the plant free of its pot then in a fit of displaced anger and had his way by beating it up against the railing and sending sod down upon the hapless Londoners and tourists had it not been for Aziraphale.* The sound of Crowley’s cell phone playing "In The Arms of an Angel" made him drop the plant and sprint through the door as the plant clinked against the glass-top patio table. Snatching up the phone from where it resided somewhere between the white couch cushions, he snapped it open and pushed the talk button.
"Hallo?" he said in a rather put-upon voice. It just wasn’t fair! He’d tried several times to get the angel’s ring tone to be something other than that utterly retarded (and in his opinion obviously gay) song. He would have given anything for it to be something else! Even, dare he think it, a piece from The Sound of Music!
"Crowley? Oh good, you’re there!" said Aziraphale cheerfully expressing himself which in Crowley’s firm wisdom meant that either (a) the angel wanted to do lunch; (b) the angel wanted to go feed the ducks or (c) the angel needed a lift to the nearest (or furthest) carboot sale he could find. Crowley glanced at his calendar and gave a silent sigh of relief . . . cross out option C at any rate. "There’s this lovely Italian place down around the block from me that just opened, I was wondering if you’d mind trying it out. The food there smells wonderful!"
Crowley glared out the patio doors at the small fig tree who was actually trying to pull itself together and look greener despite the abuse dealt to it. "Fine," he said testily. "I suppose I could come get you and . . ."
"Oh that won’t be necessary, Crowley," said Aziraphale in that jovial tone that all demons should fear. "We can meet there. It’s not that far from the shop."
"O-kay," said the demon as he vaguely sauntered back outside onto his balcony and began playing absentmindedly with the tartan Zippo lighter he’d been torturing the plant with. It’d been a present from the angel and the one of the few tartan things the demon owned.** "I’ll meet you there then. Ciao!"
* It was probably a good thing as his neighbor across the street was just outside watering her begonias and would have seen this as a sure sign Mr. Crowley (who she always rather felt was a bit on the dangerous side, always wearing those sunglasses after all!) was indeed dangerous and possibly psychotic. She would’ve phoned the police; they would have come and tried to have a word and would have all ended up in Antarctica. Luckily, Aziraphale called.
** Best to not speculate just what else tartan Crowley owned. For the record though, they were all gifts from the angel and Crowley refused to be seen with them unless Aziraphale made a fuss. It was the only reason he kept them around. Not for any sentimental reasons . . . no!
Part 4
The arguing of demons is said to sound something like the whine of machinery before it dies and can’t be fixed. This is, at this moment anyway, completely false! Instead the arguing of demons sounds more like the whining of five year olds trying to shout each other down about who’s right about whatever it is they’re arguing about. It doesn’t work very often with children, so it should be noted that it rarely works well with demon lords. Especially The Demon Lord. Lucifer was getting a headache as his subordinates railed at one another. Their collective voices got louder and higher in pitch as they slowly lost every semblance of control and began turning into the creatures of some horror-movie-watching-child’s nightmares.
"Shut up!" Lucifer screamed into the din, causing the others to give pause and look at him closely. "Am I surrounded by complete morons? Did I not tell you this would be a discussion? Shut up! All of you! Don’t even think right now or breathe!" His eyes glowed a dull sullen red as he instinctively exposed his elongating fangs in a snarl. His claws, too, were threatening to lengthen and tear the surface of the table they were all situated around. At least it was a cheap plastic thing and not his desk in his office.
"My Lord," came a tentative reply. All eyes snapped to Duke Hastur. It was well known that he hadn’t come back with Crowley and had been caught in an ansaphone by the scheming snake. Why The Devil had ignored it, and incidently ripped out the newly revived Ligur’s jugular with a flick of his wrist instead, was a mystery amongst the other demons.
However, they would not question their good fortune at being overlooked. Still, it seemed the foolish duke had done it now and there’d be no help forthcoming from any of them. The others at the table weren’t stupid.
"Shut up! Bless it all! What are you? A complete and utter idiot?" snarled the demon king with the first two fingers of both hands massaging his temples. "Do not disobey again or I’ll kill you and that means I’ll have to go looking for that asinine lackey myself."
Eight pairs of inhuman eyes stared widely at him as fear danced in them and the others did not dare move. Lucifer had about had enough and was ready to call in an early day. To where ever it was good demons died and went to his head hurt!
"I’ll ask and only one of you will answer, then when I am finished questioning you, you will all leave and go elsewhere until I have need of you again. Understood?" said Lucifer calmly. The demon princes and one duke nodded vigorously.
"Well then?" said Lucifer seriously. "What do we now know of this Aziraphale? What can I use to my advantage?"
The demons fidgeted and had it not been so serious a prospect, their king would have laughed. However, it was a serious matter, and he was rapidly losing his hard won patience. He would have snarled for not the idiot, Hastur, speaking up again.
"My Lord," he said uncertain if he should speak with his lord so out of good-humor it was palpable. "The demon that was sent up has brought back very little. He took note that the stinking angel filth collects many books on many different subjects. He also seems to hoard these bits of parchment for when the agent came to his abode it was closed and locked."
"Books?" said Lucifer as he thought that over. "Books are things Cherubim prize above all others. He is a Principality, is he not?"
Beelzebub flipped through some of Crowley’s old reports, looking them over with a trained and practiced eye. Nodding once to himself he looked at his boss with keen interest. "The snake states that he is indeed a Principality, many times over in fact. However, in one of his much earlier reports it does state that the angel was originally a cherub. I do not understand it."
The other princes looked thoughtful for a reposed moment and then shifted slightly at Hastur’s (had it been any other demon) polite cough.
"There is something else," said the duke quietly, his voice echoed ominously off the orange painted walls. "The angel had a healthy verdant plant sitting on his desk. Plain as day! The worthless bastard Crowley keeps such plants himself! I suggest that we capture this angel and use him as bait for the lying, sniveling worm! When he comes to fetch him then we can slowly and agonizingly kill them both in front of one another."
The demon princes looked up expectantly at the leader, but recoiled quickly and ducked their heads like naughty school children. The Prince of Darkness looked absolutely bored as he flicked imaginary dust off his claws.
Giving off a gusty sigh he stood pacing around the table to where the other, much lower demon, sat resigned to his fate. "Hastur," said the Demon King. "If it were any other demon and any other angel I would but gladly offer them up to you. However, these two, are to be an amusement to me and I need them alive and well. We must see to it that neither comes to harm!"
He glared hard around at his other advisors and waved his hands in an unconcerned fashion. "Now, get out of my sight! I want to go to my office where the color of the walls doesn’t make me want to gouge out my eyes for the sixth time!"
He started to stalk towards a bright green door before turning to the demon princes and the single duke and glared around, watching them carefully. "Beelzebub," said Lucifer at long last. "You’ll be accompanying me to the surface. Be ready in five minutes."
Beelzebub twitched knowingly and sighed. "Yezzz zzzir!" he buzzed in frustration and glared at Moloch who had started snickering quietly at the Lord of Flies obvious lisp. "Shut up you!"
***
The sign over the bookshop had long since faded, the once bright gold had faded to a dull bronze-brown and the deep blue background looked as though someone had attempted to paint orange water. The windows beneath were grime smeared and dusty as though the owner could not be bothered to clean them. The door too was scarcely an entryway at all, being the same dirty blue as the sign. The steps had not been swept and dirt lurked even more convincingly than a duke of hell at the corners. The two demons let themselves into the store with barely a token resistance from the tarnished and probably rusted lock. It was probably pure will that kept it from seizing-up and never letting a person out. The bell above the door jangled irritably and a harsh glance from the second demon was all it took to silence it.
"This place looks like shit!" sniffed Beelzebub as he waved dust out of his personal space quite taken aback by the way the angel seemed to decorate. "A fresh coat of paint can’t cost that much."
"Or a broom," muttered Lucifer darkly as he leaned over the counter and looked underneath it curiously.
"You know, going around it would be a better venture and the plus side would be I wouldn’t have to look at your ass!" The Prince of Hell swept his short blond hair back with a gloved hand and sighed. Honestly, he was the wrong demon to have brought to this little thing. Sure, he had a good little thing going on with his angel Sahaqiel, but they had been in a serious working relationship back when they’d both been angels. It was only natural for them to continue it even if party lines had been divided up in a rather nasty and unnecessary way.
Lucifer glared at his second-in-command and then chuckled. "Tell me, Beel, what do you make of all this?" he asked instead of the retort that had hung on his tongue just a second before.
"This is a sign of a deranged mind." Beelzebub knew deranged minds when he came face to face with them in Hell. It was always worth a pause to note the vacant look in their eyes and slightly pleasant smile on their face. It was enough to drive most demons batty. "Or at least a mind starting to unhinge. Are you sure we should futz around with this? I mean, they’re mostly just business partners right now. Should we be trying to put them together?"
"Maybe this is why She wants them together?" asked The Devil cryptically as he eyed Blood Dogs of the Skull Sea and picked it up and leafed through it before quickly pocketing it. "There’s the possibility that our operatives might be a bit miserable simply because they’re the only two up here that live as long as they do."
"Well, we could always reassign Crowley and assign someone else to this gig. Give them both some breathing room." The suggestion fell flat at the look on Lucifer’s face. "Ok, fine! Not going for that then. I’m not on the trolley with this then."
"You’re suggesting things. Mind, not exactly the right things, but at least you aren’t going to be bottled up. Which is why I brought you and not Azazel or Asmodeus," said the demon king seriously. "They still don’t quite understand how I can be railing about God one moment and wanting to screw Her senseless the other, which gives you a one up. You aren’t gaping at me that I chose to go along with this wager. They’re probably still sitting at the table stunned!"
"Let them have seizures then!" exclaimed Beelzebub seriously, remembering the awful decor of the room. Honestly, whose idea was it to paint the break-room Burnt Sienna? Whoever came up with it should’ve been shot at any rate. "Okay, so I’m here because I’m not a goof. I’ll buy that . . . hmm. Well, have you ever thought about giving Crowley permission or assigning him to the job of laying the angel?"
Lucifer shrugged helplessly. "That’s the bit of bother I have actually. I don’t know if that’ll be considered cheating."
"Well that’s all wet!" sneered the other demon. "Aren’t we suppose to cheat? As a general rule?"
"Except here. It wouldn’t do, you know," said The Devil remorsefully as he slipped into the backroom only to appear a moment later with a harsh scowl taking up residence on his face. While Holiness couldn’t hurt him as severely as it could the lesser demons it still left him with a mild irritation.
"Too many Bibles?" asked Beelzebub, seriously alarmed at the look on his boss’s face.
Lucifer shook his head in a distracted manner. "No," he said for emphasis. "Too much wine!"
It took everything the Prince of Demons had not to start laughing hysterically. He had forgotten that his boss had a certain intolerance to the alcoholic drink. Ever since Jesus had turned water into wine The Devil had been allergic to it. Having one’s mouth break out into horrible pus-filled sores was no laughing matter of course, but still to have one of the most feared beings come running out of a room due to too much wine was just too funny.
Lucifer’s long won cool was starting to wear thin again and his demonic aura was starting to frazzle, he opened his mouth to berate his second when he felt the angel approaching. Grimacing he looked at the other demon, whose own head had whipped around at the angelic presence closing in.
"Looks like we’re outta time, mate," said Beelzebub casually, clenching his teeth in an effort to not start buzzing. "I don’t feel Crowley with him though."
"Doubtful," said Lucifer slowly, collecting himself long enough to grab the other demon’s elbow and start towards the door. "It’s only their first non-business date and they probably didn’t realize this, right? I don’t exactly expect the angel to allow sudden instant shagging right after."
"Well that’s something," muttered the demon prince as they made it out the door and into the open where they weighed their options carefully. After a quick scan of the environment they chose the more traditional method of transport available to them. In a flash of blood-red fire they were gone just before Aziraphale came around the corner.
Post 2