Good Omens snippet
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One more day before "holiday" (in Finland, so not super restful...)
Running out of ideas of what to post (and also action points, all gone today), so have a snippet (opening in fact) of the Good Omens fic I'm currently writing. Total word count is now 2,042
Crowley woke up to a ringing phone and a bad feeling. It was a Thursday, mere three weeks after the world got a second chance it didn’t even know about and was already wasting, and London was in the grips of a heatwave. Crowley loved it and had spent more than one afternoon curled up on the hot roof of his building, or in the comforting gold-green shade of his plants.
This particular Thursday, he had been napping in his human form, which made answering the phone just a fraction quicker.
“What is it?” he asked, one hand on the receiver, one hand snapping clothes into existence.
“Oh, it’s… It’s me,” Aziraphale said. “Aziraphale.” As if anyone else called Crowley. Ever.
Well, occasionally someone did, to ask about his life insurance or discuss the accident he’d had. They were the kind of conversations that the phrase ‘this call may be recorded for training purposes’ had been invented for.
“I know it’s you, angel. What’s wrong?”
There was a beat of silence at the other end, during which Crowley imagined five different kinds of life-or-death [1] scenarios and changed his outfit twice.
[1] Specifically ‘Aziraphale’s life, at cost of whatever death Crowley was required to sow to keep it that way’
*** This entry was originally posted at https://kat-lair.dreamwidth.org/757644.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
One more day before "holiday" (in Finland, so not super restful...)
Running out of ideas of what to post (and also action points, all gone today), so have a snippet (opening in fact) of the Good Omens fic I'm currently writing. Total word count is now 2,042
Crowley woke up to a ringing phone and a bad feeling. It was a Thursday, mere three weeks after the world got a second chance it didn’t even know about and was already wasting, and London was in the grips of a heatwave. Crowley loved it and had spent more than one afternoon curled up on the hot roof of his building, or in the comforting gold-green shade of his plants.
This particular Thursday, he had been napping in his human form, which made answering the phone just a fraction quicker.
“What is it?” he asked, one hand on the receiver, one hand snapping clothes into existence.
“Oh, it’s… It’s me,” Aziraphale said. “Aziraphale.” As if anyone else called Crowley. Ever.
Well, occasionally someone did, to ask about his life insurance or discuss the accident he’d had. They were the kind of conversations that the phrase ‘this call may be recorded for training purposes’ had been invented for.
“I know it’s you, angel. What’s wrong?”
There was a beat of silence at the other end, during which Crowley imagined five different kinds of life-or-death [1] scenarios and changed his outfit twice.
[1] Specifically ‘Aziraphale’s life, at cost of whatever death Crowley was required to sow to keep it that way’
*** This entry was originally posted at https://kat-lair.dreamwidth.org/757644.html. Please comment there using OpenID.