Good Omens--Aziraphale and Crowley--Selling Books (1/2)timelessapeelMay 31 2015, 23:09:47 UTC
In two parts ---- “All right, I’m here now,” Crowley drawled. “What’s the emergency?”
“It’s the bookshop,” Aziraphale explained. “Ever since it rematerialized after the fire, the Inland Revenue have taken a…significant interest in it.”
An arched eyebrow appeared above Crowley’s omnipresent sunglasses. “What kind of interest?”
“I rather think that they believe I’m using the bookstore as some sort of front,” Aziraphale said conspiratorially. “For illegal activities.”
“It is a front,” Crowley reminded. “For supernatural activities.”
“Yes, but they can’t know that,” Aziraphale hissed.
“So materialise some documents,” Crowley said blithely. “The kind that show you’re pure as the driven snow. Or would your lot frown on that?”
Aziraphale shook his head. “No, no, it would be justified-necessary to facilitate my work. But I don’t think documents would convince them.”
“Then get rid of them,” Crowley suggested, knowing it wasn’t really an option, but doing it for the fun of seeing Aziraphale’s horrified expression.
“Certainly not!” the angel huffed. “They’re only doing their jobs. And anyway, that would attract even more attention.”
Crowley took a sip from his tea cup. Aziraphale had poured them both tea, but whatever was in Crowley’s cup definitely wasn’t tea anymore, if the dark, bubbly consistency and thick smoke rising from it was any indication. “Why do you need me, then?”
Aziraphale bit his lip. “I need you to….to teach me how to sell a book. I’m rather better at doing the opposite.”
Crowley’s expression was incredulous, even with the sunglasses. “Well, we obviously have lots of people in the publishing industry, but it’s not really my scene.”
“But you must have some idea,” Aziraphale pressed.
Crowley sighed and finished his ‘tea’. “Fine.” The shop door’s bell rang, and a man entered, looking around expectantly. “Let me see you in action, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Aziraphale nodded happily and hurried over to the potential customer. “Hello, sir. May I be of assistance?”
“I hope so,” the man opined. “You wouldn’t happen to have any PG Wodehouse lying about the place, would you?”
Aziraphale folded his hands apologetically. “I’m afraid not,” he said contritely. “We deal mainly in first editions, old religious and prophecy tomes, that sort of thing.” He paused as he recalled the new ‘additions’ Adam had made to his stock. “Oh, and boys’ own adventure stories.” He caught the odd look the man gave him, and smiled weakly. “Our customers have very eclectic and niche tastes.”
“I see…” The man looked vaguely uneasy now, though whether it was because of Aziraphale’s smile, his eccentric stock, or the fact that Crowley was watching them with the kind of smile a snake might wear while eyeing up a mouse was unclear. Possibly all of the above.
“Yes, well, no harm done,” the man murmured. “I’ll see if one of your neighbours has it. Good day.” He hustled out without another word, the door slamming shut behind him.
“What the hell was that?” Crowley said, not without humour, or a touch of irony.
Aziraphale looked puzzled. “I didn’t have what he wanted,” he said flatly. “What else could I do?”
Crowley shook his head and slithered out of his chair. “You don’t sell them what they want,” he said, very deliberately, as though speaking to a particularly thick child. “You tell them what they want, which just happens to be whatever you’re selling.”
Aziraphale frowned. “That sounds like manipulation.”
----
“All right, I’m here now,” Crowley drawled. “What’s the emergency?”
“It’s the bookshop,” Aziraphale explained. “Ever since it rematerialized after the fire, the Inland Revenue have taken a…significant interest in it.”
An arched eyebrow appeared above Crowley’s omnipresent sunglasses. “What kind of interest?”
“I rather think that they believe I’m using the bookstore as some sort of front,” Aziraphale said conspiratorially. “For illegal activities.”
“It is a front,” Crowley reminded. “For supernatural activities.”
“Yes, but they can’t know that,” Aziraphale hissed.
“So materialise some documents,” Crowley said blithely. “The kind that show you’re pure as the driven snow. Or would your lot frown on that?”
Aziraphale shook his head. “No, no, it would be justified-necessary to facilitate my work. But I don’t think documents would convince them.”
“Then get rid of them,” Crowley suggested, knowing it wasn’t really an option, but doing it for the fun of seeing Aziraphale’s horrified expression.
“Certainly not!” the angel huffed. “They’re only doing their jobs. And anyway, that would attract even more attention.”
Crowley took a sip from his tea cup. Aziraphale had poured them both tea, but whatever was in Crowley’s cup definitely wasn’t tea anymore, if the dark, bubbly consistency and thick smoke rising from it was any indication. “Why do you need me, then?”
Aziraphale bit his lip. “I need you to….to teach me how to sell a book. I’m rather better at doing the opposite.”
Crowley’s expression was incredulous, even with the sunglasses. “Well, we obviously have lots of people in the publishing industry, but it’s not really my scene.”
“But you must have some idea,” Aziraphale pressed.
Crowley sighed and finished his ‘tea’. “Fine.” The shop door’s bell rang, and a man entered, looking around expectantly. “Let me see you in action, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Aziraphale nodded happily and hurried over to the potential customer. “Hello, sir. May I be of assistance?”
“I hope so,” the man opined. “You wouldn’t happen to have any PG Wodehouse lying about the place, would you?”
Aziraphale folded his hands apologetically. “I’m afraid not,” he said contritely. “We deal mainly in first editions, old religious and prophecy tomes, that sort of thing.” He paused as he recalled the new ‘additions’ Adam had made to his stock. “Oh, and boys’ own adventure stories.” He caught the odd look the man gave him, and smiled weakly. “Our customers have very eclectic and niche tastes.”
“I see…” The man looked vaguely uneasy now, though whether it was because of Aziraphale’s smile, his eccentric stock, or the fact that Crowley was watching them with the kind of smile a snake might wear while eyeing up a mouse was unclear. Possibly all of the above.
“Yes, well, no harm done,” the man murmured. “I’ll see if one of your neighbours has it. Good day.” He hustled out without another word, the door slamming shut behind him.
“What the hell was that?” Crowley said, not without humour, or a touch of irony.
Aziraphale looked puzzled. “I didn’t have what he wanted,” he said flatly. “What else could I do?”
Crowley shook his head and slithered out of his chair. “You don’t sell them what they want,” he said, very deliberately, as though speaking to a particularly thick child. “You tell them what they want, which just happens to be whatever you’re selling.”
Aziraphale frowned. “That sounds like manipulation.”
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