(no subject)
Hello! New person here. I never really planned to ever write anything for GO, but then stumbled across some of afrai's and daegaer's stuff and then I found here, and, well... I'm afraid I sauntered vaguely into fanfic.
It all started over dinner. The meal was at the pleasant coffee and dessert stage (and of course, the dessert wines, wouldn’t be complete without them, and who really cared if Chateau Lafite counted as a proper dessert wine*). The ruckus at the corner table started when one of the gentlemen**, the nicer, slightly drunker one attempted to order apple crisp for dessert.
“Apple? Isn’t that a bit old-fashioned?”
“What’s wrong with that? I like apples. And I should think they were just your style.”
“Not unless they’re soaked in rum. Besides, you know it wasn’t even really an apple at all.”
“Yes, but you must admit they look so nice, don’t they? That lovely crisp scent, and the taste is really quite delicious. You know, I’m rather fond of an apple for a midnight snack.”
“You do realize that’s probably a metaphor for something devious and sinful about your inner nature. Comes of all these years hanging around me.” Crowley smiled sharply behind dark sunglasses.
“Noooo...” Aziraphale trailed off doubtfully. “I think I just like the taste.”
“Freud would disagree.”
“Freud. Mmm, tall, rather disheveled fellow? Wore spectacles and liked those Greek playwrights? Wasn’t he one of your people?”
Crowley made a face. “Not ours. Believe me, we could never dream up all that stuff about his mother. And don’t even get me started on the cigars.” He shuddered. “Hope he didn’t end up Down Below. I can imagine he would have quite a few ideas about improvements. And demons don’t need to be less repressed.”
Aziraphale blinked owlishly. “Oh dear me. I hadn’t realized he was quite...so....er.” He stared mournfully down at his glass. “Still, perhaps he’s not quite that bad?” he inquired hopefully.
“Two words for you, angel. Viennese coffee.”
“Oh. Er.” He blinked and cast about for a way to change the subject. “What were we talking about again?”
“Apples. You. The eating thereof.”
“Yes. Like I said, there really can’t be any significance to that. It wasn’t the forbidden fruit.”
“But that’s what people believe. Isn’t that what your people are all about? Belief, faith, moving mountains, what have you.”
“Well yes, but that doesn’t change the facts, dear boy.” Aziraphale was rather proud of this cunning argument, and thrust his fork forward to prove his point. Unfortunately he was still quite squiffed, and his fork knocked over the wine bottle. He quickly conjured up a replacement bottle and poured them both another glass.
Crowley took a sip. “Doesn’t matter,” he reiterated firmly. “Fact is, humans think it was. That’s all that matters.”
“Yes, well, they think you should have horns and hooves.”
“Huh. Ungulates have no style.” He paused peevishly. “Besides, we’re talking about symbolism anyway. Facts don’t make any difference with that.”
“Well, it should. And besides, I think it does. I mean, what are we if not symbols of a greater Good? And Evil, of course,” he added apologetically.
“Well, I’m a cunningly devious fiend in human form who happens to look very good in black. And you’re a soppy git who reads too many books and likes apples in a way that good little angels probably shouldn’t. Believe me, I’d notice if I happened to be hanging around in poems and stuff, swanning around like a great big bloody symbol of ultimate evil.”
“See, that’s my point. You’re a symbol and you’re real. As a symbol of Evil I go around trying to thwart you. As yourself, I have dinner with you in nice restaurants.” He smiled triumphantly. “And apples as a symbol are sinful, but real apples are simply tasty fruits. So there.”
“Hmph.” Crowley knew he was missing out on a leap across a vast chasm of logic on the angel’s part, but in his current pleasantly inebriated state he wasn’t sure exactly what it was, or if it even mattered. He flagged down the waitress. “Two apple crisps. And make sure you put extra rum on both.”
“But sir, the apple crisp doesn’t come with rum sauce,” she protested, writing down the order.
“It does now.” He glared at her, and she suddenly realized that of course it came with rum sauce, whatever had she been thinking.
As she scurried off, Aziraphale turned slightly scolding eyes on Crowley. “You didn’t have to add the rum sauce. Now she’s going to get in trouble with the chef.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow.
“Well, okay,” Aziraphale blushed, “so I might have had a slight word with the chef about that. But it still wasn’t very nice of you.”
“Of course. I’m the symbol of ultimate evil, right? Gotta keep up appearances.” He smirked. “Besides, I’ve got to have some sort of alcoholic stimulant to make that stuff decent.”
“Imagine that, an angel tempting a demon into eating an apple. My, how times have changed. And what does that say about you, I wonder.”
“Oh shove it, angel.”
Aziraphale drowned his smile in another glass of wine. He wasn’t really lying, after all. He did like apples quite a lot. And besides, he’d never really thought the tomato was a proper fruit anyway.
---------------
* Crowley liked it, so as far as he was concerned, it went with everything. And since he was a demon, the wine was quite surprised to find that it did.
** Or gentlemen shaped beings, at least, and if the taller one in the camelhair coat seemed to radiate a sort of innocent goodness, his partner made up for it with those dark sunglasses he insisted on wearing even inside and the way he occasionally seemed to hiss some of his words in a way that sounded far less like a lisp and far more like something rising up warningly from the grass.
It all started over dinner. The meal was at the pleasant coffee and dessert stage (and of course, the dessert wines, wouldn’t be complete without them, and who really cared if Chateau Lafite counted as a proper dessert wine*). The ruckus at the corner table started when one of the gentlemen**, the nicer, slightly drunker one attempted to order apple crisp for dessert.
“Apple? Isn’t that a bit old-fashioned?”
“What’s wrong with that? I like apples. And I should think they were just your style.”
“Not unless they’re soaked in rum. Besides, you know it wasn’t even really an apple at all.”
“Yes, but you must admit they look so nice, don’t they? That lovely crisp scent, and the taste is really quite delicious. You know, I’m rather fond of an apple for a midnight snack.”
“You do realize that’s probably a metaphor for something devious and sinful about your inner nature. Comes of all these years hanging around me.” Crowley smiled sharply behind dark sunglasses.
“Noooo...” Aziraphale trailed off doubtfully. “I think I just like the taste.”
“Freud would disagree.”
“Freud. Mmm, tall, rather disheveled fellow? Wore spectacles and liked those Greek playwrights? Wasn’t he one of your people?”
Crowley made a face. “Not ours. Believe me, we could never dream up all that stuff about his mother. And don’t even get me started on the cigars.” He shuddered. “Hope he didn’t end up Down Below. I can imagine he would have quite a few ideas about improvements. And demons don’t need to be less repressed.”
Aziraphale blinked owlishly. “Oh dear me. I hadn’t realized he was quite...so....er.” He stared mournfully down at his glass. “Still, perhaps he’s not quite that bad?” he inquired hopefully.
“Two words for you, angel. Viennese coffee.”
“Oh. Er.” He blinked and cast about for a way to change the subject. “What were we talking about again?”
“Apples. You. The eating thereof.”
“Yes. Like I said, there really can’t be any significance to that. It wasn’t the forbidden fruit.”
“But that’s what people believe. Isn’t that what your people are all about? Belief, faith, moving mountains, what have you.”
“Well yes, but that doesn’t change the facts, dear boy.” Aziraphale was rather proud of this cunning argument, and thrust his fork forward to prove his point. Unfortunately he was still quite squiffed, and his fork knocked over the wine bottle. He quickly conjured up a replacement bottle and poured them both another glass.
Crowley took a sip. “Doesn’t matter,” he reiterated firmly. “Fact is, humans think it was. That’s all that matters.”
“Yes, well, they think you should have horns and hooves.”
“Huh. Ungulates have no style.” He paused peevishly. “Besides, we’re talking about symbolism anyway. Facts don’t make any difference with that.”
“Well, it should. And besides, I think it does. I mean, what are we if not symbols of a greater Good? And Evil, of course,” he added apologetically.
“Well, I’m a cunningly devious fiend in human form who happens to look very good in black. And you’re a soppy git who reads too many books and likes apples in a way that good little angels probably shouldn’t. Believe me, I’d notice if I happened to be hanging around in poems and stuff, swanning around like a great big bloody symbol of ultimate evil.”
“See, that’s my point. You’re a symbol and you’re real. As a symbol of Evil I go around trying to thwart you. As yourself, I have dinner with you in nice restaurants.” He smiled triumphantly. “And apples as a symbol are sinful, but real apples are simply tasty fruits. So there.”
“Hmph.” Crowley knew he was missing out on a leap across a vast chasm of logic on the angel’s part, but in his current pleasantly inebriated state he wasn’t sure exactly what it was, or if it even mattered. He flagged down the waitress. “Two apple crisps. And make sure you put extra rum on both.”
“But sir, the apple crisp doesn’t come with rum sauce,” she protested, writing down the order.
“It does now.” He glared at her, and she suddenly realized that of course it came with rum sauce, whatever had she been thinking.
As she scurried off, Aziraphale turned slightly scolding eyes on Crowley. “You didn’t have to add the rum sauce. Now she’s going to get in trouble with the chef.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow.
“Well, okay,” Aziraphale blushed, “so I might have had a slight word with the chef about that. But it still wasn’t very nice of you.”
“Of course. I’m the symbol of ultimate evil, right? Gotta keep up appearances.” He smirked. “Besides, I’ve got to have some sort of alcoholic stimulant to make that stuff decent.”
“Imagine that, an angel tempting a demon into eating an apple. My, how times have changed. And what does that say about you, I wonder.”
“Oh shove it, angel.”
Aziraphale drowned his smile in another glass of wine. He wasn’t really lying, after all. He did like apples quite a lot. And besides, he’d never really thought the tomato was a proper fruit anyway.
---------------
* Crowley liked it, so as far as he was concerned, it went with everything. And since he was a demon, the wine was quite surprised to find that it did.
** Or gentlemen shaped beings, at least, and if the taller one in the camelhair coat seemed to radiate a sort of innocent goodness, his partner made up for it with those dark sunglasses he insisted on wearing even inside and the way he occasionally seemed to hiss some of his words in a way that sounded far less like a lisp and far more like something rising up warningly from the grass.