(no subject)
This is a teeny tiny ficlet I wrote ages ago, stuck on my Pit of Voles account, but forgot to post here.
Aziraphale didn’t actually know how long the creature had been lurking amongst the piles of old papers and brick-a-brack in the spare room; but he could spot a lost soul in need of saving when he saw one, and throwing the poor thing out into the cold just hadn’t been an option. Truth be told he was rather enjoying the company, even if it wasn’t conducive to much in the way of highbrow discussion; and it was nice to have somebody around who enjoyed sushi as much as he did. Crowley however had not agreed.
“For someone’s sake angel, have you seen what the blessed thing’s doing now?” the demon spat, on seeing Aziraphale’s houseguest skulking behind the shop counter.
“Honestly my dear, I can’t help but feel you’re being a little oversensitive about this.”
“Oversensitive my arse! It’s wearing those sunglasses I lost last month.”
“Which you didn’t realise you’d left here until now,” said Aziraphale, smoothly. “Anyway it’s hardly as if you haven’t been able to wish yourself another pair.”
“That isn’t the point. I just don’t like the thing, you know, copying me.”
Aziraphale was unable to contain his amusement.
“Oh so it’s funny now is it?” said Crowley, whose mood was currently located somewhere between disgruntled and irate.
“They do say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery Crowley,” spluttered Aziraphale, doing nothing to allay the demons increasingly foul temper. “It’s almost like hero worship really.”
“Hero worship! I give him bloody hero…”
There was a rustling sound, followed by the sight of a small body darting out of the shop door.
Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other briefly before hurrying after it. Nothing, however could have quite prepared either of them for what they saw next.
On the pavement outside squatted a hunched decrepit form gazing intently at the large black car parked there. It raised an elongated finger and ran it lovingly over Bentley’s paintwork. Crowley visibly recoiled; too horrified to speak, move or even curse the creature to oblivion.
“Yess,” it cooed lovingly. “It’sss oursss now. Our own. Our love. Our precioussss.”
Aziraphale didn’t actually know how long the creature had been lurking amongst the piles of old papers and brick-a-brack in the spare room; but he could spot a lost soul in need of saving when he saw one, and throwing the poor thing out into the cold just hadn’t been an option. Truth be told he was rather enjoying the company, even if it wasn’t conducive to much in the way of highbrow discussion; and it was nice to have somebody around who enjoyed sushi as much as he did. Crowley however had not agreed.
“For someone’s sake angel, have you seen what the blessed thing’s doing now?” the demon spat, on seeing Aziraphale’s houseguest skulking behind the shop counter.
“Honestly my dear, I can’t help but feel you’re being a little oversensitive about this.”
“Oversensitive my arse! It’s wearing those sunglasses I lost last month.”
“Which you didn’t realise you’d left here until now,” said Aziraphale, smoothly. “Anyway it’s hardly as if you haven’t been able to wish yourself another pair.”
“That isn’t the point. I just don’t like the thing, you know, copying me.”
Aziraphale was unable to contain his amusement.
“Oh so it’s funny now is it?” said Crowley, whose mood was currently located somewhere between disgruntled and irate.
“They do say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery Crowley,” spluttered Aziraphale, doing nothing to allay the demons increasingly foul temper. “It’s almost like hero worship really.”
“Hero worship! I give him bloody hero…”
There was a rustling sound, followed by the sight of a small body darting out of the shop door.
Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other briefly before hurrying after it. Nothing, however could have quite prepared either of them for what they saw next.
On the pavement outside squatted a hunched decrepit form gazing intently at the large black car parked there. It raised an elongated finger and ran it lovingly over Bentley’s paintwork. Crowley visibly recoiled; too horrified to speak, move or even curse the creature to oblivion.
“Yess,” it cooed lovingly. “It’sss oursss now. Our own. Our love. Our precioussss.”