Pointless little ficlet
Dedicated to my friendslist, some of whom already have You Know What, and some of whom are terrified of You Know What. Thanks to amberdiceless, who reminded me of that great C.S. Lewis quote in a post of hers a few days ago.
Crowley and Aziraphale are dealing with Certain Imminent Events. (which have already happened in the UK). Slashy implication, PG I suppose. It's probably been done before, but hey.
“When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be thought very grown up.”-C.S. Lewis
"While I in no way attempt to claim credit for the power of the stories themselves, I must reflect on what it has meant to the world that I once encouraged the daydreaming of a downtrodden young woman in Edinburgh, who was worn down by the world and losing faith in the power of her dreams…."
While I in no way attempt to claim credit for the natural greed and instant-gratification-frenzy of the addicted little heathens who would run down their own walker-bound grandmothers to get their grabby little paws on a copy of the new book, I must pat myself on the back just a little over the shoddy quality of Warner Brothers’ movie-related merchandise…
"…For in this fast-moving, blinding modern world, it is indeed a good thing that children and adults alike will take time out to share the slow, contemplative pleasures of the printed word. They sit under the trees and amid the green grass of creation and savour the pleasures of Ms. Rowling’s craftsmanship. They read aloud to each other, they teach the young ones, and they discuss the moral lessons of friendship and courage and honesty in the face of adversity…"
…And never before have worldwide bootlegging, piracy, creative espionage, and spoiler-mongering run so rampant. Best of all, not only have certain inventive hacks in various foreign parts tried to palm off their own imitations as the real thing for mucho dinero, the Internet has enabled good citizens of all walks of life to unleash their polymorphous perversity all over the place in full view of children and the impressionable, until mental images of wanton orgies of magical, occult-drenched public-school buggery by broomstick, squid, centaur, owl, and flying automobile now permeate the consciousness of millions - perhaps even that nice lady at the coffee shop.
With the practice of centuries, Crowley and Aziraphale smoothly glanced at each other’s reports while pretending not to do so, in the manner of schoolchildren everywhere at exam time, who are never nearly as slick as they think they are. They waggled their eyebrows at each other in familiar unison as they licked envelopes shut.
And this time, they mentally rehearsed excuses, for each was determined not to arouse the other’s suspicion even as they violated long-held habit.
Aziraphale stood up first, as usual, to take his report to the post before it became buried under the next day’s acquisitions. Crowley, as usual, caught the angel’s hand, leaned back, invited him onto his lap. (That chair should have broken long ago, but it was afraid to.)
“My dear,” muttered Aziraphale unusually, “I'm very sorry, but I can’t get caught up in that now - I have plans.”
“Oh really?” said Crowley warningly, secretly relieved. “And what would that entail that’s more important than me?”
“It’s not more important than you. But…well, it’s not important. But I have to…”
“Fine,” Crowley snarled theatrically, “I hope you and your unimportant plans are very happy together!”
“Don’t fly off the handle so fast!” Aziraphale yelled, part of him delighted Crowley was doing just that.
Crowley stormed out. He was almost really angry, yet not quite. They’d finish this fight later. He had somewhere to be.
****
At midnight, it all became clear.
They would have caused quite a stir with what they did when they saw each other in the line at Waterstone’s, had anyone been paying them any attention at all.
Crowley and Aziraphale are dealing with Certain Imminent Events. (which have already happened in the UK). Slashy implication, PG I suppose. It's probably been done before, but hey.
“When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be thought very grown up.”-C.S. Lewis
"While I in no way attempt to claim credit for the power of the stories themselves, I must reflect on what it has meant to the world that I once encouraged the daydreaming of a downtrodden young woman in Edinburgh, who was worn down by the world and losing faith in the power of her dreams…."
While I in no way attempt to claim credit for the natural greed and instant-gratification-frenzy of the addicted little heathens who would run down their own walker-bound grandmothers to get their grabby little paws on a copy of the new book, I must pat myself on the back just a little over the shoddy quality of Warner Brothers’ movie-related merchandise…
"…For in this fast-moving, blinding modern world, it is indeed a good thing that children and adults alike will take time out to share the slow, contemplative pleasures of the printed word. They sit under the trees and amid the green grass of creation and savour the pleasures of Ms. Rowling’s craftsmanship. They read aloud to each other, they teach the young ones, and they discuss the moral lessons of friendship and courage and honesty in the face of adversity…"
…And never before have worldwide bootlegging, piracy, creative espionage, and spoiler-mongering run so rampant. Best of all, not only have certain inventive hacks in various foreign parts tried to palm off their own imitations as the real thing for mucho dinero, the Internet has enabled good citizens of all walks of life to unleash their polymorphous perversity all over the place in full view of children and the impressionable, until mental images of wanton orgies of magical, occult-drenched public-school buggery by broomstick, squid, centaur, owl, and flying automobile now permeate the consciousness of millions - perhaps even that nice lady at the coffee shop.
With the practice of centuries, Crowley and Aziraphale smoothly glanced at each other’s reports while pretending not to do so, in the manner of schoolchildren everywhere at exam time, who are never nearly as slick as they think they are. They waggled their eyebrows at each other in familiar unison as they licked envelopes shut.
And this time, they mentally rehearsed excuses, for each was determined not to arouse the other’s suspicion even as they violated long-held habit.
Aziraphale stood up first, as usual, to take his report to the post before it became buried under the next day’s acquisitions. Crowley, as usual, caught the angel’s hand, leaned back, invited him onto his lap. (That chair should have broken long ago, but it was afraid to.)
“My dear,” muttered Aziraphale unusually, “I'm very sorry, but I can’t get caught up in that now - I have plans.”
“Oh really?” said Crowley warningly, secretly relieved. “And what would that entail that’s more important than me?”
“It’s not more important than you. But…well, it’s not important. But I have to…”
“Fine,” Crowley snarled theatrically, “I hope you and your unimportant plans are very happy together!”
“Don’t fly off the handle so fast!” Aziraphale yelled, part of him delighted Crowley was doing just that.
Crowley stormed out. He was almost really angry, yet not quite. They’d finish this fight later. He had somewhere to be.
****
At midnight, it all became clear.
They would have caused quite a stir with what they did when they saw each other in the line at Waterstone’s, had anyone been paying them any attention at all.