Meeting #5
Title: Of angels, sofas and wardrobes - meeting #5.
Rating: PG
Summary: After the Apocalypse that wasn't, Crowley's boss has sent Crowley to a therapist to have his head checked.
Notes: 5th meeting. Crowley tries to talk his way out of things.
Warnings: Lacks an active plot, more character driven and random.
Wordcount: 800
Meeting 5
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“So.” Crowley said after about 5 minutes into his time.
“So?” The man said, smiling his white teeth. The beige sweater he had tied around his shoulders clashed incredibly with the pastel blue shirt and the bright white zigzag aliceband he sported today.
Crowley shook his head lightly and stretched his hand out. Instead of the usual suit he was wearing more of a general leather jacket, tight jeans look, hoping to inspire today’s youth to once again spend tons of their non-existent money on yet another clothing fad. So far it had proven a great success. “So, what do we do this week?”
“How about you pick up where you left off.”
“Alright, I am not sure I remember what it wa-”
“You were listing off all the habits the angel has that aggravate you, giving them as reasons why a friendship would be out of the question. I believe you mentioned his sleeping habit before our time was up.”
“Oh yes.” Crowley nodded. “He doesn’t, you see. Sleep I mean. Doesn’t sleep. Never. He claims it is not something that he needs, which is true, in a sense we do not need to sleep, but neither do we need to eat or drink, or smoke, but he does all that too. Then a couple of centuries ago he developed this thing, once ever few decennia, out of the blue he just shows up at my doorstep, demands the use of my bed. He doesn’t own one, you see, because he doesn’t sleep, so he shows up, sleeps for a year or three, then gets up and leaves again. Without as much as a wham-bam ‘why thank you Crowley, my dear’-”
“My dear?”
Crowley started and met the man’s plain brown eyes. Ah, he thought.
“He’s kind of stuck in the olden days, speech-wise. Has absolutely no intent on catching up either. And this is the irritating bit, he does know how to use computers, but he always argues with my answering machine. He knows how to operate microwaves and televisions, but if he as much as picks up a cellphone the thing all but explodes in his hands. How is this possible?” Crowley pressed spread his fingers and held his palms in the air.
The man nodded.
“I do not know, it sounds like a complicated relationship.”
“Yes it is. I am afraid to tell him about the MP3-player, which is one of mine of course, I designed the software to detect what a person’s favourite song is and freeze up just at the good bit.” Crowley grinned.
“I’ll keep in mind to stay away from them.” The man said. “But what I meant was something else. Mr. Crowley?”
“Yes?” Crowley frowned, wondering if there might have been something wrong with the way he’d spoken about Aziraphale. As long as he was talking about the angel, he wasn’t talking about himself, right? And he could talk about Aziraphale some more. Oh yes, he would start at the beginning, in Heaven, talk about how he met the angel, not that he recalled the incident, most things before his Fall were blurry, but the angel had remembered. Then he would work his way through millennia of history, until the man would die of old age.
“This angel has been around for some time, hasn’t he?”
“Well, yes he was one of the first.”
“Around you, Mr. Crowley.”
Oh, thought Crowley. Oh.
“We were permanently stationed here together a little over 4000 years ago. So yes, it’s been a while. Especially for you.” He added, feeling bold.
The man smiled and Crowley got the creeps.
“Name one of his best qualities?”
Crowley blinked, made a point of it too, because he never blinked. His mind started rolling reluctantly, automatically.
“Like his halo?”
“Like his culinary skills for example.” The man offered.
“They’re all…right.” Crowley gently tried. “Not his best. I don’t know. There’s a lot of angelic qualities he does not seem to possess, but then there is are a lot of others he is amazingly good at.”
“Like?”
“Like, his voice, when he lies. It loses the angelic touch to it. Most creatures cannot stand this, but his own voice without the added weight of ethereal purity, sounds so much better.” Crowley frowned to himself.
The man nodded and started writing on the clipboard and for some reason Crowley felt another cold shiver run down his spine at the sound of the tip of the pencil scraping away at the paper.
“Do continue.” The man said.
Crowley wasn’t sure he wanted to anymore.
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Rating: PG
Summary: After the Apocalypse that wasn't, Crowley's boss has sent Crowley to a therapist to have his head checked.
Notes: 5th meeting. Crowley tries to talk his way out of things.
Warnings: Lacks an active plot, more character driven and random.
Wordcount: 800
Meeting 5
----------
“So.” Crowley said after about 5 minutes into his time.
“So?” The man said, smiling his white teeth. The beige sweater he had tied around his shoulders clashed incredibly with the pastel blue shirt and the bright white zigzag aliceband he sported today.
Crowley shook his head lightly and stretched his hand out. Instead of the usual suit he was wearing more of a general leather jacket, tight jeans look, hoping to inspire today’s youth to once again spend tons of their non-existent money on yet another clothing fad. So far it had proven a great success. “So, what do we do this week?”
“How about you pick up where you left off.”
“Alright, I am not sure I remember what it wa-”
“You were listing off all the habits the angel has that aggravate you, giving them as reasons why a friendship would be out of the question. I believe you mentioned his sleeping habit before our time was up.”
“Oh yes.” Crowley nodded. “He doesn’t, you see. Sleep I mean. Doesn’t sleep. Never. He claims it is not something that he needs, which is true, in a sense we do not need to sleep, but neither do we need to eat or drink, or smoke, but he does all that too. Then a couple of centuries ago he developed this thing, once ever few decennia, out of the blue he just shows up at my doorstep, demands the use of my bed. He doesn’t own one, you see, because he doesn’t sleep, so he shows up, sleeps for a year or three, then gets up and leaves again. Without as much as a wham-bam ‘why thank you Crowley, my dear’-”
“My dear?”
Crowley started and met the man’s plain brown eyes. Ah, he thought.
“He’s kind of stuck in the olden days, speech-wise. Has absolutely no intent on catching up either. And this is the irritating bit, he does know how to use computers, but he always argues with my answering machine. He knows how to operate microwaves and televisions, but if he as much as picks up a cellphone the thing all but explodes in his hands. How is this possible?” Crowley pressed spread his fingers and held his palms in the air.
The man nodded.
“I do not know, it sounds like a complicated relationship.”
“Yes it is. I am afraid to tell him about the MP3-player, which is one of mine of course, I designed the software to detect what a person’s favourite song is and freeze up just at the good bit.” Crowley grinned.
“I’ll keep in mind to stay away from them.” The man said. “But what I meant was something else. Mr. Crowley?”
“Yes?” Crowley frowned, wondering if there might have been something wrong with the way he’d spoken about Aziraphale. As long as he was talking about the angel, he wasn’t talking about himself, right? And he could talk about Aziraphale some more. Oh yes, he would start at the beginning, in Heaven, talk about how he met the angel, not that he recalled the incident, most things before his Fall were blurry, but the angel had remembered. Then he would work his way through millennia of history, until the man would die of old age.
“This angel has been around for some time, hasn’t he?”
“Well, yes he was one of the first.”
“Around you, Mr. Crowley.”
Oh, thought Crowley. Oh.
“We were permanently stationed here together a little over 4000 years ago. So yes, it’s been a while. Especially for you.” He added, feeling bold.
The man smiled and Crowley got the creeps.
“Name one of his best qualities?”
Crowley blinked, made a point of it too, because he never blinked. His mind started rolling reluctantly, automatically.
“Like his halo?”
“Like his culinary skills for example.” The man offered.
“They’re all…right.” Crowley gently tried. “Not his best. I don’t know. There’s a lot of angelic qualities he does not seem to possess, but then there is are a lot of others he is amazingly good at.”
“Like?”
“Like, his voice, when he lies. It loses the angelic touch to it. Most creatures cannot stand this, but his own voice without the added weight of ethereal purity, sounds so much better.” Crowley frowned to himself.
The man nodded and started writing on the clipboard and for some reason Crowley felt another cold shiver run down his spine at the sound of the tip of the pencil scraping away at the paper.
“Do continue.” The man said.
Crowley wasn’t sure he wanted to anymore.
-----------------