Fic: Alcohol Poisoning
As thorneblackburn so sweetly pointed out, England has given us good ammo for fics. Therefor, I decided to write her an explanation as to how this has come about.
Title: Alcohol Poisoning
Rating: PG
Fandom: Good Omens
Characters/Pairings: Aziraphale, Crowley, Satan, and Hastur. There is some very mild Aziraphale/Crowley if you squint
Summary: Crowley...is not pleased with the new policies involving his favorite drink.
Wordcount: 1001
Warnings: Crack and Alcohol
Disclaimer: None of them belong to me
It was a quiet day in May. The sun was, for once in its lifetime, out for all to see, gracing London with its warmth and divine light. Unfortunately, just as there were nights that should be dark and stormy when something dramatic was about to happen, there were just as many days that were bright and sunny without there being any sort of joy in the air.
In fact, the proper setting for this would actually be in a bookstore in Soho, with grime on the windows that dulled the rays of the sun from coming in, dusty tomes filling every nook and cranny in the store, the lights off, save for the one in the back room.
In the back room, there was screaming. It wasn't angry or dismayed, but somewhere in between the two, completely agonized. It was the sound of a demon taking his first sip of wine. Right across from him, the one responsible for the shop rested on elbow on the table, chin in hand, an amused look crossing his angelic features.
“Now dear,” he chastised over any hint of laughter that might be bubbling up, “it can't taste that awful.” He brought his glass to his lips...and started coughing.
“See?! This was a horrible idea! Your people are going far too overboard with this 'green' movement! Look what they are doing to us!”
The blond delicately grabbed the handkerchief in his breast pocket, daintily dabbing his mouth in case any of the wine had escaped when he had rejected the vile substance. “It tastes like --”
“Shit!”
“The word I was looking for is 'plastic,' my dear. And may I point out to you that no, my people are about as responsible for the 'green' movement as yours are for Al Gore.”
“I knew it!”
There was a long suffering sigh. “Besides, somehow I am sure He is not involved in this, because if this was His work, why would it taste like it was in plastic aside from glass, which is so easy to recycle in the first place?”
The demon grabbed the angel and pulled him out the back door. “Lock up, we're getting to the bottom of this!
----
“What the he...What in Go...What the fuck?!”
Aziraphale calmly picked up one of the bottles, gently pressing against it to feel it cave in. “...This is not glass.”
“You think?!” Crowley replied, throwing a bottle across the store and watching it not shatter. This caused him to grind his teeth in rage.
“Really, dear.”
“What the hell am I going to throw when we go pub crawling and someone is singing out of tune?!”
“Have you tried not throwing things?”
There was a short silence as Crowley looked at him over his lopsided sunglasses.
“No.”
“I thought I would at least try.”
Crowley sighed. “I hate you.”
“I know, my dear.”
---
“This is much better,” Crowley drawled.
“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, watching the river flow beside them. “Where are we again?”
He looked around at the sky, the wall beside him, the scenic buildings...and laughed. “I don't remember.”
That got a laugh from the angel as he pressed himself closer. “Wanna stay here?”
“Don't you got a store to run?”
“Yes.”
“We need to go back, though.”
“Mm, I sp-sup..I guess so.”
Crowley laughed. “Le's take a nap. Ya need it.”
“I'm fine.”
“Are you?”
Aziraphale gave a radiant smile...and then started to use Crowley as a pillow.
The demon blinked, complained loudly, but there was no further complaints when he realized that the angel was out for the count. He sighed, sobered himself up, and watched the river by them laze.
---
Meanwhile, Down Below, there was a horrible, demonic laughter rang loud and clear, sending lesser demons and imps and hapless souls into trembles, despite the hot, summer heat.
Lucifer, however, merely clung to his head. He had too many things to do today to deal with this.
It took around three hours before Lucifer finally slammed open the door.
“Duke Hastur!”
The lithe man blinked, the laughter immediately stopping. “Yes, sire?”
An immaculate blond eyebrow twitched as his eyes closed, trying to calm himself. “I realize that Earth gave you a great victory. That is not the problem. But if you keep doing that, I shall personally pull you into the basement, string you up by your front claws, slam a German sausage slathered in butter down your throat, and then wait for your weight to tear your claws clear from the cuticle, and then you will go to the Duck Pond.”
The implications immediately sank in, and Hastur slumped into his cushy leather seat. “I'm...sorry. It just took me two decades to figure out how I shall take my revenge on Crawly, and then the realization of Crawly's greatest Earthly lusts...”
“Plastic bottles in all the wine in Britain is a brilliant idea; I'm sure that Mr. White will be proud. But for the love of ice water, Duke Hastur, I have no problems at all with reminding you that no matter what you do to Britain, I can do even worse with Denmark and the United States. But you will get a commendation for driving an entire country to harder alcohol.”
Hastur grinned. “Thank you, sire.”
The door slammed, Lucifer running a hand through his hair. Now, he had a date with a bottle of vodka and the two of them better not be disturbed.
Title: Alcohol Poisoning
Rating: PG
Fandom: Good Omens
Characters/Pairings: Aziraphale, Crowley, Satan, and Hastur. There is some very mild Aziraphale/Crowley if you squint
Summary: Crowley...is not pleased with the new policies involving his favorite drink.
Wordcount: 1001
Warnings: Crack and Alcohol
Disclaimer: None of them belong to me
It was a quiet day in May. The sun was, for once in its lifetime, out for all to see, gracing London with its warmth and divine light. Unfortunately, just as there were nights that should be dark and stormy when something dramatic was about to happen, there were just as many days that were bright and sunny without there being any sort of joy in the air.
In fact, the proper setting for this would actually be in a bookstore in Soho, with grime on the windows that dulled the rays of the sun from coming in, dusty tomes filling every nook and cranny in the store, the lights off, save for the one in the back room.
In the back room, there was screaming. It wasn't angry or dismayed, but somewhere in between the two, completely agonized. It was the sound of a demon taking his first sip of wine. Right across from him, the one responsible for the shop rested on elbow on the table, chin in hand, an amused look crossing his angelic features.
“Now dear,” he chastised over any hint of laughter that might be bubbling up, “it can't taste that awful.” He brought his glass to his lips...and started coughing.
“See?! This was a horrible idea! Your people are going far too overboard with this 'green' movement! Look what they are doing to us!”
The blond delicately grabbed the handkerchief in his breast pocket, daintily dabbing his mouth in case any of the wine had escaped when he had rejected the vile substance. “It tastes like --”
“Shit!”
“The word I was looking for is 'plastic,' my dear. And may I point out to you that no, my people are about as responsible for the 'green' movement as yours are for Al Gore.”
“I knew it!”
There was a long suffering sigh. “Besides, somehow I am sure He is not involved in this, because if this was His work, why would it taste like it was in plastic aside from glass, which is so easy to recycle in the first place?”
The demon grabbed the angel and pulled him out the back door. “Lock up, we're getting to the bottom of this!
----
“What the he...What in Go...What the fuck?!”
Aziraphale calmly picked up one of the bottles, gently pressing against it to feel it cave in. “...This is not glass.”
“You think?!” Crowley replied, throwing a bottle across the store and watching it not shatter. This caused him to grind his teeth in rage.
“Really, dear.”
“What the hell am I going to throw when we go pub crawling and someone is singing out of tune?!”
“Have you tried not throwing things?”
There was a short silence as Crowley looked at him over his lopsided sunglasses.
“No.”
“I thought I would at least try.”
Crowley sighed. “I hate you.”
“I know, my dear.”
---
“This is much better,” Crowley drawled.
“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, watching the river flow beside them. “Where are we again?”
He looked around at the sky, the wall beside him, the scenic buildings...and laughed. “I don't remember.”
That got a laugh from the angel as he pressed himself closer. “Wanna stay here?”
“Don't you got a store to run?”
“Yes.”
“We need to go back, though.”
“Mm, I sp-sup..I guess so.”
Crowley laughed. “Le's take a nap. Ya need it.”
“I'm fine.”
“Are you?”
Aziraphale gave a radiant smile...and then started to use Crowley as a pillow.
The demon blinked, complained loudly, but there was no further complaints when he realized that the angel was out for the count. He sighed, sobered himself up, and watched the river by them laze.
---
Meanwhile, Down Below, there was a horrible, demonic laughter rang loud and clear, sending lesser demons and imps and hapless souls into trembles, despite the hot, summer heat.
Lucifer, however, merely clung to his head. He had too many things to do today to deal with this.
It took around three hours before Lucifer finally slammed open the door.
“Duke Hastur!”
The lithe man blinked, the laughter immediately stopping. “Yes, sire?”
An immaculate blond eyebrow twitched as his eyes closed, trying to calm himself. “I realize that Earth gave you a great victory. That is not the problem. But if you keep doing that, I shall personally pull you into the basement, string you up by your front claws, slam a German sausage slathered in butter down your throat, and then wait for your weight to tear your claws clear from the cuticle, and then you will go to the Duck Pond.”
The implications immediately sank in, and Hastur slumped into his cushy leather seat. “I'm...sorry. It just took me two decades to figure out how I shall take my revenge on Crawly, and then the realization of Crawly's greatest Earthly lusts...”
“Plastic bottles in all the wine in Britain is a brilliant idea; I'm sure that Mr. White will be proud. But for the love of ice water, Duke Hastur, I have no problems at all with reminding you that no matter what you do to Britain, I can do even worse with Denmark and the United States. But you will get a commendation for driving an entire country to harder alcohol.”
Hastur grinned. “Thank you, sire.”
The door slammed, Lucifer running a hand through his hair. Now, he had a date with a bottle of vodka and the two of them better not be disturbed.