dah dah dah dahhhh
Title: Conserving Water
Author: possibly_thrice
Rating: G
Pairing/Character(s): Crowley and Aziraphale and multiple members of the family cactaceae.
Summary: Crowley experiments with succulents. Or rather, doesn't, much.
As a rule, Crowley liked his plants glossy and prehistoric. He owned one cactus, because Hell's PR department had laid out certain guidelines and it was best, he'd discovered, to not antagonize the secretaries, but he didn't really think of it as one of his plants. In his mind it had more in common with the toaster, or the television. It was kept apart from the other pots; it sat alone on the coffee table, the one long arm shedding spines on the otherwise pristine glass tabletop, and flowering periodically in colors that might have been distilled from one of Pollution's better sunsets. (No one had told Crowley that the flowers of Echinopsis oxygona are, traditionally, a pale lavender, and he wouldn't have believed them if they had.)
In the first year after procuring it, he talked to it occasionally, thinking he could perhaps coax it to be a little more presentable while still keeping the spiny and menacing aspect. The cactus' plump ridges, however, had remained a dark dull satiny color that had appeared only on the underside of leaves in Eden. Besides which, it was unexpectedly[1] difficult to communicate with dozens of sharp points fanning out toward his face. They didn't so much as rattle when he promised to pluck them out individually and make salad out of whatever was left.
Crowley very quickly lost interest.
He was surprised, therefore, when one Christmas Aziraphale gave him a small stuffed toy on a chain. It was shaped a bit like an antler would have been if antlers were commonly noted for being green and fuzzy and three inches long, and Aziraphale said that it was a cactus.
"Yes, I can see that," said Crowley, and in fact he could now that he'd been told, which was as worrying as anything else, really. "What's it for?"
"You hang it from your rear view mirror, I believe."
"I know that," said Crowley, irritably. "I meant-- why a cactus?"
Aziraphale shrugged. "There's that one you always give pride of place on your coffee table," he pointed out. "And I thought you liked Westerns?"
Crowley stared at him for a moment, and said meaningfully, "What else did you bring?"
Aziraphale smiled an unreadable little smile and began extricating the bottles from the papery depths of his bag. The rest of the evening had passed uneventfully, except for a recategorization of penguins as fish.
Later, though, flicking through channels, he found himself watching part of Stagecoach, which was being shown on some history of film programme. (One of the things the television had in common with the cactus was that it was more perceptive than he gave it credit for.)
He stared at the shouting humans, who ran back and forth across the screen and waved their arms quite a lot and adopted some rather nice poses. And he stared at the cacti, looming silent in the background. His view was partially obscured by the Echinopsis in the way, silhouetted against the glow of the telly, but he didn't move it.
The chain on the toy clinked quietly as he passed it from hand to hand.
[1] Although it shouldn't have been, given how many groups of armed humans Crowley had engaged in a little light conversation, over the years.
Author: possibly_thrice
Rating: G
Pairing/Character(s): Crowley and Aziraphale and multiple members of the family cactaceae.
Summary: Crowley experiments with succulents. Or rather, doesn't, much.
As a rule, Crowley liked his plants glossy and prehistoric. He owned one cactus, because Hell's PR department had laid out certain guidelines and it was best, he'd discovered, to not antagonize the secretaries, but he didn't really think of it as one of his plants. In his mind it had more in common with the toaster, or the television. It was kept apart from the other pots; it sat alone on the coffee table, the one long arm shedding spines on the otherwise pristine glass tabletop, and flowering periodically in colors that might have been distilled from one of Pollution's better sunsets. (No one had told Crowley that the flowers of Echinopsis oxygona are, traditionally, a pale lavender, and he wouldn't have believed them if they had.)
In the first year after procuring it, he talked to it occasionally, thinking he could perhaps coax it to be a little more presentable while still keeping the spiny and menacing aspect. The cactus' plump ridges, however, had remained a dark dull satiny color that had appeared only on the underside of leaves in Eden. Besides which, it was unexpectedly[1] difficult to communicate with dozens of sharp points fanning out toward his face. They didn't so much as rattle when he promised to pluck them out individually and make salad out of whatever was left.
Crowley very quickly lost interest.
He was surprised, therefore, when one Christmas Aziraphale gave him a small stuffed toy on a chain. It was shaped a bit like an antler would have been if antlers were commonly noted for being green and fuzzy and three inches long, and Aziraphale said that it was a cactus.
"Yes, I can see that," said Crowley, and in fact he could now that he'd been told, which was as worrying as anything else, really. "What's it for?"
"You hang it from your rear view mirror, I believe."
"I know that," said Crowley, irritably. "I meant-- why a cactus?"
Aziraphale shrugged. "There's that one you always give pride of place on your coffee table," he pointed out. "And I thought you liked Westerns?"
Crowley stared at him for a moment, and said meaningfully, "What else did you bring?"
Aziraphale smiled an unreadable little smile and began extricating the bottles from the papery depths of his bag. The rest of the evening had passed uneventfully, except for a recategorization of penguins as fish.
Later, though, flicking through channels, he found himself watching part of Stagecoach, which was being shown on some history of film programme. (One of the things the television had in common with the cactus was that it was more perceptive than he gave it credit for.)
He stared at the shouting humans, who ran back and forth across the screen and waved their arms quite a lot and adopted some rather nice poses. And he stared at the cacti, looming silent in the background. His view was partially obscured by the Echinopsis in the way, silhouetted against the glow of the telly, but he didn't move it.
The chain on the toy clinked quietly as he passed it from hand to hand.
[1] Although it shouldn't have been, given how many groups of armed humans Crowley had engaged in a little light conversation, over the years.