#2 (romance), Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale
hot hot heat
an airlia_vega production
for the romance theme (#2)
PG
496 words
“In the name of all things holy, how do you stand it in here?” Crowley snatched a copy of Jack Cade, Frontier Hero1 and waved vaguely in front of himself.
“Well, isn’t it hot Down There?” Aziraphale was busy scrupulously documenting the rent cheque in the register.
“No,” Crowley snapped. “Yes. But not hot like this. This is evil. I couldn’t have done a better job myself.”
“Good, good,” Aziraphale mumbled, cheating with a little bit of Divine Power2 to make sure the ink didn’t smear. “Shall we go?”
“As long as there’s air-conditioning. Was that the work of your side or mine, by the way?” he asked, as they stepped through the little, inconspicuous door. There were tiny bells on the knob, presumably to alert Aziraphale to the presence of any customers, but they were dusty from disuse.3 Aziraphale didn’t bother with the lock.
“I’m pretty sure that was us. Sorry. Where are we going?”
“Oh, no. I chose last time.”
“Can’t this be a joint effort?” Aziraphale said hopefully. “Spirit of cooperation?”
Crowley gave him a Look4. Aziraphale smiled nervously and seriously considered undoing the first two buttons on his collar. It was hot, after all. Very, very hot. Then Crowley blinked, long and deliberate, and they were standing underneath the map in the Leicester Square tube station.
“Pick somewhere, Angel,” Crowley said, rolling up his sleeves. “It’s even bloody hotter down here.”
A pack of tourists chose that moment to wander in front of them, holding one of the most massive maps of London Aziraphale had ever seen - holding it upside down, no less. They were bickering spiritedly and obviously quite lost. Aziraphale was about to offer some friendly advice when Crowley sighed and snapped. They righted their map, quietly found the right tube stop, and headed in the proper direction.
“You just -”
“Not a word.” Crowley set off towards the Bakerloo line.
“But you did something good!” Aziraphale said, catching Crowley’s elbow.
“I did not! They were headed for that London-Millennium-Eye-Wheel-Whatever. I have a 10% stake in it, you know. And they’ll fork over £13.00 a person, which is fairly outrageous, and be disappointed. Then they’ll fight and squabble and their vacation will be ruined.”
Aziraphale smiled the most reptilian smile of any angel in history. “You just made that up.”
“Maybe. Maybe I’m delusional from heat and lack of food, which is why we’re going,” he said, wrenching free of Aziraphale. “And you’re buying this time.”
“Only because you did something nice.”
“Angel, will you just-” a couple in neon fanny packs and Dallas Cowboys baseball hats stopped to gawk at them. “Move along,” Crowley hissed. They skittered away faster than cockroaches under fluorescent. “You’re evil,” he grumbled, grabbing Aziraphale by the edge of his tweed jacket5 and yanking him towards the escalators.
“Your fault,” Aziraphale said cheerily.
_________________________
1. First Ed., Printed 1879. Skindle’s Price Guide values it at £50.
2. TM God, Inc.
3. When Crowley came to the bookstore, which was often, he tried not to come in the door. It was a matter of principle, really.
4. Crowley had been working on this particular Look since he was still Crawly. It was quite fantastic, if he did say so himself.
5. Heaven is usually about 39 degrees C. Aziraphale could have put a down coat on and still been comfortable.
an airlia_vega production
for the romance theme (#2)
PG
496 words
“In the name of all things holy, how do you stand it in here?” Crowley snatched a copy of Jack Cade, Frontier Hero1 and waved vaguely in front of himself.
“Well, isn’t it hot Down There?” Aziraphale was busy scrupulously documenting the rent cheque in the register.
“No,” Crowley snapped. “Yes. But not hot like this. This is evil. I couldn’t have done a better job myself.”
“Good, good,” Aziraphale mumbled, cheating with a little bit of Divine Power2 to make sure the ink didn’t smear. “Shall we go?”
“As long as there’s air-conditioning. Was that the work of your side or mine, by the way?” he asked, as they stepped through the little, inconspicuous door. There were tiny bells on the knob, presumably to alert Aziraphale to the presence of any customers, but they were dusty from disuse.3 Aziraphale didn’t bother with the lock.
“I’m pretty sure that was us. Sorry. Where are we going?”
“Oh, no. I chose last time.”
“Can’t this be a joint effort?” Aziraphale said hopefully. “Spirit of cooperation?”
Crowley gave him a Look4. Aziraphale smiled nervously and seriously considered undoing the first two buttons on his collar. It was hot, after all. Very, very hot. Then Crowley blinked, long and deliberate, and they were standing underneath the map in the Leicester Square tube station.
“Pick somewhere, Angel,” Crowley said, rolling up his sleeves. “It’s even bloody hotter down here.”
A pack of tourists chose that moment to wander in front of them, holding one of the most massive maps of London Aziraphale had ever seen - holding it upside down, no less. They were bickering spiritedly and obviously quite lost. Aziraphale was about to offer some friendly advice when Crowley sighed and snapped. They righted their map, quietly found the right tube stop, and headed in the proper direction.
“You just -”
“Not a word.” Crowley set off towards the Bakerloo line.
“But you did something good!” Aziraphale said, catching Crowley’s elbow.
“I did not! They were headed for that London-Millennium-Eye-Wheel-Whatever. I have a 10% stake in it, you know. And they’ll fork over £13.00 a person, which is fairly outrageous, and be disappointed. Then they’ll fight and squabble and their vacation will be ruined.”
Aziraphale smiled the most reptilian smile of any angel in history. “You just made that up.”
“Maybe. Maybe I’m delusional from heat and lack of food, which is why we’re going,” he said, wrenching free of Aziraphale. “And you’re buying this time.”
“Only because you did something nice.”
“Angel, will you just-” a couple in neon fanny packs and Dallas Cowboys baseball hats stopped to gawk at them. “Move along,” Crowley hissed. They skittered away faster than cockroaches under fluorescent. “You’re evil,” he grumbled, grabbing Aziraphale by the edge of his tweed jacket5 and yanking him towards the escalators.
“Your fault,” Aziraphale said cheerily.
_________________________
1. First Ed., Printed 1879. Skindle’s Price Guide values it at £50.
2. TM God, Inc.
3. When Crowley came to the bookstore, which was often, he tried not to come in the door. It was a matter of principle, really.
4. Crowley had been working on this particular Look since he was still Crawly. It was quite fantastic, if he did say so himself.
5. Heaven is usually about 39 degrees C. Aziraphale could have put a down coat on and still been comfortable.