not so bad as that
Title: not so bad as that
Theme: demon (#16)
Claim: Sanji
Words: 1026
Rating: PG
Warnings: … Blasphemy?
Disclaimer(s): Not mine, but I promise to play nice.
Notes: Good Omens-verse, with Crowley!Zoro and Aziraphale!Sanji. This very questionable idea was first spawned here. Mined the comment threads for inspiration. You guys are brilliant. World’s in pretty good hands, I’d say.
“Can you believe this shit weather? Is it too fucking much to ask for a few fucking rays of sunshine this week? Monsoon season my angelic ass, this shit-tacular shitstorm is keeping away all my lovely ladies. Bastards seriously need to get their shit together up there.”
Not for the first time, Zoro looks up from his coffee and newspaper and says, “I’m not sure it’s entirely acceptable for an angel to be so profane. Also, kind of blasphemous.”
Sanji rolls his eyes, pulls out a chair across from Zoro. “I know it’s hard for someone as dense as you to understand, but the weather is not actually determined by any heavenly entity, but by density differences between-”
“Shut up.”
“Just trying to educate the woefully unenlightened. You’re welcome.”
Zoro hurls his cup at him, but Sanji vanishes it with an irritated wave of his hand. “Don’t make me kick your sorry ass out in the rain.”
Zoro eyes the torrential downpour outside and prudently decides to shut up and go back to his newspaper. The headlines, today and as always, are rather sobering. Famine relief failing miserably in the Horn of Africa, brutal crackdown on protestors in Syria, Mongolia looking to mine uranium, and the citizen death toll skyrocketing in Afghanistan. Their colleagues the Horsepersons are hard at work, apparently, whilst he and the angel languish about indoors, having a tea party of sorts. Zoro makes an effort to feel bad about this, but can’t find it in him to care enough. Sloth is a sin, right? And sins are his job, so whatever, he’s totally covered.
As if reading his thoughts, Sanji lights a fresh cigarette and grumbles, “I feel like I should be out there thwarting evil wiles or something, not cooped up inside with you. Fraternizing with the enemy. No offense, but you’re horrible excuse for company. Actually, I take that back-total offense meant.”
Zoro manfully ignores the jab. “In this weather? Are you sure? Your suit would get ruined.”
Sanji looks down at himself and makes a despairing face. “It would… but I could always just miracle away the damage…”
“But you’ll always know. You’ll always know, deep down, that the damage was done.”
“Yes,” Sanji sighs in sad agreement. “But still. I know sloth is right up your alley, but angels sort of have to be above that shit.”
“But you’re kind of thwarting evil wiles,” Zoro interjects wisely. “I mean, I’m evil and I have wiles, but I’m inside too. Who knows what kind of havoc I’d be wreaking if only I weren’t thwarted by this coffee brewed from fair-trade beans and these freshly baked fruit tarts made with locally grown organic produce. I’m even paying you. You can’t get more conscionable than that. I should be ashamed of myself.”
Sanji considers this for a moment then makes a humming sound. “I guess that’d fly, if you were ashamed of yourself.”
“Sure. Totally ashamed.” A pause. “So, do I get another cup of coffee? And another tart, one with strawberries.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Cool.”
Things begin to deteriorate rapidly by the second pot of coffee. After an ill-fated, illogically violent attempt at the crossword puzzle at the back of the paper, they break out the chess set (the fancy one that Zoro had bought in Italy in the eighteenth century) and they try to play through one game without cramming the pieces up each other’s nostrils. They give up on their fourth try, after Sanji had to perform the Heimlich maneuver in order to dislodge the bishop he had shoved down Zoro’s throat in a fit of decidedly unangelic unsportsmanship. They finally settle for ignoring each other the best they can as they stare moodily out the café’s large bay windows. The rain is still coming down in sheets, the wet gloom making them bristle like alley cats.
Suddenly, Sanji’s iPhone starts to vibrate and skitter across the countertop where he had left it. The chorus from Beyoncé’s “Halo” blares from its tinny speakers, and Zoro covers his snicker with an impressive hacking cough. Sanji shoots him a menacing glare.
“Yeah, what do you want?” he barks into the mouthpiece as Zoro contentedly sips his sixth cup of the French Roast. “No,” Sanji growls in exasperation, rubs at his temples, recites the first seventeen digits of pi under his breath in an attempt to keep calm. “Yes. No. Oh, for fuck’s sake, just get the fruits here by tonight. I’ll need them at the asscrack of dawn tomorrow. You are aware of what will happen if you fail to deliver. I’ll bless you. I will bless you hard. Yeah. Now get your asses into gear.”
Sanji ends the call with a jab of his finger and says, with beatific finality, “Your minions are useless.”
“Which ones? I have legions of them.”
“You do not have legions. You only have Johnny and Yosaku.”
“Yeah, well, what’re you doing appropriating my minions-my demonic minions-as errand boys anyway?”
“I’m putting them to good use.”
“You're not supposed to put them to good use!”
“Whatever! They’re hardly real demons anyway. They’re too… bubbly.”
Try as he might, Zoro couldn’t argue with that. “Yeah,” he says and he heaves a long-suffering sigh.
“There, there.” Sanji pats his arm comfortingly. “Maybe Downstairs will assign you some new minions soon. Properly demonic ones.”
“Not likely. You know the amount of paperwork you’d have to file for them to even consider acknowledging your existence? The bureaucracy is a nightmare.”
Sanji blows a stream of smoke in Zoro’s face and Zoro does not blink. “Guess they call it Hell for a reason,” he chirps, and grins gleefully.
Zoro scowls at him. “Shut up.”
“Oh hey,” Sanji says, grin widening. “Remember when your motorcycle was on fire?”
“… No. I don’t.”
“Good times, good times.”
“I said, shut up.”
“Still don’t understand why you didn’t just stop to extinguish it. A sharp word would have done. The fire would have listened.”
“…”
“You demons are a stupid lot, aren’t you?”
“… Yeah, maybe.”
“That’s all right. Makes my job easier, honestly.”
“You’re welcome, I guess.”
“Cheers.”
The lights flicker out.
Notes: One day, Luffy the Antichrist will show up and shit will really go down. And then the title will have to be, “yes, as bad as that.” Oh, I am a riot.
And gah, it has been raining so much here lately. Right now, I’m looking out my window and seriously, all I see is grey. Maybe the end of the world really is nigh. Hey-o!
Theme: demon (#16)
Claim: Sanji
Words: 1026
Rating: PG
Warnings: … Blasphemy?
Disclaimer(s): Not mine, but I promise to play nice.
Notes: Good Omens-verse, with Crowley!Zoro and Aziraphale!Sanji. This very questionable idea was first spawned here. Mined the comment threads for inspiration. You guys are brilliant. World’s in pretty good hands, I’d say.
“Can you believe this shit weather? Is it too fucking much to ask for a few fucking rays of sunshine this week? Monsoon season my angelic ass, this shit-tacular shitstorm is keeping away all my lovely ladies. Bastards seriously need to get their shit together up there.”
Not for the first time, Zoro looks up from his coffee and newspaper and says, “I’m not sure it’s entirely acceptable for an angel to be so profane. Also, kind of blasphemous.”
Sanji rolls his eyes, pulls out a chair across from Zoro. “I know it’s hard for someone as dense as you to understand, but the weather is not actually determined by any heavenly entity, but by density differences between-”
“Shut up.”
“Just trying to educate the woefully unenlightened. You’re welcome.”
Zoro hurls his cup at him, but Sanji vanishes it with an irritated wave of his hand. “Don’t make me kick your sorry ass out in the rain.”
Zoro eyes the torrential downpour outside and prudently decides to shut up and go back to his newspaper. The headlines, today and as always, are rather sobering. Famine relief failing miserably in the Horn of Africa, brutal crackdown on protestors in Syria, Mongolia looking to mine uranium, and the citizen death toll skyrocketing in Afghanistan. Their colleagues the Horsepersons are hard at work, apparently, whilst he and the angel languish about indoors, having a tea party of sorts. Zoro makes an effort to feel bad about this, but can’t find it in him to care enough. Sloth is a sin, right? And sins are his job, so whatever, he’s totally covered.
As if reading his thoughts, Sanji lights a fresh cigarette and grumbles, “I feel like I should be out there thwarting evil wiles or something, not cooped up inside with you. Fraternizing with the enemy. No offense, but you’re horrible excuse for company. Actually, I take that back-total offense meant.”
Zoro manfully ignores the jab. “In this weather? Are you sure? Your suit would get ruined.”
Sanji looks down at himself and makes a despairing face. “It would… but I could always just miracle away the damage…”
“But you’ll always know. You’ll always know, deep down, that the damage was done.”
“Yes,” Sanji sighs in sad agreement. “But still. I know sloth is right up your alley, but angels sort of have to be above that shit.”
“But you’re kind of thwarting evil wiles,” Zoro interjects wisely. “I mean, I’m evil and I have wiles, but I’m inside too. Who knows what kind of havoc I’d be wreaking if only I weren’t thwarted by this coffee brewed from fair-trade beans and these freshly baked fruit tarts made with locally grown organic produce. I’m even paying you. You can’t get more conscionable than that. I should be ashamed of myself.”
Sanji considers this for a moment then makes a humming sound. “I guess that’d fly, if you were ashamed of yourself.”
“Sure. Totally ashamed.” A pause. “So, do I get another cup of coffee? And another tart, one with strawberries.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Cool.”
Things begin to deteriorate rapidly by the second pot of coffee. After an ill-fated, illogically violent attempt at the crossword puzzle at the back of the paper, they break out the chess set (the fancy one that Zoro had bought in Italy in the eighteenth century) and they try to play through one game without cramming the pieces up each other’s nostrils. They give up on their fourth try, after Sanji had to perform the Heimlich maneuver in order to dislodge the bishop he had shoved down Zoro’s throat in a fit of decidedly unangelic unsportsmanship. They finally settle for ignoring each other the best they can as they stare moodily out the café’s large bay windows. The rain is still coming down in sheets, the wet gloom making them bristle like alley cats.
Suddenly, Sanji’s iPhone starts to vibrate and skitter across the countertop where he had left it. The chorus from Beyoncé’s “Halo” blares from its tinny speakers, and Zoro covers his snicker with an impressive hacking cough. Sanji shoots him a menacing glare.
“Yeah, what do you want?” he barks into the mouthpiece as Zoro contentedly sips his sixth cup of the French Roast. “No,” Sanji growls in exasperation, rubs at his temples, recites the first seventeen digits of pi under his breath in an attempt to keep calm. “Yes. No. Oh, for fuck’s sake, just get the fruits here by tonight. I’ll need them at the asscrack of dawn tomorrow. You are aware of what will happen if you fail to deliver. I’ll bless you. I will bless you hard. Yeah. Now get your asses into gear.”
Sanji ends the call with a jab of his finger and says, with beatific finality, “Your minions are useless.”
“Which ones? I have legions of them.”
“You do not have legions. You only have Johnny and Yosaku.”
“Yeah, well, what’re you doing appropriating my minions-my demonic minions-as errand boys anyway?”
“I’m putting them to good use.”
“You're not supposed to put them to good use!”
“Whatever! They’re hardly real demons anyway. They’re too… bubbly.”
Try as he might, Zoro couldn’t argue with that. “Yeah,” he says and he heaves a long-suffering sigh.
“There, there.” Sanji pats his arm comfortingly. “Maybe Downstairs will assign you some new minions soon. Properly demonic ones.”
“Not likely. You know the amount of paperwork you’d have to file for them to even consider acknowledging your existence? The bureaucracy is a nightmare.”
Sanji blows a stream of smoke in Zoro’s face and Zoro does not blink. “Guess they call it Hell for a reason,” he chirps, and grins gleefully.
Zoro scowls at him. “Shut up.”
“Oh hey,” Sanji says, grin widening. “Remember when your motorcycle was on fire?”
“… No. I don’t.”
“Good times, good times.”
“I said, shut up.”
“Still don’t understand why you didn’t just stop to extinguish it. A sharp word would have done. The fire would have listened.”
“…”
“You demons are a stupid lot, aren’t you?”
“… Yeah, maybe.”
“That’s all right. Makes my job easier, honestly.”
“You’re welcome, I guess.”
“Cheers.”
The lights flicker out.
Notes: One day, Luffy the Antichrist will show up and shit will really go down. And then the title will have to be, “yes, as bad as that.” Oh, I am a riot.
And gah, it has been raining so much here lately. Right now, I’m looking out my window and seriously, all I see is grey. Maybe the end of the world really is nigh. Hey-o!