Twelve Months - April
Title: Twelve Months
By: musegaarid & _serpensortia
Rating: PG
Summary: Crowley goes to Italy
Notes: The previous chapters are here... February, March
In April, Crowley took his annual trip to Florence. It was a longstanding tradition. Very longstanding; he'd met DaVinci on one of these trips. Nearly five hundred years later, he was standing in the Uffizi Gallery looking at some of the work the man had left behind.
Demons don't feel nostalgia, but if they did, Crowley would feel it in Florence. All his best human friends had lived - and died - there. The current one, Mama, had a couple good decades left in her, along with a quantity of children and grandchildren to pamper for years to come. The best thing about visiting Mama was that he always left with a full stomach and a blessedly empty head. He decided to walk off the feeling in the finest art gallery in a city of fine art galleries.
Wandering into the next room, he passed a set of paintings by Fra Fillipo Lippi, his student Botticelli, and his student and Lippi's son, Fillipino. The works were all transcendentally beautiful; the angels luminous and fair with the patient, loving expressions that Crowley never actually saw on their faces but figured someone must. He considered them carefully. Eventually he found that he preferred the good father's works. For a bunch of tight-arsed religious nutbags, Fra Fillipo Lippi was the only one who'd understood what love was. He'd conceived a child, despite his vows, because his passion had outweighed his obedience. Crowley could get behind that.
Sauntering through a few rooms, the demon waited until something caught his eye: That something was an amazing golden altarpiece by Simone Martini depicting the Annunciation - the event he'd celebrated with Gabriel so recently. He had to laugh; Gabriel's stick-up-the-arse expression was dead on, even if the hair colour wasn't, and Mary's pissed off face was priceless. Amused, Crowley sat on the bench in front of the piece to study it carefully. The wings weren't right, but there was something familiar about them... That thought was driven straight out of his head when he noticed the angel's gay little tiara and the words shooting out of his mouth to hit Mary in the head. No wonder she looked so irritated. Chuckling, he almost thought he could hear Gabriel's voice as he looked at the piece, though why his imagination had the archangel speaking Japanese, Crowley couldn't say.
What had been in that manicotti, anyway?
Had he looked up at that moment, Crowley would have seen that he wasn't mistaken about the Japanese. Gabriel was in the next room, enlightening a group of tourists about much of the same history that Crowley recalled in his own wanderings. The archangel, after all, had been an eyewitness to the same events, although Gabriel generally didn't tell the tales as colorfully as Crowley might had it been the demon volunteering in the Uffizi that afternoon.
None of the group noticed the demon except for the angel, who, without pausing in his narrative, seemed to be keeping an eye on the Serpent through the open door leading to the next exhibit.
Drawn out of his reverie by the excited chattering of tourists, Crowley glanced up at the large group passing by and just managed to suppress a double-take when he saw who was acting as their tour guide. Without hesitating, he rose to join the tour, wondering why the hell the Messenger was doing volunteer work in an art museum in Italy.
With his proper suit and dark hair, Crowley blended into the crowd easily, drifting over to two whispering teenage girls. The demon grinned at them. "The guide really is cute, isn't he?" he said in Japanese and the girls broke into giggles, their hands covering their mouths, even as their eyes sparkled. It hadn't taken any particular skill to guess what they'd been talking about, not when they'd been following Gabriel's every movement. He had been, too.
When the angel turned to lead them into the next room, all three of them glanced down and started laughing together.
Gabriel must have noticed the addition of a demon to his group - and likely the attention - but he kept an admirably professional demeanor. Ethereal, one might say. In fact, as he touched on each in a series of religious-themed works, the angel's aura grew so bright that Crowley was surprised the humans weren't hiding their eyes. (On the contrary, Crowley's two companions seemed to have inched their way up to the front of the group and were rather blatantly staring.) The angel's tone hadn't changed from when he spoke about other works, and nothing about his expression shifted as he detailed Biblical exploits and celestial tales. It was the reactions around him that made his task obvious: People's eyes glowed as they looked over religious works as though seeing them for the first time. Whispered conversations seemed more awed than politely hushed. It was almost painful to see the inspiration the angel inspired with seemingly little effort at all.
Strike that, it was painful. Crowley did his best to counter it by making a few snarky comments to the people nearest him, but it's not generally a good idea to try to antagonize the being you're trying to get into bed. Especially if he's magnitudes of order more powerful than you. So the demon didn't blatantly contradict Gabriel's work. He was, however, grateful when the tour finally ended some twenty minutes later. After all the expressions of gratitude and more giggling - the only thing the girls were allowed to photograph in the museum was their guide and they took full advantage of that - Crowley waved all the tourists away before sliding over to Gabriel.
"So... Since when do you play Tour Guide Barbie?" Immediately struck with the image of Gabriel in an electric blue mini skirt, the demon paused a moment, a smile tugging at his lips.
"In Florence, or otherwise?" The angel's expression was cold when he looked the demon over, and hardly conducive to Crowley's efforts to imagine him with the tour guide hat - or maybe the gay little tiara. "I would have assumed you already knew all about it, demon, or am I to believe that it's coincidence that you joined my tour group today?"
Crowley sighed. Every time he met Gabriel it was like starting all over again. "It is coincidence, angel, whether you want to believe it or not. I know it's terribly flattering to think I followed you across the continent, but I had business in Florence this week. I had no idea you had a little side business of your own here. Lucrative, is it?"
Gabriel gave Crowley a sidelong glance, but seemed content to at least pretend to accept this explanation. "I wouldn't say lucrative, exactly," he said. "It's usually rather successful. More so when there aren't demons browsing the galleries as well..."
The demon in question raised his hands. "Hey, I didn't interfere. As an outside observer, though, can I suggest that it might be more successful if you actually told the interesting stories?"
Gabriel suddenly looked thoughtful, though it may have been a mere perception, as nothing in his expression really changed. "I'm not trying to force anything on them," he said. "It's better if they find meaning on their own... You didn't interfere too much, though. I suppose I should thank you for that."
"I'm not talking about the religious stories," said Crowley, his expression speaking volumes about how interesting those were. "I mean the stories behind the paintings. Michaelangelo's life-long struggle between religion and homosexuality, Botticelli's life-long struggle between religion and art, hot-headed Caravaggio murdering a man but being forgiven by the Pope on the strength of his paintings... The rivalries, the passions, the politics. That's what people want to know."
The angel looked momentarily annoyed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips when he finally said, "Maybe you should be doing this. Inspiration's always been part of your job description."
With a puzzled, sidelong glance - what had Gabriel meant by that? - Crowley drawled, "Well, I would, but I have another job. And hanging out with Japanese tourists is a bizarre hobby."
"More bizarre than staring at depictions of the Annunciation by yourself?"
Blindsided by the accusation, the demon wasn't quick enough to completely avoid the faint colour that tinged his cheeks. He spluttered out a retaliation. "I was just amused by the image of you bludgeoning Mary into cranky submission." Crowley refused to admit even to himself to all the staring at depictions of the Annunciation he'd done in the past couple of months.
"Artistic license," the angel muttered dismissively. He seemed to have noticed the lack of composure in Crowley's response, as he was now smiling. "So if you didn't come halfway across the continent looking for me, why are you here? Just for the art?"
Feeling exposed, Crowley murmured simply, "I have friends here."
Gabriel looked faintly surprised, though he soon recovered. "I see. And are you... busy with said friends this evening, or would you care to go for a drink?"
It was Crowley's turn to look surprised. "I... what? No! I mean, no, I'm not busy." He tried to compose himself and continued with a bit more dignity. "A drink sounds fine..."
"A legitimately paid for drink, of course."
The demon snorted. "Generally the person who asks pays for the other person's drinks, but I suppose I can make an exception this time."
"Oh, right. I suppose I should. After all, you did come all this way..."
"No, it's fine," said Crowley. "Since I happened to be in the area. I'll tell you what; I'll pay this time. Legitimately. Not like I didn't the last two times... But next time it's on you." Thus ensuring that there would be a next time and having an archangel ever so slightly indebted to him. Life was good for a clever demon.
"But you should know, I'm not a cheap date," he grinned as they headed out the door.
May
By: musegaarid & _serpensortia
Rating: PG
Summary: Crowley goes to Italy
Notes: The previous chapters are here... February, March
In April, Crowley took his annual trip to Florence. It was a longstanding tradition. Very longstanding; he'd met DaVinci on one of these trips. Nearly five hundred years later, he was standing in the Uffizi Gallery looking at some of the work the man had left behind.
Demons don't feel nostalgia, but if they did, Crowley would feel it in Florence. All his best human friends had lived - and died - there. The current one, Mama, had a couple good decades left in her, along with a quantity of children and grandchildren to pamper for years to come. The best thing about visiting Mama was that he always left with a full stomach and a blessedly empty head. He decided to walk off the feeling in the finest art gallery in a city of fine art galleries.
Wandering into the next room, he passed a set of paintings by Fra Fillipo Lippi, his student Botticelli, and his student and Lippi's son, Fillipino. The works were all transcendentally beautiful; the angels luminous and fair with the patient, loving expressions that Crowley never actually saw on their faces but figured someone must. He considered them carefully. Eventually he found that he preferred the good father's works. For a bunch of tight-arsed religious nutbags, Fra Fillipo Lippi was the only one who'd understood what love was. He'd conceived a child, despite his vows, because his passion had outweighed his obedience. Crowley could get behind that.
Sauntering through a few rooms, the demon waited until something caught his eye: That something was an amazing golden altarpiece by Simone Martini depicting the Annunciation - the event he'd celebrated with Gabriel so recently. He had to laugh; Gabriel's stick-up-the-arse expression was dead on, even if the hair colour wasn't, and Mary's pissed off face was priceless. Amused, Crowley sat on the bench in front of the piece to study it carefully. The wings weren't right, but there was something familiar about them... That thought was driven straight out of his head when he noticed the angel's gay little tiara and the words shooting out of his mouth to hit Mary in the head. No wonder she looked so irritated. Chuckling, he almost thought he could hear Gabriel's voice as he looked at the piece, though why his imagination had the archangel speaking Japanese, Crowley couldn't say.
What had been in that manicotti, anyway?
Had he looked up at that moment, Crowley would have seen that he wasn't mistaken about the Japanese. Gabriel was in the next room, enlightening a group of tourists about much of the same history that Crowley recalled in his own wanderings. The archangel, after all, had been an eyewitness to the same events, although Gabriel generally didn't tell the tales as colorfully as Crowley might had it been the demon volunteering in the Uffizi that afternoon.
None of the group noticed the demon except for the angel, who, without pausing in his narrative, seemed to be keeping an eye on the Serpent through the open door leading to the next exhibit.
Drawn out of his reverie by the excited chattering of tourists, Crowley glanced up at the large group passing by and just managed to suppress a double-take when he saw who was acting as their tour guide. Without hesitating, he rose to join the tour, wondering why the hell the Messenger was doing volunteer work in an art museum in Italy.
With his proper suit and dark hair, Crowley blended into the crowd easily, drifting over to two whispering teenage girls. The demon grinned at them. "The guide really is cute, isn't he?" he said in Japanese and the girls broke into giggles, their hands covering their mouths, even as their eyes sparkled. It hadn't taken any particular skill to guess what they'd been talking about, not when they'd been following Gabriel's every movement. He had been, too.
When the angel turned to lead them into the next room, all three of them glanced down and started laughing together.
Gabriel must have noticed the addition of a demon to his group - and likely the attention - but he kept an admirably professional demeanor. Ethereal, one might say. In fact, as he touched on each in a series of religious-themed works, the angel's aura grew so bright that Crowley was surprised the humans weren't hiding their eyes. (On the contrary, Crowley's two companions seemed to have inched their way up to the front of the group and were rather blatantly staring.) The angel's tone hadn't changed from when he spoke about other works, and nothing about his expression shifted as he detailed Biblical exploits and celestial tales. It was the reactions around him that made his task obvious: People's eyes glowed as they looked over religious works as though seeing them for the first time. Whispered conversations seemed more awed than politely hushed. It was almost painful to see the inspiration the angel inspired with seemingly little effort at all.
Strike that, it was painful. Crowley did his best to counter it by making a few snarky comments to the people nearest him, but it's not generally a good idea to try to antagonize the being you're trying to get into bed. Especially if he's magnitudes of order more powerful than you. So the demon didn't blatantly contradict Gabriel's work. He was, however, grateful when the tour finally ended some twenty minutes later. After all the expressions of gratitude and more giggling - the only thing the girls were allowed to photograph in the museum was their guide and they took full advantage of that - Crowley waved all the tourists away before sliding over to Gabriel.
"So... Since when do you play Tour Guide Barbie?" Immediately struck with the image of Gabriel in an electric blue mini skirt, the demon paused a moment, a smile tugging at his lips.
"In Florence, or otherwise?" The angel's expression was cold when he looked the demon over, and hardly conducive to Crowley's efforts to imagine him with the tour guide hat - or maybe the gay little tiara. "I would have assumed you already knew all about it, demon, or am I to believe that it's coincidence that you joined my tour group today?"
Crowley sighed. Every time he met Gabriel it was like starting all over again. "It is coincidence, angel, whether you want to believe it or not. I know it's terribly flattering to think I followed you across the continent, but I had business in Florence this week. I had no idea you had a little side business of your own here. Lucrative, is it?"
Gabriel gave Crowley a sidelong glance, but seemed content to at least pretend to accept this explanation. "I wouldn't say lucrative, exactly," he said. "It's usually rather successful. More so when there aren't demons browsing the galleries as well..."
The demon in question raised his hands. "Hey, I didn't interfere. As an outside observer, though, can I suggest that it might be more successful if you actually told the interesting stories?"
Gabriel suddenly looked thoughtful, though it may have been a mere perception, as nothing in his expression really changed. "I'm not trying to force anything on them," he said. "It's better if they find meaning on their own... You didn't interfere too much, though. I suppose I should thank you for that."
"I'm not talking about the religious stories," said Crowley, his expression speaking volumes about how interesting those were. "I mean the stories behind the paintings. Michaelangelo's life-long struggle between religion and homosexuality, Botticelli's life-long struggle between religion and art, hot-headed Caravaggio murdering a man but being forgiven by the Pope on the strength of his paintings... The rivalries, the passions, the politics. That's what people want to know."
The angel looked momentarily annoyed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips when he finally said, "Maybe you should be doing this. Inspiration's always been part of your job description."
With a puzzled, sidelong glance - what had Gabriel meant by that? - Crowley drawled, "Well, I would, but I have another job. And hanging out with Japanese tourists is a bizarre hobby."
"More bizarre than staring at depictions of the Annunciation by yourself?"
Blindsided by the accusation, the demon wasn't quick enough to completely avoid the faint colour that tinged his cheeks. He spluttered out a retaliation. "I was just amused by the image of you bludgeoning Mary into cranky submission." Crowley refused to admit even to himself to all the staring at depictions of the Annunciation he'd done in the past couple of months.
"Artistic license," the angel muttered dismissively. He seemed to have noticed the lack of composure in Crowley's response, as he was now smiling. "So if you didn't come halfway across the continent looking for me, why are you here? Just for the art?"
Feeling exposed, Crowley murmured simply, "I have friends here."
Gabriel looked faintly surprised, though he soon recovered. "I see. And are you... busy with said friends this evening, or would you care to go for a drink?"
It was Crowley's turn to look surprised. "I... what? No! I mean, no, I'm not busy." He tried to compose himself and continued with a bit more dignity. "A drink sounds fine..."
"A legitimately paid for drink, of course."
The demon snorted. "Generally the person who asks pays for the other person's drinks, but I suppose I can make an exception this time."
"Oh, right. I suppose I should. After all, you did come all this way..."
"No, it's fine," said Crowley. "Since I happened to be in the area. I'll tell you what; I'll pay this time. Legitimately. Not like I didn't the last two times... But next time it's on you." Thus ensuring that there would be a next time and having an archangel ever so slightly indebted to him. Life was good for a clever demon.
"But you should know, I'm not a cheap date," he grinned as they headed out the door.
May