One Bottle of Wine
Who: Crowley and Aziraphale
What: Monthly Drinking Session
When: Friday 28th January
Rating: PG
( A demon and an angel walked into a bar, stop me if you've heard this one... )
What: Monthly Drinking Session
When: Friday 28th January
Rating: PG
( A demon and an angel walked into a bar, stop me if you've heard this one... )
Comments 85
And so, at exactly twenty minutes after the decided time2, Crowley sauntered into the bookshop, taking his usual seat and putting his feet on the table.
"Angel."
1. 'Soiree' conjured up images of fancy evening-wear, grand music played by a fantastic orchestra, and plates of food with names bigger than the dish itself. The reality, he knew, would be him and Aziraphale, drinking many bottles of wine between them, talking bollocks. Any music would be Queen and the food would probably be a plate of half-stale digestive biscuits and perhaps if he was really lucky, a single custard cream.
2. Just because he was showing up didn't mean he'd have to completely stop being frustrating. He had to have some dignity, ( ... )
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A small white mat was laid out on the table already to protect the surface from boot scuffs and Aziraphale merely smiled.
"Right on time."
Sadly, no matter how prepared he was concerning Crowley, that didn't mean the predictions about the food were to be proven false. There was a small plate of rather soggy hobnobs2 and several bottles of a nice Chardonnay.
1. It was actually 4.12pm on a disappointingly rainy 17th of August in 6 B.C. that Aziraphale had learned this particular lesson and had made sure to adjust his sundial accordingly to save against future irritation.
2. Usually a hobnob was too high-class a biscuit for such a gathering, but the use-by date was tomorrow and they had spent rather too long in a damp cupboard, so their quality was lowered sufficiently for him to part with them
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He picked up a soggy hobnob between his thumb and forefinger, and watched it fold in on itself slowly before the loose half dropped pathetically onto the floor with a squelch.
"Biscuit tins exist for a reason, you know," he said conversationally, dropping the remaining pieces of hobnob back onto the plate and wiping the residue off on the side of the table.2
1. He'd seen it on a animal behaviour program once. Something with a woman and misbehaving dogs. He was certain the same logic would apply to angels, too.
2. And thus managed to stain the surface. That would serve the angel right for putting a mat there.
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"Be a dear and pick up what you've just dropped."
He smiled charmingly, his own tiny form of punishment for the demon dropping crumbs all over his floor. At least this way it would be Crowley having to pluck up the half-a-biscuit which by now would have accumulated at least three pieces of string and some dust.2
1. It was an interesting point to note that no polish or cleaning product ever claimed to be able to clean biscuit stains from polished wood. It was widely known, although not understood why, that this was one of the 0.0001% of stains that were utterly non-removable.
2. No matter how clean or well-kept a floor was, it was some part of the Ineffable Plan that any biscuit, chocolate bar or sandwich dropped on the floor would inevitably end with those items stuck to it within milliseconds.
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