Outside, Crowley stormed out of the vehicle, glaring at the car parked in front of him that, yes, he had dinged on purpose—it was too close to HIS spot, after all. Naturally the Bentley was perfectly fine. He threw open the door of the shop—its lock never bothered to try and stop him—and yelled, “Angel?!”
Crowley stomped through the store. “Aziraphale! I can sense you in there, there’s no use not answering!”
With a resigned sigh, Aziraphale asked, “And are you finally here to explain how this contraption you got for me works?”
“No,” the demon replied shortly as he headed over to his counterpart and grabbed his wrist, tugging.
“What in the blazes—what is the matter with you?”
“Come ON.” He continued to pull, backpedaling toward the door.
Putting his heels down, Aziraphale frowned. “I refuse to go anywhere until you tell me what's the matter, Crowley!”
The demon gave him a put-upon, impatient look. “Just get in the car. We’re going somewhere. Hurry up.”
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “You're not taking me to one of those ‘fun places’ that ends up being little more than a brothel, are you? Because I WILL smite you this time.”
Had he currently been using the angel’s laptop to chat with someone, Crowley would have described the look that went over his face as -_-;.
“Don't give me that look - it's a legitimate concern.”
“That was one time in the seventh century. Oh, and if you count that place in Paris. But that's not what this is about—this is serious. Come on, we're wasting time.”
“Serious? Will we be coming BACK?”
Crowley looked at Aziraphale over his sunglasses. “Probably.” A pause and then he added. “I hope so.”
“... ... ... Allow me to grab some things and I suppose we shall be on our way. You WILL explain this to me in the car, won't you?” The angel began fetching some of his better books.
The demon leaned against the door frame, ever the picture of cool, Flash impatience. “You're bringing your books?” he asked, neglecting to mention the collection of houseplants in the boot of the Bentley. Aziraphale didn’t answer, so Crowley crossed his arms and watched. First Aziraphale grabbed his Oscar Wilde books, then his tea set, then some biscuits for the road, and then his laptop.
“ANGEL.”
Ignoring the oh-so-cool yet beginning to become irate demon in the doorway, Aziraphale grabbed his rarest collection of Bibles and Apocalypse predictions, then the Greek classics, The Faire Queen by Spenser, and the complete works of Shakespeare.
“Any time now.”
The desk the angel was stacking the books on was beginning to sag. “Hmm.” After a moment, he put back the doubles of Shakespeare. “Hush, Crowley, that’s a dear.”
Again, the only way to describe the look on the demon’s face had he been using the laptop would have been with an emoticon, specifically >_<.
“It might be cold where we’re going,” the avid planner Aziraphale muttered to himself, collecting a few blankets off of his ancient couch. Those grabbed, he picked up his Hemingway collection and a little statuette set of an angel and a demon who are holding hands along with his knitting set.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Crowley muttered, and then stared at the figurine. “What the—what is THAT?”
“Hmm?” Aziraphale dithered a moment and then began taking all the books off the shelves. “Oh, I saw it at one of those little boutiques downtown. Isn't it adorable?”
“… … …” was the demon’s only response.
“Do you plan on making yourself useful or are you going to simply stare at me?” Aziraphale asked as he raided his wine and chocolate repositories, adding them to the pile.
“I plan on going to the car and leaving in about five seconds, with or without you,” Crowley replied. He was, despite himself, amused at the angel’s choice to bring wine and chocolate—though he had his own stash of alcohol in the miraculously large boot.
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Date: Saturday, 2 May 2009 04:36 (UTC)Crowley stomped through the store. “Aziraphale! I can sense you in there, there’s no use not answering!”
With a resigned sigh, Aziraphale asked, “And are you finally here to explain how this contraption you got for me works?”
“No,” the demon replied shortly as he headed over to his counterpart and grabbed his wrist, tugging.
“What in the blazes—what is the matter with you?”
“Come ON.” He continued to pull, backpedaling toward the door.
Putting his heels down, Aziraphale frowned. “I refuse to go anywhere until you tell me what's the matter, Crowley!”
The demon gave him a put-upon, impatient look. “Just get in the car. We’re going somewhere. Hurry up.”
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “You're not taking me to one of those ‘fun places’ that ends up being little more than a brothel, are you? Because I WILL smite you this time.”
Had he currently been using the angel’s laptop to chat with someone, Crowley would have described the look that went over his face as -_-;.
“Don't give me that look - it's a legitimate concern.”
“That was one time in the seventh century. Oh, and if you count that place in Paris. But that's not what this is about—this is serious. Come on, we're wasting time.”
“Serious? Will we be coming BACK?”
Crowley looked at Aziraphale over his sunglasses. “Probably.” A pause and then he added. “I hope so.”
“... ... ... Allow me to grab some things and I suppose we shall be on our way. You WILL explain this to me in the car, won't you?” The angel began fetching some of his better books.
The demon leaned against the door frame, ever the picture of cool, Flash impatience. “You're bringing your books?” he asked, neglecting to mention the collection of houseplants in the boot of the Bentley. Aziraphale didn’t answer, so Crowley crossed his arms and watched. First Aziraphale grabbed his Oscar Wilde books, then his tea set, then some biscuits for the road, and then his laptop.
“ANGEL.”
Ignoring the oh-so-cool yet beginning to become irate demon in the doorway, Aziraphale grabbed his rarest collection of Bibles and Apocalypse predictions, then the Greek classics, The Faire Queen by Spenser, and the complete works of Shakespeare.
“Any time now.”
The desk the angel was stacking the books on was beginning to sag. “Hmm.” After a moment, he put back the doubles of Shakespeare. “Hush, Crowley, that’s a dear.”
Again, the only way to describe the look on the demon’s face had he been using the laptop would have been with an emoticon, specifically >_<.
“It might be cold where we’re going,” the avid planner Aziraphale muttered to himself, collecting a few blankets off of his ancient couch. Those grabbed, he picked up his Hemingway collection and a little statuette set of an angel and a demon who are holding hands along with his knitting set.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Crowley muttered, and then stared at the figurine. “What the—what is THAT?”
“Hmm?” Aziraphale dithered a moment and then began taking all the books off the shelves. “Oh, I saw it at one of those little boutiques downtown. Isn't it adorable?”
“… … …” was the demon’s only response.
“Do you plan on making yourself useful or are you going to simply stare at me?” Aziraphale asked as he raided his wine and chocolate repositories, adding them to the pile.
“I plan on going to the car and leaving in about five seconds, with or without you,” Crowley replied. He was, despite himself, amused at the angel’s choice to bring wine and chocolate—though he had his own stash of alcohol in the miraculously large boot.