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2 BC, Bethlehem
"Fancy seeing you here," Crowley said, right as Aziraphale was negotiating with the innkeeper for a set of rooms, telling him to absolutely not give them away to anyone for any reason, except only to–
Aziraphale turned around, startled for a moment, then relieved. "Oh, it's you."
"Not up to anything important, are you?" I'm a demon. I lied. That's what Crowley had said when they were discussing the loneliness of going along with their respective sides just as much as they needed to. A few centuries later, Crowley still thought about that moment and the expression on Aziraphale's face. He also thought that perhaps, just perhaps, the answer to that loneliness was– ... nah. Crowley was only there to tempt the angel away from an important job. He leaned against the wall of the inn. "So, you've tried food. An ox rib. How about a glass of wine?"
There was a moment's pause while Aziraphale thought about it. Well, the room at the inn had been reserved. His task was technically done. A little glass of wine (or two) wouldn't hurt. "Fine," he said, with a semblance of being put upon, though he then smiled at Crowley1.
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"Fancy seeing you here," Crowley said, right as Aziraphale was negotiating with the innkeeper for a set of rooms, telling him to absolutely not give them away to anyone for any reason, except only to–
Aziraphale turned around, startled for a moment, then relieved. "Oh, it's you."
"Not up to anything important, are you?" I'm a demon. I lied. That's what Crowley had said when they were discussing the loneliness of going along with their respective sides just as much as they needed to. A few centuries later, Crowley still thought about that moment and the expression on Aziraphale's face. He also thought that perhaps, just perhaps, the answer to that loneliness was– ... nah. Crowley was only there to tempt the angel away from an important job. He leaned against the wall of the inn. "So, you've tried food. An ox rib. How about a glass of wine?"
There was a moment's pause while Aziraphale thought about it. Well, the room at the inn had been reserved. His task was technically done. A little glass of wine (or two) wouldn't hurt. "Fine," he said, with a semblance of being put upon, though he then smiled at Crowley1.
( Read more... )