Title; Book Sale
Author; Snowballjane
Disclaimer; Aziraphale and Crowley belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. The book auctioneers in this story are entirely fictional. Summary: Random acts of kindness. Well, everyone needs a hobby.
***
The plastic container was filled with a mushy brown substance that promised creamy coffee and chocolate-flavoured icy goodness. Aziraphale peered over the tops of his glasses at the figure that had just walked into the shop and plonked the drink on the counter. It looked like Crowley, moved like Crowley, was wearing Crowley's sunglasses.
However, random acts of kindness weren't really Crowley's thing.
"Er, what's this?" asked the angel.
"Mocha Froffee - some kind of frozen coffee thing from that place on the corner. I thought you'd like it," said Crowley, sipping from his own steaming cardboard coffee cup and jumping up to sit on the counter.
Aziraphale slurped some of the froffee thing through the straw that stood upright in the viscous fluid. Gosh, the stuff was good - especially on a day like today when London struggled to breathe in the thick sleepy heat. Obviously Crowley was after something.
He also, obviously, wasn't in a hurry about it, since he had picked up the auction catalogue Aziraphale had been absorbed in before he came into the shop and was lazily flicking through it.
"Ah, book porn," commented Crowley, leafing through the photographs of first editions and rare manuscripts that would be up for sale in West London that afternoon.
Aziraphale failed utterly to suppress his blush at Crowley's shockingly perceptive comment. He had spent most of the morning gazing at the pictures of the books, day-dreaming of owning them, of where he would shelve them, of reading them late in the night with a cup of congealed cocoa by his side.
"Angel!" gasped Crowley, his eyes wide in mock-shock. "Really."
"It's work," said Aziraphale, bristling defensively. "Have to keep an eye on the opposition you know."
"Well, quite," grinned Crowley, kicking his heels against the shop counter. "So, are you going to the auction?"
Aziraphale shuddered. "No, I don't think so. It doesn't really work."
"Why?"
"Well, for one, there's all that greed. Everyone is wanting the highest price or the best bargain and it's my duty to make them think about the better things the money could be spent on, and it just comes automatically you see, so I end up getting better prices because I influenced them even if I really didn't mean to and that's not fair practice from a business point-of-view. Too much conflict of interest in the end."
Crowley was frowning as he caught up with the convoluted but incontrovertible logic. "So what's the other reason?"
"Ugh. That's even worse. See, the people who are running the auction also run a bookshop, which in itself is a conflict of interest that shouldn't be allowed. Sometimes they try to skew the sale so that various things won't sell, then the person putting the item up for auction will sell it to their bookshop at a bargain price.
"They're ripping people off and none of them care a jot about the books," he tailed off grumpily.
"Gosh, look at the time, I must be going," said Crowley, dropping down from the counter and not even bothering, Aziraphale noticed, to pretend to look at his watch before attempting to escape his company. He slurped at the last of his froffee and brandished the empty carton before the demon was able to flee through the door.
"So what was this stuff all about then? What am I being bribed to do?"
Actually the demon looked a little embarrassed, as if he'd been caught out doing something he shouldn't. As bribery and corruption were part of Crowley's job description that could only mean one thing. Aziraphale could have kicked himself - the demon had done something genuinely nice for him and he'd gone and made him feel bad about it.
"Er, call it tempting practice Angel. But you're too easy really."
He could have let it go. Given how guilty he already felt, he wanted to let it go. But some things have to be said.
"I hardly think it counts as tempting when it's fair trade," he said.
Crowley spluttered and looked in horror at the FF logo emblazoned on his now-empty cardboard coffee cup.
"Now, now Crowley," said Aziraphale comfortingly. "It's not as if it's Holy Coffee. I'm sure it can't do you any harm."
"But . but it was good coffee," spat Crowley. "That fair trade stuff's supposed to be undrinkable."
"Not any more." Aziraphale felt profoundly smug about his intervention in this particular field.
Crowley left the shop, muttering something about needing to go and have a word with the boys at Nestle.
***
Crowley paced the street outside the West London auction house, waiting for the doors to open.
'Well, why not?' he thought. He'd been feeling under the weather lately. No- one had the energy to be seriously sinful with all this heat, and the idea that England was actually having a summer this year had caused a wave of good cheer across the capital.
Ok, lust was on the up, what with all the young women wandering about in strappy dresses and sloth was very popular, with people lying around sunbathing in the parks. But the idea of a roomful of avarice had called out to him. Crooked book dealers and grasping collectors would be just the pick-me-up he needed.
It didn't disappoint. The auction room oozed with self-satisfied wealth and hummed with the desire to add to it. Crowley could sense real lust in the room - but it wasn't anything like Aziraphale's ridiculous longing to hold and read and protect the books in the catalogue. Most of these people wanted to own, wanted the status, wanted to see the value of their property appreciate.
The sale began. It was fascinating stuff. Crowley could almost see the customers' souls tarnishing as the desire to acquire built up to an uncontrollable passion. True, bitter, hatreds were born out of shared loves of a particular object.
Gradually, as he became attuned to the way the auction worked on people's minds, Crowley began to intervene. Nothing using his actual powers, just the odd bid here and there.
Anger increased exponentially. Several dealers would go home later and take out their failure to make a purchase on family and friends. One buyer who entered into a bidding war with Crowley would be forced to take out a loan, which he would later have to take very, very drastic action to extricate himself from. One seller would do so well out of the sale of his rather dubiously acquired book collection that the drug trade would actually notice the bounce in business.
At the end of the sale, Crowley found, almost to his own surprise, that he had purchased several very interesting lots, including a small blue bible with marginal notes by some poet or other and the manuscript of a fifteenth century tract on the probable location of Eden (which made very amusing reading for anyone who knew the truth of the matter).
He had the auctioneers wrap them in thick paper and place them in two carrier bags for him, unwilling to take the chance of injuring his fingers on the bible. He'd touched copies before that burned demon flesh like acid.
He handed over his credit card and chuckled to himself at the expenses claim he would have to make for this one. Actually, even given the shocking price of the books, he considered that he'd probably got his money's worth sin-wise.
Well, since he had the books, he may as well take them to where they were wanted. He set off in the direction of Soho.
The End
Disclaimer; Aziraphale and Crowley belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. The book auctioneers in this story are entirely fictional. Summary: Random acts of kindness. Well, everyone needs a hobby.
***
The plastic container was filled with a mushy brown substance that promised creamy coffee and chocolate-flavoured icy goodness. Aziraphale peered over the tops of his glasses at the figure that had just walked into the shop and plonked the drink on the counter. It looked like Crowley, moved like Crowley, was wearing Crowley's sunglasses.
However, random acts of kindness weren't really Crowley's thing.
"Er, what's this?" asked the angel.
"Mocha Froffee - some kind of frozen coffee thing from that place on the corner. I thought you'd like it," said Crowley, sipping from his own steaming cardboard coffee cup and jumping up to sit on the counter.
Aziraphale slurped some of the froffee thing through the straw that stood upright in the viscous fluid. Gosh, the stuff was good - especially on a day like today when London struggled to breathe in the thick sleepy heat. Obviously Crowley was after something.
He also, obviously, wasn't in a hurry about it, since he had picked up the auction catalogue Aziraphale had been absorbed in before he came into the shop and was lazily flicking through it.
"Ah, book porn," commented Crowley, leafing through the photographs of first editions and rare manuscripts that would be up for sale in West London that afternoon.
Aziraphale failed utterly to suppress his blush at Crowley's shockingly perceptive comment. He had spent most of the morning gazing at the pictures of the books, day-dreaming of owning them, of where he would shelve them, of reading them late in the night with a cup of congealed cocoa by his side.
"Angel!" gasped Crowley, his eyes wide in mock-shock. "Really."
"It's work," said Aziraphale, bristling defensively. "Have to keep an eye on the opposition you know."
"Well, quite," grinned Crowley, kicking his heels against the shop counter. "So, are you going to the auction?"
Aziraphale shuddered. "No, I don't think so. It doesn't really work."
"Why?"
"Well, for one, there's all that greed. Everyone is wanting the highest price or the best bargain and it's my duty to make them think about the better things the money could be spent on, and it just comes automatically you see, so I end up getting better prices because I influenced them even if I really didn't mean to and that's not fair practice from a business point-of-view. Too much conflict of interest in the end."
Crowley was frowning as he caught up with the convoluted but incontrovertible logic. "So what's the other reason?"
"Ugh. That's even worse. See, the people who are running the auction also run a bookshop, which in itself is a conflict of interest that shouldn't be allowed. Sometimes they try to skew the sale so that various things won't sell, then the person putting the item up for auction will sell it to their bookshop at a bargain price.
"They're ripping people off and none of them care a jot about the books," he tailed off grumpily.
"Gosh, look at the time, I must be going," said Crowley, dropping down from the counter and not even bothering, Aziraphale noticed, to pretend to look at his watch before attempting to escape his company. He slurped at the last of his froffee and brandished the empty carton before the demon was able to flee through the door.
"So what was this stuff all about then? What am I being bribed to do?"
Actually the demon looked a little embarrassed, as if he'd been caught out doing something he shouldn't. As bribery and corruption were part of Crowley's job description that could only mean one thing. Aziraphale could have kicked himself - the demon had done something genuinely nice for him and he'd gone and made him feel bad about it.
"Er, call it tempting practice Angel. But you're too easy really."
He could have let it go. Given how guilty he already felt, he wanted to let it go. But some things have to be said.
"I hardly think it counts as tempting when it's fair trade," he said.
Crowley spluttered and looked in horror at the FF logo emblazoned on his now-empty cardboard coffee cup.
"Now, now Crowley," said Aziraphale comfortingly. "It's not as if it's Holy Coffee. I'm sure it can't do you any harm."
"But . but it was good coffee," spat Crowley. "That fair trade stuff's supposed to be undrinkable."
"Not any more." Aziraphale felt profoundly smug about his intervention in this particular field.
Crowley left the shop, muttering something about needing to go and have a word with the boys at Nestle.
***
Crowley paced the street outside the West London auction house, waiting for the doors to open.
'Well, why not?' he thought. He'd been feeling under the weather lately. No- one had the energy to be seriously sinful with all this heat, and the idea that England was actually having a summer this year had caused a wave of good cheer across the capital.
Ok, lust was on the up, what with all the young women wandering about in strappy dresses and sloth was very popular, with people lying around sunbathing in the parks. But the idea of a roomful of avarice had called out to him. Crooked book dealers and grasping collectors would be just the pick-me-up he needed.
It didn't disappoint. The auction room oozed with self-satisfied wealth and hummed with the desire to add to it. Crowley could sense real lust in the room - but it wasn't anything like Aziraphale's ridiculous longing to hold and read and protect the books in the catalogue. Most of these people wanted to own, wanted the status, wanted to see the value of their property appreciate.
The sale began. It was fascinating stuff. Crowley could almost see the customers' souls tarnishing as the desire to acquire built up to an uncontrollable passion. True, bitter, hatreds were born out of shared loves of a particular object.
Gradually, as he became attuned to the way the auction worked on people's minds, Crowley began to intervene. Nothing using his actual powers, just the odd bid here and there.
Anger increased exponentially. Several dealers would go home later and take out their failure to make a purchase on family and friends. One buyer who entered into a bidding war with Crowley would be forced to take out a loan, which he would later have to take very, very drastic action to extricate himself from. One seller would do so well out of the sale of his rather dubiously acquired book collection that the drug trade would actually notice the bounce in business.
At the end of the sale, Crowley found, almost to his own surprise, that he had purchased several very interesting lots, including a small blue bible with marginal notes by some poet or other and the manuscript of a fifteenth century tract on the probable location of Eden (which made very amusing reading for anyone who knew the truth of the matter).
He had the auctioneers wrap them in thick paper and place them in two carrier bags for him, unwilling to take the chance of injuring his fingers on the bible. He'd touched copies before that burned demon flesh like acid.
He handed over his credit card and chuckled to himself at the expenses claim he would have to make for this one. Actually, even given the shocking price of the books, he considered that he'd probably got his money's worth sin-wise.
Well, since he had the books, he may as well take them to where they were wanted. He set off in the direction of Soho.
The End