What is evil?
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Aziraphale and Crowley.
A/N: there is no authors note. It's a pretty straight forward story.
A Saturday evening in Soho, England. Everyone's favourite angel and demon have been drinking heavily for the last hour or so in the backroom of the bookstore. Their conversation has been wondering from volcanoes to buffalos to Bob Marley.
There was a slight pause while Crowley stood up and zigzagged over to the counter to grab an un-opened bottle of red wine. As he poured it into (and next to) Aziraphale's glass, he suddenly blurted out "I've always wanted to know why pitchforks are so damn evil."
Aziraphale gave him a funny stare and took a long sip from his glass. "Don't you mean trident?"
"Whatever." Growled Crowley as he flopped back on the couch in that sprawled-out position that he knew Aziraphale hated.
However, Aziraphale took no notice, he was lost in thought. "I guess…I guess it's because they are pointy." He shrugged, "Pointy things are evil."
"Whaaa? That makes no sense!" Said Crowley sitting up quickly.
"Like you're one to talk about what makes sense." Mumbled Aziraphale under his breath.
"Pardon?"
"Er…I said it's just another one of those crazy human ideas."
There was another, longer pause. Crowley had reclined back into his original sprawl. Aziraphale glared at him, but he took no notice. "…y'know…books are pointy." He said with a smirk.
"No! Well, yes…but those are more…more rounded p-- What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Crowley snorted and rolled his eyes. "Anywayssss…I still say 'No Woman No Cry' is not as good as 'Jammin'…"
End