Tadfield. Madame Tracy's Tea Shop. Janet, Georgia, and Aziraphale are seated around the window table, each enjoying an éclair with their teas (Aziraphale has stuck with a traditional Earl Grey). Crowley blows in.
Ah! There you are, Angel. You didn't answer your phone. I was afraid you'd be biking around somewhere with that crew of yours. 'Lo Janet. 'Lo Georgia.
Pepper called to say eclairs were in, so I shooed out the two browers and closed the shop early.
Crowley pulls out a chair and sits next to Aziraphale. Takes the half-eaten éclair off the angel's plate and munches it down in two unmistakably lewd lip-smacking bites as he and Aziraphale gaze at one another. He turns to look at the counter.
I see she still has a few left.
Crowley rises and goes over to purchase the remaining eclairs. Aziraphale turns to see Janet and Georgia smiling at him with high amusement. His cheeks turn pink.
Well. Yes. Crowley does greatly enjoy that particular pastry.
Crowley returns with a small box and one éclair in a tissue paper in his hand. He puts the éclair on Aziraphale's plate.
Here, Angel, a replacement for you.
Thank you, my dear.
Aziraphale, Janet and Crowley tuck into their pastries while Crowley helps himself to the angel's tea cup. The contents of which mysteriously turn the color of a light scotch. Crowley sips the cupful while the other three consume their éclairs. Aziraphale looks at him. Crowley gulps down the last mouthful, pours the last cup from the pot and puts it back alongside the angel's plate. Aziraphale takes a sip. Smiles. Georgia takes a final bite of éclair and a sip of tea, dabs a paper serviette to her lips.
Janet and I have a present for you, Crowley. We were chatting with Aziraphale last week when he mentioned that you prefer to relax with minimal clothing. How it made him feel chilly just to look at you.
Crowley turns and gives Aziraphale an intent look. The angel's pink cheeks take on a deeper crimson.
Just small talk among friends, Crowley. Please don't get shirty.
Janet reaches into her bag and extracts a soft package wrapped in leftover Christmas paper. Hands it to Crowley.
Janet and I were in this interesting little shop in London a few days ago. We saw this, and immediately thought you both might enjoy it.
He starts to unwrap the gift.
Oh! No! Unwrap it later!
Too late. Crowley holds up and examines what appears to be a piece of fluffy angora knitting. A long tube with a pompom at the end, extending from one side of a pouch with a tasseled knit tie cord. Aziraphale is now scarlet. Crowley laughs so loudly that heads turn. He quickly tucks the special sock into a pocket.
Well now that's just tickety-boo, as Angel might say. Thank you both for such a delightfully thoughtful gift. When you're finished with that éclair, Angel, we'll go try this out.
Aziraphale is now a flaming picture of exasperated embarrassment. Nonetheless graces Crowley with a loving wry smile. Janet and Georgia rise.
Well, we must be off. Mr. Pickersgill has arranged for an after-work Evensong service, and we promised to attend. The Altar Society ladies have been practicing for weeks. This is the dress rehearsal for Sunday.
I'm sure you'll have a lovely time.
Ciao.
The two women leave. A few moments later Crowley and Aziraphale rise to exit. Azirapale turns to Pepper and DeeDee behind the counter.
See you tomorrow, my dears.
Once the pair have gone, Pepper and DeeDee exchange looks. Pepper rolls her eyes. The two teens burst into giggles.
Backroom of the bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley are seated close together on the little Victorian settee, feet resting upon the hassock. Aziraphale is wearing his tatty old brown cut velvet dressing gown, Crowley his sinfully soft ultraviolet fleece Italian sweater. And the gift sock. They're sipping their way through a bottle of port. Crowley magics the qiviut blanket atop them.
There now. Snug as two bugs in a rug. Perfect for a little practice on your new phone.
He magics a slim little phone into his hand. Gives it to Aziraphale, who accepts it reluctantly. Crowley magics his own phone into his hand.
I've been thinking, Angel. I wonder if your dislike of modern phones is because you consider them as telephones.
What do you mean, Crowley? Of course they're telephones.
Actually, they're not, Angel. They may have started out as mobile phones. But nowadays these little machines are more accurately viewed as computers. They replace all sorts of gadgets in one tidy little package.
Such as cameras?
Yes. And calculators. And calendars. And lots of other things. I suspect you find them irritating as a phone because you miss the ease of knowing how to do a simple task such as dialing a number.
I suppose so.
What did you used to do when you called someone and they didn't answer?
I made a note to call them back.
On paper?
Yes. In a calendar ledger on my desk.
And what if they called back while you were out?
I didn't know.
Humans used to call that phone tag.
Well, once they invented answering machines it became a bit easier.
Had an answering machine, did you?
Oh no.
Just left messages on other people's machines?
Aziraphale looks shifty.
I simply hung up. Figured if the caller really wanted to get hold of me, eventually they would.
I'm guessing you still do that, only now with voicemail, am I correct?
Well . . . yes.
Crowley thinks a moment.
Back when I was entertaining Ligur and Hastur during their little visit, you called me. Remember?
Yes. I was desperate to tell you where the Antichrist was.
But you got my answering machine.
I didn't realize it was an answering machine.
Because I always picked up the first or second ring from you, didn't I.
Aziraphale gazes at him for a long thoughtful moment.
We were such asses, weren't we, Crowley. In total denial.
Yep. But that's all over now.
The demon gives the angel a smooch.
Tell you what, Angel. Let's play a little game. We'll call it The Phone Jungle. I'll use my phone to show you how to do something. You then do it on your phone, and we'll celebrate with a sip of port.
And a smooch.
Even better. Let's start right from the basics. Then we'll branch out into the weeds from there.
Two hours later they've finished a second bottle of port and are both a trifle tiddly.
. . . Good job. You've mastered the camera basics. Imagine how astonished your bike crew will be when you ask to them to bunch up so you can take a selfie. No need to have DeeDee take pics for you.
I swear that child has her phone welded to her palm. When we go bicycling she rides no hands and chats on the thing.
They both drain their glasses.
Whew. I'm feeling as if I'm about to melt under this blanket.
Crowley flips his half of the blanket over Aziraphale. Turns his head as he places his empty glass on the small end table. During which moment the angel snaps a pic of the angora crotch sock.
Angel, what did you just do?
Aziraphale shows him. Then holds his phone before his own face and hovers a finger over the screen.
Shall I send it to Georgia and Janet?
Dammit –
Too late.
A few moments later the phone vibrates and a message notice from Georgia displays. Aziraphale swipes to open it. He and Crowley see: "Probably best to not let it get so stretched out."
Crowley takes the phone, replies:
I've been helping Aziraphale learn his way around his new cell phone. And the first thing he does when left unsupervised for a mere second is take a dick pic.
No worries. We probably won't have it framed to hang over the couch. Resume drinking. Bye. [various smileys and devil emojis]
Crowley gazes at his smugly pleased angel.
Gold star for extra credit, Aziraphale. You've mastered drunk texting. Have I told you recently that you're a bit of a bastard?
No, my dear. Kiss me and tell me that. Also tell me I'm a bad angel. A very bad angel.
Aziraphale pulls the bow tie loose from Crowley's angora sock and removes it.
[And here the authorial drone flies off to a chapter in Crowley Gets A New Look. Or maybe out the window. Stay tuned.]