Tadfield. Tadfield. Doorstep to the bookshop. Crowley stands unmoving a moment, eyes flicking to the left and right. Then he enters, trots into the back room. Flings himself onto the Victorian settee, snaps his fingers to swap into Aziraphale's tatty old brown cut velvet dressing gown. Aziraphale is drinking claret, pours Crowley a generous glassful and hands it to him. Crowley looks around, as if listening for something. Then a commanding bellow:
DeeDees! This bookshop is off limits to observation. Avaunt!
He waves his arm as he snaps his middle finger against his thumb. Outside, a dozen teen girls scatter into the street like a flock of small birds, rubbing their stinging noses.
Tch. Little pests!
Sometimes. At least they do follow orders.
Everything go swimmingly in London?
Crowley horse laughs.
I should have recorded it. Ammun is priceless. When Michael answered and put her phone on speaker for Gabriel, Ammun asked them if they were watching a movie together.
Cheek!
It went downhill from there. He got them to agree to let him debrief Hekla, bring her a new phone. Then told them, and I quote, "Tell Quartermaster to get off the mark and not dick around. I'll expect that phone to be waiting for me."
Aziraphale laughs in delight.
You don't say!
I'm starting to see your point about why they don't want him swaggering around the Main Office.
Indeed. Keep him sidelined on Earth.
Crowley takes a sip of wine and looks thoughtful.
Angel, have you considered that we now have a copy of the Heavenly Host's personnel files. An angel on tap who knows what's where in the Main Office building. Another angel who's hip to the power structure. A platoon of Disposable Demons. An angel who could cheerfully kick ass and take charge. And of course my human associates who, at this moment at least, have a fair amount of money and power according to Earthly reckoning.
Crowley. You're not plotting a raid of some sort.
Oh no. We don't have nearly the strength. Besides, Adam would never permit it. But if he ever decides to take action, I'm wondering if we can be there for him.
Not that he needs us, of course.
Actually, he does. He's in the same spot as The Almighty, if you look at it one way. Wants us to work it out for ourselves without outside interference.
Saves a good deal of micromanagement effort, I suppose. Keeping an eye on all those sparrows must get tiresome.
Crowley grins. And then his expression sobers.
There's Hell to consider, of course. Heaven isn't the only opposition team. I suspect you missed an implication of Eric and DeeDee's encounter in Beelzebub's office. That Legion possessed them.
Is that unusual, Crowley?
Legion withdrew from active participation in the Dark Council nearly two thousand years ago. She sleeps in a crypt somewhere in Pandemonium. I don't know where exactly, but am pretty sure the Disposable Demons do.
You don't say!
I do say. You remember what she was capable of back in the day.
My word, yes. Anything involving lots of fanged heads, she was there. Odysseus had that run-in with her. You know, I often find it amusing what humans record as myth versus what actually happened. They usually get it just backwards.
Yep. Look at Milton. Believed that biblical scribe who wrote that Satan tempted Eve, when it was good ol' me. I never get any press.
Why do you think Legion has awakened?
Crowley gives Aziraphale an intent stare.
Think about what happened Saturday night between Disposable Demon Eric and Hekla, Angel.
Oh dear lord. Divine Ecstasy.
Legion's already the peer of Beelzebub in Lucifer's command structure. Beelzebub controls from the top, Legion controls from the bottom. All those Disposable Demons.
Ah. Like thousands of Heklas.
More like a hundred thousand Heklas. Part of the furnishings. Observing and listening to everything, disregarded by all.
A formidable information network.
Just so. She's the flip side of Beelzebub. They work back-to-back for Lucifer.
Here, Crowley, let's finish the bottle.
They drink in silence for awhile.
Shall we start another, Crowley?
How about some tango practice instead. Something to take our minds off absolutely everything else.
Let's wear trousers. Kilts are a nuisance during lifts.
Finger snaps, and they're attired in their tailored slacks and shirts. Aziraphale in lavender puppytooth trousers and cream dress shirt. Open collar and no tie, but with cufflinks nonetheless. Crowley in pinstripes and his sleeveless black under shirt. Both are barefoot. They adjourn to the center of the bookshop.
I like that dance music you found last week. How did you dig up that one, anyway?
Well. I like that song you've been playing in the Bentley. So I looked on YouTube for more works by that group.
I'll bet that was an adventure.
My word, yes. The song is called, "Ddaeng." Believe it or not, it's the romantic orchestral version of a sassy little rap song. I liked the clever way the musician combined a traditional Korean stringed instrument with the synthetic orchestra. A sort of piquant spice to what I would ordinarily consider smushy elevator music. And the beat seemed perfect for tango.
Well then, cue the Sonos and let's get started. You lead. I don't want to have to make even one more decision today.
They work their way through several replays of the song, practicing various lifts and steps. Then:
Angel, let's do "Black Swan." Shirtless. I love feeling your cold arms against my body.
Crowley snaps his fingers to makes it so. Stands regarding the angel for a long moment, then snakes closer and runs his hands through Aziraphale's chest fuzz, up his neck, and into his wooly hair. Leans against the angel's body and does a serpentine writhe from his ankles upward. Aziraphale hugs him tightly. And that's as far into the dancing as they get. The rest of the night is spent in Divine Ecstasy.
YouTube RyU_l-hVw7w
