A/N: No excuse for this little piece of pure insanity.
Title: HOW DO YOU PLEAD
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"Consorting with demonflesh of the lowest degree. How find you Aziraphale, cherubim?"
"Erm...guilty?"
"And thus you have it, oh Lord. Shall such a crime go unpunished?"
"Well, dear chap, I really must pro..."
"SILENCE! The words of the Lord shall be unhindered by filth spewing from your lips."
"..."
"Aziraphale, cherubim, were you consorting in a Biblical sense with the demon Crawly?"
"I'm afraid you're a little behind the times, he's changed his name to Crowley. Quite an impro..."
"SILENCE!!!"
"..."
"Answer the question!"
"Well, dear chap, you just told me to...erm, yes, well, yes, to the question, I mean, how else..."
"And he admits his guilt oh Lord, shall such a heinous act go uncleansed by the might of Your...Lord, you cannot mean to...no, no, I would never dream of questioning...but, the evidence, and the confession, he SAID it himself...OF COURSE he knew...no, no, I dare not question..."
"..."
"..."
"It was nice seeing you, Metatron sir." (said to an empty circle on the floor)
"Crowley, stop that, you're strangling me! ...well yes, but it's the thought that counts."
"Well, someone should just have a nice cup of tea, but it was all fine. He asked me a few questions on consorting and Biblical senses, then let me go. The chap was arguing with himself at the end, very strange really...and Crowley, why are you rolling on the ground that way?"
"OF COURSE I knew what I was saying! You'd think 'consorting' was a swear word the way you and the Voice said it. And how else would we interact? Not in an Australian sense, perish the thought!"
"And I'm quite sure that that must hurt, because the floor is really quite hard."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*grins* I love Clueless!Aziraphale and his miffed British sensibilities.
If you review I'll give you a Famine/anyone fic (an idea already swimming in my convoluted mind)
*
Title: HOW DO YOU PLEAD
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Consorting with demonflesh of the lowest degree. How find you Aziraphale, cherubim?"
"Erm...guilty?"
"And thus you have it, oh Lord. Shall such a crime go unpunished?"
"Well, dear chap, I really must pro..."
"SILENCE! The words of the Lord shall be unhindered by filth spewing from your lips."
"..."
"Aziraphale, cherubim, were you consorting in a Biblical sense with the demon Crawly?"
"I'm afraid you're a little behind the times, he's changed his name to Crowley. Quite an impro..."
"SILENCE!!!"
"..."
"Answer the question!"
"Well, dear chap, you just told me to...erm, yes, well, yes, to the question, I mean, how else..."
"And he admits his guilt oh Lord, shall such a heinous act go uncleansed by the might of Your...Lord, you cannot mean to...no, no, I would never dream of questioning...but, the evidence, and the confession, he SAID it himself...OF COURSE he knew...no, no, I dare not question..."
"..."
"..."
"It was nice seeing you, Metatron sir." (said to an empty circle on the floor)
"Crowley, stop that, you're strangling me! ...well yes, but it's the thought that counts."
"Well, someone should just have a nice cup of tea, but it was all fine. He asked me a few questions on consorting and Biblical senses, then let me go. The chap was arguing with himself at the end, very strange really...and Crowley, why are you rolling on the ground that way?"
"OF COURSE I knew what I was saying! You'd think 'consorting' was a swear word the way you and the Voice said it. And how else would we interact? Not in an Australian sense, perish the thought!"
"And I'm quite sure that that must hurt, because the floor is really quite hard."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*grins* I love Clueless!Aziraphale and his miffed British sensibilities.
If you review I'll give you a Famine/anyone fic (an idea already swimming in my convoluted mind)
*