It was a dark and stormy night.
Crowley despised nights that were dark and stormy. There was something so cliché about them that wasn't his style. If he was a writer (which he was not) he would have preferred to describe it as the kind of night where demons and nightmares stalked the streets in persuit of stray souls.
He'd loved to have described it like that – but it wasn't true.
For one thing, Anthony J. Crowley did not stalk. He sauntered, swaggered or on rare occasions, slithered. For another, lost souls were too scarce. Most had already been bought by Sony or Microsoft before Crowley got the chance to go near them. Anyway, he would not even consider going outside in high gales and sleet for fear of ruining his hair. Granted, he could have willed it perfect again in the blink of an eye but that was not the point. He would know it had been ruined.
So, in all fairness, if Crowley was to honestly describe the night as something other than dark and stormy, he would have to say that it was the kind of night that nightmares and demons sat in small warm restaurants half-listening to Angels ranting and watching the rain pour down outside.
When Aziraphale ranted, the best thing to do was keep a sombre expression and jump in when the obligatory "it's ineffable, though. You can't argue with ineffability," cropped up…
"It's because I'm sexless, you know," said Aziraphale.
… well, except on those rare occasions when he phrased something unusually enough to catch Crowley by the attention span.
"I'm sorry?" said Crowley.
"I can't even go swimming because of it. Do you know most of the pool changing rooms in Birmingham don't have cubicles? Just a bench going right around the wall and a table in the middle. I mean, it's so obvious that someone's got to notice!" continued Aziraphale, "and swimming is quite peaceful."
"Oh?" said Crowley, feeling as though he was floundering helplessly himself.
"And when I look in the mirror it's obvious to me … but that's probably because no-one else really pays attention …" Aziraphale sighed and shovelled a heaped teaspoonful of brown sugar into his tea, a sure sign of a distraught Angel.
"… I don't quite follow,"
said Crowley.
"You haven't been listening to a word I've said for the last ten minutes, have
you?" asked Aziraphale accusingly.
"I have! You've been complaining about swimming pool changing rooms and mirrors!" said Crowley. "And not having sex or something!"
"… sexless, Crowley, sexless. As in, genderless. My new trousers won't fit. Honestly," said Aziraphale exasperatedly. "And they're lovely trousers, really, it's a pity."