Disclaimer: I own nothing but the character of Franz. And, fyi, the inclusion of Seth Cohen in this chapter is probably not going to be anything extended or significant in other chapters; it's just there to entertain me.
"Aziraphale, how are you? It's been years!" The son of Zeus gave him a hug around the middle.
"Hello, Franz," said Aziraphale, patting his cousin awkwardly on the back. "It has been, hasn't it?" He knew very well it had been at least five years -- since Franz's funeral -- that they had seen each other. "Well, er, have a seat, will you? How goes it in Purgatory?"
Franz sighed lightly. "As always, I suppose. Not all of us are so lucky as to work around here." He smiled genially. "The support group is getting quite lively... A young girl just joined the group a few months ago and she's having a terrible time of it, poor dear."
"How young?"
"Sixteen."
"Oh, my."
"I know. Tragic, tragic story; apparently her cat was quite fat."
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. "Don't tell me the cat...!"
Franz nodded sadly. "Poor girl, it settled on her chest while she was sleeping and blocked her airways. Heavy sleeper, you know. She refuses to let it go, the dear. Keeps insisting the cat wouldn't've done something like that." Pause. "Ah, well. Debbie says hello, by the way. How's the bookshop going? How's, er..." Franz hesitated, the mild expression on his face flickering for a moment. "How's your friend?"
"He's fine," Aziraphale spoke curtly. "The bookshop as well. Now, dear boy, I don't mean to sound rude, but what are you doing here?"
"Vacation. Over There we don't really have the, well, power to hand out commendations, so they said to take a few days off instead." His smile faltered for a moment.
"You know," pondered Aziraphale, "I've never quite understood why exactly you work there."
Franz chuckled warmly. "Job's a job, eh, Zira?"
It was approximately four in the afternoon and Crowley found himself sitting alone at the Ritz. Savagely he bit into a raspberry scone. This was depressing. Perhaps later he would go home and take it out on the houseplants.
Suddenly a teenage boy came up from behind him and plopped in the seat opposite. Now, Crowley had seen a lot of things in the millennia he'd been on Earth, but not once had a stranger just gone and sat at his table. Lesser men, or rather men-shaped creatures, might have gibbered. Crowley, however, merely took another bite of scone and inquired as politely as possible what on bloody Earth did he think he was doing.
The stranger, who appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen, gave him a sympathetic look. "You seemed a smidgen down, buddy," he said by way of explanation. "Now, my counseling skills have come in handy quite often when my brother was brooding, so I thought I could be of some help." He smiled brightly.
Crowley put on his best Are You Kidding Me face and cocked an eyebrow.
"All righty then, I tried. It's not like I have anything better to do." The teenager went to get up, then hesitated. "You're sure you aren't covertly dying to spill your deepest, darkest secrets to a complete and utter stranger? No?" Crowley raised the other eyebrow. "Okay, fine, I tried. Uh, have a nice day," he added awkwardly.
"What's your name, kid?"
The boy turned around in surprise. "Uh, Seth. Seth Cohen at your service." He pretended to give a tiny salute.
"You're a very weird kid, Seth, are you aware of that?"
Seth bobbed his head around in what the demon took to be a nod. "Yeah, yeah, I've actually heard that before. Several times, in fact. It's a wonder that I have a girlfriend at all, guv'nor. Then again she is not talking to me right now, hence why I'm at the Ritz by myself..." Crowley sensed that this rambling could continue on for some time and ceased it with a stealthy gesture that suddenly caused Seth to open his mouth repeatedly, fishlike, trying to discover where his voice had got to. His eyes shot to the demon's shades; judging by the shiver that passed across his face, it had occurred to him that the sunglasses might not be just for UV protection. In short, he came as close to dithering as it was possible without actually dithering, a feat that surprised himself. His mouth fell open again.
Crowley tapped his fingers against the table and Seth let out a squeak. "Um." The demon nudged the sunglasses up his nose. "You -- well, um -- you know we're inside, right? Right, of course you do. Well. Sunglasses aren't always that necessary when indoors." To occupy his fingers he ran a hand through his mass of brown curls -- not the best idea. Hair stuck up all over his head, tornadolike. If Adam Young had curls that didn't belong in the twentieth century, then Seth Cohen had curls that didn't belong in any century. Period.
"Are you insinuating that I take these off?" hissed the demon, indicating the sunglasses.
"However you so feel inclined." Immediately Seth wished he hadn't said that. Approximately one second later Seth was beyond wishing -- every crevice of his mind, every nook and cranny in his brain, was paralyzed from the sight of what lay behind the sunglasses. Had he been able to think, he would have thought he was having a brain aneurysm.
Crowley slid the shades back and grinned devilishly. "You okay?" The American nodded vaguely, eyes clouded. "Still inclined to shell out advice?" Another vague nod. "Just ducky, then." The overt sarcasm in his voice dropped a few notches. "Yesterday I got drunk, slobbered all over a friend, and it didn't turn out all that mutual. What d'you have to say about that, doctor?"
In his near-catatonic state Seth mumbled a response. Rolling his eyes, the demon tapped his fingers on the table. "That sucks," the boy echoed louder. "Go back and apologize. The question is, do you value the friendship over something more?" His head clunked onto the table.
"Bugger all this for a lark," Crowley muttered. "Americans are so bloody nosy." He got up and strode off, snapping his fingers.
Several yards away, over at the table, Seth lifted his head up and looked around dazedly.