Title: Greetings
Author's Notes: Short Good Omens fic. Sort of humour, though not particularly humourous. Not particularly good, either, but it makes me happy so 'nyah nyah nyah' (or something equally pedantic). Inspired by a card I found in my desk drawer. Thanks to Aye for uploading this and being generally awesome!
P.S. Reviews are almost better than ketchup.
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Crowley strode purposefully between the shelves of the corner market. Behind him, several displays of canned corn, painstakingly stacked, clattered to the floor. He heard a salesperson swear loudly, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. He was just about to leave, considering it a job well done, when something next to the checkout counter caught his eye. His smirk evolved into a full-fledged grin.
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Three to five business days later, Aziraphale flipped through his post. Book order, book order, book order, bill, bill, book order, suspiciously plain envelope, book order – wait. Aziraphale pulled the envelope from the pile, carefully splitting the top with a sliver-handled letter opener. He removed the contents from the envelope, and a brilliant smile broke across his face.
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The sign on the shop door read CLOSED. Crowley casually pushed the door open and sauntered to the front desk. Almost immediately, he doubled over with laughter. Aziraphale bustled out of the back room.
"What's wrong, dear boy? Are you feeling quite all right?"
Crowley gave an undignified snort, gesturing helplessly at the greeting card displayed on the desk.
"Ah. Yes. I thought that was rather sweet of you – out of character, but sweet nonetheless."
Crowley fell against the desk, gasping for breath. "You don't," he hissed, "get it, do you?"
Aziraphale's brow wrinkled, "What is there to get? Well, it is a 'Get Well Soon' card, and I'm not sick, so I suppose there's a bit of irony there, but. . . ."
Crowley let out a squeak, clutching the desk helplessly. "Read it again," he gasped through peals of laughter.
"'Poof!' and then there's a rather adorable picture of an angel in a jumper, 'You're better!'" Aziraphale flipped to the inside of the card, "'Did it work?' signed 'Crowley'."
Crowley laughed still harder, "Ignore everything except the first line and the picture."
Realisation dawned on Aziraphale's face. He lowered his reading glasses to the end of his nose, and donned an expression that was decidedly school marm-ish, "That's not at all funny."
Crowley finally righted himself, still chortling. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, "Are you joking? It's hilarious. And look!" he gestured to the illustration on the card, "It looks just like you!"
Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, "I'll have you know I do not own a single yellow jumper."
Crowley lowered his head to peer over his sunglasses skeptically, "And what colour is the one you're wearing now?"
"Off-white!" cried Aziraphale, clutching his hands to his chest and looking offended.
"Right," drawled Crowley, readjusting his sunglasses. "So. The Ritz, shall we?"
"Certainly," said Aziraphale, taking Crowley's proffered arm.
As they exited the shop, Crowley cast one final glance backwards at the greeting card and couldn't help but chuckle under his breath.
How Crowley was able to hiss a sentence with no sybillants in it was not an issue. Aziraphale had grown quite used to the demon's predisposition to hissing over the years.
