Disclaimer - I know it's been a while, but nope, everything still belongs to Messers Gaiman and Pratchett.

It was busy down on the promenade. Families bustled by, trying to make it down onto the beach with minimum fuss; young people ambled along, laughing and joking and pensioners shuffled along entirely at their own pace, glancing around as they attempted to locate the next suitable resting spot. The blonde-haired gentleman wandering amongst the crowds was wholly inconspicuous. Well, almost, as a few enquiring minds pondered where exactly someone would buy tweed shorts in this day and age and also why on earth they would want to. Then there was the obscenely large straw sunhat, perched precariously atop the stranger's head. Oh, and the tartan beach bag that looked as if it really could hold everything and the kitchen sink to boot. Come to think of it, this individual had an altogether original appearance.

Of course, this was merely a passing thought before attentions were soon diverted elsewhere and thus Aziraphale remained oblivious to the fact that his outfit was at least a couple of centuries out of date and of a style that had never in a million years been referred to as stylish. Nothing terribly new there then; though it did make it much easier for Crowley to spot his acquaintance in amongst the throng. Rolling his eyes he slipped between people with an almost inhuman grace and swiftness until he found himself at the angel's right shoulder. Aziraphale was completely oblivious, for he was currently perusing one of the tacky seaside stalls with unsettling interest.

"So this is where you've run off to," Crowley delighted in the jump and the startled squeak which came from the Angel who also dropped the cheerful little snow globe he had been examining. He managed to recover quickly enough from his shock in order to ensure that the ornament bounced and returned it to its shelf unharmed. It had almost been worth the journey for that piece of mischief alone, though Crowley maintained a straight face as he met Aziraphale's somewhat irate expression.

"Oh come on, it's all part of the job description. You're the enemy – I was launching a surprise attack! You have to admit, your attempt at camouflage hasn't been terribly successful." Crowley made a vague gesture indicating the angel's apparel. "You might want to try harder next time."

"I wasn't trying to hide, Crowley" Aziraphale replied haughtily. "Anyway, what brings you here? I seem to recall that last time I mentioned a seaside visit you were more than a little opposed to it." This was a tactful way of saying that the demon had caused the brochures to spontaneously combust, before storming out, slamming the door so hard that one of the rickety old bookcases had collapsed in a shower of dust. It wasn't that Aziraphale held a grudge, oh no, that certainly wasn't the done thing. All he was trying to do was to ascertain what had changed between that day and this; and if that happened to require having a sly dig, well, what could he do?

"Actually I rather fancied creating some chaos somewhere else, and a new environment offers so many interesting possibilities." Crowley's voice was nonchalant but he was determinedly avoiding Aziraphale's gaze. "Anyway, now that I'm here, I feel we should find a suitable location for lunch, although I suspect that may be asking rather too much of this place."

"Au contraire my dear. I found the loveliest little bistro not terribly far from here. Exquisite food, fine wines and the most divine seaside views. Come on, I trust you've left the Bentley in a suitably nearby location."

He turned and began to walk away, pretending to be entirely oblivious to the glower which had descended upon Crowley's face. If he wanted to get to the bottom of things, this was the best way to go about it and, if there was one thing Aziraphale knew, it was Crowley.