Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, I do not own Crowley or Aziraphale or Adam or Dog. In fact, all of the characters and locations belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.
Chapter 2: In Which Hastur is Angry, the Anti-Christ is only Slightly Less Bored, and Slightly More Than Nothing Much Happens
To say that Hastur was unhappy would have been akin to saying that your dog has four legs, that your fish swims in water, or that trees are plants. That is, the fact that Hastur was unhappy was a given*. No, when attempting to describe Hastur's present mood it wasn't so much the phrase "unhappy" that would have come to mind as "livid and insensible with a violent, tempestuous, and burning rage the likes of which made the sun seem as frozen and plain as the ice sheets of North Pole by comparison" and it was all thanks to one person … or should I say demon?
You see, while Hastur himself had received his unjust punishment for the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't,** Crowley hadn't. No, Crowley was prancing around top-side enjoying himself, living the high-life. It wasn't so much the fact that Hell had thus far ignored Crowley's involvement that bothered Hastur but the fact that no one was making that slimy, pathetic, impudent little serpent suffer.*** But all that was about to change. Hastur was going to make certain of that.
As it so happened, Hastur had been wondering how long it would be before Hell took any major action after the Armageddon fiasco when the orders appeared in the tray on his desk.**** The Anti-Christ was bored. It was time for Hell to make its move. Hastur smiled a grin that split his face in two, revealing a pair of disconcerting rows of very sharp, jagged teeth, a plan already beginning to form in his mind.
*Granted, there are some cases of dogs having less than four legs and I once knew a kid who poured a coke into his fish's tank.
**As had the rest of Hell's hapless denizens
***In Hell, they don't need a reason to punish you- it just comes with the territory. It is also worth noting that snakes, while maintaining a lovely, almost silky, texture, are not slimy. Slugs are slimy, snakes are not. Believe it.
****It is worth noting that Hell had rather enthusiastically embraced the idea of offices- namely teeny, tiny, dimly-lit cubicles, air-conditioning that's turned up too high, and an endless line of pointless memos and meetings.
At St. James Park, the ducks were politely accepting the bits of bread tossed to them by an unusual pair of men.* One of them wore a tartan sweater vest over a white dress shirt and khaki dress slacks while the other wore a black jacket over a white dress shirt and black dress slacks. The second man also wore sunglasses even though they were standing in the shade. Looking at them, the casual observer might decide they looked the sort of people who would pass each other on the road while driving in opposite directions but not voluntarily spending time together. Surely they must come from two entirely different worlds. Had this theoretical observer realized what the two men actually were, they would have realized how accurate that assessment had been. Yet here they were and it was that little fact the ducks were always grateful for.
"So are you sure Hell is going to something?" Aziraphale asked, dropping another handful of bread crumbs on the eager ducks below.
"That's what the word is." Crowley replied with an indifferent shrug.
"Do you think they'll do anything about the Apocalypse?"
"Nah. My side is still pretending nothing happened. But from what I hear- whatever it is that they're going to do- it's going to be big."
"Listen dear, would you mind dropping me off at my shop?"
"Oh, sure, Angel. You don't want to get a drink first?"
"No, thank you, dear. I just have to… think this over." Aziraphale offered Crowley a tired little smile and the two of them turned to leave.**
In a small neighborhood in Lower Tadfield, a boy was throwing a stick for his dog a warm sunny day. Adam always enjoyed playing with Dog but the arrival of the small, some-what flea-ridden mutt hadn't quite been what he was hoping for. Little did Adam know, however, there were several proverbial clouds forming on that sunny horizon. ***
*Admittedly, this could be said of just about every pair of men that came to St. James Park to trade information feed the ducks.
**A/N Ah, the first dialogue of the fic and… I'm a bit nervous about it, The entire paragraph is a bit off but, living in the States, it's kind of hard for me to write convincing British dialogue. So please, if I mess something up don't be shy about pointing it out to me. I'll never learn otherwise.
***This line is utter cheese.
Author's Note: I actually did know a kid who poured a Coke into his fish's tank. He told me that he did it because he thought his fish looked thirsty.
Coincidentally, did you know that pouring a can of Coke into your fish tank will, in fact, kill your fish? He does.