Somewhere deep in the gardens of the palatial estate upon which His Excellency the Ambassador, his wife, and his son Warlock lived, Crowley was taking a break from his duties as Nanny Ashtoreth. He had filched a book a fairytales from Warlock's room and, leaning lazily against the thick pile of moss in the roots of an enormous tree, was making corrections to it in red pen. Aziraphale was there as well, also taking a break, although he remained in his garb as Brother Francis.
For what reason, Crowley could not fathom— the angel had said something about method acting. As a matter of fact, Crowley had made a study of Strasberg's "Method," and it was decidedly not staying in costume or character all the time and making a nuisance of yourself to others, but that was not a debate he felt like having in his leisure time. He wasn't so sure the actual "Method" itself was any good either, but that was actors' problem, not his.
A series of squealing-type noises intruded on Crowley's thoughts, and he looked up from the book and over the top of his sunglasses at Aziraphale, who had been rooting around in the grass nearby, and how sat back upon his heels, holding something up triumphantly.
"Look what I've found!" the angel exclaimed, extending his hand towards Crowley. Clenched (gently) in his fist was a small pale-green snake, with dark markings dotted down its sides. It waved its body around above the fist in protest as it tried to work out exactly what was going on, flickering its tongue rapidly. Its black, beady eyes connected with Crowley, who lifted one eyebrow, then looked to Aziraphale.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said mildly.
"Nonesense," Aziraphale scoffed, "It's a perfectly harmless grass snake. Besides, serpents love me!" Crowley snorted and flipped a page.
"One serpent tolerates you, Angel. How many snakes have you actually met? And besides— you interrupted its nap, which is very rude."
"Oh dear," Aziraphale turned his hand and wrist around to try and keep track of the snake's head as it wrapped itself around his hand, "I'm terribly sorry, I just wanted to say hello— yowch!" Having had enough of this kind of manhandling, the little snake had opened its jaws wide and sunk its fangs into the angel's hand. Aziraphale flapped his hand about wildly, sending the snake spinning back into the bush with an undignified flop, and a venomous hiss as it flew through the air. Crowley chuckled as he returned to his book.
"I wouldn'ta done that if I were you."