Dull.
That was the best way to describe it.
Unceasingly and relentlessly dull.
Truth be told, though, dull was better than what it had been. Crowley didn't even want to think about those times. He brushed thoughts of all that away, attempting with everything he had in him to forget those times ever happened. He only really thought about those times when he got unbearably fidgety in the ceaseless dullness of his new existence.
It could be worse, he'd think to himself.
"Thinking" was a bit misleading. "Thinking" implied that he actually consciously thought about it. The "thought" (for lack of a better word) was more a flash than a concrete idea. It came to his mind and then he flicked it away like an annoying fly. The mere partial memory of those times was enough to make him somewhat grateful for the dullness.
Muriel, on the other hand, would describe the days as anything but dull. She would use words like "extraordinary" and "stunning". It seemed like everytime she turned around, there was something new to excite her.
Just the other day, she had the extreme pleasure of seeing an honest-to-goodness earthworm in St. James's Park. It had rained the night before (another fantastic experience for the young angel) and all the worms had taken it upon themselves to scurry out of the ground and greet Muriel during her morning walk. It was as if they were saying hello, even the dead ones; strewn about the pavement, partially pulled apart, they still managed to wave their little heads (or tails…it was hard to tell which was which) at Muriel. She squealed with delight, so much so that eventually an officer approached her, asking if she was alright. She had reassured the officer that she was fine, but after several more hours of staring at the worms and squealing ever higher and higher, the officer offered to escort her home, assuming she was a bit (ahem) simple.
This was a new and fantastic delight for Muriel who had never ridden in a police car before. She asked over and over again if the officer would turn on the sirens, but he did not oblige. It simultaneously made sense (and somehow also didn't) to find that this young woman apparently lived in a Soho bookshop.
"You're sure this is your home?" the officer asked.
"Well, no," Muriel said after an extensive bit of play with the seat belt, "This isn't my home as you might think, but it's where I'm staying for the time being."
As if that explained everything, Muriel earnestly thanked the officer for the very fun ride in his very fun car and bounded out, up the stoop of the bookshop, and inside. He wondered if he should do a welfare check, but, truth be told, even though it was a mere ten minute drive from St. James's Park to Soho, with the way that young woman rambled on, it may as well have been a lifetime. The officer drove away, muttering something about recreational substances and young people.
Muriel liked to go out, not because she didn't absolutely adore Mr. Fell's bookshop. She took great care in maintaining it for him while he was away and enjoyed reading or ("reading") the very many books. But there was no one to talk to in the shop. All of the people were outside. And, even though she knew she didn't know much about Earth and humans, she knew that there was more to them than books and sulking snakes. She wanted to experience everything while she was here; her time on Earth, while strictly speaking an assignment, was more or less a holiday for her. Humans did things. Humans did wrong things sometimes. They often did wrong things if Muriel was honest with herself. They were funny and constantly changing.
In an attempt to understand the humans more, Muriel liked to drink their special elixir called coffee. There was a cafe just across the way, afterall, and plenty of humans seemed to come in and out of it. There was one manufacturer of coffee that the humans especially went mad over; it was apparently suckled from a mermaid who had spots all over London. Muriel wanted to try them all but generally seemed to prefer the smaller shops. People could talk to one another in a small coffee shop. You should hear what other people were saying, and you knew what they were thinking if you were attentive enough. Muriel loved coffee shops, and what's more, she loved coffee.
Not real coffee, mind you. Not the weird bean water that some humans liked to drink. Muriel's favorite drink was a large salted caramel mocha with extra caramel drizzle and extra, extra salt topping. She would drink it all day if she could.
Unfortunately, Mr. Crowley had put a decisive end to Muriel's coffee habits, saying that if he ever caught her with another cup of the stuff, he'd turn her into a Coffea arabica plant. She wasn't sure if he was bluffing or even capable of such things, but given how he talked to the plants he already owned, Muriel didn't want to risk it.
At first, Muriel thought that, being a demon, Mr. Crowley must simply hate to see her happy and if her salted caramel mocha gave her any kind of bliss, he wanted to stamp it out. But the more Muriel thought about it, the less that made sense. Surely, a demon doesn't hate things that make others happy; they hate things that bring one closer to God. (This thought led her down a spiritual rabbit hole where for a while she hypothesized that salted caramel mochas must be somehow akin to holy water.) It was only when she actually asked Mr. Crowley why she wasn't allowed to drink her beloved coffee drinks that she got a solid answer.
"You're a fucking nightmare when you're hopped up on caffeine!" Mr. Crowley shouted, "You've got enough energy to power all of Trafalgar Square as it is, but once you've had even one cup of coffee, you're bouncing off the walls! It's annoying as fuck!"
Muriel had never heard swearing until she came to Earth, and no one swore as much as Mr. Crowley did. She hadn't expected him to be around while she looked after Mr. Fell's bookshop. For several weeks, he hadn't shown up and it had just been her. She made the mistake once, though, of playing with the little paper Open/Close sign that hung in the front window and forgot to switch back to its usual "Definitely Closed" position. When humans see "Open" signs, they come in. A new thing that Muriel learned!
She wasn't entirely sure what she was supposed to do with the bookshop, and then when people started actually coming in, she was even more confused. They'd ask questions such as, "Do you have anything by Toni Morrison?" and Muriel usually would just shrug and say, "Don't know. It's an adventure! You have to look around!"
She didn't sell many books, but she did sell some, and that, ultimately, is what brought Mr. Crowley back. A lovely young couple had just left the shop, extremely happy over their purchase of several leather-bound books. Muriel was metaphorically patting herself on the back when suddenly, the shop doors burst open and the couple came flying back in. It wasn't as if they rushed in. No, they flew in. As if held up by a magical (or demonic) force, the couple was thrown into the center of the shop, hanging in suspension with a look of panged terror on their face. It seemed all they could move were their eyes, and they stared at Muriel, terrified and shook.
"What the fuck is going on here?!"
Muriel turned to find Mr. Crowley in the doorway, his hair redder than ever. He held the leather-bound books over his head and growled as he eyed the hoards of humans in the shop. Stunned by this crazed man and the floating, somewhat catatonic patrons, everyone was frozen in place. That was until Mr. Crowly began to throw the large, leather-bound books at people, screaming, "Get out! Get out! GET OUT!"
People either ran or were thrown out. It all happened very quickly. The police were called, but, by some miracle, when the officers arrived and witnesses attempted to explain to them what had occurred, no one could speak English, instead muttering in Latin (a Latin with a very heavy London accent, mind you). When the officers attempted to knock at the door of the shop, everyone outside was immediately struck with a sudden and unexplained bout of…(ahem) loose bowels. The stink meant that people would stay away from the bookshop, at least for a while.
Apparently, most bookshops do sell books. That's the whole point of them, but Muriel had gotten it wrong because Mr. Fell didn't actually sell the books. She was merely supposed to be keeping an eye on the books rather than actively selling them. What's more, the lovely young couple that Mr. Crowley had stopped were about to walk off with a complete set of first edition James Joyce collection and Muriel had only charged them six pounds for the whole thing.
It was understood from that point on: Muriel couldn't do this alone. She needed Mr. Crowley's help so…against his wishes, he would stay on and help to protect the bookshop from (if nothing else) Muriel.
The young angel found this stance contradictory, seeing as whenever Mr. Crowley talked about Mr. Fell, it was usually brimming with something Muriel might describe as hatred. No, hatred was a little strong. Hatred only got you so far. Muriel thought the emotion behind Mr. Crowley's tone was more along the lines of bitterness. Hatred will burn out, but bitterness can last for eons. If Mr. Crowley was so bitter towards Mr. Fell, why should he want to stay in the bookshop at all, let alone attempt to protect the earthly possessions of his old friend? Demons were funny.
But Muriel's whole perspective on demons was changing the more time she spent with one. Granted, Mr. Crowley was not your typical demon.
She had always been taught that demons were evil to the core. They only had one love and that was Satan. Demons as being decidedly black. Not physically, but certainly morally. A demon never did anything for the benefit of others, but Mr. Crowley almost seemed to…sometimes. He had offered to help her look after the shop. London was full of amazing things to see and do, and seeing as he wasn't working for Hell anymore, he really didn't have to stay in London if he didn't want to. Mr. Crowley had the whole world to choose from, and he chose this book shop. Surely, that was some kind of selfless act.
Still, he was a demon and had his evil tendencies. When he got exceptionally bored, Mr. Crowley would sit by one of the large windows that looked out onto the busy street, randomly choose a passerby, and then set them on fire. He assured Muriel that after a few moments of extreme torture, the poor soul would be set right and left without a mark on them, but Muriel wasn't sure if he was being fully honest. Too many of them were taken away in an ambulance for them to have been "set right".
In the early days of Mr. Crowley's stay, Muriel found herself uncomfortable around him, and "uncomfortable" was putting it lightly. She had always been told that demons couldn't be trusted, and someone as naive and scatterbrained as Muriel could only survive a run-in with one by fleeing. Muriel, however, had found herself in a position where she couldn't flee, and furthermore, didn't want to. Fleeing meant going back to Heaven and admitting defeat; that she had been given this simple task of watching this one location and that she couldn't do it. But she definitely felt that she could, especially since Mr. Crowley had come along and forced all the humans to stay out of the building. Her job was exceedingly simple now. Too simple, almost. While she still looked at her time on Earth as thrilling, as the weeks turned into months, Muriel's excitement over it all dampened a bit, not to the extent that it had for Mr. Crowley. She knew full well that he was simply bored by everything he looked at; Muriel was intrigued but…lonely? She wasn't entirely sure if that was how she felt. It was easy to feel lonely in Heaven as you could go centuries without seeing another soul, but when she was surrounded by so many interesting people, it didn't make any sense for her to feel so…separated.
She stood, looking out onto the street, awkwardly eyeing a somewhat fresh scorchmarch on the ground from Mr. Crowley's latest bout of ennui. The kettle whistled in the kitchen, and Muriel turned to go and make herself a cup of tea. She hadn't been keen on tea when she first came to Earth, but following her coffee cut-off, she wanted something warm to hold in her hands. Vanilla chai was her favorite, and when Mr. Crowley wasn't looking, she'd add extra sugarcubes to it (he also detested her salted caramel mocha because of its extremely high sugar content that added to her bouncy personality).
Even though she knew he wouldn't take it, Muriel always poured a cup of tea for Mr. Crowley. Mr. Fell owned the most adorable little white mugs, complete with tiny angel wings that one gripped as the handle, and she told herself that drinking tea out of one of these beautiful mugs almost made up for the fact that she wasn't drinking her beloved mocha. She placed two mugs of tea on a tray (one loaded with sugar and one perfectly black) and set off to play the game of Find Mr. Crowley.
There were three places he would go in the shop: either he was by the large window in his favorite chair, wandering around upstairs aimlessly, or he was curled up on a shelf somewhere. He was doing a lot of curling up these days so Muriel took that as her best bet. When he was in one of these moods, he liked to be as far away from daylight as possible so Muriel set off towards the far end of the shop, listening intently.
There are many things that snakes lack; legs for one. Most people would look at a snake and remark not about what it is but about it isn't; it isn't a dog and it isn't a horse and it isn't a lizard and it certainly isn't a freshwater salmon. Snakes are very basic creatures in that they appear to be merely a head and a long body. If one was asked what sound a snake makes one might answer the traditional, "Sssss…" sound which is less of an animal cry and more of several syllables strung together. The point is: it's easy to overlook a snake. That's why they are such good agents of evil. But once you've lived with a snake for as long as Muriel had, you know the signs.
First off, snakes don't actually make a, "Ssss…" sound. That's more of a human's attempt to sound like they're hissing. Snakes do hiss, but so do cats and no one has ever categorized the noise that a cat makes as strictly a hiss. Depending on the breed and species of snake, they can make a variety of sounds including growls, whistles, rasp, and such. Seeing as Crowley was not an actual snake per se, but a demon who occasionally took the form of one, he was often inclined to make every snake sound possible. He never let a little thing like science get in the way of his artistic voice. For instance, Crowley's snake form did not have the traditional rattling tail that a rattlesnake has, but that never meant that when he shook his tail fiercely enough that it didn't rattle something awful.
On days like this when he was feeling particularly mirthless, Crowley emitted a low frequency buzz, almost akin to a kitten's purr, but Muriel never brought up that comparison to him. This is the sound she listened for, and sure enough, it led her right to her only companion.
His long, black body was curled up on itself, perched between a copy of a Brian May biography and Crocheting Made Simple. Muriel thought she had been loud enough as she walked across the shop (she'd never been accused of being subtle or graceful) but still, her presence was enough to spook Mr. Crowley as she popped around the corner and shoved the platter of tea into his face.
"Good morning, Mr. Crowley! I…oops! So sorry! Did I spook you?"
Crowley didn't justify that with a response and simply began his slithering descent down the bookcase and onto the floor.
"I made some tea!" Muriel squeaked out, watching the snake disappear down the aisle of books.
She hung her head, unsure why she was surprised since Mr. Crowley never took tea, at least not with her. This was the part of the morning ritual where Muriel went back to the kitchen and drank her tea herself while she pondered what she'd do today…it's what she had done every day for the past six months. The pang of something-that-wasn't-quite-loneliness clamored inside her. She turned as if to follow her normal ritual when she stopped. She was lonely. That was it. She was lonely and wanted someone to talk to. Muriel listened again for the soft buzz and rustle of the snake and followed its trail.
She had managed to get ahead of him somewhere around the astronomy books and cut him off. Again, she held out her tray and said, "I've made tea! It's vanilla chai. It's my favorite, and I've made you a cup, too."
Crowley's yellow eyes seemed to burn into Muriel and she winced, not in physical pain but in the uncomfortableness of such a stare. Wordlessly, he slithered away again, this time up another shelf, high onto the very top. But this newfound articulation of her emotions had made Muriel more confident somehow; now that she knew what she wanted, it seemed easier to reach for…so she reached for it. Against her better judgment, she set the tray down, grabbed a nearby stool, raised herself up on it, and literally grabbed at the snake.
"Mr. Crowley, I really think that you'd feel better if- OWWW!"
Needle-like fangs dug themselves into Muriel's hand. She screamed and pulled her hand, so quickly, in fact, that Mr. Crowley didn't have time to retract his fangs and he came flying off the shelf. Stunned by this sudden movement, it seemed Mr. Crowley was unable to release his grip on Muriel. She winced in pain and attempted (for a brief second) to be understanding about the whole situation.
"Please…let go!" she cried.
Had she not been blinded by the seering sting in her flesh, Muriel might have seen the snake legitimately trying to release himself; her suffering blinded her and she could only throw her arm around in wild circles in an attempt to throw the demon off. This, of course, did not help.
Interpreting this as stubbornness and with her hand throbbing, Muriel's pain quickly gave way to anger as she flung her hand with all her might and (at last) Mr. Crowley's teeth freed themselves from her flesh. The snake hit a shelf with a hard thud and sank to the floor, but was, otherwise, unharmed. The same could not be said for Muriel; while angels cannot technically bleed, they can feel pain, and her entire arm seemed to throb. Was it going numb? Was Mr. Crowley venomous? Was her physical body failing her suddenly? Was this the end of it all? The anger continued to swell in Muriel as she rounded once again on Mr. Crowley in a fury that was unbecoming of her.
"You…!" Her mind struggled to accurately articulate her rage; she had never felt anything like this before. For months on end, she had played nice with the demon, and for months on end, he either ignored her or chastised her. Had this really been any different from her treatment in Heaven? Uriel and Michael barely even knew she was alive unless something awful had gone on and she was the closest scapegoat. Why did she feel such burning anger towards Mr. Crowley when she had been able to control herself for so many eons in Heaven?
Perhaps because she knew (or thought, at least) that when one of the high angels bayed at her, it was all for the greater good; they were glorious angels who knew better than poor little Muriel did. Any abuse she suffered in Heaven wasn't really abuse: it was a lesson.
But Mr. Crowley had no lessons for Muriel. He wasn't angry because he expected more from her or because he was trying to keep paradise on its axis. He was angry because, like Muriel, he was lonely. More than lonely and more than bitter…Mr. Crowley was heartbroken.
Had she been in a different frame of mind, Muriel would have spoken nicely to him, knowing full well what he was currently going through, but with her hand going numb and months of solitude, her good nature was nowhere to be seen. Muriel exploded…at least as much as Muriel could explode.
"You are the meanest and rudest thing I have ever had the misfortune of knowing!" She shrieked, "All I have ever been is nice to you! We're here together! We may as well be friends but no! You're too cool to be my friend! You're a special demon and I'm just a dumb little nobody angel! Well, this little dumb angel knows what's really up…and…what's up is that…you're not really angry with me! You're angry with Mr. Fell!"
The mere name changed something in Mr. Crowley. His form changed; he was no longer a snake and he wasn't quite bipedal but somewhere in between. He was truly a monster…no, he was a demon. Massive and black with an almost human-like face, he towered over Muriel, hunched over her like his monster jaws were about to consume her. A strange acid-smelling saliva dripped from his fangs and leather-like wings seemed to cocoon the two of them together, giving Muriel the distinct feeling that she was trapped. But despite all the changes in his appearance, his yellow eyes were still the same and that's what grounded Muriel.
"You miss Mr. Fell," her voice didn't shake as she continued, "You miss him. I miss him, and I didn't even know him that well so I can only imagine how you feel. You're sad, but you can't take it out on me. That isn't fair."
Confused and vexed at Muriel's decided lack of fear, Mr. Crowley let out a scream that shook the whole bookshop. Somewhere, a mirror fell from its perch on the wall and cracked into several places. The table that held Muriel's tea was knocked over, causing Mr. Fell's precious mugs to shatter. Mr. Crowley's eyes darted to the fragmented pieces of porcelain, and this only seemed to anger him more. He screamed again, and, again, Muriel held her ground.
"Screaming about it won't help. Picking on me won't help. None of that will bring him back. You don't scare me, Crowley."
It was the first time she had refused to use any kind of title when addressing him.
"You miss him. And you're hurt. I understand that. Maybe I can help…if you would just talk to me about it. You should talk to someone."
His monstrous stance remained the same, but Muriel could see that there was a shift in him. His eyes. His eyes always gave him away. For as terrifying and evasive as he was, Muriel was beginning to see that he tended to wear his heart on his sleeve. He may bury his emotions, but they were never buried too far down.
Crowley screamed once more, but this was different. This yell wasn't directed at Muriel; it was akin to a wounded animal who knew their time was near. It was a keen, a deep longing. Crowley's lament stung Muriel more than his bite had. His angry cries were hollow, but this one, forged in despair and loneliness, shook Muriel to her very core. It was as if she was seeing the demon, the real Crowley, for the first time. Because she was.
Like the snake he was, Crowley's massive monstrous form began to slither away, slowly growing smaller as it left Muriel's presence. She braced herself against one of the shelves as the realization of what had just happened finally hit her. She didn't want to lose Crowley, though. Their conversion wasn't over. She ran after him, trying desperately to listen for his low hum.
But he wasn't giving off his serpentine hum anymore. A new sound was softly filling the bookshop: sobbing. Muriel followed the muffled cries to a backroom. She tentatively opened the door and found her housemate; he was back in his human form now…sitting on the floor with arms wrapped around his knees that he held close to his chest and his head buried in his knees. This is what she had wanted: for him to be honest and open with her, but it still felt odd. Muriel looked on with hesitation, as if seeing something she shouldn't be seeing.
Unsure what to do, she simply entered the backroom and sat down next to him. They sat there for some time with only the sound of Crowley's weeping and whimpering breaking the silence. She felt uncomfortable for a number of reasons, especially since she felt she should be saying something now; she should be giving out heavenly wisdom, patting him on the arm, and assuring him that it would all be alright. But Muriel didn't feel wise, especially not compared to Crowley. She had no sage advice to give him, nothing that didn't feel hollow at least…so she just sat with him.
After what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke.
"He just…left…"
Muriel looked over at her counterpart whose face was still buried in his knees.
"He just left. Everyone leaves. But I just…didn't think he would. I never thought he would actually leave."
"I'm sure that Mr. Fell had a very good reason to go," Muriel attempted to be wise.
"Oh, of course he had a good reason to leave," Crowley lifted his head at last; his yellow eyes were stained red from the strain of crying, "He thinks he's going to fix everything."
This statement confounded the angel, "That does seem like a good reason to me. Don't get me wrong; I love Heaven. Heaven is super! But…there are some things that could change, and I think Mr. Fell is just the angel for the–"
The look on Crowley's face made Muriel stop mid-sentence. This wasn't helping. She decided to change tactics, "You miss him. What do you miss about him?"
Crowley could not have rolled his eyes harder at this question. He stared at Muriel with a look of disbelief that she could say something to stupid. She didn't think it was stupid, but he clearly did.
"No, I'm serious," she pushed on, "What do you miss about him? What do you like about him? Look, you're a demon who is used to being in the company of an angel. And I'm an angel who has to be here. Maybe we could help each other out and-"
"You?" Crowley was laughing now, "You are not going to just replace…you can't just…you can't just insert a new angel here and call it a day. You're not all the same."
"So how am I different from Mr. Fell?"
"Well, for starters, you don't like food. You like sugar and mochas and all that, but you don't eat. Aziraphale has a very refined taste. Fuck, he'd never shut up about it. He likes every kind of food. I don't think I've ever seen him pick up something and not like it. I mean, he detests bad food…shoddy, cheap food but as far as different types of foods, he'll eat anything and adore it. Soups, porridges, pastas, ribs…he loves a good short rib…and he can tell when it's high quality and when it's not. It actually makes it quite difficult to go out and eat anywhere; he's so picky."
Muriel turned and found a pad of paper and pen lying on an end table. She eagerly grabbed them, turned back to the demon, and began to feverishly take notes.
"Go on," she encouraged, "I need to get a refined palate…? Is that the word you used? I need to eat more…is what you're saying…"
Now Crowley was just embarrassed for her, "No, Muriel…you can't…you can't just pretend to be Aziraphale."
"No, that's not what I'm doing. I'm just making a list of the qualities that you like in an angel."
The demon stood then and began to pace, "Muriel, it doesn't work like that! And, furthermore, I don't like those qualities in Aziraphale! He drives me crazy! Half the time I want to smack that smug little angel grin off his face. He's so fucking smug all the time. For someone so naive, he can be so smug."
Muriel continued to write, "Smug. Alright."
"Stop writing this down!" Crowley bellowed, "I don't like these qualities!"
"Then tell me the qualities that you do like, and I'll try to be like that!"
"No! Fuck, Muriel! You're never going to be Aziraphale! I don't want you to be Aziraphale! All of creation can only take one Aziraphale. One is plenty. What I want is…shit, I don't know what I want. I want you to leave me alone! That's what I want!"
The anger was swelling in him again. Muriel tried to think quickly.
"What you want is for Mr. Fell to come back," she said.
The color in Crowley's face suddenly vanished, "I don't want him to come back. Not ever."
Throwing her hands in the air, Muriel exclaimed, "You are confusing me! I don't know what you want! You miss Mr. Fell! You don't want him back! He's amazing, but you also want to smack him. Just tell me what you want from me!"
"Who said anything about Mr. Fell being amazing? That's a bit much."
Now Muriel was just annoyed with him, "Well, he is. I didn't even know him that long, and I knew that he was brilliant and funny and so kind. Goodness, I miss him and I barely knew him. He just seemed so…great! I can only imagine how you feel."
Crowley was silent. He didn't move or even blink; for a second, Muriel wondered if she had somehow broken him. He was completely lost in himself until he finally spoke, "He is amazing. He is the most amazing creature I've ever met."
"And you miss him," Muriel coaxed.
"Well, of course I miss him! You'd be an idiot not to!"
Again, there was silence for a while. Crowley seemed to have crawled back inside himself and Muriel allowed this. He then sat back down next to her, and the silence continued a bit longer.
"It's not as if he can't ever come back," Muriel finally said, "I'm sure he misses you, too. I'm sure it was just as hard for him to leave as it was for you to watch him leave."
This wisdom (if it was wisdom) didn't seem to have any effect on the demon, though. The silence rolled on and eventually Muriel's thoughts drifted to her tea.
"Maybe some tea…or a biscuit would make you feel better. I can make a new pot."
To her great surprise, Crowley nodded and Muriel bounced up onto to her feet, "Great!" she exclaimed, "Fantastic! I had made myself come vanilla chai. Do you want vanilla chai? How does that sound?"
The demon gagged a little, "It sounds awful. Just an Earl Grey. Black."
"You got it, friend!" With that, Muriel dashed away before Crowley had a chance to comment on that last word.
He felt inclined to roll his eyes at her, but deep in his stomach, Crowley knew that Muriel would probably end up becoming his second favorite angel.