The ordeal in Burleson's H-E-B is adventurous — and privately entertaining for the redhead as he rides his motorized cart through the aisles.
Once the clan reaches one of the entrances, they essentially disband, quickly varying this way and that. Once more, Crowley regards Warlock and Adam and remains passive about their developing goodwill. If only they knew, he ponders with a head shake and sigh.
"Don't get lost! And, well, if you do, call Muriel!" advises Crowley with a hint of discomfort as he parks the cart to the side as other customers briskly enter and exit with filled shopping carts and arms-worth of groceries. His foreign accent is weighty, which renders some head turns, yet he disregards the attention.
Nina and Anathema deliver a sly wave over their shoulders as they embark further into the expansive store with Maggie tagging along; the teens venture in the opposite direction near the store's apparel section and other whatnots on display.
Muriel minds fellow patrons hauling with authority and their eight guests disappearing, then turns to their friend and states with a lighthearted shrug, "It's just you and me, Mister Crowley."
The man releases a weighty breath and leans back in his seat. With a forced smile, he replies with undertones of connotation, "It's always us versus the world, One."
The Inspector-Constable nods as their eyes hone on their friend. While living together for the past few years, they've become habituated to the idiosyncrasies of their friend, particularly the elements of a retired, high-ranking angel-demon; they've committed to assisting the man even though they comprehend he loathes requiring outside service. After the temporary compromise between Heaven and Hell in the Supreme Archangel's bookshop, Muriel was secluded to supervise the bookshop (which, essentially, represented dusting, reorganizing, lounging, and familiarizing themself with a book, reporting to their superior and, occasionally, confidently exploring the local shops, especially Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death and The Small Back Room).
With Crowley away, it wasn't all dreadful for them — and that's not placing guilt on the man for automatically departing with heartache as his devotee vacates the planet. With their temporary stardom of owning the Shopkeepers and Street Traders Association (SSTA) and their new boss indefinitely returning to Heaven, the placement welcomely introduced the responsibilities of being a landlord and the mandated obligations of their tenants. They've read so many books and even tested becoming an author. Being the assuming landlord was pleasant for them, and with everything said and done (for now), it did get reasonably better once Crowley returned to London. Plus, it became even better during their last day in London as they sat in Saint James' Park.
It's safe to confirm that Muriel's objectives that day with Mister Crowley were completed.
"Are you OK?" asks Muriel with a slight frown.
Crowley turns his head and observes the enthusiasm of customers and workers who adore red shirts. As expected, he's incapable of seeing them clearly, but he does enlist the assortment of color schemes. Boredom rises, so he returns his gaze to them and answers with self-reproaching timidity, "I'm in pain."
Muriel grades closer with a bewildered facial expression and questions, "Was the miracle ineffective?"
"No, no," the man quickly begins with honest consolation. He leans forward, places his forearms on the steering wheel, and then continues, "It was very worthwhile, and I remain indebted to you, One. Thank you. But, I presume my body has paid the price for the absence of normalcy; my morning routine was impatient and hurried with the introduction of our guests."
The younger woman's eyes bounce left and right, though assumably at nothing as they're in thought. Finally, they communicate with conviction, "I'll attempt another. If it is sufficient — at least to a certain extent — then I'll conduct with additional Lazari and a modification of the miracle."
Now, as Muriel so graciously put it, additional Lazari and a modification of the miracle anoints for far more than what's met at face value, primarily as a lower-ranking angel. It's conceivable and passable, but it requires more vitality than a Scrivener possesses on the standard. Practically, if the cards are played precisely, you utilize your sleight-of-hand, and you know what you're doing, it'll quickly become transparent that Heaven's hierarchy is filler for Ps and Qs. They move to stand before the redhead with their feet parallel to the cart's wheels, which causes him to lean backward and scrutinize upward. What his One is ambitiously pursuing has never occurred in the past, so Crowley is alien to the routine until it quickly dawns on him as the woman proceeds to raise both of their hands.
"Wait, wait. One!" warns Crowley as he swiftly leans over the steering wheel and lowers Muriel's hands, his eyes behind his sunglasses darting to the left at the fellow occupants in the supermarket, hoping that there's no attention pulling their way. He resumes and apprises, "We can't do miracles out and about, One. Too much suspicion will be attracted to us."
"Why won't you let me help you? I can do this," upholds Muriel with dignity and self-worth. They take a backward step, inputting separation between themselves and their friend. Of course, they don't know any better, and all they want to do is righteousness by their friend. It's something distinctive from Heaven, no doubt: Always desiring to do good and be altruistic.
Jophiel knows a thing or two about just that, with all of his wisdom and the lot.
With an exhale, Crowley slumps in his seat, his long legs V-ing on the outside of the cart. He sighs and responds, "I've got six thousand years on you with dealing with this. That said, I truly need you to understand that I appreciate your service. You've seen realms of me that others haven't seen — including Aziraphale, the love of my life and your newest superior. This—" he runs a hand over his body as his voice shakes, "—is an endless discipline from Her. I did something I wasn't supposed to do, and now I'll always be punished for it until the end of my eternity."
Leave it to Anthony and Muriel to have a heart-to-heart conversation in a supermarket in North Texas.
Muriel doesn't timely react, and Crowley is appreciative because he doesn't know much more of this he can endure in one day — the sentiment of heartbreak and agony.
The man sniffs and repositions his sunglasses. Next, he retrieves his wallet from his pocket, grabs one of his debit cards, and hands it to them. "Here, get whatever you want," he instructs them with finality.
Silently, the duo turns to head further into the store. It's unmistakable that there will be additional communication once they return home. The immortals have only known each other for a few years, yet their communication skills reign supremely over Crowley, Aziraphale, and lovers' six-thousand-and-so advantage.
The pair is oblivious to how long they've been browsing the sections of the supermarket. This particular H-E-B sure has its advertisement techniques down to the T; almost everything Crowley and Muriel pass, they want to purchase. It's no knock at the United Kingdom per se, but they wouldn't ever get this courtesy back home. There are a few items in the basket attached to Crowley's motorized shopping cart, mainly souvenirs and other knickknacks, that acquired One's engagement. They're now aiming for the food section when Muriel senses their phone vibrating in their pocket.
Retrieving and unlocking the device with a finger slide, they put the device to their ear and cheekily answer, "Hello, this is Muriel!"
"Yes, I'm aware," snarkily tells the person on the other end of the line. Unsurprisingly, it's Nina. She continues, "Look, Six Shots told us to call you if we got lost and, well, it's happened, so where are you?"
"Oh. Uh, one second, please," begins Muriel. They brisk toward Crowley and place a hand on his shoulder. There's a lot transpiring at once in the aisle they're occupying, so they wordlessly point to the end of the aisle with a raise of their index finger, which garners a head nod.
Muriel stands at the aisle entrance and scans their surroundings, but they don't know how to locate the information they seek. They timidly ask, "By any chance, do you know how to find that information?"
Nina releases a disbelieving chuckle, mumbling, "Gosh, I keep forgetting you're not from here, either." Then, she answers, "Yes. All you have to do is look up and read me the large number on the red sign."
The younger woman does as instructed, then replies, "Oh, thank you. It says one-two — no, wait, I remember: It's actually twelve!"
"Ah, very good, Little Six Shots. We're headed that way," broadcasts Nina before she disconnects the line.
The Inspector-Constable resumes their standing with Crowley, who asks, "What's going on, One?"
"Nothing wrong. As expected, they've gotten lost and are coming this way."
The man cackles and pushes his red hair over his shoulder, then gestures to the produce stored on the shelves, "Alright, get whatever you want."
It's not as tempting as with Aziraphale and the ox, but the bait is accepted. Muriel stands before a shelf, silently regards their unlimited selection, and then begins loading the basket with an assortment of items. As they do so, they declare, "I'm getting some things for you to try, too. I know you don't have to eat — neither do I, for that matter — but Human food is delightful."
"You've got me all figured out, don't you, One?" rhetorically invites Crowley as he observes them in action.
Muriel pauses, smiles, and quotes, "It's us versus the world."
Crowley produces a cheesy beam, one that compares to the one he had when he created his Stars.
Anthony and Muriel versus the world. That's actually got a good ring to it, no-matter if you substitute Anthony for Crowley, and vice versa.
Their guests round the corner with three filled shopping carts with what seems like everything the store offers, plus each with a plastic, handheld basket loaded with whatever.
Crowley's mouth creates an awestruck O as his eyes behind his sunglasses regard the shopping carts that Nina, Maggie, and Anathema are pushing. In deadpan, he comments, "Eh, well, Brian did say you lot were going to buy the store. Right on you for adhering to the plan, I suppose."
"Wow, Mister Crowley. This is now my new favorite store. It has everything," praises Maggie in marvel as she rearranges some items that are presumably in her individual cart.
"Oh, how wonderful! We're going to buy some things, too. We don't need it, but we want to try more Human things. Isn't that right, Mister Crowley?" lectures Muriel, and, oh, they're learning the whole neutral patronizing thing.
Though they can't see it, the man rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses and compromises, "Um, yep. That's the plan."
Anathema perimeters the carts and joins the conversation. She asks, "Where are the kids?"
"Here!" comes a voice from behind the adults. It's Wensleydale, followed by the other teenagers. What perfect timing it is. Like the women they traveled with, the teenagers are pushing individual shopping carts that are stocked to the brim. If the math is mathing accurately, then that's a lot of groceries and the nine, and just where is it going to fit?
"Out of curiosity: Where is this going?" questions Crowley as Muriel resumes shopping.
"We've figured that part out. We promise it'll all fit," vows Warlock.
That earns a shrug from Crowley as he says, "Alright, well, that's that. Are we all set?"
The clan produces nods and reassurances. Crowley hilariously performs a 180 with his motorized cart and heads toward the checkout lines. The clan follows with rackety laughter.
After the checkout and in the parking lot, Crowley supervises the masses as they load his Baby with intricacies that'll even put Aziraphale out of business.