"A very funny one, no doubt" the magician continues "And tell me, Anthony... are you married? Can demons get married?"

Aziraphale smiles with that question. Crowley hesitates for a second with that question, looks at the angel for a moment, and...

"In fact, yes" finger snap, and a ring appears on his hand and another on Aziraphale's.

Omg! Aziraphale... looks at him with his mouth wide open. Married to whom? (Sorry, but he hasn't noticed the ring yet)

"Great, let me guess, on a business trip with the wife at home, don't worry, this isn't broadcast on television. You won't be the first... or the last" the magician makes the easy joke, and people laugh again.

"No!" Aziraphale protests.

"In fact, no. I'm here on vacation with him. He's sitting right here in the front row."

Heavens, Aziraphale opens his mouth even wider, SUPER flushed. Well, if Crowley is going to end up in this mess because of him, it should at least be amusing. They'll surely focus or spotlight him. And those lovey-dovey eyes... And indeed, the magician invites him to come up as well.

What?!

Come up. On stage. Again, those cursed applause that forces people into things. You're going to be the adorable gay couple in the magic show for the rest of the time you're here.

Aziraphale looks at them and hesitates a bit... but, come on... the adrenaline of the moment helps. He stands up and goes towards him, and that's when he notices the ring.

Crowley waits with one of those little smiles, looking at him, having taken a step back. So when he gets on stage, the hand with very wide-open eyes is on display.

"You're... these things are requested" Aziraphale whispers to Crowley.

"Later, I'll kneel" he replies with sarcasm, blushing a little.

"Thank you very much for coming up too..." the magician begins, hoping Aziraphale will tell him his name.

"Francis."

"Francis, great. How long have you been together?"

"Six thousand years," he states suddenly, surprising himself. The magician blinks a bit at that.

"Time flies when you're having fun," Crowley adds, shrugging.

"A whole lifetime," Aziraphale adds.

"Uh..." the magician hesitates with all these surreal answers from everyone; he hates it when the audience starts with nonsense. "Well, I guess you have your rings..."

"Apparently..." Aziraphale looks at his hand and blushes.

"I need you to lend them to me because we're going to test whether your love is true or not..."

Crowley pinches the bridge of his nose a bit at the absurdity of all this.

"With the rings?" Aziraphale asks, wanting to at least look at it closely.

Crowley hasn't had much time to think of anything elaborate, so it's classic and boring, gold and smooth. Nothing more. It's... gold and smooth! Look how pretty it is. He strokes it for a second... he has a ring!

"Do I have to give it to him?!" the angel asks a bit embarrassed.

"I'm going to give them back," the magician assures.

Aziraphale watches as Crowley hands over his ring with absolute ease, while he himself is quite reluctant. The magician takes Crowley's ring and looks at Aziraphale.

"Don't you want to come out? Should we get some soap?"

"It's... y-yes, he wants to come out," he reluctantly hands it over and glances at Crowley for a second, who coughs a bit without looking at him.

"I still can't believe it," he mutters, waiting for the magician.

"Alright, let's place them on this handkerchief," the magician continues for the audience, doing so. "And let's imagine these two charming gentlemen who are coming to dine here tonight." He starts covering them with the remaining corners of the handkerchief. "Then they see our wonderful show and, blinded by magic and love, discreetly retire to their room..."

Crowley's facepalm with that must be audible even to the ducks in St. James's Park. Who do, in fact, have ears. Thank you, Wikipedia.

"What?!" the scandal.

"And...!" he performs all his magic moves, and when he opens the handkerchief again, where the two rings should be inside each other, they remain separate because someone is being passive-aggressive about this. Aziraphale blinks.

"What? What's going on?!"

So, what Crowley has done is make NOTHING happen. Whatever the magician did, Crowley undid it, hence the passive aggression.

Heavens! Crowley! Alright, alright... Aziraphale is trying to understand. Honestly, so is the magician and the entire audience along with him.

"What happened?"

"Well, what's going to happen? Nothing. At all." Crowley whispers.

"What was supposed to happen?" protests Aziraphale.

The demon shrugs, the angel furrows his brow, and the magician hesitates a bit, asking the audience for a bit of patience, making a joke about how after six thousand years, apparently, the spark is lost a bit, and he performs the trick again, this time successfully.

"So your conclusion is that..."

"Mine?"

"Or the universe's."

"Ineffability, it must be."

Aziraphale looks at him, a bit hurt by that, while the magician returns their rings, asking for applause as a sign to take their argument elsewhere, off his stage. Thank you.

Crowley puts on his ring because... why not? and follows Aziraphale, who sits in his seat still holding the ring in his hand, clenching it.

The demon lets himself half slide, as if made of jelly, into the seat next to him with a sigh, because apparently, this shit is far from over.

"Why?" Aziraphale asks Crowley a few seconds later.

"Why, what?"

"You make me go up there, tell everyone this, and then..."

"You wanted me to cooperate, didn't you? You were scolding me for that."

"Not to tell them that... we're a terrible couple!" he grumbles and ends, very maturely... by sticking out his tongue.

"I don't think that's the conclusion they've drawn..." Crowley looks at him, raising his eyebrows with that.

"How not? What conclusion do you think?" he whispers so as not to interrupt the show.

"Well, the magician is an idiot. Others don't tend to blame me for everything; you're the only one who does that."

"I don't blame you for anything unless you deserve it. And even then..."

Eye roll.

"Well, go and clarify it if you're so concerned."

"I'm not going to clarify anything to them." the angel glances at the ring and blushes, thinking that... everyone here thinks they're married. And he's said THAT to him a while ago. And... all this is moving very fast, but for once, he's not so afraid that it's moving fast... as he is that it's not moving. Oh, the interesting contradictions.

Crowley glances at him and then turns back to the magician, still not understanding how everyone doesn't find it absurd, given that EVERYONE knows it's a trick, even if they don't know what it is.

Aziraphale glances at him and right now, if he feels a little uncomfortable thinking about all the fuss Crowley made with the duck and the drownings. Come on, technically, this shouldn't be so surprising... Crowley KNEW. Maybe he was just complicating things himself.

Oh, come on, that was a cheap pun!

He applauds very enthusiastically, though, when the magician decides to end Crowley's ordeal.

That "damn, finally" amid the applause could have been less audible, dear.

"That was really great!" Aziraphale so excited and delighted, bouncing in his seat.

Eye roll again from the demon, but no one believes you if a smile slips out.

"Maybe we could come again tomorrow."

"It's going to be the same act with the same tricks!" Crowley almost whines. "Maybe we could at least... change the idiot."

"As if Queen doesn't play the same identical songs over and over in a loop to infinity." Aziraphale smiles at those complaints.

"Don't tell me that, tell it to the car!"

"Okay... I already have a list with fifteen different ones..."

"Fifteen?! And I thought hell was bad..."

The angel bursts into laughter.

"We can choose only five or six, depending on the days we're here."

"I've seen things, angel. Things that would give you nightmares just thinking about them. Down there, they don't mess around, but nobody forces anyone to watch something like this fifteen times, we have boundaries!" he continues to dramatize, smiling.

"You're exaggerating!"

"I can't believe it... Beelzebub should hire you. Seriously, you'd outshine more than half down there."

Aziraphale laughs at that as if it were some kind of compliment.

"Fifteen... in fact, I'm going to write a letter to propose it as torment. They're going to make me the boss of something just with this!"

"So, SO exaggerated."

"It's not exaggerated at all! It's completely heartless! Fifteen!" he goes on and on just because the other idiot can't stop laughing.

"I'd prefer to do a magic trick on you..."

"That would be an even worse torment..."

"You could be my assistant."

"Of course, with a tight and glittery outfit like those poor girls." You don't necessarily have to dress up as a woman every time you think about dressing up. Even if it's sarcastic.

"And a short skirt."

"And apparently fewer life aspirations than... than... Well, something that has no aspirations. Isn't that very sad?"

"You could be my assistant like Crowley and that's it. I can't believe you'd prefer to be HIS assistant over mine."

"Well, at least all the tricks would go well for you... HIM?"

"I already do them well!"

"Yes... sure..." sarcasm again.

"Who's complaining about everything now?" he smiles sideways.

"About this?" he points to the stage and the room in general. "I am."

"It's time to go where you stop complaining."

The demon stands up, smiling broadly, and snaps his fingers; apparently, nothing happens. Aziraphale raises an eyebrow and... checks his hand to see if it's the ring.

No, in fact, what has changed is that now his glasses reflect everything the same except for the cards, which will reflect the ones Crowley wants to pretend he has in hand. For everyoneeee except Aziraphale.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Precautionary measures. Let's go."

"Hmmmm..." he looks at him with narrowed eyes.

Crowley smiles in an indecipherable way, looking at him while walking to the door.

"Maybe we should establish some rules."

"Oh, here we go..." rolling eyes

"Some very general ones. Like, you can't break the casino, for example." He laughs a little.

"I wasn't planning to. I've already told you that winning all the time is suspicious and boring."

"Okay, okay... I'm just pointing it out."

"I have some rules for you too."

"For me? Ah, right, I said I'd play," he jokes a bit because he's well aware of it.

"No, I was talking to that man. Sorry for the confusion," he replies, smiling, pointing to any random hotel customer around. Aziraphale rolls his eyes a bit.

"I warn you that... I'm not very good at it."

"Just try to resist the urge to ask everyone if that's their card."

"Besides, we can hardly talk during the game," he whines.

"Who says that?"

"Oh, can we?"

"Well, not at the level you like, but..."

"Okay, I'll just try not to ask anything to anyone, then. And watch what I say."

"In fact..." because he smiles a bit since he imagines him PERFECTLY being as expressive as he always is, getting happy with good cards and protesting with bad ones until no one wants to play at his table.

That's exactly what's going to happen. This man DOES NOT have a poker face.

"Maybe it would be more fun to start with something easier and with fewer rules than poker."

"Like what? Isn't there something we can play... as a team?"

"Of course... almost all the others. In fact, even poker."

"Ohhh... well, why didn't you say so before! We play as a team, and that's it. Let's play whatever you want!"

He glances at him, smiling, because look how suddenly excited he is. Teaming up changes everything because he doesn't have the pressure of doing it alone, nor badly, and he can just flutter around Crowley and maybe even bring a book to read when he gets bored.

"Alright. Blackjack. All face cards are worth ten, the Ace can be one or eleven. You have to get to twenty-one. If you go over, you lose." He approaches the tables, taking out money and exchanging it for chips as he explains.

"Okay... okay. Although with you... you're going to do it all the time, aren't you..." he blinks.

"Really, I can refrain from intervening. But that's exactly the problem with roulette."

"It's just that they're going to kick us out of the entire casino," he thinks, honestly. And maybe not because of Crowley.

"Why?"

"Well, because... sometimes things happen when one wishes for them!"

"Like what?"

"Like drawing a card."

He looks at him not fully understanding. Aziraphale clears his throat a bit.

"Come on, surely it happens to you too," he nervously smiles.

"What, things I wish for... unintentionally?" he thinks about the kiss he still wants to give him. "Yes, of course. For example, I wish my glass would be filled with gin, so I approach the bar unintentionally, talk to the bartender by mistake... et voilà!"

"I'm not talking about that precisely," he looks at him with a half-indignant face.

"Then?" he approaches the bar to make one of his simple wishes come true.

"I'm talking about some miracles... a bit unintentional."

Crowley raises his eyebrows because no, those things don't happen to him. If anything, quite the opposite; when he does some bad things, they end up coming back to him, creating problems for him too.

"Uh... not unintentionally, no."

"Really?"

"No."

"Well."

"Do they happen to you? Are you... sick or something?"

"Sick?!"

"Well, it doesn't seem normal to me," he grabs his cheeks and looks directly into his eyes over his sunglasses.

Aziraphale almost has a heart attack.

Crowley blinks for a moment, realizing that he has no idea about... well, what he is doing. I mean, he doesn't know how an angel gets sick. Can they take ibuprofen? Aspirin? How often do you have to water them? Do you have to take them for a walk? Change their litter box?

They're so close! Aziraphale is more focused on wondering if this might be an excuse for him to kiss him.

Still, he inspects his eyes, which are still as bright and blue as always. Is the pupil slightly dilated? He had read something about that somewhere. Does that mean he's hungry? He can't be hungry; they just had dinner five minutes ago! Maybe he needs fertilizer. It's usually like that with plants. He moistens his lips.

His heart is racing; soon you can add tachycardia to the angel's strange symptoms.

"You're... blushing." Everyone is, dear, EVERYONE is. Aziraphale puts both hands on his chest gently. How could he not be blushing, for heaven's sake?

"I-I'm... I..."

"But it doesn't seem like..."

There are many types of characters, all with various functions in a story. There are protagonists, who are generally responsible for advancing the plot, antagonists, who are usually responsible for creating the plot. And secondary characters, who intervene to a greater or lesser extent as required by the overall plot.

One should always have a couple of these secondary characters on hand for whatever might happen; they are like salt on a dish, including if it's something as cliché as a drunkard giving Crowley a little shove as he passes behind him. It's best to avoid clichés, but... who likes to eat bland food?

"N-No, it doesn't seem like it..." Aziraphale repeats just to say something, looking at his lips like an idiot, not being aware at all of the presence of pushy drunks who might improve his current situation. Or make it worse. Or complicate it. There are various types of clichés.

What this particular one does is... push the demon to complicate things, who turns his head at the last second because idiocy comes naturally to him.

Aziraphale should give him a very loving little kiss on the ear tattoo maybe... or maybe he kisses the air. In the end, he just grazes the tattoo very gently, but mostly ends up kissing the air so ridiculously, and honestly, with a quite "wtf... you turned your face!" expression. A moment later, he opens his eyes a little in panic.

Crowley, who had turned to look at the idiot who pushed him, is a bit paralyzed. That... had been his lips?

Of course, they had been his lips. Aziraphale pushes him a bit, not so subtly, because... come on, he turned his face!

Crowley looks at him blinking a bit and letting go when he pushes him.

"I-I... I..." a step back.

"Are you okay? Some idiot pushed me."

That was it! He had been pushed. Come on, there were various types of idiotic accidents in life. Some were clumsiness like dropping something or pushing someone while drunk... that didn't matter much.

Others were moderately catastrophic accidents in life, like choosing the wrong wine for dinner, or staining your favorite jacket.

Then there were the Greek tragedies, like getting your girlfriend pregnant at fifteen, or choosing to learn the gavotte and having it go out of style... and finally, there were absolute embarrassments... like befriending a demon and thinking he's going to kiss you in a very romantic moment, someone pushes him, and he turns his face.

So there he was, in his moment of absolute embarrassment, looking at him in horror.

Crowley blinks a bit with that face, getting worried.

"What? Did I hurt you? Did I stab you with something?" Do you even have something to stab him with?

Aziraphale rotate his face entirely, greatly disappointed, at least for a moment. Come on, not that it would change anything... but he thought they were having a... well, some moments. Angelic drama, on.

"Angel!" he protests. "Aziraphale, come on!" he follows a bit, trying to get him to look back.

"Come on..." no, he still doesn't look, trying to collect himself a bit. "Sorry, it was... I-I'm not thinking very clearly."

"Alcohol clarifies thoughts!" he exclaims, smiling, trying to cheer him up, taking him by the shoulders to lead him to the bar.

The blond smiles a little forced, but... he likes him, and the smile and everything help him a bit.

"Come on, what do you feel like?"

"Something strong. Maybe... a Gin cocktail, one of those with floating peppers."

And there goes Crowley to order two gin and tonics with floating peppers. And flowers. And berries. And lemon. And aromatic herbs. And if that's not enough, a bit of dressing and a beer to accompany the salad.

"For all hells!" he exclaims when they finally bring the drinks.

"I think you'll like it..." he takes his and takes a few good sips. "It's not so sweet," but it's super gay pink, dear.

"It's not that... why do they have eight-year-old girls making cocktails in a bar?"

Aziraphale smiles a little at that, although the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Come on! Ready?" he takes his as well, turning to the gaming tables because it was OBVIOUS that Crowley wouldn't want to kiss him. Now seen in perspective, it sounds quite logical and... well, obvious.

"Yes, yes... ready."

"Which one do you like?"

You. I like you. Much more than you think.

"Whichever you want, Crowley."

"Give me a minute, and I'll tell you which deck is loaded," he smiles.

"How is a card loaded?" he smiles a little too.

"A deck," he corrects. "It's when more bad cards of low numbers have come out than good ones, and mostly the good ones are left. It used to be easier, but now they don't shuffle by hand anymore," he notes, blinking.

"Oh, is it good or bad that the deck is loaded?"

He looks at him with a look of... Are you making fun of me?

"I don't understand if it's good or not that many low cards have come out. Who benefits?"

"Well, actually, everyone does, look, come," he takes his hand with that naturalness and brings him to any table. "Each point plays one-on-one against the dealer. If good cards come out, there are more chances to win because it's seven points against one."

Aziraphale squeezes his hand a little because even though... he had been especially stupid all day with these things, feeling butterflies in his stomach and all. Come on, they were still them two. Even if he didn't want to kiss him.

"Probabilities. I understand. So, is it something the casino does against the players?"

"That's right," he nods and smiles at him.

"But there's no way to know that, is there?" He smiles a little too.

"To know what?"

"If the casino is being mean to you."

"Well, I guess the shoe has strict security rules and all that, or at least that's what common sense says, otherwise people wouldn't come to play."

"Shoe?"

"The shuffle machines."

"Goodness. Did you work in a casino?"

"Is that your wounded ego because I knew a word you didn't?"

"It's a technical term," he wrinkles his nose a bit.

"If that makes you feel better..."

"Well, Crowley. The score is now roughly a hundred billion to... one. You're almost catching up," eye roll.

Crowley laughs because look how angry he is!

He frowns a bit because this wasn't the right answer!

And what was?

Well, grumble with him!

Right, of course. Pat pat on the head.

"Besides, it's not called technical, it's called stang," he imitates him all so snobbish. Just so you don't say he doesn't listen to you.

"Slang."

"That's what I said."

He looks at him... and genuinely smiles this time. Jeez, it took a while. Crowley looks back at him, and the truth is, he's a bit smitten.

"Yes, my dear, that's what you said," and well... maybe it was true that he had spent too much time on Earth to get used to its pleasures and to expect the usual human affections, like a kiss. In the end, what he had with Crowley didn't require any kiss as long as he looked at him that way and made him laugh... even if that was also human.

He blinks slowly at that. I don't think he even hears the words, come on, and the glasses don't help you.

"And it's perfectly justifiable that I don't know the slang of something so inherently... diabolical," he adds a bit later than he should, ahem. Blah blah blah. Babbling.

Crowley blinks, breaking the spell, and clears his throat.

"Uh... Well. Whatever. Don't confuse me, enough with the chit-chat," he approaches a table and puts a chip ANYWHERE to bet.

Aziraphale smiles a bit and follows him. Although he keeps a bit of a prudent distance, observing him. He's going to lose spectacularly because of being an idiot. It's another player's turn, and he also... goes over.

"What the hell? Who hits with eighteen?" he protests.

Aziraphale giggles from behind, truth be told, loud enough for him to hear.

"Isn't it theoretically about... winning?"

Demon eye roll.

"Let's see... look, there's a free spot over there" he pulls him to sit.

He lets himself be pulled, of course. Crowley leaves his pink drink on the table, blushing a bit under the gaze of the others, and places the bet on the spot.

"No more bets" the dealer declares with a wave of the hand over the table.

"See? Now she deals two cards to each, and... now she's going to start opening them," Crowley explains while she does it with a couple of points until she reaches their own. "It's your turn, angel, do your magic."

"Me? What do I do, look at them?"

"When she lifts them, they should be an ace and a face card."

Aziraphale looks at him from the corner of his eye... and moistens his lips. Crowley smiles amusedly at this.

The angel clears his throat a bit. He shouldn't do any kind of magic with this, certainly. But he wants to impress him a bit.

"They're going to be two twos..." he murmurs in a whisper to himself. Crowley looks at him out of the corner of his eye. And the girl lifts them, announcing that they are... An ace and a king. Of clubs."

"Blackjack!" the girl exclaims happily, and Crowley laughs.

Aziraphale bites his lip, and he couldn't look more COMPLETELY guilty.

"Weren't they supposed to be two twos? You're getting better at card tricks each time."

"I had NOTHING to do with this, Crowley, certainly not," he crosses his arms, looking very serious but still looking dramatically guilty.

"Of course not..." he smiles, and he smiles even more when the dealer draws twenty for the house and pays him for the Blackjack. "But this one," he shows the chip he just received. "I'm going to keep it forever."

Aziraphale looks at him with that while the demon puts the chip in the pocket of his shirt.

"The lousy influence... yours. Certainly," he smiles a bit on the side.

"A charm from... my guardian angel."

"Angel of my guard, sweet company, do not forsake me, neither at night nor by day..." he leans a little on him, subtly.

"Ugh, don't pray to me!" And it must give him shivers and some itching on his back, if consecrated ground burns his feet.

"Demon of my guard, bittersweet company..." He laughs a bit with that. "Well, I think I've found a weapon against you, Mr. Demon."

He blushes with that; Aziraphale takes a sip of his gin.

"I'm going to pray to you every time you behave slightly bad. I can thus keep you in line."

"You're not going to pray to me, you're going to scold me, which is what you always do."

"Scold you and make puppy eyes at you. Give me another chip," he extends his hand. Crowley does it, smiling with that.

"And I'll take out my chip, 'Gabriel, guess what your saintly one is doing.'"

"According to you, I do all kinds of horrendous things conti... don't mention it to him!"

He bursts out laughing.

"Like he thinks I talk to him and come on, I swear..."

"But I'm the one who said it!"

"Well, lately there doesn't seem to be a very clear line."

"I understand the fascination with being in my shoes, but..."

"No fascination with being in your shoes, but I'm starting to think that in heaven... they won't distinguish much between what I do and what you do."

"Well, it only took you six millennia to realize that, that's what I call being a lightning bolt!"

Aziraphale squints his eyes, looking at him intently.

"I know they don't care about us, Crowley, I'm not PROPERLY talking about that."

"Then?"

"That the little they think of us is... like... one."

"What?"

"A team."

"Mmmm..." he doesn't see it very clearly.

"I think we're now the... fallen ones," he smiles a bit and looks at the card girl to see if this game is starting again.

In fact, the game has been going on without him realizing a damn thing, so cute raising his eyebrows when he notices.

"The... what? For all demons' sake! I can't fall from more places. Not even..."

"The fallen ones to Earth."

"To Earth... I wish. I wish it were that, and they'd leave us alone definitively. But of course, there's no retirement in hell."

"No... Let's not think about that now, okay? Just don't call any of them," the angel puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Anyway, I insist that I don't think they've left us definitively alone. There must be someone, somewhere, also lurking," I don't know if he likes drama, spy movies, or he's paranoid. Or maybe all at once.

"I dare not wish for that," Aziraphale smiles a bit on the side, thinking about his rebellious outburst a while ago, looking paranoidly around.

"I mean... you must have your own, some correspondent here too, right? Someone dressed as Elvis marrying people or something. Because we have a few of ours."

"Could you stop trying to make me wish we leave here immediately... come on, it would be appropriate if you don't want us to suddenly appear on a deserted island."

"Okay, okay... it just occurred to me now," the demon defends himself, raising his hands, and someone comes over to ask him if he's not going to play, to leave the spot free.

"Come on, let's go to another table," he asks him this time, taking him by the hand.

Crowley gets off the stool, following him. Aziraphale pulls him to the loneliest spot he finds and turns to him.

"Crowley."

The demon looks at him, thinking that this is not a table, but okay.

"Do you think... do you think we're being too... irresponsible?" Mr. Overwhelmed Angel has suddenly appeared here. The mother of all eye rolls.

"Would you feel better if I said that the vacation thing was my idea... and you just followed me to thwart my plans?"

"Actually... yes," he looks him in the eyes for a second.

"Well, then the official version will be that you're falling more and more, and I'm just here to ensure it's a spectacular fall," Crowley smiles, teasing him, and the angel opens his mouth a bit in shock.

"No, no... No talk of me falling spectacularly!"

"Okay, okay!" he laughs. "It's just a joke, no need to get all worked up!

"I don't... I don't get worked up in any way," he changes the tone midway through the sentence and smiles a bit.

"Anyway, you're not doing too badly at it," he shows him his pile of chips. "And you're not letting me bet."

"You've hardly even had a drink," he chuckles a bit with that.

"Besides that!"

"Why don't I get you a whiskey, and you choose the table you like..." he suggests with that tone of absolute affection. Crowley nods, smiling.

"Try to make it not pink this time."

"I promise I'll bring something you deeply hate. With an umbrella."

"I expected nothing less... but remember, if it has more than three fruits, it's not a cocktail, it's a fruit salad."

"Do you consider olives fruits?"

"Anything that doesn't have alcohol is practically fruit. Even the ice."

"I'll keep that in mind..." he half-winks at him, heading to the bar.

Crowley blinks a bit with that, feeling a bit uncomfortable, and goes to a poker table.

Aziraphale squints his eyes and quickly heads over because... why did he wink at him, darn it! He finishes his gin and gets ready to order the appropriate whiskey for Crowley and another sweet drink for himself.