Warnings: This story is for a writing challenge by the Ineffable Writers aimed at getting us more publicity, sorry to all the readers of Sin City... as it is an extract from this Wink, wink, nudge, nudge to the newcomers.

Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, Neil, don't be a jerk, you gave us permission to write fanfiction.

Premise: Laziness, A has put aside his duties without apparent reason.

Crowley goes to the table where he usually puts the laptop to write reports that he keeps IMMACULATE, he sits in front of the screen with a blank Word document and that's how we're going to be... legs stretched under the table, slipping off the chair like a spaghetti hanging from the pasta strainer.

For some reason, Beelzebub has asked him for a report on his activities with Aziraphale, so now he had to write a ridiculous report on "How to seduce and fall in love with an angel. By A.J. Crowley. A detailed and contrasted list of actions with checked results."

"The first thing is that the angel cannot be a MORON who gets offended by EVERYTHING and leaves you in the SHIT and asdfhakjajkakauak"

Okay, he deletes everything. Title included.

Let's see what's in the fridge. Nothing.

Fuck this. A bit of Instagram.

Legs gathered, perched on the chair, with his cup of tea super protected between his hands. Blank sheet.

Let's see what's in the fridge. Nothing.

Fuck this. A bit of Twitter.

Legs over the armrest, lying on the chair looking at the ceiling, playing with a pencil in his mouth. Sheet with just one line "I hate doing reports".

Let's see what's in the fridge. Nothing.

Fuck this. A bit of Facebook.

Standing up, pacing around the room making hand movements palms together, fingers stretched out and murmuring ways to explain that. Blank sheet.

Let's see what's in the fridge. Nothing.

Fuck this. A bit of TikTok.

Back to the chair, sitting on the floor with his back against it. Sheet with several lines repeated over and over again "A lot of work and a lack of play makes Anthony a boring guy".

Let's see what's in the fridge. Nothing.

Fuck this. New Google search on how to write reports. He's going to make another tea.

What if he takes an old report and changes a few words? How about the one about conspiracy theories that man never reached the moon? That one turned out great. Plus, he still had to finish the one about the earth being flat and vaccines being a pharmaceutical scam.

Alright, the flat earth one... someone should have given him a Pulitzer for that at least. It was a bloody masterpiece.

He wasn't quite keen on the vaccines one, because kids were dying and all that, it hadn't even been his idea, but down there they got off on that sort of thing and from time to time it wasn't bad to quiet down rumors about him being soft and all that.

The problem is he couldn't use those reports as templates because what Beelzebub had asked for had nothing to do with that. He crawls under the table with the laptop to have his tea and wraps himself completely in a blanket down there.

He continues to procrastinate for a while reading his other reports and ends up watching cat videos on YouTube. This is like the Queen's greatest hits in the car. Any YouTube video playlist ends up with a cat video within twenty minutes.

By the way, yes, he went through the tutorial video of an Indian guy before that, because it's an internet law. If there's no tutorial video by an Indian on YouTube, then what you want to do CAN'T BE DONE. Period.

After a looong lapse of time, the laptop is back on the table and he's lying on the table next to it. Now it makes sense to have the table clinically empty for this activity.

He goes to the fridge to open the door and look inside without taking anything for the eight hundred and twelfth time and he comes back with his laptop, once again sitting on the chair with his legs stretched out.

Besides, this is stupid, why does Beelzebub want a detailed report? Just ask and that's it! They never ask... I mean, they always ask for reports but they're mostly for filing in the records and that's it.

Yeah... yeah. But if you don't start it you'll never finish it. Besides, Beelzebub will DEFINITELY read this one.

Yeah, but... after all that fuss about missing Gabriel, she seemed very insistent on this one. Maybe instead of giving a report about what he had done with Aziraphale, he should write something that would work with Gabriel. Maybe that would distract both of them enough to leave them alone.

THAT would definitely be much more useful, and Belzebub would thank him much more for telling her what works with Aziraphale.

But for that he would need to know what would work with Gabriel. Probably some kind of mega weird kink like... eating other people's shit or those who were into sex with the elderly.

Damn.

Actually, it amuses him to imagine it like that, and he laughs to himself.

New Google search, weirdest sexual kinks... no. NO. Better not, he's not even that much of an idiot.

Thank God.

Still, he gets distracted by the Google search and decides it's better to call Aziraphale on the phone, having already forgotten that he was super offended with him.

"Angel!"

"Mmmm?" he answers without having put down the book he was reading when he picked up the phone.

"I'm tired of working all day, shall we go out for dinner?" but you're cheeky, you haven't even written a single line.

Okay... it's just... he can't. Aziraphale looks up from the book and a little smile escapes him involuntarily.

"Have you finished yet?" he asks.

"Y-Yeah, well... more or less... I have a couple of details left but..." the demon shrugs.

"Can I read it?"

"Not now. Later, when we get back."

"What time are we leaving?"

"Now," he gets up, "I'll go get the car and pick you up."

"Where are you taking me?" you make it clear that this is a date and you're going to take me.

"Well... any place you want to go?" he stretches his arms and puts on the shoes he has taken off at some point.

"If I wanted, you know where I want to go... but why don't we go to..."

"I fancy Indian food," he heads towards the door.

"Indian! There's Dishoom," he closes his book and puts it on the desk, "You hardly ever feel like anything, so..."

"But I like spicy."

"Okay, okay... whatever you feel like," he smiles a little.

"Ten minutes and I'll be there," he hangs up.