"I thought I told you to pick something with alcohol", said Crowley and looked suspiciously at the two humungous pumpkins in front of them. They were lying on riverbank for some reason. To their left and right a number of other people were either gathered around their own giant pumpkins or bustling about, busy with G- Someone knew what. In either case they were talking animatedly in fast québécois. Crowley hated québécois.
Aziraphale showed a calculating little smile and held out a hip flask.
"Are you kidd – that does not count, angel!", spat Crowley and glared at it, although he thought the engraved snake was a nice touch.
"It's your favourite brandy", said Aziraphale, with a slightly guilty look on his face.
"What's all this anyway", grumbled Crowley and vaguely indicated the commotion around them before snatching the flask from Aziraphale's hands. He unscrewed the top and gave it a casual sniff. Not bad.
"This, my dear", declared Aziraphale and made a dramatic one-armed sweeping gesture, "is the famous Potirothon of Gentilly!"
This did not have the desired effect.
"Never heard of it", said Crowley and tried the brandy. "What the eff is a Potirothon?" He suspected it to have something to do with pumpkins, but that one was easy to guess seeing as they were surrounded by the blasted things.
"It's a portmanteau of 'potiron' and 'marathon' ", Aziraphale explained smugly. "In other words: It's a pumpkin race."
Crowley nearly spit out his brandy.
"It's simple, really", continued the angel jovially. "You grow a giant pumpkin, you hollow it out and voilá!" – he made another dramatic sweeping motion – "Now you have a canoe. Canoes. Race." He beamed at Crowley and then surveilled the racing grounds or, more accurately, wets with the expert eyes of someone who has no idea what to look for in a racing wet.
"A race. In canoes made from hollowed-out pumpkins", Crowley repeated disbelievingly, just in case he'd misunderstood. He had the terrible feeling he hadn't. [1]
"Yes!", said Aziraphale cheerfully.
"No."
Crowley took a look at the pumpkin before him. He remembered the assortment of odd tools his companion had brought with him and another dreadful suspicion snuck up on him.
"Hang on – you don't expect me to carve this thing out by hand, do you?", he said aghast, when the penny dropped.
Aziraphale scoffed at this.
"Of course not!", he replied and Crowley was about to let out a sigh of relief, when the angel followed it up with: "I brought proper knives."
Crowley knocked back the contents of the entire flask.
.
####
.
"You cheated!", Aziraphale accused him.
"Did not", said Crowley smugly and polished the little gold trophy with his sleeve. [2] They didn't usually hand out trophies like these at the Potirothon but Crowley naturally assumed he would get one whenever he won a competition. It had a little pumpkin on top.
"You poked a hole in my pumpkin!"
"Or maybe my pumpkin was simply better than yours. You know I have a way with plants."
"That's not how – holes in my pumpkin canoe have nothing to do with 'having a way with plants', Crowley!"
"Clearly you know nothing about pumpkins, angel. You should stick with your books."
.
.
[1] Though it at least explained the paddles. Crowley had wondered about those.
[2] It still had bits of pumpkin on it.
.
Notes: Yes, the pumpkin race is an actual thing. I just found out about it today because a friend sent me the tumblr link and immediately knew this was going to be Crowley & Aziraphale's next stop. Probably should have published this at Halloween but I just got too excited about it tbh xD