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[ RIP Crowley. A fly in the web of conversational convention. Aziraphale wants to put him in a jar and study him for science, in the most loving way possible. ]

No, I suppose they wouldn't. [ But. Consider. ] Does that mean you'll be adding to your repertoire now? Oodles of options, you know. Outlets for days!

[ Jazz hands!!!!!!! This bitch loves hobbies. ]

[Years and years of exposure means that Crowley manages not to be immediately infected by Aziraphale's enthusiasm, but it's still hard not to get a tiny bit swept up in it.]

I hadn't much thought about it, really. [And yet here he sits, in a Chanel suit.] Suppose it couldn't hurt, but don't think that means you'll get me in tweed. It's not happening.

[What are empty glasses for if not to gesture accusingly at Aziraphale? Just in case this whole thing was a ploy to try to talk Crowley into tweed.]

Oh, I think we've established that it's better to let you come to tweed in your own time. [ He sounded very fainting-goat about the whole affair. And yet here he sits, in a Chanel suit?

Aziraphale will simply be openly enthusiastic enough for both of them in the meantime. ]

The horizon stretches far beyond textiles, Crowley. They've got interior decorating and marine biology now. You could try art! Beekeeping! You could get certified to operate a tower crane. [ Could Aziraphale even point out a tower crane if he walked past one? Probably not. He says "tower crane" like he's talking about a mythical beast, because he hasn't gotten that certification himself yet. ] It's all about dabbling and, and, like you said, figuring out the next thing if the first thing doesn't work. You'll love it.

[ Except for things that he tries and hates, but then he even has something he can complain about. ]

[Things Aziraphale gets to witness: Crowley's face journey as he firstly realizes that he's been played like a damn fiddle about the tweed and secondly as he realizes that Aziraphale wasn't just talking about trying some new fashions, but trying new hobbies.

The first look is familiar. The second one is newer, because he's trying not to be immediately scowly and dismissive, but his instinct is to be scowly and dismissive, so he had to wrestle with his face for a moment, trying to figure out what to do with it.

He's a demon, he shouldn't have hobbies. Shouldn't love anything, but he finds he can't bring himself to say all that, not when Aziraphale sounds so enthusiastic and not when it might be taken the wrong way.

This is one of those situations where he feels weird and squirmy and kind of wants to hide under a desk for a while. Too many emotions and too much vulnerability.]

M'pretty certain demons aren't supposed to have hobbies, angel.

[Because Crowley is great at being a demon and only does things that demons would do.

He's also pretty certain his voice sounds weird, that roughness that comes when he's trying to hide too much, so he quickly follows up with:]

Do you even know what a tower crane is?

[ Hm. Well, half of that face journey is very satisfying. The back half of it is... odd. Not really in Aziraphale's catalogue of things that Crowley's face does around him. He'd put it in the "Confused" category, if he absolutely had to hazard a guess, but that still leaves him confused about what was so confusing.

Too much energy? Too many suggestions? Is it really just the demon business, even though Crowley must surely be the least traditional and most morally flexible demon of all?

Aziraphale doesn't say angels probably aren't supposed to have hobbies either, strictly speaking, because even he's not so dense that he thinks the treatment would be the same. Heaven was always... civil. About his little oddities. Can't imagine Hell would be anything of the sort. ]

I suspect it's larger than a breadbox and has more than two levers. [ Hence requiring certifications. This is the weirdest round of Guess Who? ever. ] Still. Just something to think about. From one... one free agent to another, yes?

[ He can be so normal about the concept of Crowley exploring things that might bring him tiny joys.

He is so normal and fully capable of simply leaving the idea out on the floor for later perusal, the way one might leave a water dish out for a very upset cat hiding under a bed.

He definitely doesn't already have a mental scrapbook page with bullet points about things Crowley might have fun trying out, next to the mental scrapbook page he's using to sketch out their wedding invitations that have cute little twill "save the date" ribbons included. ]

[It's tricky to pinpoint what, exactly, about this conversation has him wanting to throw himself out the window to avoid continuing it, despite the fact its just a stupid conversation about what he might do with his retirement. Some of it is ingrained and hard learned fear, from the knowledge that Hell can and will take away anything he cares about. Being one of Satan's favorites doesn't save him from the ire of other demons.

(There's something about caring too much, once, about loving something he crafted so much that he was cast out of the only home he'd ever known.)

But some of it is about feeling far too vulnerable in front of Aziraphale, specifically, regardless of the fact that Aziraphale wouldn't mock him or insult him. He's certainly teased before, about some of the things Crowley is willing to admit to caring about (bebop), but that's different than being unkind about it, and Crowley knows he wouldn't be cruel. It all just seems so intimate, somehow, the thought of Aziraphale knowing that he wants to – paint or learn an instrument or study marine biology.

Sometimes he's aware that his thoughts don't make sense; this is one of those times, which really only makes the entire situation so uncomfortable.]

I'll think about it.

[Said in the tone of someone who is going to do his damn best not to think about it.]

How about you, then? You want to take up embroidery?

[Did he pick a stereotypical old lady hobby on purpose?

Yes.]

[ Aziraphale can hardly ask for more than the consideration. Fake or not.

It's Crowley's confusing gordian knot to pick at, after all, he can't presume to roll up his sleeves and have at it. There's time. There's time.

So he'll follow the blatant conversational redirection, proof of concept that he's capable of leaving it be, and he won't even pout about it. For the time being. ]

Don't threaten me with a good excuse to break out the thimbles.

[ Here's the thing. Thimbles are cute and he loves them. Here's another thing. Aziraphale has now already imagined embroidering something onto a handkerchief and giving it to Crowley like a very poorly-crafted token of favor. ]

[It's always nice when Aziraphale understands what's being said without it needing to be said. He could have just asked him to drop the subject, but that would've meant admitting that it bothered him, which is another kind of vulnerable altogether, and it's so much easier when they can just naturally move on.

The mention of thimbles makes him think of Wendy and Peter, but he shoves that silly thought right down.]

You know they make them out of silicone these days, no more intricate little gold designs.

[Time to upset Aziraphale on purpose.

It's a wonderful day at the North Pole and you are a horrible demon.]

They what?

[ Critical hit. Nothing is sacred anymore. He can't believe he has to struggle like this. ]

Noooooo, the traditional ones are so lovely, why would they do that?

[If life were a video game, Crowley would have a little running count of all the times he manages to get Aziraphale all flustered about something unimportant.]

Better flexibility, I suppose. The metal ones do make life a bit difficult.

[Look, he presented as a woman for a long time, it's unsurprising he got dragged into embroidery at one point.]

[ Crowley is never not level-grinding in Nuisance. ]

But they're prettier. [ He hasn't even seen one of these newfangled ones, he can sense that he'll think they're not as pretty. And even if they are nice-looking, they're actually not. ] And all the craftsmanship that went into them! The personal touches!

[ What's the point!!!!!!!! ]

It isn't as if they've outlawed the old ones.

[This is the best fun, getting to rile Aziraphale up and then pretend that he agrees with whatever Situation the angel is upset about just to make things worse.]

Just a lot easier to make and t'work with. You know how the new generation is, need everything handed to them.

[Now he's just parroting human nonsense and Aziraphale knows it.]

It's not the same.

[ On account of: he doesn't like it and doesn't like that it's not the same.

Crowley can watch his parroting turn Aziraphale into a puffed-up owl. His final form. ]

Oh, stop that. Absolutely ridiculous.

[It takes some self-restraint not to burst out laughing, but he manages it.

Barely.]

Stop what? M'just telling the truth.

[He's the worst. Get him on Fox News.]

[ S C O F F S. ]

You're patently not telling the truth and you know it! 'Need everything handed to--' [ Scoffs! Again! Waves a hand! Ugh. ] I'm not, I'm not even entertaining that, it's malarkey.

[ Bullroar! Hokey! ]

And yet here you are, very much entertaining it.

[Check and mate!!

Aziraphale might be able to con Crowley into wearing tweed, but in turn, he can con Aziraphale into getting annoyed about something unimportant.]

I'm not! I've told you I'm not!

[ DEFINITIVELY. FOR SURE. So says him, the guy who literally handed humanity a flaming sword to make things easier for them.

...

........ ]

But if I were, it would only be in the context of how foolish the premise sounds no matter who tries to say it.

[ Least of all someone who is his friend and has shown him the most kindness and patience and consideration out of literally anyone he's ever known for thousands of years. ]

[With a mocking head wiggle:] But if you were...

[Crowley doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, he hops to his feet so he can cheerfully refill both their glasses.

There's less need for the alcohol to take the edge off a weird situation; now they're just drinking for the fun of it.]

I'm just having you on, angel.

[If he sounds very soft about it no he doesn't.]

[ Nigh immediately: ]

Well obviously you are, you're incorrigible.

[ Crowley thinks he's sooo funny and pretty and cool and good at making Aziraphale's heart do unnecessary flutters when he uses soft tones on him.

And he's right. But Aziraphale doesn't have to admit to any of that right now. ]

I'm a demon, it'd be a bit odd if I were corrigible.

[It's easier to talk about concepts like 'reform' when it's about a stupid joke he's making and not Aziraphale throwing forgiveness in his face during an argument. Not that he's still holding onto that or anything.]

S'a funny word though, isn't it? Incorrigible sounds perfectly fine, but corrigible ought to be a made up word.

[Your honor.... he's stupid.]

[ Maybe he should have used insufferable, since Crowley is both sufferable and insufferable. Well there's always next time. Crowley contains multitudes.

Aziraphale scrunches his eyebrows like "what do you mean it's a funny word it's such a regular word." And yet, he cannot help but be drawn into this concept. ]

I don't think you can have incorrigible if corrigible isn't there to start. Sort of... cancels the entire premise out, doesn't it?

[This wasn't even an intentional distraction, he's just off on a tangent now.]

Tell that to being whelmed. Can only be under and over, these days. Corrigible could've been a word like that.

If it helps, I hear people using corrigible about as often as I hear them using whelmed. [ Never. ] They've... properly grown into the prefixes.

[ He does some gesture that involves his hands going up and splaying out. Like a tree shape. What is that even trying to help. It doesn't matter. He just finally noticed that Crowley refilled his drink so he's picking it up again. ]

Always an odd bit of business, language.

Oh, it helps tremendously, thank you.

[Is he teasing? Absolutely, because clearly there wasn't actually anything that needed helping, but it's cute that Aziraphale phrased it like that.]

They should've stuck with hieroglyphics, that made much more sense than English ever has.

[ Aziraphale heroically doesn't stick his tongue out about it. ]

Love hieroglyphics. Such a nice system. I've still got some absolutely lovely papyrus sheets in the shop from back in the day. Well, technically. Not in the shop proper. You understand. [ He supposes those particular sheets don't... exist. In this world. In the same way that everything he'd collected over time either doesn't exist here or exists slightly differently, wound up who knows where.

But he's not letting himself think about that. Too close to those first handful of weeks in the Wilderlands where the last he'd heard was that the bookshop burned down. Before he'd sort of-- caught up, somehow. Just sort of depressing. Waste of time, that. ]

Better if they don't wind up touching all those human hands.

[ Even incidentally!!! Never mind that he'd never allow them to actually be damaged by that sort of thing. What if he didn't have to worry about controlling it at all by keeping them very safe in the first place? ]

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