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[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? ]

[Even before the qualification of not in the shop proper comes, Crowley knows that the scrolls aren't just in the shop where any old human could get too close to them. It's a sentiment that he agrees with in this case, since those sorts of things are very delicate and very old and it would be a loss if they were destroyed.

That doesn't mean he has to admit it.]

You say that about everything in the bookshop.

[It's true.]

[ The pause of an angel trying to think of even one thing in the bookshop he wouldn't say that about to use as a big gotcha, and coming up with nothing of the sort. ]

...

It's delicate material.

I reckon you're the delicate one.

[Teasing but like, in a fond way where he's the only one allowed to call Aziraphale things like soft or delicate because they both know that Crowley sees them as assets, not negatives, even when he's teasing.]

M'gonna suggest Adam and his mates come visit once we're back home. Get their sticky fingers all over your books.

[That counts as a hate crime actually.]

[ Crowley has accrued certain social privileges in their time knowing one another. This is, in fact, one of those privileges. Really only because he says these things with rounded edges, says them in tones so clearly not intended to insult that Aziraphale would feel bad about sharpening them himself and aiming them to wound.

Whatever his own complicated feelings he pretends he doesn't have about the matter may be, Crowley's more than earned that much good faith.

That doesn't save him from getting a little ~look~ about it, or a follow-up slightly more alarmed look. ]

Wh- you'll do no such thing!

[Every day he wakes up and chooses to antagonize Aziraphale for no reason other than he thinks it's cute when his face gets all worried over things that don't matter.

He's literally that kid pulling on a girl's pigtails because he likes her.]

I will do such a thing. I'll even take them out for ice cream right before.

[Aziraphale could kill him in cold blood right now and no jury would convict him.]

[ The AUDACITY. ]

You will not! [ Calling a bluff? Making a demand? He doesn't even know. He's making sounds that don't remember how to be words. ] Oh- oh, fine thing, cart four children into London and all you do is-- do you have any idea-- out of the question! Entirely out of the question.

[ They're fine children. Objectively. They're sweet. Fairly sensible. All his thanks to Adam for the new corporation and the non-burned bookshop. But four of them cooped up in the shop all sticky and probably bored and full of youthful energy-- lord. The damage control after they left could take hours. Aziraphale's about to need an old-timey fainting couch. ]

[It occurs to Crowley that there's probably something wrong with him; he enjoys it far too much when Aziraphale gets sharp and bossy with him, in a way that's more than just the fun of riling him up, but examining that too closely seems like a very stupid move. He's just not going to think about it ever again.]

You know what, you're right. Ice cream is a terrible idea, I'll take 'em to the cinema instead, get a few buckets of popcorn to share.

[Sticky fingers are bad, but greasy, buttery fingers are even worse. Those stains will last forever.]

[ Local demon wants to be dommed so bad it makes him look stupid.

Aziraphale scrubs a hand through his hair like this scenario he knows full well won't actually happen is the most stressful thing he's ever had to cope with. ]

My dear, you will try. And then it's going to be very awkward for all of us when you realize you're locked out. The line is drawn. Decisively! I've- [ Choppy lil hand swoop. Definitely for sure a real threat he would really follow through on!!!!! ] I've drawn it.

[There comes, from Crowley, the most dismissive pfft sound that has ever been made by demon, human, or angel. No one has ever been as dismissive and skeptical as he's being right now.]

Please. The shop likes me far too much to keep me out.

[Other things he's not thinking about: the fact that the shop is just an extension of Aziraphale.]

Edited 2023-09-19 16:12 (UTC)

[ Aziraphale scoffs back. A pah! kind of scoff.

Crowley and his dismissive pfft, the absolute fucking gall. Aziraphale is going to marry him and wheedle him into wearing a tartan pocket square. He's going to move his favorite lounging sofa two inches to the left.

And then he's going to murder him. ]

I'll just prop open the doors and advertise a sale that day, shall I? Let all the tourists manhandle my signed first editions and, and set their drinks down on my shelves without any coasters! It's only thousands of years of accumulated knowledge, hm? Only material objects, hm?

No, no, I think you'll find that the shop does what I tell it no matter how much it likes you.

[ Which is also not a metaphor for anything and never being thought about.

He of course cannot deny allegations that the shop definitely likes and/or loves Crowley. That's the patent truth. ]

[It's a fortunate thing that Crowley is so practiced when it comes to self restraint, as there are two warring desires, one of which he can't indulge and the other that he's trying not to, not just yet. The first is, of course, the ridiculous desire to tell Aziraphale that he loves him and kiss him on his stupid mouth, because listening to him rant and be cranky always reminds Crowley of how much he loves him.

The other desire is far simpler, and he actually manages to keep himself restrained all the way through the rant, until he finally cracks and bursts into laughter.]

I never knew you felt so strongly about it! You should've said something sooner.

[Aziraphale is going to throw something at him and it'll be entirely deserved.]

[ Crowley laugh at Aziraphale... Crowley laugh at him like the JESTER...

There's just a whiny angy puffed up cartoon owl in here now. ]

You know precisely how strongly I feel about it, you brigand, that's the only reason you've even threatened me with it!

[Unfortunately for Aziraphale, being called a brigand only makes him laugh more.]

Threatened? I've not threatened anyone with anything, m'just being nice, trying to make sure a few kids have a good day.

[How can Aziraphale be upset with him for something so selfless and kind?]

Oh, how very nice of you indeed. Far be it for me to question the voracity of your kindness and your generous spirit.

[ Literally does think Crowley is nice and kind and generous (at least To Him), but sometimes Crowley pitches a fit about hearing it so now he has to be a bitch.

Also knows for a fact he's being baited and keeps taking the bait anyway. ]

Sweet of you, really, to offer up a chance to explore someone else's property.

[Once again: hoisted by his own petard. But also he sort of likes it? In a similar way that he likes when Aziraphale gets bossy at him, which is to say, the sort of way where he really needs to not think too hard about it.

He grins at Aziraphale like a cheshire cat, sliding down in his chair slightly so that he can lean sideways and tip his head that way, just to make the grin seem as lackadaisical as possible.

This bitch is really out here pretending he's not horny about being called sweet in a mocking tone.]

I am terribly sweet, aren't I? M'glad someone's finally noticed.

[It's fine, he only pitches a fit about being called nice when Aziraphale means it, not when he's being a bitchy queen about the bookshop.]

[ Aziraphale gives him a very regal nod, lifts his glass in the most sincere and gracious of salutes.

Why is Crowley his favorite person? He can't even revoke it at this point, he's all in. He loves him so much. The universe is truly so cruel. ]

Of course. I have very keen eyes.

[The sarcastic regal nod and salute is being designated as 'kinda hot'.

At this point maybe he should at least acknowledge that he's into 95% of the things Aziraphale does.]

That's only 'cause you've got so many of the damn things.

[Normal things to say when your best friend is an angel with thousands of angelic eyes.]

[ Angelic eyes are, by and large, not well suited to giving cheeky little winks. This is partly because there are so many of them that even if someone knows to look, it would be very hard to tell. And it's largely because angelic eyes are lidless.

Crowley receives instead the quasi-metaphorical weight of several thousand angelic eyes swiveling to make him their point of focus exclusively. It's only for a brief moment-- having them all in one sole direction instead of many, looking at just the one thing (no matter how beloved) isn't a pleasant feeling-- but there nonetheless, as if to say and always a few to spare for you.

Aziraphale personally considers this on par with the cheekiness and schrodinger's flirtiness of a wink. Getting good grades in romance. ]

I've learned not to take them for granted, haven't I? Your subtlety didn't stand a chance.

[Oh, so that's what it feels like to bear the full weight of Aziraphale's angelic gaze.

Crowley's always wondered, the thought creeping in when he's caught Aziraphale watching him from the corner of his eye. If it would feel the way it does when Aziraphale treats him to those rare indulgent looks that make him feel terribly, wonderfully seen.

There's no denying the part of him that reacts with fear, an instinctual response to the scrutiny, as it would very rarely mean good things for a demon, but the real response runs far deeper than that, and once the surprise passes he doesn't manage much more than rough swallow for a few good seconds, feeling grateful that Aziraphale spoke first so he doesn't need to immediately fill what would have been an awkward silence.

It does mean he has to parse those words when his focus is primarily occupied with the desire to ask Aziraphale to do that again.

Or maybe he won't even bother trying to parse them.]

Warn a bloke next time, will you?

[He manages to make his voice sound amused rather than breathless.

So at least there's that.]

[ Aziraphale has the decency to look both concerned and apologetic. (If not remorseful. Since in his professional opinion, Crowley does light up beautifully in that lens. Well worth seeing and Seeing. Aziraphale is very normal about this page in his mental scrapbook.) ]

Too much?

[There are two answers and in a way, both of them would be true, but if he says yes, he risks never experiencing it again and that isn't what he wants.]

Nah, just startled me a bit. Nearly tossed my glass at you, would've been a waste of whiskey.

[It was closer to just crushing it in his hand, but close enough.]

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