An angel and demon meet in St. James Park

[sohoangel]

In the newly renovated St. James Park, an angel sits on a park bench and waits for a demon.

Aziraphale can't remember whose idea it was to meet here, but he's glad of the decision. The park is lovely, perfectly picturesque on this sunny afternoon. Just enough of a pleasant distraction to keep him from anxiously checking the winding paths along the canal in anticipation of Crowley's arrival.

They need to hammer out the details of another one of their favor-slash-miracle deals, as per the terms of their Arrangement. It used to be that one would simply turn up where the other one was, but after Aziraphale nearly lost his head (literally) a few decades prior, it made more sense to pick a place that they could visit regularly. To check in with one another, so to speak.

Absently, he smooths out the lapels of his short-waisted tailcoat, a pale robin's blue. No one casually wore all-white these days, so he was trying to branch out a little. He spares a glance along the path. He hopes Crowley doesn't suddenly appear out of nowhere, he wants to be prepared for a change.

Oh, are those ducks in the canal? How delightful!

Comments

[temptational]

"Overused, probably," Crowley says to the first suggestion. He shrugs at the idea of puns--Aziraphale could probably come up with one, given enough time, but don't ask Crowley's opinion on it, he doesn't read enough to care. He snorts a little when Aziraphale mentions his alias. "A.Z. Fell? Is that what you're using these days?" Hm. He's never considered any particular use of a first or middle initial, he's mostly just been Crowley. It might be worth some thought. "Well, I suppose it'd do."

[sohoangel]

Aziraphale's cheeks flush a little at the snort, which he would blame on the wine if Crowley ever dared to point it out. "What's wrong with my alias? No one can seem to pronounce Aziraphale properly, let alone spell it, so I decided to make things a little easier all around."

He drains half his glass. That's what he's going to call it, then, if Crowley's going to laugh at it. See if he lets the demon pay a visit to his bookshop if he thinks the name is --

Oh. Oh, he's okay with it. He sets down his glass. "Well! I'll hold onto that one. A plan B." He smiles and tilts his head curiously. "You're still going by Crowley, right? Just Crowley?"