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]

"Oh, yeah, that. She just wanted someone's affections; it was easy to get her to soften up once I found her a pretty young thing." Humans almost always want that. It makes them so easy to tempt, it almost takes the sport out of it at times; its power over them is a curious thing. He's aware that there's a sudden awkward stillness in Aziraphale next to him, which Crowley stoically ignores. He doesn't like it when Aziraphale gets distressed, and it's far worse when he suspects he is somehow the cause of it--it makes him want to reach out again, but since it all seems to have something to do with touching him in the first place, Crowley doesn't.

What he does do, however, is tip out the Madeira over Aziraphale's glass, pouring him quite a generous quantity, and then follow that by refilling his own. Alcohol can be counted upon to smooth over almost any stiff moment. "Well," Crowley raises his glass, "here's to your future bookshop, angel. What will you call it?"

[sohoangel]

"Oh. I see." His mouth twitches a little, but there's no lecture that follows. He made the proprietress happy, if only for a little while. He didn't tempt her to hurt anyone, or harden her heart to others. It's not the worst thing one could do in exchange for a bottle of wine.

Of course, there's the question of who the 'pretty young thing' is, but the moment is awkward enough as it is without him asking. He decides to drop the subject entirely, forcing a smile that soon becomes genuine when Crowley refills their glasses and offers a toast.

"To the bookshop," he says, clinking his glass gently to Crowley's, before giving him a mildly baffled look. "I hadn't thought of a name. I suppose it needs one, doesn't it?"

[temptational]

Crowley is happy to move on from the subject as well: it's become dangerous ground, for some reason he can't quite identify. Instead he watches Aziraphale from behind his shades, trying to be subtle about it while he attempts to understand what's going through the angel's mind. It gives him a strange feeling to see how easily Aziraphale's smile switches from something a little stiff to something genuinely interested and happy as soon as they go back to the topic of his bookshop--a little like being lit up from within, in a way that burns as well as warms.

"Most do, yeah," he agrees with a sinuous shrug of his shoulders. "Always a bit of a risk, naming something, innit? Shapes its nature." Look at him. He'd probably still be spending most of his time slithering around on his belly if he'd stuck with Crawley.

[sohoangel]

"Yes, that's very true," Aziraphale agrees with a thoughtful nod. Naming anything -- a creature, a place, an emotion -- gives it a definition of sorts. As this is his first endeavor in taking on a permanent, human space, he wants very badly to do it right.

Leaning back in his seat a little, he toys with his glass while he thinks over his options. "I suppose 'Words, words, words' is a bit too on the nose," he says with small laugh. "Some sort of book pun?" He shakes his head. "No, no, I'm no good with those..." He does come up with clever puns, on occasion, but often long after the moment to say them has passed.

He sighs and takes another sip of wine. "If nothing comes to me, I could just name it after my alias, perhaps? 'A.Z. Fell's Bookshop.' That's not so bad, is it?"

[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?"