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Day 46 - 576 words - Prompt: gust of wind
He didn't go for it - for many reason, the least of which is he didn't trust the angel not to bless it, lingering death still clearly fresh in his mind - but he also seemed to have no idea how to react when the couple acknowledged him civilly and then just went on about their day.
Gabriel and Sandelphon could be sniffing around from time to time, but Crowley's spitfire seemed to have caused them to reevaluate their chances of being able to bully Aziraphale into their causes anymore.
No longer having to hide, Aziraphale took great pleasure in doting on Crowley in public, and poured on the affection quite vindictively whenever he noticed the gaze of a fellow supernatural entity on them. Someone else might have been offended by such, but Crowley *basked* in it, absolutely loving the petty and (shallow) gestures almost as much as he was enjoying the attention itself.
Unfortunately, there was a new change on the wind once again, as the two settled in for some after hours drinking in the bookshop (that may or may not extend into some after dinner drinking at the Mayfay Flat) only to be quite rudely interrupted by a banging at the door.
"We're closed~!" Crowley called from the back room before Aziraphale had the chance, sending them both into tipsy giggles, before the door was tried again. Aziraphale gave him a long suffering - Customer! - look and started to get up to shoo them away when the handle wiggled, and an indeterminate accent called though the mail slot.
"Aye, an yer let meh in or aye let mehself in! Again!"
'Shadwell?' Crowley mouthed as Aziraphale passed him by for the door. it was an... interesting... revelation after Mr Young had come and taken the children home, to find the Sargent having (successfully) played them both for a paycheck for most of his adult life. Crowley was so impressed that he kept passing the man money afterward, and Aziraphale added a little extra to Mme Tracey to help care for him once the two humans accounted they where retiring together. She had confided in him that Crowley was still sending him money, to which the angel simply smiled, but worried that if Shadwell released the gig was up, he wouldn't take it anymore out of some sense of pride. Money was relatively meaningless to bother entities, butt hey also both understood that that was not true of most humans, and they did want to see him cared for , int heir own ways.
As it stood, Aziraphale opened to door of his shop to a harshly breathing, panicked elderly man, well on his way to breaking in once again. Aziraphale had scolded the shop quite fiercely about letting him the first time, and yet - again, the lock had turned under the man's skillful picking before Aziraphale even got to the knob.
(Ah good, your bother here. came back as quick as i could, worried i was gonna be too late)
"Too late? Sargent Shadwell, what is - ?"
Crowley was on his feet in a flash, coiling defensively around Aziraphale as he dragged him away, as Shadwell interrupted the angel by simply raising a knife. he wasn't holding it to do harm, the blade was actually facing him, held out with the point away from them all. But the pure vile, wretched, *hate* oozing off of it had Aziraphale wrinkling his nose in discus as Crowley chocked on the air.
Gabriel and Sandelphon could be sniffing around from time to time, but Crowley's spitfire seemed to have caused them to reevaluate their chances of being able to bully Aziraphale into their causes anymore.
No longer having to hide, Aziraphale took great pleasure in doting on Crowley in public, and poured on the affection quite vindictively whenever he noticed the gaze of a fellow supernatural entity on them. Someone else might have been offended by such, but Crowley *basked* in it, absolutely loving the petty and (shallow) gestures almost as much as he was enjoying the attention itself.
Unfortunately, there was a new change on the wind once again, as the two settled in for some after hours drinking in the bookshop (that may or may not extend into some after dinner drinking at the Mayfay Flat) only to be quite rudely interrupted by a banging at the door.
"We're closed~!" Crowley called from the back room before Aziraphale had the chance, sending them both into tipsy giggles, before the door was tried again. Aziraphale gave him a long suffering - Customer! - look and started to get up to shoo them away when the handle wiggled, and an indeterminate accent called though the mail slot.
"Aye, an yer let meh in or aye let mehself in! Again!"
'Shadwell?' Crowley mouthed as Aziraphale passed him by for the door. it was an... interesting... revelation after Mr Young had come and taken the children home, to find the Sargent having (successfully) played them both for a paycheck for most of his adult life. Crowley was so impressed that he kept passing the man money afterward, and Aziraphale added a little extra to Mme Tracey to help care for him once the two humans accounted they where retiring together. She had confided in him that Crowley was still sending him money, to which the angel simply smiled, but worried that if Shadwell released the gig was up, he wouldn't take it anymore out of some sense of pride. Money was relatively meaningless to bother entities, butt hey also both understood that that was not true of most humans, and they did want to see him cared for , int heir own ways.
As it stood, Aziraphale opened to door of his shop to a harshly breathing, panicked elderly man, well on his way to breaking in once again. Aziraphale had scolded the shop quite fiercely about letting him the first time, and yet - again, the lock had turned under the man's skillful picking before Aziraphale even got to the knob.
(Ah good, your bother here. came back as quick as i could, worried i was gonna be too late)
"Too late? Sargent Shadwell, what is - ?"
Crowley was on his feet in a flash, coiling defensively around Aziraphale as he dragged him away, as Shadwell interrupted the angel by simply raising a knife. he wasn't holding it to do harm, the blade was actually facing him, held out with the point away from them all. But the pure vile, wretched, *hate* oozing off of it had Aziraphale wrinkling his nose in discus as Crowley chocked on the air.