paradisalost | five bottles of wine

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five bottles of wine

Who: Aziraphale and Crowley
What: Discussing all the things
Where: Closed for Refurbishment
When: August 3rd

Aziraphale had disappeared from the castle and its doings since that day he went out to the manor, having retreated to his store to think seriously over what was to be done. He did not make enemies lightly, it was not in his nature¹, and thus the conversation with Riful had upset him considerably. He didn't wish to fight her, hoped it wouldn't come to that, but he had made his resolve now. If she was involved in hurting another so senselessly, then he would not stand aside and let it pass.

There were others here, he was sure, who were far better equipped to be fighting a self-proclaimed 'monster', but every little helped where adversity was concerned. He had been mulling it over for days, sitting almost statuesque in his shop back-room with the Closed sign up, watching and listening to the journal.

Another dead.

Several. One resident and some townsfolk, who's deaths should not be trivialised just because of the nature of who they were. And it all came back to her... something had to be done.

So he had sent a note to Crowley, lacking in its usual polite flair, simply stating they needed to meet immediately to discuss a matter of some urgency.

And then... he waited.

^1. Excepting the fiends of Hell, of course, but that was more of a job description than a personal vendetta.

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A note without any politeness or promises of tea and crumpets was always a worrying affair with Crowley. The last time he'd done this was when the Titanic sunk and he felt guilty for misplacing the binoculars from the crow's nest.

So, fairly quickly, but trying to disguise his pace as to not look TOO concerned, he arrived at the bookshop. Once he'd entered, he decided to prop himself up against the wall, in an attempt to show how unbothered by everything he was.

"Angel."

This wasn't quite like the Titanic incident, there was less guilt and more quiet resignation on his face this time, though the sombre atmosphere was reminiscent of that dark time.

Gesturing to a seat opposite him, table devoid of alcohol for once, Aziraphale pushed at the glasses he sometimes wore for show.

"What do you know of the incident surrounding the regrettable deaths recently?"

That got a confused look. Usually when Aziraphale took on his angelic duties of...actually giving a crap when people snuffed it, he didn't bring it to Crowley. After all, it wasn't in his job description to care about such matters. He shrugged, moving to take his seat.

"Not a lot. Something to do with Arthas and that sword of his, with Riful no doubt someone involved in it," he added, a touch bitterly. "She likes getting involved in the community."

"I was rather afraid of that."

Sliding his glasses from his nose, he polished one lens carefully with that little cloth that comes in the case, just wishing for something to occupy his hands while he thought.

"It seems she is determined to court disaster, even when warned what will come of her actions."

"Yeah, well, she's like that. She..."

And then what Aziraphale had actually said registered. He narrowed his eyes behind his shades, instantly suspicious. Oh he didn't. Please say he wasn't that bloody stupid.

"What do you mean 'even when warned'?"

"I visited her home a few days ago, we spoke at length about her behaviour."

Which was as stern as Aziraphale got in these type of matters. Speaking to someone at length, usually ended in that person changing their behaviour simply to stop the angel talking.

It might not be the most conventional method, but it worked.

Oh he had. The stupid... Crowley made a frustrated sound, standing.

"Are you fucking CRAZY? You went to her and talked to her? The possessed you to even do that?"

"Sit down, shouting at me won't change anything."

His tone was rather wearied, having expected Crowley's ire, but not having time to humour it. He had made an Enemy, and that Enemy had moved in a way he had warned her of, so now he had to decide his next move.

"It was an accidental meeting, though that doesn't change the outcome."

Crowley bristled, but did as requested. After all, if anyone could calm him, even slightly, it was the angel. Still. He couldn't believe he'd talk to her. What a bloody stupid...

"How was it accidental? Did she just bump into you while murder people? Ooops, sorry, didn't see you there?"

Letting the sarcasm wash over him (having actually identified it for once, though if it had been any more blatant then Crowley may have transcended even sarcasm), he sighed and spread his hands on the table.

"I went for a morning ramble, as you do." Or, as a certain class of people of a certain group of interests did. "I happened upon her abode and we talked. Or rather, I warned her that her actions would no longer go unpunished."

He was still surprised at himself, to be honest; giving people ultimatums was not usually in his character, but even he had limits.

"You just happened upon her mansion of death and pain?" Crowley's tone was incredulous. "You are aware she could have nabbed you, right? She's more powerful than she looks. Or do you think I spent time in her basement being ripped to pieces because I just didn't feel like fighting back?"

He huffed, looking at the ceiling.

"For fuck's sake, why didn't you just walk on by like a sane person?"

A slightly huffy expression crossed Aziraphale's face, a tell-tale indignant guilt that said he knew it had been dangerous.

"I felt that if I had stumbled upon the opportunity, it was probably part of the Plan."

And with God in the castle, it was best to err on the side of caution with the Plan.

Crowley visibly straightened at the mention of the Plan. He'd had enough of the Plan now. It was a load of bollocks, as far as he was concerned. Something to make everyone else miserable while Daddy Dearest watched.

"Or, she could have just taken you to her dungeon and ate your liver with fava beans and a nice chianti."

"Well, she didn't."

Nor is he completely helpless, not if truly pushed. But he appreciated the underlying concern, even if Crowley would deny that was what it was.

"I warned her that if she were involved in any further acts of aggression, I would personally make sure to stop her."

Crowley gave a frustrated sigh, looking at the ceiling. As much as he couldn't deny the concern, the frustration was real too.

"You couldn't just keep out of it, could you?"

He had been doing quite well at Keeping Out Of It until that morning ramble, and now he couldn't possibly turn his back. He was an angel, after all, and he had certain duties to maintain.

"I shall have to confront her, you realise."

"NO you bloody well shall not," the demon responded. "You can't just...take her on and WIN. She's powerful, it'd be a suicide mission."

He wasn't even reaching for any alcohol. That, if anything in this world, was a sign he was Not Happy with this situation. Not one bit.

Looking distinctly unhappy about all this, Aziraphale was the first to reach for the alcohol and pour himself a glass.

"I can't do nothing either, dear boy."

Crowley continued to pace the small space of the back room, not settling.

"Yes you can. It's really easy. Look at me, right now, doing nothing. It's their fight, not yours."

"I'm supposed to be a representative of the forces of good, Crowley. People are dying and those responsible aren't even slightly remorseful, I cannot do nothing."

He was getting rather passionate now, which meant two things happened. Firstly, his tone of voice began to resemble that of a dramatic voice-over announcer; and secondly, that he began to exude an angelic sense of divine justice.

The demon waved his hand, as if dispelling smoke. The feeling the angel was letting out wasn't a pleasant one, and it was doing nothing to help his mood.

"Stop that," he said distractedly, before turning to look on him full on. "And what happens if they kill you?"

"I shan't allow that to happen."

Really, it was touching of the demon to be concerned about his well-being, but neither of them were particularly easy to kill.

"When Riful is concerned, you might not have much of a choice," said Crowley. "Do you think I stayed in her little dungeon for a laugh?"

"I am not being kidnapped, Crowley, there's a difference."

He is going into this prepared; he imagined if the demon had forewarning of what he was facing, he would have fared significantly better.

"Yes, the difference being you're stupid enough to get involved in this...ridiculousness in the first place."

He stalked over towards one of the bookshelves, running his finger along the spine of one.

"But fine, if you must. I won't be held responsible for what I'll do if you don't survive it."

He didn't feel the need to expand on that. The angel knew, out of anything which could get under the demon's skin, he was the one thing that could turn him deadly. Make him ACT like a demon, instead of just play the part half-heartedly.

He is well aware of the implications of what was said, though he chooses not to address them aloud. He is quite certain that if Crowley were to be killed in any way, he may find his own inner wrath.

"Does that mean you will be stubborn and refuse to get involved if you're needed?"

"I'm not going near her again, Aziraphale. I'm not an idiot."

He pauses, not looking at the angel, his tone full of distaste.

"Unlike some people, I am aware when I'm facing I fight I can't win."

"Balderdash."

Aziraphale spluttered indignantly, raising an eyebrow and looking at Crowley with a rather disbelieving eye.

"So you're saying we had a shot against the Great Adversary?"

Not that they had to eventually face it, but they had been preparing to.

Crowley visibly stiffened. Before turning ever so slightly to look at the angel over his shoulder.

"That was different. It was going to end either way. There was no other escape route."

"If nobody stands against her and her amassing allies, then there will be no end to it here either."

Perhaps he was being ever so slightly dramatic; like the time he compared the invention of prawn cocktail crisps to the invention of penicillin, but the feeling was there.

The demon shrugs, his gaze once again falling to the floor.

"You can't ask me to be part of this fight, angel. I won't be part of this fight. You weren't here at the time, you don't understand what she did..."

A scoff, and another sigh.

"They'd of given her quite a high paying job in Hell."

Aziraphale knew Crowley wouldn't make that observation lightly, and he felt a rather strong pang of the old Wrath at the mention of what she had done to his friend before he arrived.

"...Very well, dear boy, you shan't hear me asking for your help."

He'll do it alone.

"I'd rather you did the sensible thing and not get involved at all, but clearly you're not up to sensible right now."

He shrugged, starting for the door.

"Let me know when you start managing that again."

There were several points in history when it became apparent there was simply no arguing with Crowley, and this had just been added to the list.

Simply letting the demon leave, Aziraphale poured himself a nice stiff glass of rum, and then topped that up with a double rum and then finally a quadruple rum.

The demon, meanwhile, returned to his room to ponder the stupidity of some people and why they would risk themselves in such a hopeless task.

That and fortify his doors in case Riful decides she wanted allies again.

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