To be fair, not the worst day he's ever had

[sauntereddown]

Who: Crowley and any unsuspecting bystanders
What: Arrival post, and subsequent settling in
Where: Somewhere on the Walk/later in the Great Hall
When: Sometime in early November
Warnings: Initially grumpy, frazzled occult being. Absolutely no knowledge of actual cars.


Temporarily out of gas
Crowley is going to struggle to find a metaphor for this later. The best he can come up with is if your talking unicorn suddenly changed into a blank-eyed goat. But the shabby version of a goat everyone knows, from some film you never got around to seeing. That's his general feeling about the car he's sitting in right now.

And also he's pretty sure he's got an idea of how the universe works, certainly of how the world works because he was there when they built the blessed thing. But now the feel's all off, so he's like a cat with mittens on.

And also, people are staring, when they're not leaning out of horse-drawn wagons and yelling for him to move. And not just sort of assuming they see something else and working their way around him. So there's that.

He snaps his fingers, and oh, that's what it feels like if they cut the miracle power. He always wondered. "Shit." Maybe he can still lean into it. He rolls the window down and snaps again, louder, at some unsuspecting bystander. "Hey, yeah. Yes, you - I'm going to need some directions."

Hey boy, where did you go?
After some more swearing and a crash course or two, Crowley's now a new arrival in the Great Hall. He's wearing sunglasses indoors, and he's nursing a mug of something strong-tasting and hopefully alcoholic. (No one knew what he was talking about when he asked if they had Isle of Skye, so he decided on a glass of whatever would "take the edge off a long day.")

He's notably not eating, though he is taking notes in between pulls from the mug. Anyone who sneaks a peek will see a mix of English words and a squiggly language they likely won't be able to read. Crowley is not an organized scholar, but in between his attempts to throw together a class schedule, there are some spur-of-the-moment questions and notes.

Notable bits include 'Different planet? Is space the same?', and a list titled 'Clever Enough to Exorcise Me Here' with every name crossed off.

Comments

[temptationaccomplished]

He wiggles a bit, face lighting up with a blush. It should not please him this much for Crowley to be proud about something so ridiculous as talking about summoning his car, but it does. The Bentley is exceedingly important to Crowley, and Crowley is important to Aziraphale. It stands to reason that bringing him a little piece of happiness from home, when he is certainly more than a little piece of Aziraphale's happiness from home already, would be the right thing to do for his best friend. In the grand scope of everything Crowley has ever done for him, that would be a small gesture.

"My dear, I think a few types of magic may well blow up if done wrong. But summoning is what I do--what I try to do," he amends before boasting, straightening his tie, smoothing down his uniform, "I am not in the House Ka for nothing. We are the Sundering House. Of course higher ups get ...shirty about students learning to Sunder. After all, that is the power that brought us here. You could bring down a whole host of evil on this world if you're not careful. One doesn't enter into it lightly, but I have done a great deal of research on the matter if you are, indeed, ever interested."

He fusses with the pages of some of Crowley's notes absently, tidying them. "And I doubt we'd bring in Hastur. For one, I wouldn't make that kind of mistake. I am never so sloppy. And summoning in a demon is rather more difficult... I should think. "

[sauntereddown]

Crowley feels a wave of fondness that only grows, as Aziraphale bustles straight past the implication he's doing anything forbidden or unangelic, and straight to lecturing and gentle boasting. "Oh of course not, you'd never get carried away and forget to be careful. The very thought."

He had squared with his desire to do for Aziraphale, to give to him and protect him, a long time ago. But the tensions had heightened so much, as Armageddon grew closer, and the angel's identity as an angel was so much more present that...well. He hadn't expected this. The Bentley was important, yes, but Aziraphale offering ranked right up there with the possibility of getting her back. Maybe even higher.

He takes in the red and black robes for the first time. (And the bow tie. He's not sure where Aziraphale got the bow tie, but it's ridiculous.) The fondness is reaching critical mass. It's the kind where violins start playing in the background.

"Suppose I should be grateful Ka's where they've put me too, since they've gone and stolen my color scheme," Crowley says airily, like he's not just said something very interesting. "I'm not really the robes type. Reminds me too much of monks. Think they'd let me turn it into a posh jacket, or something?"

[temptationaccomplished]

He rolls his eyes, expression flattening in the way it often does in response to Crowley saying something minor that the angel doesn't really want to hear about himself. Carried away! The very idea!

I was careful, he almost snips back. But Crowley need not know the reckless extent Aziraphale went to try to bring him here. That is in the past, thankfully. He's here now.

Their little end of the table is radiating with a rosy feedback loop of fondness that Heaven would have been able to sense from all the way above in its Almighty perch, had Heaven existed here. He's known Crowley for over 6000 years and, aside from that lovely moment at the Ritz, he doesn't think he's ever quite embraced this impossibly growing aura that warms his core like a hearth.

This is unbridled friendship. This is what it is like to not have to look over one's shoulder and just openly and unabashedly appreciate the person you like most in the world. And to be liked equally and as openly in return. Every hour, every second spent buried in Sundering texts, practicing circles and languages and spells has been to reclaim the freedom to sit across from his best friend.

"Crowley, it's a uniform. You can't just change it. There are rules," he says, though there's a twinkle in his eye. It has never mattered if the administration would let Crowley--they both knew he was going to rebel anyway. "Besides. We could match."

[sauntereddown]

"Oh my goodness gracious, there are rules, well thank something you've warned me! I might've been embarrassed." Crowley takes the bait dutifully, giving him a pointed look only slightly undermined by the smirk at the corner of his mouth. "Matching means I'd have to wear that ridiculous tie you've somehow gotten your hands on, and there are some things I just won't do. Uniforms. Honestly, angel."

He's going to have to make it clear later that the lengths Aziraphale has gone to, the dangerous things he's tangled with to try and bring Crowley here, are...well, it's not as if Crowley wouldn't have done the same thing, but even so.

And yet however long they've actually been separated, whether it's Aziraphale's efforts or something more ineffable that let them see each other again, it doesn't matter. Not really. They're here, sitting across from each other, casually bantering about dress codes. And they get to do it again tomorrow. And the next day. Crowley's not sure what to do with that, or the feelings it brings up in him, except to enjoy it all.

Fortunately, that suits him just fine.