Aziraphale (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
temptationaccomplished) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
diatu2019-11-18 09:06 pm
temptationaccomplished) wrote in diatu2019-11-18 09:06 pm
you're the first one when things turn out bad
Who: EVERYONE, you're all invited. Or invited to happen upon this, if you missed the invite, and spot it happening in the Great Hall.
What: Aziraphale wants to show off his best friend, so he's invited you all to a tea party.
Where: The Great Hall
When: Tuesday after classes
Warnings: Tyzias is a menace, there's no reason to think anything at ALL about The Arrangement, and if the invite was any indication, the ineffables probably cannot be contained
Due to circumstances which will not be discussed (but, namely, that Pallidus cannot be in indirect sunlight), and using weather as an excuse, Aziraphale's planned tea party out on the lawn has been moved indoors.
He's gone all out. There is plenty of tea (with optional sugar and cream), biscuits (by which we mean crisp cookies), some small cakes that are rather adorably decorated, a fruit pie or two, and treats provided by Sunset Shimmer. (And possibly booze, if Tyzias did decide to bring some). Casual though the gathering is, he's set a proper table to hold their food, with a table cloth, a few candles, some nice napkins. This is not slipshod work. This is the work of someone aesthetically living in a past century who feels like he has waited a good millennia for this moment and is going to do this right.
And what This is, is introduce his demon best friend to polite company. As Crowley put it.
It's true, though. Except where Tyzias is concerned, anyway.
In the center of the table is a small, homey potted plant. Nothing particularly extravagant. Leafy and green and moderately well-cared for, recently purchased, and even more recently labeled with a tag that says "For: Crowley." The "for" was added secondary, after it occurred to Aziraphale that it looked a bit like he'd named the plant Crowley. Which he had not.
Aziraphale, aka Mr. Fell, is playing the anxious, bustling, gracious host as best he can, while being utterly preoccupied with his friend: a tall, gangly ginger who he introduces to everyone as "Crowley." Any assumptions one might make about the two apparently middle-aged, man-shaped beings is entirely one's own assumptions. But if Aziraphale is glowing with joy and affection, and eager to tell stories about the two of them, that's just how it is.
When things settle down and everyone has been served tea and introduced, he might try to show off some silly card-tricks: absolutely typical sleight-of-hand like humans perform, and not performed especially well. He's doing this mainly to annoy Crowley and seems to delight in that, even if he is a little genuinely embarrassed at how rusty his skills have gotten.
Come, join in, mingle. Hang out with your fellow classmates and enjoy some treats. We're coming up on the end of a year and, like a harvest festival, it's time to make new friends, rekindle old bonds, share in some good food, and party before the winter.
What: Aziraphale wants to show off his best friend, so he's invited you all to a tea party.
Where: The Great Hall
When: Tuesday after classes
Warnings: Tyzias is a menace, there's no reason to think anything at ALL about The Arrangement, and if the invite was any indication, the ineffables probably cannot be contained
Due to circumstances which will not be discussed (but, namely, that Pallidus cannot be in indirect sunlight), and using weather as an excuse, Aziraphale's planned tea party out on the lawn has been moved indoors.
He's gone all out. There is plenty of tea (with optional sugar and cream), biscuits (by which we mean crisp cookies), some small cakes that are rather adorably decorated, a fruit pie or two, and treats provided by Sunset Shimmer. (And possibly booze, if Tyzias did decide to bring some). Casual though the gathering is, he's set a proper table to hold their food, with a table cloth, a few candles, some nice napkins. This is not slipshod work. This is the work of someone aesthetically living in a past century who feels like he has waited a good millennia for this moment and is going to do this right.
And what This is, is introduce his demon best friend to polite company. As Crowley put it.
It's true, though. Except where Tyzias is concerned, anyway.
In the center of the table is a small, homey potted plant. Nothing particularly extravagant. Leafy and green and moderately well-cared for, recently purchased, and even more recently labeled with a tag that says "For: Crowley." The "for" was added secondary, after it occurred to Aziraphale that it looked a bit like he'd named the plant Crowley. Which he had not.
Aziraphale, aka Mr. Fell, is playing the anxious, bustling, gracious host as best he can, while being utterly preoccupied with his friend: a tall, gangly ginger who he introduces to everyone as "Crowley." Any assumptions one might make about the two apparently middle-aged, man-shaped beings is entirely one's own assumptions. But if Aziraphale is glowing with joy and affection, and eager to tell stories about the two of them, that's just how it is.
When things settle down and everyone has been served tea and introduced, he might try to show off some silly card-tricks: absolutely typical sleight-of-hand like humans perform, and not performed especially well. He's doing this mainly to annoy Crowley and seems to delight in that, even if he is a little genuinely embarrassed at how rusty his skills have gotten.
Come, join in, mingle. Hang out with your fellow classmates and enjoy some treats. We're coming up on the end of a year and, like a harvest festival, it's time to make new friends, rekindle old bonds, share in some good food, and party before the winter.
no subject
Aziraphale is moderately aware he's well on his way to being more than just drunk and that there are usually consequences for that. That's fine, he thinks, forgetting himself. He can just sober up when he gets to his room. If Tyzias is surprised by the mysteriously refilling bottles, maybe they can play it off as the work of magic in the school. Except, and this is what Aziraphale fails to realize... It won't work like that, not for an angel or a demon without their own special brand of magic. There will be no magical sobering up.
He sways in his seat at the nudge and catches Crowley's arm to steady himself. What a skinny arm, but such a nice arm, really. Silly serpent needs to eat more. "Mm, did you now," he murmurs, no longer projecting a story to the group, but talking solely to Crowley. "Must've been awful for you. Poor Crowley. So what remedies would you suggest for an absolutely besotted old fool pickled in the best tea in the house?"
no subject
Yeah. All right. Crowley's driven through a wall of fire, he can do this. "Yeah, just awful," he agrees in an idle tone, not feeling awful in the least.
He rests a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, ostensibly to help steady him, and tries to remember a single thing from something he did for a lark over 100 years ago.*
"Well," he begins. "First you let me see you home. To your room, same difference. We can keep water on hand, I think there was something boring in there about water." He gives Aziraphale what he hopes is his most tempting smirk. "And I'll keep you company, if you let me make fun a little. And scare off anyone who comes to bother you with noise. And you can tell me more about 'besotted', yeah?"
*(Crowley had lasted maybe fifteen minutes before he miracled the hangover away, banishing a headache that was banging out the riff to Another One Bites the Dust, long before many of Queen's ancestors were born.)
no subject
Or perhaps into some part of him that has become all too human.
Everything suggested sounds all too wonderful...The two of them. Alone. Crowley tending to his needs with water and company and friendly banter. Somewhere quiet and secluded, with the intimacy of their nights in the bookshop's back room.
Contrary to Crowley's claim, it is not the same difference at all. Not when seeing him home no longer means a cozy back-room at the bookshop, but instead, a dormitory room with little more than a bed, a dresser, and piles upon piles of notes and library books. If he is to keep Aziraphale company, where will Crowley sit in his room if not on his bed? His bed. Crowley would have to sit on his bed. Aziraphale's. Bed.
Oh he is besotted in every manner of the word.
"But, Crowley, I'm the host," he insists softly, pink rising to the apples of his cheeks and along his nose. He manages to meet the lenses of those dark glasses briefly before being drawn back down to the enticing smile. "It wouldn't be polite, my dear," he adds, biting his lip and looking away, "to duck out of our own party."
no subject
As if his stomach isn't doing flips at the blush spreading across Aziraphale's face. He likes the dance they're doing, he always fancied Aziraphale liked it too. Hoped, at least. But it's more complicated with the whole web of human relations sprawled out in front of them, and none of it something an angel or a demon is 'meant' to be a part of. Not that 'meant to' ever stopped them before. But it means he's willing to wait. He's always been willing to wait.
It's certainly easier than leaning in right now and just...
No, not the first time, not when he's this addled by drink. Aziraphale would be furious.
"Mm. So if you'd rather we go, you've really only got to ask, angel." That's all you've ever had to do.
no subject
But he really shouldn't. (Even if he really wants to.)
"Thank you." Aziraphale reaches out and touches a soft hand to Crowley's cheek. Crowley has always been so considerate, so generous, and so patient with allowing him the time in which to come to terms with what he wants and sort out his inner conflicts. He's having one of those right now. Funny thing about this dance: they've done it for so long, he isn't sure if it's meant to be like one of those wind-up music boxes, with the dancers spinning endlessly in circles with each other, or if the dance is supposed to culminate in anything. He is fairly certain what he wants, but Crowley's desires have only ever been able to be implied.
"I'll only make a bit more small talk, maybe have a few more drinks," he promises, returning his hand to his lap. Aziraphale feels like he should at least attempt to play a good host, or at least a present host, for a little bit longer before stealing away with the guest of honor. Maybe it will give him time to think and stew in the self-indulgence of accepting Crowley's offer. "Then we can go back to mine, if you are still interested."
no subject
Best friends isn't 'just'. It's easier to be patient, to keep the dance going forever, when he knows he'd be happy even if it never changed. Certainly it's easier than the fear of making a move at the wrong time. Or the wrong move altogether.
Fuck it.
"Always interested." A meaningful smile, as Crowley's hand brushes his. "Whenever you're ready."