| |
[Jul. 4th, 2008|06:10 pm] |
Who: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Aziraphale's Cherub
What: Fluff. Pretty much. The baby has learned to fly, and Crowley is Amused.
When: Right the heck now
Warnings: Cuteness? Nothing, while they've a baby in the room.
Crowley was lounged in his usual chair down in the Angel's library, quietly supervising the preparations for the club's opening that evening (most of the staff were aware their boss had a 'sense' about things, and continued to work even after not seeing him for most of the day). The child Aziraphale seemed to be charged with, was flitting around the room, giggling and flailing in the air as she worked to coordinate the movement of her wings, and propel her in various directions.
Looking from the small television he had snuck into the library, he jumped up as the child started towards one of the oil lamps in the corner, heading over and wrapping an arm around her middle to pull her away. She didn't seem to appreciate the restriction, whining and wriggling in his arms, until he finally released her in the other direction, setting her off towards the TV. At least she was too small to harm that. He hoped. |
|
|
| |
[Jun. 30th, 2008|10:48 pm] |
Who: Aziraphale and Crowley
What: Repercussions of the zomgmarriage!Plot
When/Where: Tonight, the Angel's Library at Oxford
Warnings: High. These two have been holding it in for six millenia. I don't blame them.
Crowley couldn't help but feel... ridiculous, for lack of a better word, given the events of the weekend. He had a very photographic memory, which was replaying in great detail all of the things he said (and did) to a man, no, a boy he had never met before. The exact same things he felt... reluctant (read: terrified) to say (and do) to his Adversary.
In the spirit of correcting this grand injustice- to him, of course- he poof'd himself down to his Angel's library, landing himself right inside the doorframe.
"Angel?" |
|
|
| |
[Jun. 28th, 2008|05:18 pm] |
Who: Anthony J Crowley, and whoever cares to come to his party. OTA
What: The opening night of Crowley's nightclub, also, his bachelor party.
When: Tonight
Warnings: Considerably tuned down from what I expected, but still likely to be anything. Especially with so many in lurve. Beware!
Crowley was, in a word, happy. While this would generally be considered strange and unacceptable for a demon of his rank, he was far too ennured with his new Love to deign to care. He was wandering the club, just before opening the doors, making sure all of the tables were well stocked, and all of the dancers were... sensual, without being too sexual. This was a celebration of love, after all.
Finally, he stopped at the top of the staircase leading down into the pits, waving at the bouncers to open the door. The club was officially open for business. |
|
|
| |
[Jun. 26th, 2008|07:49 pm] |
Who: Aziraphale and Crowley
What: Reuniting Zira with his books
Where: A series of book rooms at Oxford
When: Tonight
Warnings: So an angel and a demon poofed into a book room...yeah. NWS, kids.
There was really no need to stand so close to the demon, and yet Aziraphale stood as close to Crowley as he could. He simply wanted to be near him, to take in the sight and the smell of him. Besides, he'd always rather loathed the swirling motion of transporting across time and space, especially going across the great sea. He emerged on the other side, landing as always on his feet, but feeling slightly off balance, as if the ground were moving beneath his feet. It was, he knew, the law of physics, a body in motion stayed in motion. Well, it was as good an excuse as any to stumble a step, directly into the demon's arms.
"Oh dear me," he muttered, seeming apologetic when the move was well rehearsed and very calculated. "Pardon me, my dear. I must've lost my footing." |
|
|
| |
[Jun. 19th, 2008|09:53 pm] |
Who: Aziraphale and Crowley
What: Chess (which is to say, who knows?)
When: Backdated to... Wednesday? Yesterday.
Warnings: There's no telling. We haven't quite decided, yet.
Crowley wasn't quite sure what to make of the sickeningly modern building the Angel had directed him to. Looking around the lobby, he decided it was something he could imagine himself designing- perhaps he had. He hardly remembered all of the designs he had created, over his decades in New York. Still, it was hardly the sort of thing he expected his ang- Aziraphale, to bother with.
Deciding to stop thinking so far into things, he simply willed himself to the Angel's front room, lounging over his disgustingly chic leather couch. Rather than announce his presence, he simply reached over to turn on the over-priced flat-screen TV, settling on one of his soaps. In Thai. |
|
|