ଘ 𝕒𝕫𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕡𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕖 (
lunchbreaks) wrote in
logsinthenight2019-09-17 11:01 pm
Entry tags:
you're a sky full of stars | closed
characters: Aziraphale and Crowley
location: At the park
date/time: 9/18 for lunch
content: A long overdue picnic, with a surprise meteor shower
warnings: Y'all it's gonna be cute. Hiss hiss fall in love.
Aziraphale had spent the last two days off and on making a spread for the picnic that he'd promised he'd take Crowley on before their little boat hijacking plot, so the fact that there were falling stars everywhere was just a nice little bonus. "Ah," he had said, as they headed out, straw basket full of goodies with a gingham blanket covering it tucked under one arm. "I wonder what that's all about."
Now, on the dark green lawn of the park, somewhere by the pagoda with the ice cream cart in plain view, Aziraphale throws the blanket open and places a rock on one corner and a bottle of wine on the other to weigh it down. He pulls out a few wrapped cheeses, some crackers, dried apricots, walnuts he'd cracked himself that morning, extremely terribly made pork pies, and eton mess that had, at one point, aspirations as a pavlova.
And, of course, some awful red table wine that would taste better once poured, as long as Aziraphale got to touch it first. "It is beautiful," he remarks, looking up at the sky. "Were you in the Americas for the Leonid storm in 1833? I was. It's a bit like that."
location: At the park
date/time: 9/18 for lunch
content: A long overdue picnic, with a surprise meteor shower
warnings: Y'all it's gonna be cute. Hiss hiss fall in love.
Aziraphale had spent the last two days off and on making a spread for the picnic that he'd promised he'd take Crowley on before their little boat hijacking plot, so the fact that there were falling stars everywhere was just a nice little bonus. "Ah," he had said, as they headed out, straw basket full of goodies with a gingham blanket covering it tucked under one arm. "I wonder what that's all about."
Now, on the dark green lawn of the park, somewhere by the pagoda with the ice cream cart in plain view, Aziraphale throws the blanket open and places a rock on one corner and a bottle of wine on the other to weigh it down. He pulls out a few wrapped cheeses, some crackers, dried apricots, walnuts he'd cracked himself that morning, extremely terribly made pork pies, and eton mess that had, at one point, aspirations as a pavlova.
And, of course, some awful red table wine that would taste better once poured, as long as Aziraphale got to touch it first. "It is beautiful," he remarks, looking up at the sky. "Were you in the Americas for the Leonid storm in 1833? I was. It's a bit like that."

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Oh, he knew he should've kept better track of the angel when they were apart.
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He frets about nervously, ice cream forgotten, wine forgotten.
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Everyone except one.
It would be important to note that Crowley is not lying, he is simply omitting that from this conversation.
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He looks pretty torn up about this, to be honest. But he wouldn't take it back.
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He takes a long drink of wine. "They'll probably tell everyone else. Everyone in this town will know about you."
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He's not even going to ask who Keith Moon is or what a rock star is in the first place and why people think Crowley is one.
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He knows that isn't what Aziraphale wants to hear. He always wants to save everyone.
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He takes in a breath. "And if they work out about you, they'll work it out about me. And demons have a far worse reputation than angels do."
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"Crowley," he says, after a pause. "I wouldn't let that happen to you." He shakes his head. "I'd rather make them all forget us than turn against you."
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"You won't have to do that," he says, gently. "We'll...we'll figure something out. Just don't go telling anyone else."
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"Have you told anyone?" he asks, now that he's back to thinking properly.
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He takes a long drink of wine.
"One person," he admits, slowly. "But only because she needed to be impressed."
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He clicks his tongue behind his teeth.
"She must be special," he comments, sounding almost but not quite vaguely annoyed.
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Crowley rather liked Rosalind, actually. When she wasn't being especially difficult.
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He tries not to think about it as he drinks his wine. But he also very pointedly avoids looking at Crowley at the moment.
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He takes a drink of his own wine and looks at Aziraphale curiously. Why is the angel avoiding looking at him?
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He is about to give Crowley a look of distaste but aborts at the last moment, jerking away his gaze.
Yes, this is definitely on purpose.
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A pause.
"Sounds a bit like Other People we know."
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He takes the bottle and pours himself the rest. He's too sober for this conversation.
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Oh no, there's more fidgeting. A pause. A couple times trying to open his mouth and saying something and then closing it and saying nothing.
And then.
"And I don't understand that if you like her, even if you think you might only know her for another three years, why you aren't trying to make more of that time."
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"Are we about to get very juvenile and discuss the difference between like and like like, angel?"
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He frowns and drinks the rest of the wine. Oh boy.
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He's liked his fair share of humans, but he's kept them all at a careful distance. They don't live long enough to make real memories with, especially not for a being who can sleep off whole centuries when he's in the mood.
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