logsinthenight | We Are the Champions, My Friend || Closed

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We Are the Champions, My Friend || Closed

characters: Crowley and Aziraphale
location: The Village, Miner's Castle #3
date/time: Evening after the arrival of new people
content: An angel and a demon make excellent use of their time and several bottles of alcohol.
warnings: None

Crowley doesn't have any need of money. Money has never been something that's ever been a necessary point in his life. If he's wanted something, he's just made it available to himself. He has had a credit card with an unlimited balance that he's never had to pay off at any point, and that was useful when Amazon came around, but other than that, he's just never needed it. Therefore, no need for a wallet. He didn't have one on him when he woke up on that ship, either.

He can just miracle money, but he's a bit worried about being too flip with his miracles here. After all, he doesn't know how much he is allowed to do while he's here. He creates just enough money to buy supplies, but no more, just in case it's too much of a miracle. How much is too much? What are his limits? He certainly can't create more light, which is really, really disconcerting.

What's also disconcerting is hunger. Crowley has never been hungry before, and suddenly, that's all he feels. A gnawing ache in his stomach that he is hyperfocused on while they're in the general store, and focused on as he picks out a few supplies to eat back at their new residence. He also has purchased some alcohol, because that is what he definitely needs right now.

After all, he and his best friend just died today.

He holds up one of the canned peaches he's purchased and looks at it through the lantern light. The cabin is sparse, but it isn't dusty anymore, at least.

"So, what? You just eat it and you stop feeling this way?" he asks Aziraphale. Crowley has eaten many times in the past, but it was never out of hunger. It was because he was going somewhere with Aziraphale and the angel wanted to share a meal with him. He ate, and it was pleasant enough, but it never really meant anything either way to him. Now, he stares at the peach on the fork and can feel himself salivate. He takes a drink of the cheap wine purchased from the general store. No body, not a great year, and definitely not something he'd have picked for himself. But it'll do in a pinch.

"Is this how we're going to have to live? Eating?"

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Aziraphale is no stranger to eating, but he has previously spent months before sitting at his desk wiling away the time busily working, only having noticed how much time has passed when he touched his chin and found a full beard there. It was one of the reasons he'd opened the shop, much easier to stick to a schedule that way.

He has, however, much like Crowley, never needed to sustain himself with food, and it's such an odd feeling to be hungry. Even odder still, is how much better things taste when he is hungry; he'd never deign to eat these canned peaches while he'd been alive, but the metallic calories in the sickly-sweet syrup, the slimy slide on his tongue, make him feel like it might be the best thing he ever ate.

"Yes, that is how hunger works, my dear. And I suppose we will have to keep eating to live. Maybe even regularly. Oh, what a bother. I suppose this is how humans function without clocks. I get so hungry every day at noon almost on the dot!" There have been less than a handful of noons so far, but both of them have been known for their dramatics. "This should last us awhile; I find that once it gets to your stomach, it's safe to move back without undoing your fullness." And yes, he'd tried.

"This wine is awful," Aziraphale comments, frowning deeply. But then he takes another swig, directly from the bottle. "Possibly the worst wine we've ever drank."

He considers the idea of being hungry every day. Being on a schedule every day. Not being able to sleep full decades away when he's frustrated or annoyed with the way things are going. That's possibly the worst of it, because that's just one of his favorite things to do. Now, he has to be awake every day at least for a little while in order to eat.

He takes a bite of the peach. He's hungry and it's delicious.

"Rome," Crowley counters, reaching for the bottle. "That house brown was frightening. Did the trick, though. Do you remember that drink they used to feed the slaves in Egypt? The one that served as both food and alcohol?"

"Yeah, the beer, dreadful stuff. The kykeon wasn't bad, no idea why they didn't just adopt that. Could've used a little salt, actually, but mm. Though, the oysters..." He licks his lips thinking about it and tries to swallow another peach. It was about the same consistency.

"Did you like them? I can't recall." Actually, he can't recall if Crowley even actually ate any or if he just clandestinely shoved them over at Aziraphale while the angel was too busy talking to notice that his partner wasn't eating much of anything.

Come to think of it... that happened a lot.

He offers Crowley the can.

Crowley takes a swig of the wine and cringes at the sight of the peach can. He doesn't like eating when it isn't fancy food with Aziraphale. It all seems like a great big waste of time. All the same, he offers up the bottle and takes the can to take another peach.

"I had one, it was....well, odd. Not as odd as sushi, I'm not sure why you like that." Crowley had taken a big bite of wasabi when he tried sushi, because he thought it was part of the dish and things didn't go very well after that.

The cabin is dark with only the light of their lanterns in the main room. He wonders idly if they shouldn't have picked one of the A-frames, which might've held onto light a little better. Crowley normally likes things a bit spooky, but he worries about Aziraphale.

"So what do you think?" he asks, eating another peach. "Purgatory?"

"Maybe, but I don't know. I was reading some notes someone made, you know how I like to read notes," he says. "Anyway, they were just there," he pauses to stifle a burp. "You know, for public consumption. talking about how they tried before, something about a reset. I don't know." He drinks a little more wine.

"But we are all dead, and we got to some place that isn't Heaven or Hell, so I suppose in a way it is Purgatory, just not the one we think of. It started making sense to me, you know, Misty said that someone she knows experienced a personal Hell-- but that doesn't make sense, does it? So perhaps it's just what we perceive. Humans see themselves in horoscopes, they see themselves in Hell. We just are part of a larger... concept of Purgatory."

He looks down at the bottle, and frowns.

"It's empty!"

"Oh, you make more, I'll get some water," Crowley says, standing a bit awkwardly. He was only one bottle of wine in, why was he feeling tipsy already? Was it because he was also hungry?

"I'm a demon, so every time I try to turn water into wine, it just comes out as bland Chardonnay. We never get the good stuff. Not that I think we can get good stuff here. Might have to special-order it, which won't matter as of next month."

He puts the peaches down on the small table near his chair and heads over to get some water.

"Did I tell you about that? Be-cause if I haven't told you about that we need to talk about it pretty soon."

"Chardonnay is fine, but a bland chardonnay? Terrible, terrible thing. But what do you mean order, like from a mail order catalogue? That's the good stuff? Oh, Crowley. What will we do?" He asks dramatically even as he reaches out to turn water to wine. It's fine, it's passable, it's a table red, nothing particularly exciting about it, mostly because it's tainted with sadness and despair.

"But no, you haven't, what else must we order? I'll need a wool blanket. And a new mug." Oh no, there won't be any cocoa to put in his mug. Oh no, they won't be any good tea! No little bakeshops to walk into, no little hole in the wall places. No takeaway. No bus system! No lovely original 18th-century wainscoting! The horror.

"Yes, I think I'll need something stronger than this."

"No, there's some bloke, orders things for people. They come on the boat, same boat we came on," he says. He takes a drink from the bottle and then passes it back to Aziraphale. "Of course, when it comes to that boat, I'm not going to give it time to bring things back next time."

In a bit of a dramatic whisper, he leans in. "We're going to steal it."

He nods emphatically. Emphasis on the emphatic. It's very important that Aziraphale sees the emphasis.

"Steal it and get back to the bookshops and the----and the mugs----and the blankets and restaurants back on Earth. Where we belong!"

He leans in. "Steal it?" he asks, and then smiles wide, crinkling his nose as if it were a funny joke.

"My, Crowley, why don't we just ask Mollymauk for his help? I'm sure we could bargain something with him," he says instead.

He takes another glug of the wine and looks sadly down at the bottle. "He did play a mean trick on me; he said we were going to Hell. And I thought, well, there's no way you'd be here, then."

"Is that the librarian?" he asks, reaching again for the peaches. "Figures you'd make friends with him."

The peaches are very tangy and sweet, but they satiate his hunger. Hunger is so strange. He tries to equate it to something he recognizes and realizes he can't, it's a very singular feeling. Is this what humans feel like? He thinks of all of the famines he's lived through, and his heart pangs for the pain they went through. The pain he caused.

"You don't think I'd belong in Hell?" he says, reaching out for the bottle. "Did you miss the memo, angel?"

"No, he sails the ship, pay attention. He's a purple demon, with ram's horns. Peacock tattoo, red eyes, can't miss him. Quite lovely robes, honestly, if I do say so myself..." He flaps his hand. "Though I did make friends with the Librarian, but they're a spirit! It's very hard to ask them anything, I don't even know their name."

He'll let Crowley finish the peaches, because Aziraphale's had his fill of food for a lifetime. He should let Crowley have a little of it.

"And no, I thought-- well I thought if I was getting sent to Hell, surely you wouldn't be there waiting for me. Surely they wouldn't allow it, and-- and," his lip starts to quibble and he definitely needs another swig of wine.

"What, they'd separate us?" Crowley says, solemnly, offering the bottle back to the angel. "Yeah, that'd be right about up Hell's alley. They'd make sure to let us both know we were there, though, don't forget that. Then they'd keep us apart."

He doesn't know what he'd do without Aziraphale. That would be Hell. It was easier thinking this place was Hell until he saw the angel, until he knew he was here. Earth felt like Hell when he thought Aziraphale had died, then, too. Crowley certainly didn't want to be on it alone.

It's times like these that he thinks he's gotten too soft. Grown far too attached to Aziraphale. Enjoys their time too much. In their old life, he'd take a nap for a good eighty or ninety years, put some space between them. Now, they've literally only got each other.

"Don't worry, angel, you'd never end up in Hell. You're too good, both sides know it."

"Oh, don't say that. Wasn't Lucifer one of the best? And you, you were hardly a terrible angel," he says. "Bet you were wonderful. Eyes the color of stars and everything, like a blueprint. What a shame we never met." Oh, maybe he's said too much.

He looks down at his wine and finds that it seems to be staring back at him accusingly.

"Well if you steal the boat, we must first get all the requested items off of it. We don't know how long we'll be, and the people - we can't let them starve, if they still feel hunger. Strange, since we're all dead, but."

"I questioned things," Crowley says, reaching for the bottle again. "Hung around the wrong people. You know, that's all it used to take. But not you, you give up flaming swords and turn your back on Heaven to save Earth, you're not just one of the best, angel, you are the best."

He misses the part about his eyes.

"We can't----we can't give them the chance to take the things, we have to get on and get on fast. Boat sits around too long, people will start to get off and then they will just become part of the town, won't be able to be rescued. We've got to get in--" he gestures, a bit too enthusiastically. "--get out. Human soldier person will do the driving."

"You still haven't gotten his name? I swear, Crowley, you can't just keep calling him human soldier person. First of all, it's redundant. Second of all, I assume he's a human, most of the people we know are humans. But we can't just... leave the rest of them high and dry!"

He tries to get up, but wobbles around a bit. "Crowley, honestly, why couldn't we just fly? They haven't clipped our wings!"

And there would be no hijacking necessary, and they could still come back and bring the lot of them home.

"I'll message him when I sober up, I promise I will, I promise," Crowley says. Blimey, he hates having to care about things like people's names. Back in London, he didn't even really have to care about Shadwell's name, he just had to keep paying him, which wasn't a big deal because money wasn't a big deal. It was just another thing.

He raises a hand when Aziraphale wobbles, as if to catch him.

"Hang on, did you say you knew the ferry driver? I didn't see anyone driving the ferry."

"No, the ferry owner. Must've been operating by power or something, he's a demon, like I said. Purple, red eyes, very interesting tattoo. You can't possibly miss him, he's got those huge ram's horns and he's decorated them with half a jewelry shop, like he walked head-first into a jewelry box and decided that was it."

Does Aziraphale think he looks so cool? Yes, yes he does.

"Probably gone on another ferry ride, but he's easy to spot."

Oh. My. God. Of course Aziraphale thinks he looks cool. Why wouldn't Aziraphale think he looks cool? Crowley bets Aziraphale thinks he's about the coolest demon he's ever met in the history of ever. Except Crowley himself, of course.

"Owner of the ferry, but doesn't drive it. We've definitely got to be able to direct it. Quick miracle, I'm sure I can get a hold of the controls."

He gestures for the wine bottle back.

"You can stay below deck, keep out of sight until we've cleared the way. Made sure no one comes to get us."

He gladly gives the wine back to Crowley, and yawns. God, yawns! He'd never felt actually tired like this before, that he needed to sleep. It was just so bothersome. "Yes, sure, but I really do think we should just ask him. He seems nice, for a demon. You know." He pointedly does not say, like you.

"--And I beg pardon, I most certainly will not just hide underneath like some sort of stowaway." He frowns in distaste.

Crowley takes a drink from the bottle before handing it back to the angel.

"Well, I'm not about to see you get hurt. For all we know, they could fight back, or there could be something waiting for us in the dark."

He picks up the can of peaches, only to discover it is empty. He stares into it and scowls. This is going to be frustrating, getting hungry.

"Besides, I'll need you to calm the people downstairs," he adds, as a way to help Aziraphale feel useful and potentially keep him out of harm's way.

"I can fight," he replies, snippily. "I'm rather good at it, if you've forgotten." He doubts Crowley remembers him and the sword, or just always thought he was a bit of a fool with it. No matter.

"And oh, I can do that from upstairs, you know. Miraculously keep everyone calm, it's like the first thing in the angel manual: how to make people happy!"

Yes, he's absolutely sloshed.

"Right, with the---" He gestures with one hand in a sword-cutting motion. "But that was back when you had a sword. You didn't get one here, did you?"

No, neither of them got anything useful, he imagines.

First thing in the angel manual. Crowley leans a little more into the couch, gazing over at Aziraphale. He's so good, the angel is. So good, and still trapped here. Still dead by Heaven's hand.

"You wouldn't have liked me," he says, lazily.

"What do you mean?" he asks, all concerned. He tries to place when Crowley is talking about, and then it clicks for him. "Course I'd've liked you. I like you now, don't I?"

He leans towards Crowley... and snatches the wine from his hand. "I really don't know what you mean by that." He takes another drink and then passes it back to his friend. "Ooh, unless you were pompous and narcissistic. Like Gabriel. It's like he doesn't know pride is a sin."

He takes the bottle back from Aziraphale and holds it up a bit. "Nah, I was...good at what I did, and that was asking a bit too many questions. And hanging around the wrong people."

Always easier to say that those were the reasons why he Fell. Crowley has never been what one would call evil, and he's definitely never been good at all of the things that demons are supposed to be good at. But he's never been very good at being good, either.

"You're too good, I'd just have been too bad at my job for you," he says.

"But if you were... good at what you did, how could you bad at your job?" he asks. "Crowley," he starts, but can't think of a good argument. "Oh, I don't like this feeling tired thing." He dramatically leans over and rests his head on Crowley's shoulder. "Makes it so hard to concentrate when I'm drunk."

He gets up then, pushing himself off where he points to Crowley's chest with his finger. "You wouldn't have been a bad angel. But don't believe me, I guess, because th-they thought I was the worst of them."

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We Are the Champions, My Friend || Closed

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