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Good omens snippet for cimorene
A Good Omens snippet for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cimorene111
It was an exciting morning for the Goring-on-Thames Jehovah's Witnesses coffee morning. No one had anything more profound on their minds than a decent cup of tea and a sit down, so Ethel Pratt was extremely surprised to find herself in the grip of religious ecstasy as she bit into a slice of Mrs Parkinson's home made shortbread. The small part of her mind not suffused with agonising joy and awe worried doggedly about who was going to get the washing in if it rained. She foamed gently at the mouth and fell over.
Crowley ticked 'E Pratt: 1 gentle glow of spiritual peace' off the list.
Gerald Staines was only supposed to experience a mild spiritual enlightenment after a nice afternoon in the park. Instead he ran shrieking and naked into his own back garden, weeping with holy fervour. It was when he began to flagellate himself with the hosepipe that his neighbours rang the police.
Parked in the street outside, Crowley grinned. At least he looked happy.
' ...anyway, when are you coming back?' Crowley said into the tiny mobile phone he'd designed, which gave humans finger cramps. Not that he missed Aziraphale or anything like that. It was just a pain to be doing all his work, the lazy angel.
'I'll be back tomorrow. These work dos tend to drag on, you know. We haven't even got round to dinner yet, and the table was booked for two days ago.'
'You've just been in the pub for two solid days while I've been doing all the work!'
'Now, Crowley, that's not strictly true. Some of us popped out for a curry yesterday,' Aziraphale said, to a sudden background of hideous shrieking.
'What's going on up there?'
'Oh. That's Michael re-enacting the Fall. Again.'
'He always was a tactless sod.'
'Yes. Quite. So, how's it been?' came Aziraphale's tinny voice on the end of the phone.
'Fine. I gave the last one ten minutes full beam, just like you said.'
'Oh, Crowley!' Aziraphale's voice rose in pitch. 'You're only supposed to do that for the real fanatics. And some television celebrities.' There was a sigh. 'So, what happened?'
Crowley told him.
'Well, leave it for now,' Aziraphale said, 'but if they don't let him out of that hospital in six weeks, you're the one who's fixing it. I thought I could trust you to do these things for me.'
'Look, I'm doing you a favour, you bastard,' he said, to a silence that managed to be icy even down miles of pulsing, demonically heated phone cable.
'One might almost think you're messing up my work on purpose, Crowley,' Aziraphale said, suddenly sounding horribly smug. 'Do you miss me that much?'
'What? You must still be drunk,' Crowley muttered. 'I do not miss you. At all.'
'Whatever you say, dear boy.'
cimorene111 It was an exciting morning for the Goring-on-Thames Jehovah's Witnesses coffee morning. No one had anything more profound on their minds than a decent cup of tea and a sit down, so Ethel Pratt was extremely surprised to find herself in the grip of religious ecstasy as she bit into a slice of Mrs Parkinson's home made shortbread. The small part of her mind not suffused with agonising joy and awe worried doggedly about who was going to get the washing in if it rained. She foamed gently at the mouth and fell over.
Crowley ticked 'E Pratt: 1 gentle glow of spiritual peace' off the list.
*
Gerald Staines was only supposed to experience a mild spiritual enlightenment after a nice afternoon in the park. Instead he ran shrieking and naked into his own back garden, weeping with holy fervour. It was when he began to flagellate himself with the hosepipe that his neighbours rang the police.
Parked in the street outside, Crowley grinned. At least he looked happy.
*
' ...anyway, when are you coming back?' Crowley said into the tiny mobile phone he'd designed, which gave humans finger cramps. Not that he missed Aziraphale or anything like that. It was just a pain to be doing all his work, the lazy angel.
'I'll be back tomorrow. These work dos tend to drag on, you know. We haven't even got round to dinner yet, and the table was booked for two days ago.'
'You've just been in the pub for two solid days while I've been doing all the work!'
'Now, Crowley, that's not strictly true. Some of us popped out for a curry yesterday,' Aziraphale said, to a sudden background of hideous shrieking.
'What's going on up there?'
'Oh. That's Michael re-enacting the Fall. Again.'
'He always was a tactless sod.'
'Yes. Quite. So, how's it been?' came Aziraphale's tinny voice on the end of the phone.
'Fine. I gave the last one ten minutes full beam, just like you said.'
'Oh, Crowley!' Aziraphale's voice rose in pitch. 'You're only supposed to do that for the real fanatics. And some television celebrities.' There was a sigh. 'So, what happened?'
Crowley told him.
'Well, leave it for now,' Aziraphale said, 'but if they don't let him out of that hospital in six weeks, you're the one who's fixing it. I thought I could trust you to do these things for me.'
'Look, I'm doing you a favour, you bastard,' he said, to a silence that managed to be icy even down miles of pulsing, demonically heated phone cable.
'One might almost think you're messing up my work on purpose, Crowley,' Aziraphale said, suddenly sounding horribly smug. 'Do you miss me that much?'
'What? You must still be drunk,' Crowley muttered. 'I do not miss you. At all.'
'Whatever you say, dear boy.'
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I love smug!Aziraphale and in denial!Crowley.
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Thanks!
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'Oh. That's Michael re-enacting the Fall. Again.'
'He always was a tactless sod.'
Angel partytricks! [giggles frantically]
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So would I be, I'm sure...
'One might almost think you're messing up my work on purpose, Crowley,' Aziraphale said, suddenly sounding horribly smug. 'Do you miss me that much?'
'What? You must still be drunk,' Crowley muttered. 'I do not miss you. At all.'
'Whatever you say, dear boy.'
Awww!
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It was when he began to flagellate himself with hosepipe that his neighbours rang the police.
Parked in the street outside, Crowley grinned. At least he looked happy.
Hee hee!
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i could watch crowley do aziraphale's job for hours.
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Thank you!
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:snerk: perfect. just fabulous.
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Thanks.
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'Oh. That's Michael re-enacting the Fall. Again.'
'He always was a tactless sod.'
*laughs, and laughs, and laughs*
Not that he missed Aziraphale or anything like that.
Yes, Crowley, we believe you... About as much as Aziraphale believes you, anyway :>
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Thanks!
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Cheers!
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'Oh. That's Michael re-enacting the Fall. Again.'
'He always was a tactless sod.'
'Yes. Quite. So, how's it been?'
*hearts*
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Thanks.
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You are brilliant. :D
'Now, Crowley, that's not strictly true. Some of us popped out for a curry yesterday,' Aziraphale said, to a sudden background of hideous shrieking.
'What's going on up there?'
'Oh. That's Michael re-enacting the Fall. Again.'
::tears::
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'Oh. That's Michael re-enacting the Fall. Again.'
L.O.L. So that's what angels do at parties.
I loved this. Loved loved loved. Do more. :D
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*pats Crowley on the head*
For a demon, you're not very convincing.
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'Oh. That's Michael re-enacting the Fall. Again.'
Possibly my favourite line EVER.
Actually, that makes me think.
But anyway. N'awwww, Crowley's in denial!
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