Disco Fluff!
Jun. 9th, 2003 06:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
louiseluxWe all know that Aziraphale must've learnt more than one dance, right? The blame for this rests fully with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
daegaer. I'd never even have thought of 70's!Aziraphale if she hadn't thought of him first. Really.
Title: Boogie Nights
Author: Louise Lux
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: G
Notes: I'm truly sorry. I don't know what else to say.
Further notes: The gavotte is a dance that requires you to kiss your partner, and all the others in the room. Aziraphale learned to gavotte at a gentleman's club. Needless to say, I find this very amusing.
Boogie Nights
Sometime around 1973 Aziraphale realised that the gavotte really wasn't coming back into style, ever. He'd held out a bit of hope, seeing as how humans seemed to recycle everything sooner or later, but Crowley told him in no uncertain terms to get real, and that skipping around in circles, unless there were strong drugs involved, wasn't anyone's idea of a good time anymore. Aziraphale went off to think about it for a while, and eventually decided that he should learn a new dance, something modern; something that wouldn't go out of style too quickly.
He toured the fashionable nightspots of London, immersing himself in the popular culture of the day, until one night he saw a dance that he liked the look of. It seemed very jolly; you didn't need a partner (always a relief), and it consisted of a few easy-looking dance steps and a great deal of improvisation. The music had a rather compelling 4/4 beat, not unlike the gavotte itself. Aziraphale had a lot of faith in his hard-won, if somewhat rusty, dancing abilities, and was confident he could master this new dance – disco.
He booked some private lessons in a back room of a pub with a lady called Mrs Perrin. He quickly discovered that the ritualised steps and awkward gyrations were remarkably unlike the simple steps and innocent kisses of the gavotte. After a couple of lessons, he developed a terrible suspicion that Mrs Perrin had more than just dancing in mind. Alarmed, he didn’t go back, but bought some cassettes and decided to make it up on his own, from what he remembered.
Aziraphale practised religiously, devoting several hours a night to his new hobby. He mastered all the basics, even down to the complicated little hand gestures. Despite a few inadvertent miracles, the bookshop soon rang to rhythmical sound of angelic feet stomping through the Hustle and the the Bus Stop.
*
Ring, ring.
'Hello, hello? Crowley? I’m going dancing tonight, want to come?'
'I don't know. Are you sure I'll be safe? I haven’t forgotten what happened last time, when you took me to that poofy club.'
'Look, we've been through this a hundred times. It was nothing personal; you're supposed to kiss your partner in the gavotte. I had to kiss everyone in that room, you know, not just you.'
'Yeah, right, whatever you say.'
'Come or not, I don't care. I just thought you might like it. It'll be fun.'
'...'
'There's a dance floor that lights up from underneath.'
'...'
'I'll buy you dinner. Please?'
'Oh, all right. I'll pick you up at eight.'
*
'What are you wearing?'
'What are you wearing?'
Twin looks of bafflement met across Aziraphale's bookshop, sat down and got to know each other better.
Crowley's hair was different: it was longer than usual, and sort of big. And what's more, Crowley was wearing white; an awful one-button suit with very strange trousers that were peculiarly constricting the top and ridiculously wide at the bottom. And the shirt! He'd never realised that Crowley could be quite so wanton. Aziraphale became aware that Crowley was staring back at him in equal disbelief.
'There's no way I'm going anywhere with you dressed like that!' Crowley said. 'We're supposed to be going dancing, not to the Queen's bloody garden party.'
'What's wrong with how I'm dressed?' Aziraphale said, miffed. 'I spent a long time choosing these clothes. They're what I always wear.'
'Uh-huh. My point exactly.' A look of keen fascination crossed Crowley’s face. 'Have you been out dancing dressed like that, already?' His sunglasses gleamed demonically under Aziraphale's forty-watt bulb.
'I might have.'
'Just tell me you didn't wear that hat as well?'
'Oh.' Aziraphale put a hand to his head. He tended to forget about the hat.
Crowley's expression took on a very curious strained quality, and he seemed to be having a sudden choking fit behind his hand. Eventually he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.
'Oh dear. Ahem. Sorry. Where were we?'
'I believe you were saying how dreadful my outfit was, although I hardly think you've got room to talk. What are those clothes made of anyway? They look nasty.'
Crowley preened.
'It's called polyester. I came up with it years ago, and it’s really caught on. It's scratchy, sweaty, thoroughly unpleasant to wear and wildly popular. Aren't humans great?'
An idea occurred to Aziraphale then, a concept that Crowley had banged on at him about pretty much constantly for the last six millennia, and one that he’d felt free to largely ignore. It wasn't something he thought of very often, but now, as he remembered the odd looks and sniggers at the disco last week, it all seemed to make sense.
'I need some fashionable clothes.' He paused and looked meaningfully at Crowley.
'I'll say. I've been telling you that for years.'
Aziraphale gave him another significant look. 'For tonight. Now.'
'Oh. So you want me to use my evil powers in the pursuit of fashion, do you? You've certainly changed your tune.'
'Be good chap, won't you, and materialise me a few things?' Aziraphale whispered guiltily. 'You can have them back tomorrow. Just get me a shirt and, well, whatever you think would fit in. Nothing like yours though. No offence,' he added, hurriedly.
'So what do you want? I hear hot-pants are very now. Very tight shorts,' Crowley explained, at Aziraphale's raised eyebrows. Crowley grinned widely and raised his hand, wiggling his fingers at Aziraphale's trousers. 'Shall I miracle them straight on? Satin okay?'
'No!' Aziraphale shrieked, backing away, waving his hands desperately. 'Don't you dare! I mean it, or you'll never see that Bentley again.'
'Don't get your knickers in a twist, I was only joking,' Crowley said. 'Here, let's try these. Blue should suit you.' He looked thoughtful. 'And we'll have to do something with your hair.'
*
'Are you sure it's not too long?' Aziraphale stared into the mirror Crowley had thoughtfully produced and poked at his new hairdo worriedly.
Crowley sighed dramatically and put his head in his hands. Aziraphale had made Crowley spend an hour on his hair alone.
'It's only just past your collar. That's not long. I don't why I bothered. Can we go soon?'
'This polyester really itches, you know', Aziraphale moaned, pulling his tank top down more firmly over his scratchy new shirt. The shirt was white, far too tight and covered with a repeat pattern of black Bentleys. The enormous collar tips drooped pathetically over Aziraphale's shoulders. He turned sideways to the mirror, hands on his hips, and frowned deeply at his powder-blue flares.
'They're so impractical! Why can't I just wear my normal clothes? And the shoes!' The angel gave a cry of anguish as he contemplated the brown and blue platform shoes that had materialised with a dull thud on the carpet.
'Oh, stop whinging, you're not the only one who has to suffer you know. I have to look at you,' Crowley snapped.
'You're just tense because of the polyester,' Aziraphale said angrily. With a small gesture, he changed the weave of Crowley's hideously patterned shirt from synthetic to silk. 'There, that should put you in a better mood,' he said smugly.
'Hey, don't mess with the threads, angel!'
They faced off angrily, Aziraphale's platform shoes putting him at eye-level with Crowley's bouffant. Aziraphale's eyes were drawn inexorably downward and he forgot his anger in his amazement. His jaw dropped.
'You've got chest hair!'
'Er.'
*
Things went much better that night; in his new outfit Aziraphale fitted in at the discotheque perfectly, and he even began to like the way his flares swished every time he moved. He was a bit disconcerted to note that even though Crowley fitted in too, he also stood out from the crowd in a way that was quite alarming. Aziraphale put it down to the white suit and made up for noticing by dancing so energetically and for so long that even Crowley had to make his excuses and sit down eventually, sweat pouring off him.
By 5am, the bouncers were getting restive. The rest of the clientele had left at least an hour ago and the manager wasn't quite able to explain why they were still open.
'Come on, Aziraphale. Leave that poor sod alone. Haven't you had enough yet?'
Crowley was slumped on a banquette, feet up on the table, watching Aziraphale argue with the DJ who was refusing to play 'Disco Inferno' just one more time.
'Oh, all right,' Aziraphale said, giving in. The DJ hurriedly started packing his records away.
Later on, over large brandies in a dubious bar just round the corner, Aziraphale got drunk enough to ask Crowley where he'd learnt to dance like that.
The next evening, Crowley took him to see Saturday Night Fever.
daegaer. I'd never even have thought of 70's!Aziraphale if she hadn't thought of him first. Really. Title: Boogie Nights
Author: Louise Lux
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: G
Notes: I'm truly sorry. I don't know what else to say.
Further notes: The gavotte is a dance that requires you to kiss your partner, and all the others in the room. Aziraphale learned to gavotte at a gentleman's club. Needless to say, I find this very amusing.
Boogie Nights
Sometime around 1973 Aziraphale realised that the gavotte really wasn't coming back into style, ever. He'd held out a bit of hope, seeing as how humans seemed to recycle everything sooner or later, but Crowley told him in no uncertain terms to get real, and that skipping around in circles, unless there were strong drugs involved, wasn't anyone's idea of a good time anymore. Aziraphale went off to think about it for a while, and eventually decided that he should learn a new dance, something modern; something that wouldn't go out of style too quickly.
He toured the fashionable nightspots of London, immersing himself in the popular culture of the day, until one night he saw a dance that he liked the look of. It seemed very jolly; you didn't need a partner (always a relief), and it consisted of a few easy-looking dance steps and a great deal of improvisation. The music had a rather compelling 4/4 beat, not unlike the gavotte itself. Aziraphale had a lot of faith in his hard-won, if somewhat rusty, dancing abilities, and was confident he could master this new dance – disco.
He booked some private lessons in a back room of a pub with a lady called Mrs Perrin. He quickly discovered that the ritualised steps and awkward gyrations were remarkably unlike the simple steps and innocent kisses of the gavotte. After a couple of lessons, he developed a terrible suspicion that Mrs Perrin had more than just dancing in mind. Alarmed, he didn’t go back, but bought some cassettes and decided to make it up on his own, from what he remembered.
Aziraphale practised religiously, devoting several hours a night to his new hobby. He mastered all the basics, even down to the complicated little hand gestures. Despite a few inadvertent miracles, the bookshop soon rang to rhythmical sound of angelic feet stomping through the Hustle and the the Bus Stop.
*
Ring, ring.
'Hello, hello? Crowley? I’m going dancing tonight, want to come?'
'I don't know. Are you sure I'll be safe? I haven’t forgotten what happened last time, when you took me to that poofy club.'
'Look, we've been through this a hundred times. It was nothing personal; you're supposed to kiss your partner in the gavotte. I had to kiss everyone in that room, you know, not just you.'
'Yeah, right, whatever you say.'
'Come or not, I don't care. I just thought you might like it. It'll be fun.'
'...'
'There's a dance floor that lights up from underneath.'
'...'
'I'll buy you dinner. Please?'
'Oh, all right. I'll pick you up at eight.'
*
'What are you wearing?'
'What are you wearing?'
Twin looks of bafflement met across Aziraphale's bookshop, sat down and got to know each other better.
Crowley's hair was different: it was longer than usual, and sort of big. And what's more, Crowley was wearing white; an awful one-button suit with very strange trousers that were peculiarly constricting the top and ridiculously wide at the bottom. And the shirt! He'd never realised that Crowley could be quite so wanton. Aziraphale became aware that Crowley was staring back at him in equal disbelief.
'There's no way I'm going anywhere with you dressed like that!' Crowley said. 'We're supposed to be going dancing, not to the Queen's bloody garden party.'
'What's wrong with how I'm dressed?' Aziraphale said, miffed. 'I spent a long time choosing these clothes. They're what I always wear.'
'Uh-huh. My point exactly.' A look of keen fascination crossed Crowley’s face. 'Have you been out dancing dressed like that, already?' His sunglasses gleamed demonically under Aziraphale's forty-watt bulb.
'I might have.'
'Just tell me you didn't wear that hat as well?'
'Oh.' Aziraphale put a hand to his head. He tended to forget about the hat.
Crowley's expression took on a very curious strained quality, and he seemed to be having a sudden choking fit behind his hand. Eventually he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.
'Oh dear. Ahem. Sorry. Where were we?'
'I believe you were saying how dreadful my outfit was, although I hardly think you've got room to talk. What are those clothes made of anyway? They look nasty.'
Crowley preened.
'It's called polyester. I came up with it years ago, and it’s really caught on. It's scratchy, sweaty, thoroughly unpleasant to wear and wildly popular. Aren't humans great?'
An idea occurred to Aziraphale then, a concept that Crowley had banged on at him about pretty much constantly for the last six millennia, and one that he’d felt free to largely ignore. It wasn't something he thought of very often, but now, as he remembered the odd looks and sniggers at the disco last week, it all seemed to make sense.
'I need some fashionable clothes.' He paused and looked meaningfully at Crowley.
'I'll say. I've been telling you that for years.'
Aziraphale gave him another significant look. 'For tonight. Now.'
'Oh. So you want me to use my evil powers in the pursuit of fashion, do you? You've certainly changed your tune.'
'Be good chap, won't you, and materialise me a few things?' Aziraphale whispered guiltily. 'You can have them back tomorrow. Just get me a shirt and, well, whatever you think would fit in. Nothing like yours though. No offence,' he added, hurriedly.
'So what do you want? I hear hot-pants are very now. Very tight shorts,' Crowley explained, at Aziraphale's raised eyebrows. Crowley grinned widely and raised his hand, wiggling his fingers at Aziraphale's trousers. 'Shall I miracle them straight on? Satin okay?'
'No!' Aziraphale shrieked, backing away, waving his hands desperately. 'Don't you dare! I mean it, or you'll never see that Bentley again.'
'Don't get your knickers in a twist, I was only joking,' Crowley said. 'Here, let's try these. Blue should suit you.' He looked thoughtful. 'And we'll have to do something with your hair.'
*
'Are you sure it's not too long?' Aziraphale stared into the mirror Crowley had thoughtfully produced and poked at his new hairdo worriedly.
Crowley sighed dramatically and put his head in his hands. Aziraphale had made Crowley spend an hour on his hair alone.
'It's only just past your collar. That's not long. I don't why I bothered. Can we go soon?'
'This polyester really itches, you know', Aziraphale moaned, pulling his tank top down more firmly over his scratchy new shirt. The shirt was white, far too tight and covered with a repeat pattern of black Bentleys. The enormous collar tips drooped pathetically over Aziraphale's shoulders. He turned sideways to the mirror, hands on his hips, and frowned deeply at his powder-blue flares.
'They're so impractical! Why can't I just wear my normal clothes? And the shoes!' The angel gave a cry of anguish as he contemplated the brown and blue platform shoes that had materialised with a dull thud on the carpet.
'Oh, stop whinging, you're not the only one who has to suffer you know. I have to look at you,' Crowley snapped.
'You're just tense because of the polyester,' Aziraphale said angrily. With a small gesture, he changed the weave of Crowley's hideously patterned shirt from synthetic to silk. 'There, that should put you in a better mood,' he said smugly.
'Hey, don't mess with the threads, angel!'
They faced off angrily, Aziraphale's platform shoes putting him at eye-level with Crowley's bouffant. Aziraphale's eyes were drawn inexorably downward and he forgot his anger in his amazement. His jaw dropped.
'You've got chest hair!'
'Er.'
*
Things went much better that night; in his new outfit Aziraphale fitted in at the discotheque perfectly, and he even began to like the way his flares swished every time he moved. He was a bit disconcerted to note that even though Crowley fitted in too, he also stood out from the crowd in a way that was quite alarming. Aziraphale put it down to the white suit and made up for noticing by dancing so energetically and for so long that even Crowley had to make his excuses and sit down eventually, sweat pouring off him.
By 5am, the bouncers were getting restive. The rest of the clientele had left at least an hour ago and the manager wasn't quite able to explain why they were still open.
'Come on, Aziraphale. Leave that poor sod alone. Haven't you had enough yet?'
Crowley was slumped on a banquette, feet up on the table, watching Aziraphale argue with the DJ who was refusing to play 'Disco Inferno' just one more time.
'Oh, all right,' Aziraphale said, giving in. The DJ hurriedly started packing his records away.
Later on, over large brandies in a dubious bar just round the corner, Aziraphale got drunk enough to ask Crowley where he'd learnt to dance like that.
The next evening, Crowley took him to see Saturday Night Fever.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-06-09 12:17 pm (UTC)I love the "few inadvertent miracles", and
Twin looks of bafflement met across Aziraphale's bookshop, sat down and got to know each other better.
is just pure Pratchetty goodness.
Boogie!Aziraphale hurts my brain so much I'm surprised I have any pain left for Crowley's chest hair. This made me grin - thank you!
no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 05:19 am (UTC)Oh, the chest hair. Ouch! It hurt me to write it.
At least there wasn't a gold medallion nestling there.
no subject
Thanks for the information on the gavotte, too. Very interesting, it makes me wonder about that "discreet gentlemen's club".
no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 05:25 am (UTC)Oooh, a picture of Aziraphale in his flares-I wish someone would do that, I'd be quite pathetically grateful.
Thanks for the information on the gavotte, too. Very interesting, it makes me wonder about that "discreet gentlemen's club".
Yes, it makes me wonder what that club was being discreet about, exactly. Was it the dancing, or the kissing? I really must find out more about that dance.
no subject
Date: 2003-06-19 12:01 pm (UTC)Given that we're told exactly where it was (Portland Place), I'd lay odds that it was a real 19th century establishment. And I have to say I think it was probably being discreet about the kissing (that or it may have been the sort of place where respectable gentlement might go to be walloped by attractive and scantily clad young ladies).
But I'd really like it just to be a gentleman's club where they sat around reading the papers and drinking brandies, because eeek! Aziraphale!
(Did you tweak this one as well, BTW? My mind may well be going, but I thought there might have been some new - and very good! - lines).
no subject
Date: 2003-06-19 02:31 pm (UTC)Oh no, I've been rumbled. It wasn't a crude attempt to gaslight you, honest! I put in a new line at the end about Aziraphale's flares, and rewrote some bits of the earlier conversation. Glad you liked them :-)
And Aziraphale in the gentleman's club! Eeep! I suppose he'd need a bit of company if Crowley was asleep. Whatever it was being discreet about, and, predictably, I like to think it was kissing too, I expect it would be one of the more sedate ones, rather than a toff's gambling and nooky den. The kind you get in Wodehouse, where visitors can't tell sometimes if the denizens are dead or just sleeping.
*silently wills daegaer to write gentleman's club!Aziraphale fic*
Re:
Date: 2003-06-20 08:17 am (UTC)He could meet Flashman! Dear God. (No one can tell me Flashman doesn't have a guardian angel).
no subject
Date: 2003-06-20 08:55 am (UTC)I'm absolutely certain he would've met Oscar Wilde though...
Re:
Date: 2003-06-20 09:12 am (UTC)They're extremely funny novels about the misadventures of the bully from Tom Brown's Schooldays, now grown up and fiding himself in constant danger in just about all the 19th century hotspots. He's an incredible coward, but somehow always manages to survive and have no witnesses to his awful behaviour. I have no idea what order the books should be read in, but they're well worth picking up second hand (Flashman does have the unfortunate habit of using authentic 19th century terminology, so although he is actually a lot less racist than almost all the other characters, his language can be a bit of a shock at first). The author has also written a novel based on the true story of a black prize-fighter in 19th century Britain.
Oh, yes, Aziraphale must have met Wilde. He has all those first editions -- although we're not told if they're autographed. They probably are, seeing as he had his books of prophecy autographed. "Dear Oscar, such a flamboyant fellow!"
no subject
Date: 2003-06-09 08:26 pm (UTC)I got up early, got to work early, knuckled down, and have only looked at LJ during lunch while chomping on a sandwich.
So much for a new leaf. Snorting sandwich all over my monitor and giggling has ruined my rep, first day.
Thanks a bunch *g*. ;-)
Lots of fun, thank you :-D
no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 05:43 am (UTC)So much for a new leaf. Snorting sandwich all over my monitor and giggling has ruined my rep, first day.
Hahaha! Er, I mean oops, how embarrassing for you. :-)
no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 12:04 am (UTC)*peers through fingers to check*
Yes, eeek! Hee! The clothes! Aziraphale's fond belief that hobbies taken up a century ago will come back easily! Chest hair! The threat of satin hot pants!
Dear me. I feel quite weak. I may have thought of 70s!Aziraphale, but you have perfected him :-)
no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 05:50 am (UTC)*offers Daegaer a cold compress*
Just think, it could've been a lot worse, it could've been an actual crossover with Saturday Night Fever, and I could've had Crowley and Aziraphale meeting for the first time and dancing together like, er, angels. Oh dear.
no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 02:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 05:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-19 09:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-19 01:58 pm (UTC)And, yes, the gavotte customs are very interesting indeed!
Glad you liked it. :-)