milliways_bar | (no subject)

Current Mood: determined

(no subject)

*In the doorway, Crowley and a small blonde woman appear. She's holding tightly to his hand, but as soon as she's taken a seat in a booth he bows his head slightly, grinning, and heads to the bar. She watches him, chewing her lip thoughtfully*

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ow.

*He looks at her searchingly, grinning a little.*

So.

How about them Red Sox?

Words cannot express the depth of my hate for you, Bernard dear.

*He bites his lip, eyes wide and hurt.

Sort of.

With laughing.*

*she looks thoughtful*

It's probably a sin, wanting to hurt someone this much.

Well, I wouldn't want to be the cause of your downfall, angel.

*He clears his throat*

So. I take it you had a productive day.

*she scowls*

Oh yes. Yes, terribly. Blasted Crowley and his wine.

*He looks confused again.*

What's he done now?

He was a perfect gentleman.

The cad.

...And this is a problem, how?

Well I bet that he couldn't be. Evidently he has better self control than I give him credit for.

*He grins mischievously.*

Aziraphael, isn't betting a sin?

It wasn't a bet, dear boy. It was more... an arrangement.

Hmm.

*He picks at a tiny splinter in the table, trying to find a way to ask what he wans to ask without actually asking what he wants to ask.

He gives up.*

What did you each wager, then?

*her eyes twinkle and she leans forward slightly*

It's beautiful. She'll love it.

*she clears her throat*

Oh, I wagered a bottle of a particularly marvellous wine I have, and should I have won he agreed to let me drive the Bentley.

*His eyes twinkle back ~~because he is sekritly Dumbledore~~, and he smiles, almost giddy.*

Really?

*Then he looks around. No one noticed. At the next, he laughs out loud.*

Well, I'm not surprised he won, then. Aziraphael, that car's his baby.

*she sulks*

I'm almost certain I'm a perfectly adequate driver.

*He raises an eyebrow*

Aziraphael, have you ever driven in your life?

Crowley gave me a driving lesson, actually.

But only the one.

*He bites his lip.*

I think more than one might be required.

*she sighs*

Bernard, I am an angel. I'm sure I'd be able to work it out.

Sooner or later.

And what's worrying Crowley is that it might be later and he'll end up with a wrecked Bentley and possibly a wrecked body.

I don't know that there's all that much damage that can be done at twenty eight miles an hour, my dear.

*He snerks*

No one drives that slow anymore, angel.

Bernard, the speed limit on most roads is thirty miles an hour. And you must always allow for equipment malfunctions.

*He rolls his eyes*

Yes, well, if you're staying in town. But London isn't the best place for a driving lesson, is it?