#Listen Crowley presents female here but he still uses male prnouns because he wants to dont at me

[goodduckingomens]

Inheritance

Crowley was sitting in the office, draped in full mourning widow gear, complete with a long black veil, sniffling and occasionally dabbing at his eyes, completely ignoring the other people present who were glaring daggers at him.

“Well then, Misses Krepier, it seems that everything is in order, so I won’t keep you any longer and just give you the keys to the estate. My condolences to your husband passing so soon after marriage, but at least you are already in the will. As for you, gentlemen, I am sorry, but the will stated clearly that the estate was only to be auctioned off for charity in case no wife was present, so I’m afraid you came for nothing.”

Crowley thanked the man again with a high, quivering voice, signing the documents and grabbing the keys.

Then he left the office before he couldn’t hold in his laughter anymore.

His plan had gone exceptionally well, with only very little manipulation of official legal documents, and had allowed him to both piss off people and secure-

“Excuse me, madam, do you have a second to talk about your late husband’s collection of rare books?” came a familiar voice from his right as he stepped out of the building, and he turned.

There he was, Aziraphale, all polite smiles and very obviously with no idea who exactly stood before him. Crowley decided to have a bit of fun.

“Oh, how dare you! He isn’t even buried yet and already come the vultures, circling what’s left of him in this world. Oh, woe is me, this poor, weak woman, who now is left with obligations and no husband! Off you go, may you hang your head in shame!” he screamed, hysterically, accusatory, voice still high and quivering.

The angel had the decency to indeed hang his head in shame, and Crowley nearly lost it right there.

“Oh, oh dear, yes, of course, so sorry for your loss,” he mumbled, almost reflexively.

Then he stopped and narrowed his eyes.

“…Crowley? Is that you?”

Crowley, unable to hold back any longer, laughed.

“Oh, oh it IS you! You fiend! Impersonating a poor woman to steal her rightful inheritance, oh, you-”

“Ahh, shaddup, I’m not impersonating anyone. And you’re just annoyed with me because you already made first dibs arrangements with the charity people. Which, by the way, is a terrible, terrible charity, really angel, you need to start looking into that stuff. They support putting down their strays and all.”

Aziraphale huffed and puffed and would probably have blown a house down if Crowley hadn’t continued.

“And they promised dibs to at least 20 other people. Meanwhile I surely could be persuaded to give someone exclusive rights,” he purred.

The angel’s indignation evaporated like self-respect in a college bet.

“Oh! Oh, well then. Would you care join me for dinner, to talk about the details?”

“Only if you kiss my hand, Mr. Fell,” Crowley laughed. “I have to make the most of my potential to scandalize people while I’m still in mourning.”

The angel rolled his eyes, but he did bow down deeply, taking Crowley’s hand and placing a delicate kiss first on the wrist, and then, turning it, on the palm. Crowley was suddenly very glad for the veil hiding his face, even if, judging by the look Aziraphale gave him when he got back up, the bastard knew anyway.

“Well then, my dear, shall we? I know a lovely Italian restaurant just around the corner. We can talk business and you can tell me how you came to be the late Mr. Krepier’s wife.”

Crowley took the angel’s outstretched arm, making sure to wave daintily at the charity man glaring at the pair of them.

He threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, you know what they say, angel. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas – except for legally binding contracts.”

Read the rest of the prompts HERE.