#aziraphale fumbling a bitch so damn hard

[most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer]

Good Omens: Lockdown, Aziraphale’s SAD-ASS desk, and how they get to 'Our bookshop' in S2

Welcome to part 2 of me reading reeaally far into the Good Omens: Lockdown video! (part 1 from Crowley's POV here) This post assumes the item choices in the Lockdown visuals are intentional. What follows is going to be my headcanon regardless, but if you're into the Word of God, Lockdown is canon 'If you want it to be.' and I want it to be, sooo checkmate! >;D

Also this is something of a long boi (~13 minute read without following the links >.>), so if you're into unhinged analysis of details and literary references that indicate Aziraphale is in his longing era and want to learn more about author and fave-of-Gaiman, G.K. Chesterton, either get comfy or mark this to read later when you have time!

C: What? A: *somehow surprised even though HE CALLED* A-ah, hello. It's me! C: I know it's you, Aziraphale. A: *regaining composure* Yes, well, just calling to see how you were doing in lockdown.

The video starts with shots of Aziraphale and Crowley's da Vinci sketches (and some sushi remnants)... Babygirl is flipping through the time-goes-too-fast-for-me version of a facebook album, thinking about his crush. vERY chill of him. (also the paper looks new and he's eating on top of them, suggesting these are prints and he has multiple copies of them... sooo normal)

If we look closer at the still of Crowley's portrait, we can see part of the spine of a book that reads Kei- Chesterto-. This is, of course, author Gilbert Keith Chesterton, to whom Neil and Terry (and Crowley) dedicated Good Omens:

The authors would like to join the demon Crowley in dedicating this book to the memory of G. K. Chesterton A man who knew what was going on.

In this post by @azfellandco about Chesterton, you can see a photo of the dedication page and also read the book excerpt where Crowley describes Chesterton as 'the only poet in the twentieth century to even come close to the Truth'.

C: I'm bored. I'm so very very bored - transcendentally bored. There's nothing to do here!

As Crowley is explaining his nap contingency plan, we get a shot of Aziraphale picking up his mug of hot chocolate, then the image below of the 2/3rds gone bottle of Courvoisier cognac (i mean maybe he is baking with it let's not jump to conclusions), and then the stack of books beside a framed woodcut print of witches dancing with devils...

...that I used reverse image search to trace back to page 17 of a book from 1720 called The history of witches and wizards: giving a true account of all their tryals in England, Scotland, Swedeland, France, and New England; with their confession and condemnation.

Interestingly, the text above and below the picture reads:

At their Meeting they have usually Wine, or good Beer, Cakes, Meat, or the like; they Eat and Drink really: When they meet in their Bodies, Dance also, and have Musick...

Beside the framed print of Aziraphale's idea of a really great night out is a stack of books that includes (going from top to bottom):

Homer's The Iliad, Book 2

Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton

Forbidden Rites: A Necromancer's Manual of the Fifteenth Century by Richard Kieckhefer

a book by Hilaire Belloc with no visible title

The Club of Queer Trades by G.K. Chesterton

The Iliad (according to sparknotes) has the following major themes:

....Interesting, ok. Book 2 in particular starts with a god (Zeus) messing with someone (Agamemnon) via a dream that says he will be successful in taking Troy if he launches a full assault, balls to the (city) wall. Agamemnon, who is supposed to be leading the Achaean army to conquer Troy, believes the dream but then in a weird twist decides to test his army and be like 'jk actually I'm giving up and going home' and then is mad when the soldiers are like 'sick, to the boats!' Then Odysseus, who sparknotes tells me is the most eloquent of the Achaeans, gives an impressive speech to inspire the troops and reminds them that they vowed 'that they would not abandon their struggle until the city fell.' ...No way that could worsen Aziraphale's internal conflict about being a bad Angel who thwarted the Great Plan. >.>; Orthodoxy we'll get to in a second.

Then there's Forbidden Rites which is a medieval necromancy guide translated from Latin with added commentary - Aziraphale is perhaps studying occult topics in an attempt to understand Crowley better? And then there's the Hilaire Belloc book on top of the second Chesterton book, a collection of related stories/episodes?, The Club of Queer Trades. The book's Wikipedia page says:

Each story in the collection is centered on a person who is making his living by some novel and extraordinary means. To gain admittance [to the Club of Queer Trades] one must have invented a unique means of earning a living and the subsequent trade being the main source of income.

Aziraphale and Crowley have rather novel/extraordinary jobs and they're both peculiar-queer and gay-queer. Neat. The narrator in the book is named Charlie "Cherub" Swinburne - also neat. >.> He goes on an adventure with his friend, a retired judge and president of the Club of Queer Trades, Basil Grant, (who Oct 2021 GoodReads reviewer Cecily said is "described as mad, mystical, and a poet, with almost no friends, but who “would talk to any one anywhere”) and Basil's younger brother, a private detective named Inspector Constable Rupert Grant. The last line of the book is:

Thus our epic ended where it had begun, like a true cycle. (something something "It starts, as it will end, with a garden.")

Anyway, the Belloc book and The Club of Queer Trades are placed back to back in such a way that they almost look like they could be one book with two different aesthetics, or... two halves of a pantomime beast?! (stay with me I needed a segue)

Belloc and Chesterton have what is essentially a ship name:

It was coined by George Bernard Shaw (if you are like me and didn't know why you've heard of him: he wrote, among other things, Pygmalion, which was adapted into My Fair Lady). Shaw apparently liked to gossip about Belloc and Chesterton with H.G. Wells (again if you're uncultured like me: he wrote, among other science fiction-y things, The War of the Worlds).

In the Feb 15, 1908 issue of The New Age newspaper, Shaw said:

He continued:

"Chesterton and Belloc are so unlike that they get frightfully into one another’s way. ... They are unlike in everything except the specific literary genius and delight in play-acting that is common to them, and that threw them into one another’s arms.”

Shaw says Belloc is 'a bit of a rowdy', and 'cannot bear isolation'. Hmm. Then he says Chesterton is 'friendly, easy-going, unaffected, gentle, magnanimous, and genuinely democratic'. HMM.

“They share one failing—almost the only specific trait they have in common except their literary talent. That failing is, I grieve to say, addiction to the pleasures of the table.”

Ok ok I think we can see where this is going.

(^ from Staged S3E6)

Now, someone did ask Neil Gaiman about this similarity, and he said the Lockdown video was filmed by Rob Wilkins in Terry Pratchett's library, and that he suspects 'Belloc is there because he was on Terry's shelves beside Chesterton.' And it MAY VERY WELL BE that NONE (0) of the book titles are meant in any way other than 'these are books from Sir Pratchett's library that looked nice on camera and ofc we wanted some Chesterton refs and maybe some demon-y stuff for Crowley' but that is WAY less fun so I am choosing to take them as intentional: these are books Aziraphale is actually reading (along with the sushi and many cakes he is actually eating). Let's put ourselves in Aziraphale's shoes and try to imagine how it would be to read this stuff during lockdown while you pine for a demon with slinky hips after you got in big trouble at work for Armageddoff (and work happens to have defined your worldview and general purpose in life).

C: welll... ngk then people might follow my bad example and get ill. Or even die—

As Crowley acknowledges that he ought to be out making peoples' lives worse, we see Orthodoxy by Chesterton open on the desk.

Orthodoxy is described as a ‘spiritual autobiography’ and is considered a classic of Christian apologetics, i.e. the religious discipline of defending religious doctrines (in this case, Catholic) through systematic argumentation and discourse. Wikipedia also says Chesterton's The Everlasting Man contributed to C.S. Lewis' conversion to Christianity, so overall it sounds like he must've been fairly convincing. (and so maybe reading it also poked at that work-related-but-religious-trauma-adjacent stuff Aziraphale has going on?)

You can read Orthodoxy (and probably any of the books I mention bc theyre all old) on project gutenberg but I will include this part of what is shown on the righthand page bc it just reminds me (and so probably Azirapalala as well) of a certain angel squeaking happily at a nebula:

"I felt economical about the stars as if they were sapphires (they are called so in Milton's Eden): I hoarded the hills. For the universe is a single jewel, and while it is a natural cant to talk of a jewel as peerless and priceless, of this jewel it is literally true. This cosmos is indeed without peer and without price: for there cannot be another one."

Ok great, so Aziraphale is diving into the works of one of Crowley's favorite authors bc he misses him, that's cute. What else? Oh he already wrote him a letter right before calling - THE WICK ON THE WAX STICK FOR THE SEAL IS STILL SMOKING. sO CASUAL asdashgfjds

something something 'either call on the phone and talk, or appear mysteriously; don't do both'

When Aziraphale gets to 'I've never had so few customers, not in two hundred years!' We get a close up of this glass of cognac with droplets still on the side — I take back what I said about baking, Aziraphale is drinking it~

He's not drinking a wine, eg Châteauneuf-du-pape, which would be ~14% alcohol by volume (ABV), or a sherry (15-20% ABV); he is drinking Courvoisier cognac, a hard liquor (40% ABV). Crowley's Talisker whisky is 48.5% while we are on the topic. This is stronger than what Aziraphale usually drinks which means... he could be a bit tipsy.

As Aziraphale starts talking about the would-be cash-box burglary, we get this wide shot of the desk:

In the top left hand corner, we see two stacks of books, most (all?) of which appear to be Chesterton when I zoom in. Some of them have Chesterton's name visible on them, others have the publisher name 'Darwen Finlayson' on them, which according to my googling is a house that published several of Chesterton's works. If Chesterton was truly 'a man who knew what was going on', then perhaps this is Aziraphale seeking not just to feel closer to Crowley, but also to make sense of the warring ideas in his mind. Interestingly, Chesterton has also been described as 'The Eccentric Prince of Paradox'.

C: *clearly amused* Did you smite them with your wroth?

The screen then shows two occult-y books and a flickering candle (lower left image). Then Aziraphale explains about his cake~, and as Crowley cuts him off because he's about to nervously ask to come over bc he is so so lonely & down bad for a certain angelic bookworm, we see a map of Oxfordshire on top of Pilgrim's Progress (lower right image).

The two books beside the candle are Satanism and Witchcraft (presumably the 1862 book by Jules Michelet that comes up when I search the title), and another called Magic: An Occult Primer.

Satanism and Witchcraft is described on Wikipedia as 'notable for being one of the first sympathetic histories of witchcraft' and says 'Michelet was one of the first few people to attempt to show the sociological explanation of the Witch Trials.’ Sympathy for people who like to eat/drink/dance with demons, if you will?

Magic: An Occult Primer is a 1972 book by David Conway, a Welsh (CACHU HWCH!) magus and is described as 'a seminal work that brought magical training to the every-magician'. It also includes an appendix called The Occult Who's Who, which is somewhat reminiscent of Hastur's Furfur's book about angels. In Chapter 11: A Word About Demons, it says in regard to summoning them:

"Assuming that the form has turned up in the right place, it will soon begin to act and talk in a very friendly manner; do not forget, however, that its winning ways conceal a sinister intention-- namely, to get the adept out of the circle, and into its clutches.”

...okay?? Aziraphale's desk has a flickering candle on it throughout the video, and we get a close up of the flame when Crowley offers to slither over:

and just like that, Aziraphale has summoned a demon~~

Naturally, he freaks out:

A: *panicking*Oh I— I— I— I— I'm afraid that would be Breaking All The Rules! *nervous breathing* Out of the question! I'll see you… when this is over.

But why? Isn't this what he wanted? Let's go back to the Pilgrim's Progress shot from right before the successful demon summoning and zoom in:

In a similar vein to Orthodoxy, Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan, is an allegorical Puritan conversion narrative. Christian is the main character / stand in for anyone who wants to be in the allegory and Hopeful is well, hopeful, from what I gather. A slightly larger continuous excerpt is here for the curious, but here are some bits I thought were especially interesting in the part of the book shown above:

Christian: Why, what was it that brought your sins to mind again? Hopeful: Many things; as, If I did but meet a good man in the streets; or, If I have heard any read in the Bible; or, If mine head did begin to ache; or, If I were told that some of my neighbors were sick; or, If I heard the bell toll for some that were dead; or, If I thought of dying myself; or, If I heard that sudden death happened to others; But especially when I thought of myself that I must quickly come to judgment.

Perhaps the pandemic is bringing Aziraphale's "sins" to mind again, on top of the whole choosing faces thing to avoid 'quickly coming to judgment'. And then:

Hopeful: I thought I must endeavor to mend my life; for else, thought I, I am sure to be lost forever. Christian: And did you endeavor to mend? Hopeful: Yes, and fled from not only my sins, but sinful company too, and betook me to religious duties, as praying, reading, weeping for sin, speaking truth to my neighbors, etc.

UM??? While I can't say about the praying or weeping for sin, he has definitely been reading and the whole 'giving a good talking to' the burglars could be 'speaking truth to [the] neighbors'...?

Anyway to recap:

Aziraphale has been poring over books about dark magic and demons as well as a ton of books by an author that Crowley loves and who formed a partnership w a very different person in a sort of yin-yang, pantomime beast situation

He has been looking at pictures that remind him of their fun times w Leo in Florence and eating sushi and cake cake cake (and forgiving sinners) and drinking hot chocolate and cognac trying to fill a void but now he's tipsy so he wrote Crowley a letter, stamped it with a wax seal and then thought 'I should call her' BUT

His recent brush with attempted death penalties, the death toll of the pandemic, and some of the religious books he was reading have also filled him with guilt/fear over disobeying Heaven, who he knows could still be watching him and Crowley, so he feels much more conflicted than usual AND

He probably has some inkling that he wants to go ape shit on that ox rib if it comes over to hang out (lol editing to add bc i remembered ox rib discourse: ape shit in an emotional way! whether you hc them as ace or not I just think he really likes him and I’m using ox ribs as a stand in for general forbidden joy/love, not specifically sexy stuff)

So he has to say no.

Anything else might cause him to spontaneously discorporate into a plume of pining and cognitively dissonant gay smoke, which may be all well and good if you only think there's a God, but if you KNOW it and the angels are absolutely recording you and Heaven just tried to kill you and your wife colleague, it's... kind of a big deal.

C: Right. gnnehh. I'm setting the alarm clock for July. Good night, angel. *dial tone*

We don't get to hear Aziraphale's response, but besties you and I both know he is not feeling tickety-boo. He spent like a month putting off calling Crowley (UK lockdowns started end of March, the call is at the beginning of May), finally got drunk and said what the Hell, it'll just be a fun flirty chat in between his temptations, and then it turned out Crowley was depressed and not going anywhere and Aziraphale made him even sadder. And then it got worse because it wasn't all over in July, or in October, even.

I think Aziraphale ends up with a lot of time and brain space in which to think about how Orthodoxy and Pilgrim's Progress were only written to guide *mortals* and how it really wouldn't be so bad if he spent more time with Crowley, would it? Heaven hasn't reached out in actual years again, things feel safer. Crowley is essentially Good and spending time with him would be sort of ministering to the downtrodden and afflicted, and Aziraphale does miss reporting his good deeds (lol you know, whatever rationalizations you need to get you there).

More than anything, he thinks about how hollow everything feels without Crowley; how no mouthful of food or drink tastes as satisfying in his absence because it wasn't ever just about the 'gross matter'...

So when lockdowns end, Aziraphale begins to summon his demon again, but this time with much less inner struggling. It all comes so naturally, when you let it. By the beginning of Season 2 in 2023, they seem delightfully comfortable with their shared routines and places (see also this lovely post by @nightgoodomens). Our car. Our bookshop.

Aziraphale might take longer to catch up, but he does get there.

(SHHH DON'T THINK ABOUT EPISODE 6! STOP! I'M HANGING UP!)

“The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.” ― G.K. Chesterton

[sparkkeyper]

Whumptober 2020 Day 17: Dirty Secret

Aziraphale is repressed as heck where Heaven and his bosses are concerned, but drunken rambles with Crowley are cathartic.

***

"Aziraphale!"

Aziraphale nearly jumped off the park bench as the archangel clapped him jovially - too hard, always too hard - on the shoulder. "Gabriel!" He had a smile pasted on his face in record time, trying to cover up the shock of his boss' sudden appearance. "What a pleasant surprise! I-I wasn't expecting to hear from you for some time yet."

"Well, looks like your lucky day." God's messenger beamed down at him - it never reached the eyes quite right, must be a defect of the corporation - keeping the principality's shoulder in an iron grip. "It's been a while since we had a good chat, so I thought I'd stop in to give you your next assignment personally."

Aziraphale's face hurt from the smile. "How thoughtful. You're, ah, you're always welcome, of course!" He gestured to the bench beside him but Gabriel remained standing - he didn't even acknowledge the motion - his eyes alighting on the book in the principality's lap.

"Aren't you done that by now? I thought you were reading that...thing...last time I popped in, half a century ago?"

"Oh, this?" Aziraphale closed the pages to show off the cover. "I-It's a new book, actually. Much different than the one I was reading before. That was fiction, this one is an educational work on--"

Gabriel grabbed the book right out of his hand and every muscle in Aziraphale's body tensed up - to keep from doing something stupid, anything stupid, stay still, and don't let him see how stupid you can be if left unchecked too long - as the archangel flipped through the pages. "'A Brief History of Time'. Why would you ever need to know this? You've lived through Time since She began it. You haven't misremembered significant events from history, have you?"

Aziraphale chuckled - too tremulous, too nervous - but Gabriel did not smile back. "No, no of course not! I remember everything perfectly, as She intended." He swallowed. "The book is an introduction to quantum physics: the current science humans have developed in an effort to understand the workings of the universe. Quite a bit of it is wrong, of course, all that silliness about the galaxy being billions of years old, but they try. And they have managed to get some of it right. They've made such a lot of progress in the past few thousands years, for such short-lived individuals it really is remarkable--"

"Why do you need to bother reading this?" Gabriel's expression was blank - not blank, condescending, judging - "You know the workings of the universe, or at least all those that we need to know. The rest She has decided to keep to Herself, and we have no need to understand."

"Of course, of course!" Aziraphale's fingers itched to grab the book but it hadn't been offered back to him yet. He straightened his bowie instead. "But I...I must know how humans think the world works, you see. In order to communicate with them properly. I can't go giving away Heavenly secrets when humans haven't figured them out yet, can I? I've got to keep abreast of what they know and don't know so I can...speak to them on their level, as it were."

"I gotcha." Gabriel tossed the open book back to him, and he fumbled to catch it without scrunching up the pages. No such luck. "They're so bafflingly simple! It must be exhausting for you, having to dumb down every conversation you have with them. Don't know how you do it."

Aziraphale dared to smooth the pages by hand exactly once in Gabriel's presence - don't care too much for material things, don't care too much for the people who make them - and smoothing them by miracle was out of the question. "I manage."

"Excellent. And you can keep managing." The archangel handed over a folded slip of paper with a golden seal. "Next assignment. We'll need you in Algeria next month. Big earthquake planned, you'll have the opportunity to do a lot of Good there."

"I'm...looking forward to it."

"I bet you are. See you at your annual review." And with a shimmer, Gabriel was gone.

Aziraphale tucked the assignment into his pocket and closed his eyes, the only outward reaction he allowed himself to show. Inside he was hollering. Inside he was sagging and baring teeth and kicking up a fuss.

Stop it.

Of course he wasn't doing any of those things because he had control of himself, and after all they were completely uncalled for. Completely. It was just a visit from Gabriel. He had no reason to react in such a way.

It took several minutes of sitting perfectly still on the bench to convince his body of that fact. It was difficult when his heart was racing and his fists were clenched but he managed. He always managed. He had to.

When he opened his eyes to return to his reading at last, he found a small scrap of paper tucked between the pages like a bookmark. It certainly hadn't been there when Gabriel handed - threw - the book back to him. Flipping over the note, he recognized Crowley's untidy scrawl.

Dinner tonight? If I don't bitch to someone about my coworkers I'm gonna explode. -C

Aziraphale did sag this time. Just reading the words was like a weight sliding off his shoulders. He tried very, very hard not to think about that fact. Or the fact that such a note had shown up right after a visit from Gabriel.

He gave himself a moment to exist - revel - in the feeling of relief, then very carefully collected himself and reached into his pocket for a pen. He scribbled a reply on the paper and with a snap, willed it back to wherever it had come from.

Be here by six and not a minute after. - A

***

Dinner was Italian, and delicious. The wine afterwards in the bookshop's back room was equally Italian and equally delicious.

Crowley sprawled across the sofa, one leg up on the back and several bottles in, and ranted about Hastur in a series of increasingly-less-eloquent turns of phrase. Aziraphale leaned heavily over the arm of his own chair, an equal number of bottles in, and agreed emphatically to the insults the demon heaped on his boss. It was relaxing to listen to Crowley ramble. If his unfortunate interactions with his lower downs seemed familiar... Well, best not to think on it. And he didn't have to think on it, not with Crowley. He could sit back and listen and add in a few scornful words against whomever had ruffled Crowley's feathers this decade.

"Not an ounce of doco...decorum between them," the demon was saying. "Not a one. Rude as...rude things. And your higher ups, bet they're just the same. How've they been lately?"

"Oh, you know," Aziraphale waved the question away, steadying himself on the chair as the motion overbalanced him. "Can't complain." It was true, he thought, and giggled a bit at his private drunken joke. He couldn't complain. No matter how much... Well. He couldn't.

"Aw, come on, I gave you all the juicy bits." Crowley hung his head backwards off the arm of the couch to regard the angel upside down. "There's got to be something ol' Gabe does that gets on your nerves. Or Michael! Real stick in the mud, that Michael. Stick in the mud and straight up the arse."

"Oh hush, you." The angel tossed a coaster at him. "They're perfectly stand-up people, as they're supposed to be. Divinely dictated and...and such." The demon, still upside down, pulled a face to let Aziraphale know exactly what he thought of that. "Although, d'you know--" Aziraphale hiccupped, "--Gabriel doesn't even know to clip the...the whatdyoucallits. The thread on the back of new coats that keep the tails closed. The ones you're supposed to clip. Just...walks around with the thread still in like...like someone who doesn't know how to clip things."

Crowley cackled, rolling upright again and contorting on the couch in a manner Aziraphale didn't know was physically possible." Bet he doesn't know to clip the thread holding the tiny pockets closed either."

"He doesn't!" the angel exclaimed with far more delight than was necessary. Something warm and petty and satisfying was settling under his ribs. Threads and pockets were good. Safe. Unsafe thoughts still hovered just beyond the edges of his mind, but he didn't have to look too closely at those when there were safe things like fashion faux-pas he could inject their venom into. "He was telling me just last month how silly humans are to make pockets that are decorar...dectora...just for show, and he used his own coat as an example! I tried to tell him, I said, I said 'Gabriel, you can cut those open you know' or at least I would have said it but I couldn't get a word in edgewise. And he still hasn't figured it out!"

"Point for me!" Crowley stabbed the air like a contestant on a game show. "I came up with those, didju know? Sewing the tiny pockets closed? And I got an archangel with it, so plus one to Hell!"

Aziraphale barked out a laugh that was too loud, too explosive, but heavens did it feel good. "Did you really? Or did you just take credit?"

"Absolutely came up with them." Crowley puffed up his chest with pride. "Annoys loads of people when they wear clothes out for the first time and go to put something in the pocket but find they don't have any scissors. I wrote a whole report on it for Hastur--" he lowered his voice to a hiss and leaned in conspiratorially. "But mostly I just think it's funny." He broke into a drunken giggle and Aziraphale followed. "Pro'lly never read the report anyway, Hastur." The demon tried to pour himself another glass and missed, missed, got it. "Tha's another thing that drives me up the wall, nobody reads the blessed reports half the time!"

The angel groaned in commiseration.

"I spend all that time putting the thing together, crossing the I's, dotting the T's--"

"You don't dot T's," Aziraphale interrupted.

"Dot my T's if I like," Crowley shot back.

"They'd look very silly."

"I'll dot your T's."

"Suppose we'd look silly together at least."

"Damn straight." Crowley paused. "What was I taking about?"

"T's," the angel supplied helpfully.

"Reports! Right, nobody reading the fu- You spend all that time on them and nobody appreciates the work!"

"Aggravating," agreed Aziraphale sourly, because of course it wasn't against any rules to repeat someone else's whinging back to them.

"Exasperating!"

"Infuriating!"

"And you know what else is infuriating?" Crowley put both feet up on the coffee table and stretched. "They had me Downstairs doing paperwork all last month and Ligur comes by while I'm trying to cross reference soul contracts and just snatches the ledger away while I'm working."

"The nerve!" Aziraphale snorted disdainfully, taking a long pull from the wine.

"I know! Had so many ways I wanted to react I couldn't choose!" Crowley gestured to him, and if Aziraphale had been a touch more sober he might have caught a glint in the demon's eye. "What would you do, angel?"

"What?"

"You. Imagine you're in Hell, doing paperwork and minding your own blessed business, making sure all the T's are dotted, and Ligur comes up out of nowhere and snatches your book away! What do you do to him?"

"I should like to snatch it right back!" Aziraphale slapped the cushion next to him. "And then give him a good whack with it! Serves him right!"

"Aye! Serves 'im right!" Crowley echoed in fierce delight, lunging forward to clang his glass against the angel's in a sloppy toast.

And when the wine wore off several hours later, Aziraphale would admit to himself that he felt so much better.

***

*The book is 'A Brief History of Time: From the Big Bang to Black Holes" by Stephen Hawking

**The 2003 earthquake in Algeria killed ~2200 people. Gabriel is an asshole.