anthony crowley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
demonicmiracle) wrote2019-09-22 04:47 pm
demonicmiracle) wrote2019-09-22 04:47 pm
Entry tags:
(duplicity) ic contact
Hey, it's Anthony Crowley. You know what to do, do it with style.
Hey, it's Anthony Crowley. You know what to do, do it with style.
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He takes him in at a glance, cautiously optimistic of what he sees, and brings the tray to the coffee table, immediately moving to pour. Only once he has offered Crowley his cup and saucer, doctored his own, and taken up a biscuit does he finally sit, too.]
Nothing a spot of tea can't make better.
[He takes a sip and has a nibble. His heart isn't much in the food. It's habit, mostly.]
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He could try to address it, maybe, but he doesn't know how.]
I've been thinking about adding some new plants to the herb garden. Might do tomatoes, maybe strawberries, they ought to be easy enough. [He rubs his thumb along the edge of the cup, cutting a quick glance over at Aziraphale.] If you've any requests I can look into it?
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He nibbles his biscuit, brushes away a few crumbs, slowly turns his tea cup between his hands, handle to thumb, reverse. Handle to thumb, reverse. He takes a few sips.
The conversation isn't what he was expecting. He goes with it, because what's the point of giving someone else the wheel if one is going to hijack it the moment the other person takes things somewhere different than one hoped?]
Cucumbers perhaps. Cucumber sandwiches are nice when it gets warmer.
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Yeah, alright, I've heard they're not too difficult to manage, could probably wrangle some for you. [It seems stupid, talking about nothing when there's tension in the air, but it's better than silence.] S'weird to think about Spring coming up. Could finally go on that picnic you promised me.
[Almost sixty years ago, now, but Crowley hasn't forgotten.]
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[He brightens a bit at the prospect.]
You'll have to tell me what you'd eat. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or sick.
Or perhaps we could have it on the beach. Oh, I don't suppose the gulls would leave us alone, would they? The greedy things.
[For all his fussing, he loves the birds. He glances at him quickly, wondering if he's humoring him, or if he truly wants this.]
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Wine's sort of a food. [Wine is not a food.] I've given you too high expectations, haven't I? With me eating.
[It's very gently teasing, trying to inject some lightness into this.]
And I'll keep the gulls away, if you want. Not that hard to distract them, I'd think.
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[He sips his tea primly.]
Just don't frighten the poor things. They're only greedy because they're hungry. I'd be hungry living out in the open on the beach with nothing but little clams and seaweed to eat, too.
[He has no idea what gulls eat besides the bread he throws them now and then.]
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[This is a familiar argument, he's sure they've had it a dozen or so times over the years.]
M'not sure that's what seagulls eat, angel, and anyway, they're wild animals, they're supposed to be finding their own food. If they're hungry, they should be better at it.
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[He scoffs.]
They are finding their own food. Just because they're robbing it from someone is no less wild. Have you ever been pecked by one? Nasty buggering beaks. The wildest creatures you'll find on the beach with their screaming and flapping about your head.
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[According to scientists or something.
He's glad that the tension seems to be entirely gone, now that they're arguing about useless things.]
No one says that about wolves when they're stealing sheep, how come seagulls are allowed to steal my chips. [He doesn't even eat chips.] When did you get pecked by a bloody seagull?
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I'm pretty sure that's because sheep are fluffy. If chips were fluffy, it would be a completely different tale.
[He takes an aggressive bite of biscuit to punctuate his point and flails his hand toward the window, talking with his mouth full.]
The other day.
[After he washes that down with more tea, refills, and begins doctoring, he elaborates.]
I think I invaded their nursery quite without meaning to. You know how I am when I'm strolling.
[Could fall down a manhole and take half an hour to realize he's in the dark.]
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[It's muttered to himself, he's apparently willing to give up the wine v. soup argument in favor of the 'seagulls are the worst'.]
They still eat sheep, though! When they're babies and everything, you'd think they'd not mind a wolf having one or two. [Where are the shepherds for chips??? He's asking the real questions.] And you ought to be more careful, wandering about like that, who knows what's lurking in this place.
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[It sounds delicious, especially if it's some sort of beef soup with stout, or fish soup with white wine. Dry, of course.]
Have you ever bought a sheep? Much more expensive than chips, I'll have you know. That's probably the real rub of it. Cost. Also no one says wolves aren't wild for eating sheep. Quite the opposite. You're not even making sense, and I'm certain I didn't spike the tea.
[He lifts his spoon for more stirring, his tea not uniformly sweet. He hates sludge at the bottom.]
Lurking. I bet it's not the bloody Kraken.
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The point was that you shouldn't pity feed the seagulls. Not a bad idea though, spiking the tea. [It's a miracle that he manages to get to his feet without spilling his tea, considering he makes no effort to actually try not spilling it.
He's off to the kitchen in search of something to put in his tea.]
S'probably horny mermaids. Something like that.
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[He calls after him.] Second cabinet, behind the biscuit tin.
[There are two bottles, aged whiskey and dark rum.]
The joke, as they say, is on them. I've nothing for them on my walks.
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[That's an entire different argument altogether because the only reason they can feed the ducks and not seagulls is that he's fond of ducks. He doesn't want to admit it, though.
There's some idle rummaging sounds, and then he returns with the whiskey, already pouring some into his tea as he walks.]
What, you'd not take the chance to sleep with a mermaid? [He looks thoughtful as he drops down into his seat again, whiskey tucked casually by his side.] I would, I reckon. Not the sort of chance you get often, is it?
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[He holds out his cup toward him for a pour.]
Is that our criterion for sleeping with others now? Wouldn't often get the chance?
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[So he saw a seagull eating an eel once and was traumatized for life, what about it.
Crowley pouts at that unspoken request, as if he has any right to horde the alcohol, but relents after a moment and stretches out to splash a little whiskey into Aziraphale's tea.]
Not the worst criterion, you have to admit. Oh, I've slept with a werewolf! [He grins, bright and a bit ridiculous.] So that's one for the folklore list. Haven't run into a vampire yet, bit of a shame, that.
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[He makes a satisfied noise at the pour and draws his cup in close to his chest to cradle.]
I've run into a vampire. Polite fellow. He's going to play the violin at the salon.
[He narrows his eyes slightly.]
This werewolf you're speaking of. His name wouldn't happen to be Professor Lyall, would it?
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[There is some kind of distinction there and it probably has something to do with the fact that fish have fins.
He opens his mouth to say something about the vampire, when Aziraphale follows up with that question and he sort of chokes a bit, instead. He hadn't planned to name names, since it feels rude to talk about that sort of thing with names attached.]
How'd you know he was a werewolf? Took me ages to figure it out.
[Just... sidesteps the question. It's fine.]
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He told me the day we met at my first orientation. I suppose I have that sort of face. It makes people want to confess things.
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[There's some irony there, in the fact that he's about to confess something. Sort of.]
Have I made it weird? [He winces a bit.] If it helps, it wasn't — you know, a choice I made. Was just one of those things that happened.
[Which would be a piss poor excuse anywhere else, but he's sure Aziraphale knows what he means.]
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[Intrusive thoughts. They go hand in hand with being an anxious sort.]
I'm sorry that happened to you. I don't like to think of it happening to you, but I know it has.
[He reaches over to squeeze his knee.]
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[Which might not be all that encouraging, but it is what it is.
He frowns slightly at the hand, not because of Aziraphale, it's just weird to have an apology for it.]
Only a few times, honestly, and most of 'em weren't... awful. I've been lucky, really.
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[A proper Englishman. Stiff upper lip.]
I'm glad of that much.
[He doesn't miss the frown, pulling his hand away quickly and drinking more of his tea.]
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