“So, Cliff Richard – one of ours or one of yours?”
“Oh, one of yours old chap. Definitely one of yours. I can’t see Up There claiming credit for someone who thinks that walking around with those shirts and that inane expression is reasonable behaviour.”
Crowley nodded sagely.
2010, the best table at the Ritz. And once again Aziraphale the angel and Crowley the demon were sitting with a very large bottle of scotch between them, comparing notes.
“Pokemon?”
“Yours.”
“The Wii?”
“Ours.”
“How I Met Your Mother?”
“Ours.”
“Even the Barney Stinson character?”
“Especially the Barney Stinson character.”
“You’ll take credit for Barney Stinson, but not for Cliff Richard?”
“What can I say? I believe Himself admires the character’s taste in suits. And of course they were bang on about the Loch Ness Monster.” Aziraphale took another hearty swig. “The Hills? Jersey Shore? Made in Chelsea?”
“All mine.” The demon gave a wicked grin, leafing through a heavy script that suddenly appeared in his left hand. “As a matter of fact I have another one I was just about to pitch. What d’you think of this – ‘The Only Way Is Essex’?”
Even with half a bottle of very potent scotch inside him, Aziraphale managed to give him a particularly stern look.
“No, I’m sorry my dear boy, can’t be done. I can’t let you pitch another one of those infernal programmes to thousands of the masses every day. It’s a disgrace. And besides, it’s part of my internal code. Thwarting wiles. I see a wile, I thwart.”
“I think Up There mean for you to be doing slightly more important work than rearranging the TV schedule. Thwarting more infernal wiles, as I see it.”
“Believe me, Made in Chelsea is as infernal a wile as it gets.”
The demon scowled. “Look angel, you give me The Only Way Is Essex and I’ll let you have another two seasons of Downton Abbey, deal?”
“Alright, alright, deal.” Pause. “You think – you know, Up There and Down Below would be happy about this little…powwow we have going on?”
“No, no-no-no-no-no, course they would. And ‘s not a powwow. ‘S a – ”Crowley paused and tried to rack his brains for the latest modern jargon – quite a trick considering he’d spent much of the nineties napping after the Antichrist incident. “’S a man-date.”
“A whosit?”
“A man-date. ‘S when two blokes together and – ” once again the internal harddrive went scurrying for more gobbledygook, “chill together. Hang out.” And then, before the angel started blabbing on about hanging and wasn’t that what you do to paintings and criminals, and capital punishment and whose idea had that been anyway, Crowley hastily coughed. “That is, spend time together.”
For a moment Aziraphale nodded slowly, repeating the word under his breath. The demon visibly brightened. It wasn’t often you managed to teach new words to an angel whose mind seemed permanently fixed in the middle of the eighteenth century –
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Good Omens - Crowley and Aziraphale - Terminology Is Important
Date: 2011-06-28 09:50 am (UTC)“Oh, one of yours old chap. Definitely one of yours. I can’t see Up There claiming credit for someone who thinks that walking around with those shirts and that inane expression is reasonable behaviour.”
Crowley nodded sagely.
2010, the best table at the Ritz. And once again Aziraphale the angel and Crowley the demon were sitting with a very large bottle of scotch between them, comparing notes.
“Pokemon?”
“Yours.”
“The Wii?”
“Ours.”
“How I Met Your Mother?”
“Ours.”
“Even the Barney Stinson character?”
“Especially the Barney Stinson character.”
“You’ll take credit for Barney Stinson, but not for Cliff Richard?”
“What can I say? I believe Himself admires the character’s taste in suits. And of course they were bang on about the Loch Ness Monster.” Aziraphale took another hearty swig. “The Hills? Jersey Shore? Made in Chelsea?”
“All mine.” The demon gave a wicked grin, leafing through a heavy script that suddenly appeared in his left hand. “As a matter of fact I have another one I was just about to pitch. What d’you think of this – ‘The Only Way Is Essex’?”
Even with half a bottle of very potent scotch inside him, Aziraphale managed to give him a particularly stern look.
“No, I’m sorry my dear boy, can’t be done. I can’t let you pitch another one of those infernal programmes to thousands of the masses every day. It’s a disgrace. And besides, it’s part of my internal code. Thwarting wiles. I see a wile, I thwart.”
“I think Up There mean for you to be doing slightly more important work than rearranging the TV schedule. Thwarting more infernal wiles, as I see it.”
“Believe me, Made in Chelsea is as infernal a wile as it gets.”
The demon scowled. “Look angel, you give me The Only Way Is Essex and I’ll let you have another two seasons of Downton Abbey, deal?”
“Alright, alright, deal.” Pause. “You think – you know, Up There and Down Below would be happy about this little…powwow we have going on?”
“No, no-no-no-no-no, course they would. And ‘s not a powwow. ‘S a – ”Crowley paused and tried to rack his brains for the latest modern jargon – quite a trick considering he’d spent much of the nineties napping after the Antichrist incident. “’S a man-date.”
“A whosit?”
“A man-date. ‘S when two blokes together and – ” once again the internal harddrive went scurrying for more gobbledygook, “chill together. Hang out.” And then, before the angel started blabbing on about hanging and wasn’t that what you do to paintings and criminals, and capital punishment and whose idea had that been anyway, Crowley hastily coughed. “That is, spend time together.”
For a moment Aziraphale nodded slowly, repeating the word under his breath. The demon visibly brightened. It wasn’t often you managed to teach new words to an angel whose mind seemed permanently fixed in the middle of the eighteenth century –
“But we’re not men.”
Crowley’s mental warning lights went off.