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Uploaded the next part of the diary entries on AO3 :
Basically, it's those parts where my former boss ambushes me and I have to explain to them about pacts. Because they seem to have forgotten all about pacts in these few months out of Hell. Anyway, I can't think of any demon going for that USB plan thingie.
Thanks to @taraiha for constantly reminding me that ducks have ears and for making sure, my phone did not block the bookshop's number. And thanks to Nina und Maggie and @muriel-not-the-dim-one for not giving up on evil old me, although I am... well, maybe not evil all the time, but nasty, snarky, grouchy, grumpy and most of all stubborn.
And thanks to londondavi_2008, ineffablymiles, AMagnificentObsession, RainbowCloud31, IAmtheproblem, oboextra, CrissyCoo, Lilyfev, telekinesiskyle7, and Clorofila for leaving kudos and comments on my whiny ramblings (and Aziraphale's beautiful and poetic words).
I'll go back to missing my angel now.
*curls up in a little snake ball of pain*.
Hi Maggie, please tell Muriel to come over to the record shop, so that I need to say this only once: Stop trying to talk to me, the both of you. Stop sending me notes, stop trying to call me, just stop doing anything about me. I am not your friend and never will be.
There, you have it. Nice and short.
The only problem is, if I put it like that, Maggie will probably cry and Nina will give me her angry face again. And Muriel will look at me with those big brown eyes and think it’s their fault. And perhaps cry, too.
Enough! No more crying. I’m sick of blowing my nose all the time. It gets all red and blotchy. Why do noses always have to run when you cry! Major design flaw if you ask me. But I forgot, you are not asking, @the-almighty-god. You’re just playing your ineffable game. Next time, please play Dungeons & Dragons with us. At least that one has uhm…. dungeons and dragons and elves and Bags of Holding in it. I would quite like a Bag of Holding, then I could’ve kept all of my plants when Hell kicked me out of my flat.
Okay, next try: Hi Maggie and Muriel. I can’t be your friend because I don’t do friendships. Bye.
That one’s so short, I could actually write it on a card. Maybe I should, then I don’t have to talk to them. But Nina was very specific about this one. If you don’t want friends, you have to tell people to go away and you have to do it in person. Writing will not do, texting will not do, and simply going away until they forget about you will not do either. That one least of all.
Nina says, the truth is painful, but at least they’ll have a clean cut and they can start to heal. They can’t when I just leave them hanging. No closure.
Hi Maggie and Muriel. I don’t want to be your friend because I’m scared. Scared that I’ll get hurt when I open up to someone. Scared that you’ll get hurt, when Heaven and Hell start doing their thing again and we all get caught in the crossfire.
No, by ‘the truth’ I didn’t mean ‘that much truth’.
Just the clean cut. The one we never got to have. First, I walked out, then he walked away. We never sorted anything out. Did he leave because he chose Heaven over me? Did he leave because he chose Heaven for me? Did we break up? How can we break up if we aren’t even together? Are we still friends, or is everything over for good?
What does he want with Heaven? Does he truly believe, he can make a difference? Was it just an excuse to get away? Why did he kiss me back and then told me, he forgives me? Did he even listen to anything I said?
Why suddenly dance with me at the ball when he refused to dance with me back in 1941 when I asked him to? Why does he want me to be an angel again? Am I not okay for him the way I am? Does he even want to be “an us”, or did he at least want it before everything went down the drain? Does he still think about me as he is up there, doing God knows what?
Is he thinking of me right now? Perhaps this very moment?
I slam on the brakes and let the Bentley spin to the right, so the car behind me passes by without hitting me. The driver yells something rude, but I’m not listening to him. My mind is full of questions and I can’t answer a single one of them.
No closure. No clean cut. Just pain.
I can’t heal because I’m left hanging. I can’t move on with my life because I don’t know what’s there to move on to and what there isn't. Is he still a part of this life or is he gone for good?
I’m on hold. I’m on hold like a human on a phone who doesn’t know if they should hang up or if they should wait for the conversation to continue. When Beelzebub came to talk to me about Gabriel, I understood immediately what was going on with them. Why can I not understand what is going on with us?
Again Nina’s words: “But then, other people’s love lives always seem so much more straightforward than our own.”
I start the Bentley’s engine again, but before I can bring my foot down, I freeze.
“Hello, traitor.”
No literal freezing. Just a jumpscare.
“I was going to pull you down to my new office, as it seems befitting for my new position. But you’re so miserable already, I didn’t want to drag you out of your safe space. Besides, Hell doesn’t need to know about our little talk, do they?”
~*~
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@aziraphalesdiaries @muriel-not-the-dim-one
Be angry at Nina for making things so difficult. Instead of talking to me, she could’ve just written more notes for me to ignore.
Ponder on Nina’s words
Overthink
Go back to sleep because my brain hurts from overthinking
Wake up and work up the courage to speak to Maggie and to Muriel
Have a few drinks to be more courageous
Sober up because I can’t very well talk to them drunk. Maggie would probably not take me seriously and Muriel would be really confused or even scared. They haven’t experienced me in full drunk mode yet.
Yell at plants to let off some steam
Drive around, not necessarily in the right direction.
Nina says that Muriel thinks it’s their fault that I’m not talking to them, not visiting the bookshop anymore and not responding to any of their notes and cards. I was so shocked I almost dropped my shades.
I can’t wrap my head around it. I couldn’t even wrap my entire body around it if I was in my snake form.
I mean, we all messed up in some way or other. The angels messed up, the demons messed up, Gabriel and Beelzebub messed up, Shax messed up, Aziraphale messed up, Floating-Head-Coffee-Or-Death-Guy messed up, Maggie und Nina messed up, and I have been walking chaos since I started walking on legs. (Might have been crawling chaos before that). The only person who really didn’t have anything to do with any of this, was former-inspector-constable, now bookseller-to-bee.
Why do they think it’s their fault? I don’t understand it at all. I know that humans sometimes feel guilty for something they’re not responsible for, but Muriel is an angel. They should think that they’re always doing the right thing.
But then, Aziraphale has experienced guilt before. Even then when things weren’t his fault. Perhaps guilt is an angel thing after all.
I wish I could tell Muriel that this has nothing to do with them. It's a good thing that they keep the bookshop safe.
I just can’t be in there at the moment because everything reminds me of him. But I can't talk about that to Muriel. I can’t be on Whickber Street, I can’t talk to Maggie and Nina, I can’t deal with this, I can’t process it. And I’m sorry for causing them pain. I don’t want any friends because I don’t want to cause others pain.
It was my damn job to cause others pain for so long.
~*~
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@aziraphalesdiaries @muriel-not-the-dim-one
1. Sleep
2. Not get booped awake by weird people
3. Stop dreaming ridiculous things.
The duck still doesn't want the peas...
It gazes at me with one beady eye, its head bending sideways while the rapping and tapping quickens its pace.
"Wait", I protest, "you can't be a duck, you're supposed to be a raven. A duck wouldn't be rapping and tapping at my chamber door."
"Right you are", says the duck and with a flap of its wings knocks over the bowl. The peas roll all over the place while a bespectacled friar in a black frock frantically chases after them and yells something in German about dominant allele, whatever that is. My poor head can't make sense of it because the rapping and tapping rings too loudly in my ears.
The duck on the other hand doesn't worry about any of this. It flaps its wings again and takes off. Landing on the shoulder of the Metatron, it croaks a long last 'Nevermore' in my direction. The Metatron glares at me and I notice, he has a pair of black buttons sewn over his eyes. Still, doesn't make the glare any less creepy. 'Nevermore' still rings in my ears when the rapping and tapping finally saves me from drowning in seas of peas.
Ouch.
My head hurts.
Again.
Oh, come on, Nina! Seriously?
I scramble for the handle to roll down the window before her angry fist starts breaking glass. My poor, poor car. "What. Do. You. Want?"
"I want you to come out of your little booze fortress, Mr. Six-Shots-of-Espresso and listen to me."
"I don't want to talk."
"You won't! I'm going to talk and you're going to listen. And if you're too drunk to listen, you will use these devilish powers of yours to make yourself sober and listen anyway."
"Big words from the woman who wanted to drink herself senseless after Annie Wilkes dumped her."
What? I'm not a nice person and I want her to go away.
"First, you have absolutely no right to insult my ex-partner. Second, that would've been one night. One. You've been going at it for several months now. Are you trying to drink yourself to death?"
I swing my long legs out the door, jump up and start pacing around her. Slowly. Menacingly. She doesn't even flinch.
"So? And whatever do you think," I spit out, "makes this any of your business?"
Her death glare is no less deathy than mine. Maybe even a little more so.
"I made it my business. Because with your shitty behaviour you're hurting people I care about."
"What?"
Why?
I don't understand. Why is it anyone's business what I do? Even if I wanted to drink myself to death - which I don't - why would that be anyone's business but my own?
The only person I love is gone.
He doesn't care, so why should I?
~ * ~
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Drive.
Just drive
Nothing else.
Waking up this morning, I knew instantly that today is a driving day. I've sobered up to get rid of the hangover, but my headache's still there and it's persistent. Should've sobered up yesterday night, but I kinda like the fuzzy head. Keeps me from thinking.
If there's enough pain in my head, I suppose, I won't worry too much about the pain in my heart.
I don't want to go anywhere near the bookshop. I don't, but I need to return the CD to Muriel before it looses its song. Still, I drive around all day to work up the courage.
The song starts five or six times while I'm driving back to Soho. I try to listen, but in the end I always turn it off. My car turns it back on. I turn it back off.
At the horizon, far beyond the end of the road, the sun's going down in a blaze of red and orange. Like the whole world was about to end in fire.
The street lanterns at Whickber Street flicker on as I pass through. The stores are closed at this hour, but there's still light in most of the restaurants and, of course, the pub.
I could go there, have a whiskey. Or I could have a bottle of wine at Marguerite's or a bottle of Tsingtao at Mr & Mrs Chen's place.
No, I can't. It would never be just one glass or one bottle. Wasting yourself on your own is fine, but not in front of people you used know. Not front of people he used to know.
If I was human, I'd probably be dead in a ditch somewhere three times over. Being who I am, I know how far I can take this. This may be the worst time, but it is certainly not the first.
It's not even the first time I got my heart ripped out, but last time happened to be a bit more literal.
Do mine eyes deceive me? There's light in the bookshop. No, not in the shop itself, but up in the flat, in the very guest room that Gabriel used to live in when he was Jim.
For a brief moment I allow myself to imagine what it would be like if Aziraphale was still in there. He'd notice I was on my way and open the door for me. And then we'd sit inside and talk about something or other, have a drink or two, and maybe talk some more. He would have a snack and I would watch him eat. He would get excited about something and bounce around and I would listen to the ridiclous sounds coming out of his mouth.
And watch his smile. That beautiful beautiful smile. And everything would just be fine for a few hours.
A familiar silhouette at the window. Muriel is sitting there, probably on the inside sill, their head bent over a book they're holding. They're a fast reader, turning the pages at a quick and steady pace.
I wonder why Muriel didn't take Aziraphale's room. It's bigger than the guest room and it's not like he'll be back anytime soon.
Angels and their faith...
I drop the CD in the letterbox inside the door, trying to avoid any noises. Back on the road, I look up to the window again.
Muriel still seems busy with their book. I hope, they read all the brilliant ones first, then the good ones before moving on to the trash that they inevitably will find.
But then, these humans never can tell the difference. Goethe's Faust was a good book. Marie Corelli's Sorrows of Satan was a brilliant one.
I cross the road and signal for my car to come pick me up. Nina is still inside her closed-for-the-night-coffee shop sitting at a table across Maggie. They're talking to each other and they both look worried.
Time to get out of here. Just as the Bentley speeds around the corner, Maggie spots me and starts waving frantically. Nina looks up, too, her expression a mix and match between a sigh of relief and a death glare.
No. No talk. I don't want to talk to any of you. I did what I came for and now I'm leaving.
Just leave me alone, all of you!
~ * ~
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Where we left off: Our hero was nursing his wounded heart, that had been so callously broken, with a bottle of whiskey and a lamentation to the stars. (Mind the commas in the last sentence or it will mean something entirely different... I think. My spelling's "tickety boo" for a demon, but don't hold me accountable for commas, or as Aziraphale used to call them: commata.)
Anyhow, as our hero was lamenting and minding his own business, he was suddenly ambushed by an old enemy. With even more whiskey.
I know, I'm gonna regret this. I'm gonna regret this big time.
"So", I ask, turning to Beelzebub. "What exactly happened?"
"At first, nothing bad. We went to the pub as usual. And then we went to lots of different places. More pubs, shops, the sea, some restaurants, a waterfall, Paris, the moon...."
Why did we never do things like that? We could've had ages to go to places. Literally ages!
Nice one, us!
"And then? Then what?"
Well, we did go to the Ritz. And Paris, too. And some graveyard in Edinburgh. Still, to most of these places we haven't been on purpose. They just happened.
We've wasted our time. We’ve wasted so much time.
"At first, everything was like...like..." Beelzebub is at a loss for words.
"Maple syrup?", I cut in, "Raspberry vinegar? Baklava drowned in honey?"
Being stuck in their office, Beelzebub used to be quite unfamiliar with earth, but they do have a taste for sweet and sticky stuff. Even more so if it's drowned in even more sweet and sticky stuff.
They pause for a moment, trying to hide the goofy grin spreading on their face. It's a very unbeelzebublike grin. "Even better. It didn't really matter where we went and what we did, as long as we could spend time together."
"So, what changed?", I ask. No reason to dwell on memories of things you can no longer have.
"I don't know. It got boring. No, not boring. And not all of the things."
"More like annoying?"
I'm taking a wild guess here, but the expression on their face tells me I struck gold. "Yes. Exactly."
Beelzebub sets down the bottle to be able to move their hands more freely as they talk. "Wherever we go, he always wants to go shopping. This watch and these bags and those shoes. And then he parades around in them and wants me to tell which ones make him look better. And if I pick the wrong ones, he gets all sulky and curls his lip in this really weird way."
Their words get a bit fuzzy, as they try to demonstrate it with their own mouth, but that may be the alcohol's fault.
"And the tailors - oh, these endless hours at the tailors! I can't stand it. This suit and that coat, and - bloody heaven - how am I supposed to know if a tie is supposed to match the shirt or the jacket?"
"It used to be the jacket, now it's the shirt." I marvel in silence at the amount of words tumbling out of their mouth. Beelzebub can be quite a chatterfly, but this is unusual even for them.
"Oh and if it wasn't bad enough, then that whole napkin thing started. We ate at this nice little restaurant in Florence - and he managed to get a stain of tomato sauce on one of his oh-so-precious suits."
I snigger. Imagine that, Mr. ‘I-don't-sullen-my-celestial-body’ eating Pasta in Florence and getting tomato sauce on his clothes. Oh, Angel, how I wish, I could tell you this! We could sit in the bookshop, have a laugh together and imagine Michael or Uriel sending Gabriel a strongly worded note...
"I thought, how can one little stain be such a big deal? We can just miracle it away, but he was devastated. And then he started stuffing a napkin into his collar whenever we had something to eat, so it wouldn't happen again."
Florence. Aziraphale and I met in Florence once or twice during the Renaissance. We were watching the horse races with a young Spanish seminarian - César, I believe - me trying to tempt him away from priesthood and Aziraphale trying to cancel me out. I had already struck a deal with the boy's father in Rome to make him Pope, but I suppose that's a story for another time. Anyway, napkins. Right. Napkins.
Is Beelzebub about to tell me how they broke up with Gabriel over napkins?
"You know, some humans actually do wear napkins in their collars. Or put them on their lap while they eat. It's considered an acceptable behaviour in most restaurants."
"It's a ridiculous behaviour." Beelzebub doesn't seem to be happy about me trying to share my earthly wisdom. "Human children wear them. Adults look absolutely ludicrous in them. Anyway, I told Gabriel, I will not stand for it. If he puts one more napkin in his collar, I will turn on my heel and leave. And yet he did, and then I left and now I am here. End of story."
They grab the bottle again and gulp down the rest of it.
Okay, how do I put this. "Look, Beelzebub, 'breakup' may be a bit of a strong word here."
"Whaddoyoumean, strong?"
"I'm saying, you two got in a fight, but it's not that bad. Aziraphale and I used to have them all the time. You see, he has far more annoying habits than wearing napkins in his collar and parading around in new clothes."
"More annoying than napkins?" Their eyes narrow in disbelief.
"Tartan. That bloody tartan! Yes, I know, Angels wear tartan, but he wears it in places where you wouldn't believe it even existed and I'm not telling you because it really is none of your bisss... business. And he practisesss weird phrasesss about auntsss and their gardenersss because he insistsss on French, the hard way."
"French the hard way?"
"No, not that kind of French!"
"What French?"
"Oh, just forget about the French! He turned my car yellow. He uses weird words like 'commata' and 'tickety-boo' and half of the time, I don't understand what he's talking about anyway. He insists on doing human style magic shows without any miracles and doesn't care that he's bad at it. All of his drawing pencils have to be put in their little boxes in the right order and they all need to be the same size. And when he gets all excited, he pronounces capital letters."
I mean, really pronounces them. And he waves his hands around and bobs on his feet and singsongs along to his music records and I can't... I don't... grrrm... and where the heaven did I put my blinds? Where the f*** are they?
"Here." Beelzebub grabs them off the street and hands them back to me without looking at my face. Their eyes are set firmly on the flow of the river.
Humans may offer each other hugs and hot cocoa. Demons usually mock other demons for weakness. Pretending not to notice it, is a rare thing, and I appreciate the sentiment.
"I have a plan." Luckily, my instincts are back in place, for Beelzebub is about to tell me the real reason why they came to me in the first place. "Look, Crowley, why don't we just start our own thing?"
"What thing?"
"I mean, Hell was started originally because angels rebelled against Heaven, right? And now we - sort of - rebelled against Hell."
They can't be serious. "You mean, we create Hell Point Two? Oh, I bet, good old Lucifer is going to love this."
"He can't thwart us if we're strong enough. Not if we get enough demons to join our side."
They start to pace to dwell on their train of thought. "We could offer better rations or even some nice extras. Like stronger firecoffee or bugs in the office."
I take a step back. "Look, I don't know if 'Hell Point Two' is going to cut it..."
"You're right, we need a better name. One that's more appealing. How about: "The United States of Beelzebub?'"
"Bit long for demons, don't you think? They couldn't spell it. 'Hell' is such a nice short word."
"Don't be such a spoilsport!", they snap. "We could shorten it."
Right. I can clearly picture legions and legions of demons pumping their fists, fins, hoofs and claws up into the air while shouting: USB! USB! USB!
Scary thought. "Oh, come on! Think of all the paperwork. It'll be far worse than a few napkins."
"So, whaddoyousay, Crowley?" Beelzebub extends their hand. "I'll run it, you can be my second-in-command?"
Now, where have I heard THESE words before?
"Well, yes, USB. I can definitely see a career option here. Bees are great. Wahoo for Plan B. Just don't forget, before Plan B is set into motion, there's Plan A as in: Talk to Gabriel!"
Their hand sinks as they stare at me incredulously. "Talk to Gabriel... what about?"
"Pacts. Pacts are a thing. I know, they teach us in hell that we can only strike proper pacts with humans, but they actually function with angels, too. Quite well, to be honest. Aziraphale and I have had lots of pacts over the centuries."
Oodles of pacts. Once he had understood that it actually worked, it was pact-city-Aziraphale.
"For example: You could try something like: 'First, I go shopping with you for two hours, but then you go to my favourite pub with me.' Or: "First, you tell me which pair of shoes feels better on your feet, then I tell you which one looks better.'"
I see the frown on their face, but this time, I definitely sparked their interest. "There are many ways this could work, all you have to do, is bargain for good terms. Negotiate. Find things to bribe him with. You won't believe me now, but this can be quite fun."
"Fun?"
"Fun. Trust me on this. And don't let fights discourage you, they are just a thing. After our first fights, we didn't speak for centuries, then it became decades, then years. Nowadays we are down to mere days or even hours."
"Fine." Beelzebub still looks grumpy as usual, but also relieved somehow. "I'll do that, then."
"You know how to find him again?" I'm curious.
"Yes. I can sense where he is... sort of. I know it sounds weird, I can't really explain, how it works. It's just a feeling."
A feeling? Right. How would I have even the slightest idea how this feeling feels like? It's only been ... what? A few hundred years? A few thousand?
Why can't I pinpoint the moment when it started. I actually can't. It's always been the two of us. Always. Except for the brief times when he went up or I went down, I could always feel an earth with an Aziraphale in it.
Now it's empty. Hollow. I've never not felt him for such a long time.
I'm empty. Incomplete. Ripped to pieces at my very core.
"And, Crowley?"
"No, don't thank me.” Just go, be happy lovebirds or whatever. This has gone far enough already and I hope, I'm just too drunk to remember this entire conversation tomorrow."
~*~
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1. Sober up and get rid of hangover
2. Ponder on how ridiculous this is
3. Get drunk again because I can't deal with this sober
I thought they were off to Alpha Centauri. Living that sweet life we will never have...
Well, it seems things don't always work out for other people, too.
Obviously. But let's rewind to last night and try to sort this all out.
"I was going to mysteriously appear in your car", Beelzebub said, "but somehow I can't get in anymore."
Oh.
"Also, when I tried to miracle myself in, the car suddenly turned yellow. Like some kind of defense mechanism."
OH!
"Things have changed, Beelzebub. You have to be invited in. And I'm certainly not go... gonna do that."
"Well, that's all right." They take a step closer. "We can just talk here."
"And I certainly don't want to talk."
"I brought booze."
My eyes shift between the empty bottle I'm holding and the full bottle in their hands.
Sigh.
I throw the empty bottle into the Thames (Yes, I should litter, I'm a demon after all. And maybe some hermit crab can build a home in it. Or some little fish family. Oh, lookey here, it's Nemo and the guys.)
Beelzebub passes the full bottle to me. It's obviously not miracled out of Hell, it's good old Earth stuff.
Mhm. Smells like it, too. And I just remembered that Nemo is a saltwater fish.
And so are hermit crabs.
I take a deep sip. Well, obviously not fish, but well.. you know.
"I heard about Aziraphale," Beelzebub looks at me with a sympathetic gaze and suddenly I feel the need to throw up. "I'm sorry, things didn't work out."
Bloody Heaven! I'm not going to talk to them about Aziraphale. It's bad enough with Maggie and Nina trying to get me to talk about Aziraphale, but Beelzebub? Really?
This is one of the few times I'm actually speechless, but being a fellow demon, Beelzebub should fully well be able to read my death glare.
They do. "Well, that's all right. Gabriel and I broke up, too, and I don't want to talk about it either."
They WHAT? They thwarted both Heaven and Hell for their love and now they fall out of it after barely three months?
Lucky for the both of us, Beelzebub freezes the bottle in mid air before it smashes on the ground. They grab it, take a big sip and pass it back to me.
We stand in silence, staring at the river. All is quiet, except for the city noises in the background, the sound of the water and the occasional burp from one of us as we devour the alcohol.
I know, I'm gonna regret this. I'm gonna regret this big time.
"So", I ask, turning to Beelzebub. "What exactly happened?"
~*~
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1. Sober up and get rid of hangover
2. Ponder on how ridiculous this is
3. Get drunk again because I can't deal with this sober
I thought they were off to Alpha Centauri. Living that sweet life we will never have...
Well, it seems things don't always work out for other people, too.
Obviously. But let's rewind to last night and try to sort this all out.
"I was going to mysteriously appear in your car", Beelzebub said, "but somehow I can't get in anymore."
Oh.
"Also, when I tried to miracle myself in, the car suddenly turned yellow. Like some kind of defense mechanism."
OH!
"Things have changed, Beelzebub. You have to be invited in. And I'm certainly not go... gonna do that."
"Well, that's all right." They take a step closer. "We can just talk here."
"And I certainly don't want to talk."
"I brought booze."
My eyes shift between the empty bottle I'm holding and the full bottle in their hands.
Sigh.
I throw the empty bottle into the Thames (Yes, I should litter, I'm a demon after all. And maybe some hermit crab can build a home in it. Or some little fish family. Oh, lookey here, it's Nemo and the guys.)
Beelzebub passes the full bottle to me. It's obviously not miracled out of Hell, it's good old Earth stuff.
Mhm. Smells like it, too. And I just remembered that Nemo is a saltwater fish.
And so are hermit crabs.
I take a deep sip. Well, obviously not fish, but well.. you know.
"I heard about Aziraphale," Beelzebub looks at me with a sympathetic gaze and suddenly I feel the need to throw up. "I'm sorry, things didn't work out."
Bloody Heaven! I'm not going to talk to them about Aziraphale. It's bad enough with Maggie and Nina trying to get me to talk about Aziraphale, but Beelzebub? Really?
This is one of the few times I'm actually speechless, but being a fellow demon, Beelzebub should fully well be able to read my death glare.
They do. "Well, that's all right. Gabriel and I broke up, too, and I don't want to talk about it either."
They WHAT? They thwarted both Heaven and Hell for their love and now they fall out of it after barely three months?
Lucky for the both of us, Beelzebub freezes the bottle in mid air before it smashes on the ground. They grab it, take a big sip and pass it back to me.
We stand in silence, staring at the river. All is quiet, except for the city noises in the background, the sound of the water and the occasional burp from one of us as we devour the alcohol.
I know, I'm gonna regret this. I'm gonna regret this big time.
"So", I ask, turning to Beelzebub. "What exactly happened?"
~*~
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Drink
Get drunk.
Get very very drunk
Don't want to sit in a pub. Pub's full of people and if I miracle-shoo them all out, I will just draw attention to myself. Don't need that now. I draw enough attention as it is. I'm taking out the bottle, walk over the bridge and look at the Thames.
Pretty little stars in the water. Not the real thing, but still pretty. Glittering like anything.
Why does everyone always seem to know where my car is? I keep driving the Bentley around, don't want to stay in one place for too long. Other demons can spot me, of course. But these little notes and letters from Maggie and Nina and Muriel keep finding me, too.
Bla bla bla coffee. Bla bla bla talk. Bla bla bla we're here for you bla bla bla you don't have to go through this alone.
Go away. Just go away.
I've been on my own for 6000 years, I don't plan on changing that now. And least of all with humans who shouldn't be dragged into this. Friendship with humans never ends well, someone always gets turned into pillars of salt.
Or killed. One minute Kain's a baby pulling my hair and puking all over my robes, next thing, you know, he's an angry teenager smacking his brother with a stone. Broke Eve's heart. Should've stayed away.
And Muriel keeps writing about all the books they've been reading and keeps asking stuff about customers and taxes and stockkeeping and why would I know any of this? Nina and Maggie run shops, too, they're far better with these things.
Do you actually want to get in trouble with heaven, little bee? Can you even imagine what they could do to you for hanging out with a demon?
'M not stupid, you know, I know it's you trying to reach me from the bookshop's number. I can only hope Shax was too stupid to read any of your little notes, when she put my mail under the wipers. I don't think she has back channels to rat you out to heaven, but you never know.
Did the real stars look as glittery as their reflection in the water?
Whatever. You don't miss what you can't remember, right? If I wanted to see stars, I could just go watch a Disney movie.
Now where did I park the Bentley? Why does everyone always seem to know where my car is, except for me, myself and I?
"Hello Crowley."
No no no no no no, not you. Not you, too.
Why can't you just all go away and let me wallow in my misery?
~ * ~
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Slee.. oh, wait!
There's a missed call from Aziraphale on my phone.
Yes, that's his name on the display. Did they finally insist on giving him a mobile phone in heaven? Even if they did, how would my phone know that it's him? Wouldn't it just be Unknown Number?
The number connected to his name in my phone is the number of the bookshop. He no longer is in the bookshop. If he was in the bookshop, I would feel that he's on Earth. I no longer feel him on Earth, so he can't be on Earth and in the bookshop.
Phone, delete missed call.
Phone, delete contact Aziraphale.
Phone, block this number!
~ * ~
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Sleep
Yell at plants
Get some more drink - I'm down to the last bottle. Again.
Another note under the wipers. This one's from Maggie. She wants to meet up for coffee in Nina's coffee shop. Also it seems, this is not the first time she's wanting this.
No, no, no, no, no. No coffee for me.
I worry too much that I'm gonna ask for death.
~ * ~
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Sleep
Burn more mail
Why is there always so much mail under the wipers? That can't be right. There never was so much mail under the wipers in the months and years before. And Shax never put the mail under the wipers anyway. She always insisted on giving it to me personally.
Seems there were notes in between the letters. Or letters with notes. I don't know. I don't care. It's all burned now.
Something or other from Nina and from Maggie. Maggy? Don't know how to spell her name. Spelling's hard anyway. Doesn't matter, I'm never talking to her again.
And Muriel obviously wrote me some glittery card thingie for Valentine's Day. That must be the reason why the ashes are so glittery.
Someone needs to explain the little bee what Valentine's Day is for.
Someone, not me. I'm going back to sleep.
~*~
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Drive around
Sleep
Drive around some more
Get drunk
Sleep it off
Sleep some more
Repeat
~*~
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