Well, he has a point there. Aziraphale couldn't name a Queen song to save his life, but he has heard them often enough that he could probably muddle his way through. "I'll keep that in mind," he replies, smile returning.
Conversation flows as easily as the sake. It's easy for Aziraphale to get lost in it, enough so that it's a surprise when Crowley is called to the makeshift stage. Aziraphale doesn't even get a chance to tell him that he'd never poke fun before Crowley's up there with the microphone. So he turns in his seat, nursing his sake, and watches the performance. And yes, it is a very safe song choice, anyone who's seen the demon with his Bentley knows how much loves his car, and yet Aziraphale is captivated, watching his friend strut about the stage as if he owns it. Crowley is never one to do things halfway, and if his voice is more of a growl instead of a lilting melody, well, it suits him just fine.
Aziraphale applauds, louder than anyone. "That was a wonderful rendition," he tells Crowley, and if that's too prim of a word choice, the shine in his eyes should make up for it. He hands over the sake in exchange for the microphone, although by the time he reaches the stage, he's looking a little nervous. Aziraphale did not exactly go for a safe song choice. Is it too late to switch to Sondheim?
The sake in his system keeps him from backing out, so when the music starts, he begins to sing. "Let's Do it (Let's Fall in Love)" by Cole Porter is by far the oldest and least rock choice of the evening so far, but the other restaurant goers can't help but quiet down a little and listen to the dulcet tones of an angel's voice as he sways a bit to the rhythm, a sweet, demure smile on his face.
When he's done, there's genuine applause. He passes the microphone to the emcee, then returns to his seat, suddenly rather nervous about whatever judgement Crowley intends to pass on his performance.
Works for me! Also, A+ song choice.
Conversation flows as easily as the sake. It's easy for Aziraphale to get lost in it, enough so that it's a surprise when Crowley is called to the makeshift stage. Aziraphale doesn't even get a chance to tell him that he'd never poke fun before Crowley's up there with the microphone. So he turns in his seat, nursing his sake, and watches the performance. And yes, it is a very safe song choice, anyone who's seen the demon with his Bentley knows how much loves his car, and yet Aziraphale is captivated, watching his friend strut about the stage as if he owns it. Crowley is never one to do things halfway, and if his voice is more of a growl instead of a lilting melody, well, it suits him just fine.
Aziraphale applauds, louder than anyone. "That was a wonderful rendition," he tells Crowley, and if that's too prim of a word choice, the shine in his eyes should make up for it. He hands over the sake in exchange for the microphone, although by the time he reaches the stage, he's looking a little nervous. Aziraphale did not exactly go for a safe song choice. Is it too late to switch to Sondheim?
The sake in his system keeps him from backing out, so when the music starts, he begins to sing. "Let's Do it (Let's Fall in Love)" by Cole Porter is by far the oldest and least rock choice of the evening so far, but the other restaurant goers can't help but quiet down a little and listen to the dulcet tones of an angel's voice as he sways a bit to the rhythm, a sweet, demure smile on his face.
When he's done, there's genuine applause. He passes the microphone to the emcee, then returns to his seat, suddenly rather nervous about whatever judgement Crowley intends to pass on his performance.