(He’s not sure she’ll ever tell him what happened that day in Heaven; he’s already learned that her eyes harden and flash with anger when she thinks about it, and especially when she has reason to think about Gabriel. It’s not something they talk about much in general, when they talk about their past, but as terrifying an ordeal as it was he’d held tight to his faith that at least Crowley would make it through all right.)
They’re the first two on their feet when the audience rises for a standing ovation. It might be a minor miracle that Aziraphale doesn’t float a few inches off the ground—he’s always felt particularly proud of himself when he’s taken Crowley to a show and the demon enjoys it. Of course he’d known going in that this story would appeal, but it’s one thing to know and another to see it firsthand, to have something that can become a memory.
And it makes Aziraphale happy beyond expressing, watching a crowd cheer for the once-sidelined Odile.
The audience buzzes with pleased chatter as they make their way out. Backstage, the dancers are hugging, crying, complimenting one another on the performance. It’s the perfect level of benevolent chaos for Aziraphale to drop a blessing into, for the company and their director. They may not need it—human gumption gets a lot done on its own—but he privately considers it his thanks for an excellent adaptation of his work.
He slips his arm around Crowley’s waist, snags her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.
“Not to blow my own horn,” he smiles, eyes glittering, “but I do think that may have been a more enjoyable evening than The Sound of Music.”
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timeasmymeasure
Both is good! Maybe some pirate/highwayman stuff too.
Date: 2019-12-29 04:27 pm (UTC)They’re the first two on their feet when the audience rises for a standing ovation. It might be a minor miracle that Aziraphale doesn’t float a few inches off the ground—he’s always felt particularly proud of himself when he’s taken Crowley to a show and the demon enjoys it. Of course he’d known going in that this story would appeal, but it’s one thing to know and another to see it firsthand, to have something that can become a memory.
And it makes Aziraphale happy beyond expressing, watching a crowd cheer for the once-sidelined Odile.
The audience buzzes with pleased chatter as they make their way out. Backstage, the dancers are hugging, crying, complimenting one another on the performance. It’s the perfect level of benevolent chaos for Aziraphale to drop a blessing into, for the company and their director. They may not need it—human gumption gets a lot done on its own—but he privately considers it his thanks for an excellent adaptation of his work.
He slips his arm around Crowley’s waist, snags her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.
“Not to blow my own horn,” he smiles, eyes glittering, “but I do think that may have been a more enjoyable evening than The Sound of Music.”