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exserpens.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
shifted_logs2009-02-02 09:27 pm
exserpens.livejournal.com) wrote in shifted_logs2009-02-02 09:27 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Characters: Aziraphale (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
extutela) and Crowley (exserpens)
Time: Monday night
Location: The Ritz
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale's realities have merged, giving Aziraphale access to the Ritz (in one nice and orderly piece, anyway) for the first time in well over a decade. Naturally they have to meet for dinner! Except things went very not-as-planned the last time they saw each other, so this might be interesting.
Warnings: Light language (I think...I forget), really vague sexytiems, and lots of awkward. :|b
It felt odd, meeting the angel at their intended destination instead of picking him up halfway there. It'd become habit over the years, an automatic swing through Soho before continuing on to the Ritz, or whatever they'd planned for the evening.
If anything, though, the last five months had been fantastic for breaking old habits.
Slipping out of the flat had been remarkably easy, given that Henrietta wasn't even speaking to him any more. She'd started leaving notes around the flat when she needed something, wanted to call his attention to something. He'd tried knocking at her door, reasoning through the door, sliding things under the door, but had eventually come to realise that he was doing just that: interacting with the door, not his 'daughter.' Before he'd left for the evening tonight he'd stuck a bright yellow post-it to the centre of her door, letting her know that he'd be out for the next few hours at least.
She'd probably rejoiced when the Bentley pulled away.
He left the keys with the valet out front, sliding through the front doors into the lobby of the Ritz London. His message for Aziraphale hadn't been entirely clear on a meeting place, because that was the sort of mindset Crowley was in these days. Ah, well. He took up an unoccupied section of wall, resolving to wait for another few minutes before grabbing a table and letting the angel sort things out himself.
extutela) and Crowley (exserpens)Time: Monday night
Location: The Ritz
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale's realities have merged, giving Aziraphale access to the Ritz (in one nice and orderly piece, anyway) for the first time in well over a decade. Naturally they have to meet for dinner! Except things went very not-as-planned the last time they saw each other, so this might be interesting.
Warnings: Light language (I think...I forget), really vague sexytiems, and lots of awkward. :|b
It felt odd, meeting the angel at their intended destination instead of picking him up halfway there. It'd become habit over the years, an automatic swing through Soho before continuing on to the Ritz, or whatever they'd planned for the evening.
If anything, though, the last five months had been fantastic for breaking old habits.
Slipping out of the flat had been remarkably easy, given that Henrietta wasn't even speaking to him any more. She'd started leaving notes around the flat when she needed something, wanted to call his attention to something. He'd tried knocking at her door, reasoning through the door, sliding things under the door, but had eventually come to realise that he was doing just that: interacting with the door, not his 'daughter.' Before he'd left for the evening tonight he'd stuck a bright yellow post-it to the centre of her door, letting her know that he'd be out for the next few hours at least.
She'd probably rejoiced when the Bentley pulled away.
He left the keys with the valet out front, sliding through the front doors into the lobby of the Ritz London. His message for Aziraphale hadn't been entirely clear on a meeting place, because that was the sort of mindset Crowley was in these days. Ah, well. He took up an unoccupied section of wall, resolving to wait for another few minutes before grabbing a table and letting the angel sort things out himself.
no subject
After all, this wasn't his Crowley. This Crowley had a life, a London that still looked like the Ritz--whole, lit up, alive. He was, in all the small important ways, a stranger. Az had never seen his flat, didn't know the child he looked after, who knew what else had changed?
He poured himself a glass of wine. Stopped. Set the bottle aside. "If you would prefer I go..."