Sauntering Vaguely Downwards

CROWLEY.

Crowley sauntered inside the bookshop, shaking some water from his hair. He groaned quietly as he looked back at the angel, taking his sunglasses from his eyes and drying them off before setting them off to the side. "Thank Satan you let me in, Aziraphale. Much longer and I may have frozen to death." He looked around as he moved farther inside, taking in the flickering light and the soft music playing. At the mention of persistent customers, he raised his brow. "And you're surprised? You've hoarded books for centuries and rather then keep them to yourself when we settled in London, you opened a bookshop. Rather poor choice, in my opinion." He shook his head with a soft hiss as he peeled his damp jacket off his shoulders, setting it aside before seating himself on the couch in the back room. "Come now, angel. Have you ever known me to turn down a drink? Let's hope its something strong, after the day I've had." He shook his head. "Had to deal with Adam and his little posse. They showed up at my doorstep thinking I could help them with some tedious plot involving that pathetic excuse of a hellhound. Of course, I helped them out because what kind of demon would I be otherwise, but still. It was a rather large inconvenience for me." He rolled his eyes. "Do they ever pay you any visits, Angel?"

Aziraphale pushed the last book onto the shelf, a soft thud following as it hit the wood backing. The shop was quiet that evening, and he was so grateful for it. He had spent the day keeping up with his organization method he had for centuries before, thinking briefly on his past years as he did so. The Angel was grateful he could still perform miracles, small as they were, but was still anxious about the mystery of it all. He waved his hand, starting the water boiling on the stove and turning his Victrola on. The sound of a classical piece began, and he went over to ready his cocoa. That was when there was a knock on the door. The Angel tutted, setting down the pot he had only just retrieved, before heading to the front door. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid we’re closed at the moment. Perhaps do try to return soon.” he called through the wood, hoping that would satisfy whoever was on the other side…Until another knock came. “Good Lord. Honestly.” he swung open the door. “I apologize, but I really am closed for the night.”

Anthony J Crowley sauntered down the darkening street, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. It had been a short while since he had last paid a visit to his angel and, all things considered, he was rather lonely. He made his way up the steps, glancing up at the sky as he felt a drop of rain fall on his head. He glowered through his shades at the sky. "For Hell's sake, why does it always have to rain around here?" He muttered under his breath as he knocked on the bookshop's door. After his first knock, he faintly heard Aziraphale's voice through the wood. After the second, he clearly heard Aziraphale's attempts to dismiss what he probably thought was a customer. Crowley sighed. "It's me, angel. Open up. For Satan's sake, it's starting to rain and I do believe I am being rather courteous not just snapping my fingers and curling up beside your stove." He moved closer to the door, his head down to avoid the falling droplets.