Categories > Books > Good Omens
The boss asks Crowley to do the impossible...
The devil with the sunglasses gulped as he remembered the success or lack of from his previous mission, "Yeah, boss? What do you need, anyth - "
"I need you to..." His voice trailed deeper into darkness. A choking rasp entering the tone as he ordered Crowley to do an unthinkable (there was more than one of course, Crowley knew this all too well).
"Boss! That's - " Crowley yelped, the sunglasses slipping down his nose as he eyes bulged out of their sockets. His ears were burning from the words they had heard, literally. Acrid smoke wafted in the car, staining the pristine leather, another smell entered the space, one of burnt cow.
Fast and furious, Crowley was damned a thousand times. Sinking into the plush but smoking interior, Crowley nodded weakly.
"Sure thing, whatever you want Boss! I'll do it!" He panted out, the words rushing out like razor sharp bullets, spittle mixed with his words.
The presence exited a decidedly smug feel to it and the beads of sweat that had been too afraid to go down Crowley's forehead rushed down very relieved. Hands flexing convulsively, Crowley gripped the steering wheel as a lorry swerved to miss him.
"Oh, shit! How am I supposed to do that!" Crowley groaned, a worried expression crossing his brow.
"Crowley! How is that possible? Your body simply does not contort into that naturally, even humans cannot do that!" Aziraphale gasped at the elaborate plans drawn up.
"I know," Crowley glumly sulked, "I know. But what the boss wants, the boss gets."
Aziraphale shot him a worried glance before resuming looking over the plans. "They're not going to be pleased."
"Yeah, but, when are they ever pleased? Always a human sinning, always something going wrong. Never happy, never pleased," Crowley sighed. "They all need a pitchfork to be shoved up their - "
"Really!" Aziraphale yelped. Then, still fretful, "How are you going to approach this?" He asked, careful of his words.
"With a whip and a whistle..."
"So's it that type of plan..." Aziraphale whispered.
"Indeed, may time preserve us all!"
"I believe it has for the past couple thousand years." Aziraphale muttered, looking at an out stretched wrist with a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Yes," Crowley murmured drolly, "But I believe the wrinkles are a tad over done."
"On you maybe."
It took a while for Crowley to entirely get this, but those three years were well worth the wait for the bemused Aziraphale.
It was raining poetic justice, Crowley thought, it was always raining when something bad was happening. It was why Crowley refused to live in a desert.
Through, he thought, he would have been nice if it wasn't normal English grey and instead a pleasant brooding deep black. Lightning would have added to the over all scheme too.
"Oh well, next time," Crowley murmured. Stepping out into the sea of black umbrella (he was in the business district) Crowley reached out and popped up his own (even through he didn't need it). The pink duckies seemed to offend the crowd, but that was Crowley lived for. Ignoring the disapproving looks, he sauntered over to where a girl smiled incessantly, the look in her eyes, clearly saying... If I wasn't being paid for this...
Crowley smiled at her blindingly. She blinked and smiled harder at him. Crowley continued his bright smiling as she muttered a cheerful, "Can I help you?"
"Oh, no," he said and smiled. A vein appeared at her temple as she tried to out smile Crowley. Even through his cheeks were aching from the misuse of his muscles, he continued.
Her eyes narrowed as she started to grin madly at the almost insane looking Crowley his own face twisted into the foulest, longest smile ever imagined. They started to attract attention
As a crowd formed around the dueling smilers, Crowley wondered why the Boss had reserved this particular job for him. It was unnecessarily cruel and unusual punishment. Crowley had lived amongst humans for eons, he knew what their minds could think up, but this was worse.
It was so going to ruin his reputation.
The smile vanished off his face as the girl fainted dead at his feet. Crowley stepped away from her, an air of distaste surrounding him.
Demons weren't supposed to smile, he fumed, they were supposed to smirk!
Pouting he turned away, causing all the umbrellas to up turn thus causing the entire population of London soaking wet.
Sitting back in his car, he leaned back and closed his eyes. It was over. Sometimes, life as Hell's henchman really was a pain in his ass. Maybe Aziraphale could help with that.
He had said it was impossible. Smiling it seemed, was not the worst thing a demon could do.
This time the smile that slowly curled across Crowley's lips was not forced.
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