(no subject)
Title: The Twelve Days of Christmas
By: musegaarid & _serpensortia
Rating: PG-13
Summary: On the third day of Christmas, an angel gave to me, a crash course in telephony...
Notes: The third part of our twelve part holiday ficlet. Part one, Part two.
The phone rang ineffably just as Crowley was stepping out of the shower. Not bothering with a towel, he snatched up the cell and snapped it open. If it was a telemarketer, Adam help them...
"What?" he demanded irritably.
"Hey, kid. It's been a long time. How's tricks?"
That voice... A feeling of distant familiarity prickled across his bare skin. Along with a distinctly different sensation. "Who is this?"
"Oh, well, that's all wet. You don't recognize your old pal Haniel?"
The demon's eyes went wide as he stared unseeingly at the water he was dripping onto the pristine carpet. Haniel - Archangel of Passionate Love and Chief of the Virtues. Crowley's old supervisor, so to speak.
"Haniel? But...?"
"I'm aces, dollface, thanks for asking."
Aziraphale had told him once that Haniel had gotten stuck somewhere in the mid-1930s. It had seemed funny at the time. Now the demon was imagining him standing in an old-fashioned phone booth wearing a grey suit with wide shoulders and a narrow waist; and a matching fedora tipped over one eye, and it really wasn't funny anymore.
"So, uh, to what do I owe the," dear someone, "pleasure?"
"I'm hearing things, sweetheart. A crumb asking about love. Doesn't take a genius to figure out who."
Haniel had always had a unique effect on the beings around him. It went with his function - or that was the rumor, anyway. Basically, listening to him speak was a sensation akin to someone taking that silky voice and threading it right through Crowley's spine.
He had a choice, then. He could try to end this quickly and attempt to avoid everything going pear-shaped, as it no doubt would, or...
"You heard right." Maybe he could learn something to his advantage.
Crowley could somehow hear the angel's smile. "Well, now, there's a thing. Let me just think about this a mo. You know the Big Guy is a little close-mouthed about the whole kabob."
He squirmed. The longer Haniel spoke, the more interest Crowley's 'Big Guy' was taking in the conversation.
"See, far as we knew, that was your breaks. Part and parcel of the fink gig. But you asking has got me wondering. You wouldn't make a trip for biscuits, so maybe it's not a hard and fast deal."
It had Crowley thinking, too. It had Crowley thinking that Haniel should not, under any circumstances, be allowed to say 'hard and fast' to anyone in that particular tone unless he was fully prepared to deal with the consequences.
"Tell you what. Let me get the low down. I'll shake a leg and let you know what I dig. But I'll wait 'til you're togged up, shall I?"
The demon froze, hand half-way to his kabob.
"You're a pip," came the amused voice. "Abyssinia, Crowley."
His name. In that voice. That was all it took.
"Shit."
There was a click on the line and a mess on his carpet, and he hadn't learned a fucking thing.
By: musegaarid & _serpensortia
Rating: PG-13
Summary: On the third day of Christmas, an angel gave to me, a crash course in telephony...
Notes: The third part of our twelve part holiday ficlet. Part one, Part two.
The phone rang ineffably just as Crowley was stepping out of the shower. Not bothering with a towel, he snatched up the cell and snapped it open. If it was a telemarketer, Adam help them...
"What?" he demanded irritably.
"Hey, kid. It's been a long time. How's tricks?"
That voice... A feeling of distant familiarity prickled across his bare skin. Along with a distinctly different sensation. "Who is this?"
"Oh, well, that's all wet. You don't recognize your old pal Haniel?"
The demon's eyes went wide as he stared unseeingly at the water he was dripping onto the pristine carpet. Haniel - Archangel of Passionate Love and Chief of the Virtues. Crowley's old supervisor, so to speak.
"Haniel? But...?"
"I'm aces, dollface, thanks for asking."
Aziraphale had told him once that Haniel had gotten stuck somewhere in the mid-1930s. It had seemed funny at the time. Now the demon was imagining him standing in an old-fashioned phone booth wearing a grey suit with wide shoulders and a narrow waist; and a matching fedora tipped over one eye, and it really wasn't funny anymore.
"So, uh, to what do I owe the," dear someone, "pleasure?"
"I'm hearing things, sweetheart. A crumb asking about love. Doesn't take a genius to figure out who."
Haniel had always had a unique effect on the beings around him. It went with his function - or that was the rumor, anyway. Basically, listening to him speak was a sensation akin to someone taking that silky voice and threading it right through Crowley's spine.
He had a choice, then. He could try to end this quickly and attempt to avoid everything going pear-shaped, as it no doubt would, or...
"You heard right." Maybe he could learn something to his advantage.
Crowley could somehow hear the angel's smile. "Well, now, there's a thing. Let me just think about this a mo. You know the Big Guy is a little close-mouthed about the whole kabob."
He squirmed. The longer Haniel spoke, the more interest Crowley's 'Big Guy' was taking in the conversation.
"See, far as we knew, that was your breaks. Part and parcel of the fink gig. But you asking has got me wondering. You wouldn't make a trip for biscuits, so maybe it's not a hard and fast deal."
It had Crowley thinking, too. It had Crowley thinking that Haniel should not, under any circumstances, be allowed to say 'hard and fast' to anyone in that particular tone unless he was fully prepared to deal with the consequences.
"Tell you what. Let me get the low down. I'll shake a leg and let you know what I dig. But I'll wait 'til you're togged up, shall I?"
The demon froze, hand half-way to his kabob.
"You're a pip," came the amused voice. "Abyssinia, Crowley."
His name. In that voice. That was all it took.
"Shit."
There was a click on the line and a mess on his carpet, and he hadn't learned a fucking thing.