No, said Aziraphale, it's ineffable.

heliophile-oxon

The Latin Lover, or, Whatever is the Crime Business Coming to These Days

The restaurateur’s body had been despatched to the chilly cabinets of the morgue and the coroner had gone home without being able to answer any of the most burning questions. The autopsy had proved baffling; there was a clear enough head wound, to be sure, but its bizarre size and shape offered little clue as to the nature of the murder weapon.

Detective Inspector Entwhistle stared past her own reflection in the darkened window out into the night. Mr. Sakana had clearly been bludgeoned with some kind of edged club, but nothing remotely matching that description had been found – so how had the murderer managed to get their weapon out of the restaurant? There had been a full complement of customers, and no way out other than through the dining area – it had to have been the man’s wife, but with no weapon anywhere to be found there was no evidence it had been anything other than the accidental fall she described.

Entwhistle knew she was missing something.

She returned to the restaurant, to find the last of her junior officers taking the final statements and showing the last tired and resentful customers to the door. The smells from the kitchen were a torment at this late hour – she’d had no time for lunch, let alone dinner – and she couldn’t resist wandering back behind the counter one more time.

The tragically widowed Mrs. Sakana was sitting at the kitchen table reading, drinking green tea and eating the last of the food prepared for sale only a short while earlier. Imperturbably polite throughout the evening, she remained so now and Entwhistle ultimately could not resist her gesture of invitation as she offered the DI tea and a bowl of rice with half a dozen little pieces of deep-fried eel in the lightest, crispiest batter she had ever tasted.

She glanced at the book in the widow’s hand. She looked again. Lamb to the Slaughter by Roald Dahl?

She looked back at her bowl of deep-fried eel.

With a groan, she let her head drop into her hands before looking up again at Mrs. Sakana who was just finishing her last mouthful with a smile.

“Oh tempura, oh morays,” Entwhistle sighed.

by heliophile-oxon

PSA

populationpensive

Really clear and efficient communication is essential in medicine. This seems obvious but today I saw a series of cluster fucks that could have been avoided had people simply been talking to each other. I saw patients passed between services without good answers for anything. I saw poor scheduling and planning between services. Even from medical staff to family. Take the extra minute to be clear about what you are needing. Take the extra 5 minutes to listen so you understand.

cranquis

signal BOOOOOOOOST dadgummit.

emptybucketoffucks

So… I made a smol thing. It was quickly jolted down, and English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any crass mistakes. >.<

It was raining.

So far, the days had been sunny and perfect. Now, the skies rumbled with thunder, laying down the Wrath of God in the form of a storm. Crawly stood at the Wall, gazing at the vast desert ahead, his back turned to the Garden while he shivered, glancing nervously at the angel by his side.

“What now?“ he said, voice trembling slightly as he tried not to shudder. “D’you reckon that They will jusssst keep Eden assss it issss?“

“I don’t know“, the angel - Aziraphale, Crawly remembered - sighed, looking down. “I suppose… I suppose we ought to go back Up There and see what our new orders are. Or, Down Below, in your case.“

Crawly crossed his arms, rubbing them vigourously, teeth starting to clatter. Aziraphale looked at him and saw how his dark robes were starting to addhere to his skin. Looking away, he lifted his left wing, sheltering the trembling demon. As the minutes passed by, Crawly started to feel a little less cold, although being thoroughly damp.

“Thankssss, angel“ he murmured. Aziraphale made a non-concomitant noise, and slided closer. “I think I sssaw a cave back there, near the gate“ the demon said “Perhapsss we can shelter ourssselves there? I’m not overly fond of the cold, you sssee…“

Aziraphale turned to face him, carefully as to not dislodge his wing.

“I think I’d like that“ he answered, softly.

It was 2 months after the Armageddon’t, and Crowley didn’t know what to do anymore.

He was pratically living at the bookshop, only returning to his flat to water his plants and take two-days-long naps once a fortnight. He had helped Aziraphale catalogue the new inventory that had appeared at the shop after its miraculous reconstruction, tried to tempt him into cheating just a little in his taxes (although it was just so the government would stop bothering the angel) and made a general nuisance of himself as often as possible. There were lunches at the cozy little restaurants Aziraphale were so fond of and dinners at the posh, flashy places that Crowley always favoured, late afternoon visits to bakeries and early morning stops at cafes. There were trips to antiques shops and high end boutiques, drinks late at the evening and reminiscences that went all night long.

Still… he couldn’t gather the courage to say what was stuck in his throat since that late August day.

If Crowley were to be honest to himself (something that he tried to avoid as long as possible), it was not stuck on his throat since the End-That-Wasn’t. It was something that he was repressing much longer. Still… he could never find the right moment to say. And he was so affraid of the angel’s reaction… Not Heaven, nor Hell could torment him as much as the possibilty of Aziraphale’s rejection.

“How would you feel about a walk?“. Crowley looked at Aziraphale, sitting in the comfy armchair across from him on the shop’s back room. The demon had been dozing off on the sofa, while trying to find a solution to his predictment. “It looks like we have some semblance of a sun this afternoon. I think a stroll through St. James’ would be just the thing, my dear”. He felt a warmth bloom on his chest at the fondness in the angel’s tone, and looked down, stretching his legs.

“I think it’s a nice idea. Reckon we have to take advantage before the cold really hits, hm?“ He took his sunglasses and rose, offering his hand to Aziraphale. “Shall we, then?“

They walked mainly in silence, shoulders bumping lightly. Crowley kept his hands in his pockets, the weak autumn sun lacking in any real heat. Aziraphale would touch him lightly - a guiding hand on his back when weaving through an unexpected crowd, a steady one on his arm when crossing a street -, and he would feel these small points of contact burn in the most delicious way, even through all the layers of clothing he was wearing.

There were no significant crowds in St James’ at that time. They found their way to their favourite spot by the duck pond, and stood there in silence for a second.

“Do you think-“ Crowley said, as Aziraphale started “What do you-“. They stopped, laughing embarrassedly, and Aziraphale nodded.

“After you, dear boy.” Crowley took a deep breath (that he really didn’t need, it was just out of habit, by this time) and looked down, scraping the ground with his toe.

“Do you think they remember it properly? I mean, Heaven and Hell. Do you think they really remember how it all went down?“. Aziraphale kept his gaze on the pond, as if the gentle ripples the wind was drawing in the water held the answer.

“I… I don’t think so. I think Adam did something to them that day. I don’t think that they have forgotten it all, mind you; but I think that they have forgotten our part in it.“

“Have someone been in touch with you?“

“No, not as yet.“ Aziraphale looked at him, watching as the wind, now gusting wildly, played with the dark strands of Crowley’s hair. Dark clouds were gathering quickly, and people passed them by at a fast pace, looking for shelter. “I suppose your people haven’t been, in touch as well?“

“They’re not my people“ Crowley muttered, viciously. Aziraphale slided closer, and laid his hand on the demon’s arm.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean anything by it“ Crowley sighed and looked at him, shaking his head. Small, light droplets of rain had started to fall; it was nothing but a drizzle, and they barely felt it.

“I know, angel, I’m sorry. I’m just… I don’t know. A bit lost, I think. Do I keep waiting for them to contact me? Do I keep working? Do I say ‘bugger all this’ and just continue my life as it has been in the last couple months?”

“I’d like that” Aziraphale said, softly. Crowley felt his face heating, and tried to suppress the smile that was threatening to show. “It has been lovely”. The angel turned again to gaze at the lake, as the rain started to fall with full force. Crowley cleaned his throat to dislodge whatever had taken residence in there after Aziraphale’s statement.

“What, having me bothering you all day, pratically living in your sofa and tempting you non stop?“. Aziraphale chuckled, still not looking at him. The rain had turned into a right downpour, flattening the angel’s curls. Crowley miracled and umbrella and held it out, covering Aziraphale, and letting the water drench him thoroughly. Oddly, he didn’t felt cold. He felt as if a tiny sun had taken residence somewhere in his chest. He felt… renewed. Like the rain was washing away every last one of his doubts, every single insecurity. This time, he let his grin bloom fully, as he took off his sunglasses and tucked them away.

“Crowley…?“ Aziraphale turned, a puzzled look in his face, watching the rain soaking the smiling demon.

“Do you remember the first rain?“ Crowley asked, eyes glistening like gold, brimming with unshed tears. Aziraphale felt his own eyes water, and took one tentative step, finally - finally! - embracing the demon, hiding his face on the slender neck.

“How could I ever forget?“ he murmured, closing his eyes, letting his tears join the raindrops on the collar of Crowley’s shirt. He took a shuddering breath and squeezed harder. “Let’s go home, my dear.”

“Yeah”, whispered Crowley, burying his nose in the pale, soft curls. “Home.“

See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

PSA