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Who Claims Marie Kondo?

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Heaven. . .


"You should only keep possessions that spark joy in your life," Ms Kondo said, looking around Crowley's sparsely furnished flat. "I see you have already made a start on removing those things that don't, Crowley-san."

"Things that spark joy?" Crowley said.

What an odd thought. He sat on the settee; it was fashionable, but his arse wasn't undergoing transports of ecstasy by being in contact with it. He waved a decisive hand. The flat was suddenly empty of everything except his da Vinci cartoon.

Ms Kondo blinked. "Just one thing, Crowley-san," she said.


"Please put some clothes back on."


Hell . . .


"You have done very well, Aziraphale-san," Ms Kondo said. "You have successfully decluttered your clothing."

"It's hard," Aziraphale said. "Why discard a good coat just because it's two hundred years old?"

"Be brave," Ms Kondo said. "You can start the next category now. Books."

Aziraphale staggered, supporting himself against the wall.

"Get rid of books?" he whispered. He glared in outrage. To get his feelings across fully he dropped his human appearance and let heavenly radiance blaze through the shop. "Absolutely not. Kindly return to the Pit."

Ms Kondo found herself outside the shop. The English, she thought. So odd.


Both . . .


"She's a good example of politeness and the virtues of keeping a tidy home, of course she's one of ours," Aziraphale said.

"She's causing overblown public fury in newspapers because she said books should be thrown out," Crowley said. "Definitely one of ours. Aha! You've developed a facial twitch! Even you're not immune! I knew she was good."

"She is good; people misunderstood what the poor woman said," Aziraphale said stiffly. "She didn't literally mean throw books in the bin. So help me, you keep laughing at me and -"

"Boo-hoo," Crowley said dismissively. "She's mine. Lunch?"

"You'd better be paying."