“Breakfast was 4 hours ago, Angel! You can't be hungry for lunch already!”
“Well I’m sorry dear, but as I’m sure you remember well, the crêpes were burnt!”
Actually, Crowley did remember. The place did well on his eggs and toast with an arugula medley on the side, but Aziraphale’s crêpes were burnt and the strawberries were slightly mushy. Not wanting to be rude and send it back, he miracled it away. Of course, Crowley would have bitten off the chef’s head for burning his Angel’s crêpes, but he was stopped. Now they were strolling down the higher end streets of New York, hand in hand.
“Dear, look! That place looks fine.”
Crowley looked around and found the place Aziraphale was talking about. The outside was carved marble with large windows above glass doors.
“Hm, ‘Eleven Madison Park’? Doesn’t look absolutely terrible.”
They walked in and the best seats were somehow available even though a bitter old man and his wife 20 years his junior were there a second ago. They sat down and ordered, and while waiting, the strangest thing happened. Crowley was on edge from the second they sat down, yet now he was glaring daggers at a table across the room. Azriphale followed his gaze and stared at a man in a black suit with thin, fox brown hair and 2 tall men in layers and muddy boots.
“Dear, what's the problem?”
“He is the problem. Stupid name stealer! And those two, they are just annoying. Keep killing all the minor demons in the North America faction. Which is messed up, by the way. Instead of using their own bodies, they’re always possessing people. And they make tortured souls believe they are demons. Like that guy! He’s just a human soul they granted the power of deal making. He racked up an arse-load of souls and they made him the ‘king’ of these false demons. It’s ridiculous.”
Crowley turned his attention back to the other’s table. The name-stealer and the two significant annoyances had turned their attention to them.
Crowley stood and sauntered towards them. Maybe it was more of a strut. Either way, he was over in a flash, and so was Aziraphale. You know, to prevent murder and all that jazz.
“Well look who it is! Mr. Fergus, the one and only! How’s it feel to have stolen my name?”
Fake Crowley shifted in his seat.
“Hello, Crowley… Long time no see?”
Real Crowley pushed a steak knife up to fake Crowley’s throat, hellfire sneaking up the serrated edge. You might see no point in doing this, yet real Crowley found intimidation quite important. Also, hellfire was limited to high-ranking real demons, so now fake Crowley knows he means business.
“Who the hell are you?! What are you doing?!”
The shorter man was standing now. Aziraphale, in all his infinite wisdom, had miracled everyone around them to ignore this little display. Actually, this entire table. To anyone outsides knowledge, this table had a very nice ice sculpture of a swan on it and an autumnal themed bouquet.
“Me? I’m the real Crowley, the Serpent. And this here is an uppity human soul who has been given some minor powers of deal making.”
The taller man now stood.
“Aren’t all demons human souls gone bad?”
“No. The North American faction of Hell has decided to send out human souls with minor powers just for the fun of it, dear boy.”
Aziraphale was looking apologetically at the two men, like a ‘sorry about my overdramatic demon husband’. Or he could actually be sending that message to them via telepathy, who knows?
“Crowley, what did I say?”
“Do I really have to? Fine, ‘no murder, maiming, or torture of any living being while on vacation.’ There, I said it, now stop giving me that look. I’m not gonna drop the knife, by the way.”
Aziraphale wasn’t actually giving him a look. Not physically. His inhuman form was visible to Crowley (both real and fake) and he was giving him a look of slight disapproval with all 1,001 eyes.
“Well, I’ll be off! C’mon chaps we have a shipment of world ending flu to stop!”
“Oh, they’re kicking off the end time again? Well I’ll be back in a second, just tell me where it is.”
The shorter man sat back down stuttering.
“Uh, it’s near… It’s near uh… It’s in a Niveus Pharmaceuticals warehouse?”
“Okay, be right back! See you in a minute, dear.”
Fake Crowley was now alone with real Crowley, not daring to teleport away. Real Crowley would always be able to find him, it’s a wonder he hadn’t been murdered earlier.
“Can you tell me what the hell is going on?!”
The shorter man seemed angry. Well, he seemed angry in general. But the taller one, whoo boy. He didn’t have the emotional aptitude that his Angel had yet just the aura of rage was almost comical.
“Well, my Angel was still hungry after some idiot messed up his breakfast, so we popped in here for lunch. And now our lunch is ruined because someone couldn’t find their own name!”
“To be 100% fair, I didn’t know it was your name.”
“Shove off, you prick. It’s registered and by the time it was you knew. Your vessel’s hair is too thin, by the way. You look like a pedohpile. And I hate those.”
A flash came up beside them.
Aziraphale gasped. His face looked disappointed and slightly amused at the same time.
The Serpent lowered the knife and put it back on the table. If anyone dared move closer to the angry man, they would hear grumbling about ‘stupid angel and his pretty blue eyes and fluffy glowy hair. I'll learn how to resist it one day’.
“You clearly don’t like it here. I’ll call off the orders and we can go find another place. I think there’s a ‘Gramercy Tavern’ you might like.”
They were off in a flash of blank space. It was like light and dark mixed, then cancelled each other out and decided to raise a child together.
“My, glad that’s done. Anybody up to drown our emotions in liquor?”