Fill: Challenge #242 (Good Omens)
Aug. 7th, 2023 08:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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tenminutesadayI thought that I would just start typing a bit in the Dreamwidth editor to fill this challenge, because it's worked well in the past, getting me to write. Well, I'm at almost nine hundred words now, the latter 3/4 of which is mostly dialogue, so there's a lot to fill in. So here's a snippet, and hopefully I'll finish the story and post it to AO3 sometime in the next couple of weeks.
"What do you think of this, Crowley?" Aziraphale held up the faux-antique clock and turned it this way and that, peering at the price tag underneath as he displayed it for his friend.
"Don't ask me. I'm busy," came the tetchy reply from the demon leaning against the window frame of the shop, watching the pedestrians on the street outside. "She should've been here by now," he mumbled to himself.
"No need to bite my head off." The angel placed the clock back on the shelf but kept a steady eye on it as he spoke. "You're the one who asked me to come here with you."
"Yes," Crowley hissed, "to help me with this temptation, to get me introduced to her, not to go shopping!"
"And I will," Aziraphale assured him gently as he picked up the clock again, "when this lady does arrive here, if she does, but until then, I don't see why I shouldn't explore this lovely shop."
"Whatever. Just do it quietly."
"Of course." Aziraphale turned the object around and flipped the latch on the back. "Oh, look! It's hand-wound! You open this little door in the back and there's the crank." Crowley rolled his eyes behind his dark lenses. "I rather like it. It reminds me of the clockmaker in that shop over the road, back in the 1860s. You know the one. Mr Totton. Always had that loupe on his specs even when he didn't need it."
"That was the 1880s. He only moved in after the brothel burnt down."
"Brothel?" Aziraphale turned to stare at Crowley, his eyes wide. "There's never been a brothel on Whickber Street. Mrs Effingham owned that building and she was a seamstress. She employed eight young women, all very talented."
Crowley flashed a predatory grin. "I'm sure they were. You go on believing that, angel."
"What do you think of this, Crowley?" Aziraphale held up the faux-antique clock and turned it this way and that, peering at the price tag underneath as he displayed it for his friend.
"Don't ask me. I'm busy," came the tetchy reply from the demon leaning against the window frame of the shop, watching the pedestrians on the street outside. "She should've been here by now," he mumbled to himself.
"No need to bite my head off." The angel placed the clock back on the shelf but kept a steady eye on it as he spoke. "You're the one who asked me to come here with you."
"Yes," Crowley hissed, "to help me with this temptation, to get me introduced to her, not to go shopping!"
"And I will," Aziraphale assured him gently as he picked up the clock again, "when this lady does arrive here, if she does, but until then, I don't see why I shouldn't explore this lovely shop."
"Whatever. Just do it quietly."
"Of course." Aziraphale turned the object around and flipped the latch on the back. "Oh, look! It's hand-wound! You open this little door in the back and there's the crank." Crowley rolled his eyes behind his dark lenses. "I rather like it. It reminds me of the clockmaker in that shop over the road, back in the 1860s. You know the one. Mr Totton. Always had that loupe on his specs even when he didn't need it."
"That was the 1880s. He only moved in after the brothel burnt down."
"Brothel?" Aziraphale turned to stare at Crowley, his eyes wide. "There's never been a brothel on Whickber Street. Mrs Effingham owned that building and she was a seamstress. She employed eight young women, all very talented."
Crowley flashed a predatory grin. "I'm sure they were. You go on believing that, angel."