The Bandstand

"I hope I didn’t go too slowly for you, angel," Crowley says wryly, as he catches up with Aziraphale at the bandstand in Battersea Park."You... foul fiend," says Aziraphale, with…

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It would be uncharitable of Crowley to think that, if St James’s Park was the final meeting place, he could have walked here from his flat... Aziraphale has put so…

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Crowley pulls the collar of his jacket around his neck and scowls at the fact he slept through whatever England has had this year by way of summer. The leaves…

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Bloody He- Somewhere, angel, this really is a magical mystery tour, Crowley thinks, as he hums Puttin’ on the Ritz under his breath. Doesn’t fit with the demonic countenance to…

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A long, slow breath hisses from Crowley as he stands outside a near-deserted British Museum. He’s never seen it this quiet. He’s longed for it sometimes, in the summer months,…

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Crowley pushes open the door to the pub, unsure whether he is more eager for the next clue or for a glass of red... Surely, surely, he must be close…

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Outside the Globe, on the south bank of London’s River Thames, Crowley stands with his hands on his slender hips. Besides, he thinks, you waste the treasure of your time…

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Crowley screws up his face – more antiquated technology, angel? – and moves towards Aziraphale’s rotary phone. It sits on his desk, by the sofa that Crowley is fond of…

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As always and without question, Crowley’s usual parking space awaits him as he races up to the bookshop. Aziraphale has been busy, it seems, during lockdown; a fresh coat of…

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Obviously, obviously, nothing is dearer to Crowley than his tea-drinking, sushi-loving, note-leaving angel. ObViOuSlY. But the Bentley comes a very close second. Another snap of his fingers brings snakeskin boots…

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