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, when he and Aziraphale were trying to negotiate a particularly blessed miracle or two as part of their Arrangement and you couldn’t even hear yourself think…
Crowley bypasses the queues, people standing dutifully apart, and makes his way inside. On a whim, with his angel in mind and in deference to the Arrangement he recalled not moments ago, he fills a donation box to bursting with a click of his fingers. Getting soft, Crowley thinks. I’m soft!
Not for the first time today, Crowley shakes his head as he notices a note on said donation box. It’s like he knows me, Crowley smiles, as he reaches over:
My dear Crowley,
Meeting you here at the British Museum Cafe always reminded me of when we helped the humans create the Rosetta Stone. Do you remember? Well, I say helped… if I recall, you wanted to introduce a few typographical errors. I am not at all sure I entirely thwarted you on that occasion. I trust you will have no trouble at all following this clue:
Do try to drive sensibly, won’t you?
Yours, nostalgically,
Aziraphale
