voidtreckerexpress | It's not Soho, but it'll do.

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It's not Soho, but it'll do.

Who: Aziraphale and Crowley (Closed)
Where: Their new double room
When: During the mission they opted out of.
What: Making their new room really feel like their own. A bit of magic and redecorating.
Warnings: gross old men in love

Waking up every morning, pulled out of place and back to a cramped bunkbed was tiring, but something you get used to after months on board. Crowley actually liked to sleep, and usually would use the opportunity to lounge in bed undisturbed for an hour or so before trudging over to the kitchen for his morning coffee. Their old room was never visited by choice, in fact, if Crowley wanted a nap he'd tuck himself away in a private car.

The morning he'd woken in a new private room with Aziraphale, he'd actually panicked, thinking that they'd been transported once again to another world. At least one where they shared a bed, but once he managed to scramble out of it, he'd settled to find that they were still aboard the train, just in a different room.

Later, as a test, he'd miracled an extra few inches between the bed and the door, just to see if the train would react to the disruption of physics, and it hadn’t. It hadn’t for several days, which made Crowley’s imagination race with ideas on what else he could do inside their little shared room.

The mission was a great opportunity for him to stay back. undisturbed, and begin working on it. Of course, Aziraphale had stayed behind too, and as he woke with a new day, he rolls over, draping his limbs over the angel with a soft whine in order to snuggle closer.

"Angel--" he whispers, gently attempting to wake him, "Wake up, I wanna ask you something."

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Aziraphale did eventually get used to sharing a room with people he barely knew, and Crowley. It did all feel cramped and the accommodations were very subpar, but eventually he was forced to swallow his complaints and simply deal with everything. It wasn't so bad, really, compared to their conditions before their arrival in the train, and he did sometimes take the chance to use the room when everyone else was off somewhere else for the day.

But he was thrilled when they out they could have their own room (well, after the initial panic and confusion in the morning, which was rather disorientating, and it took some doing to dispel the idea that somehow they'd ended up in another colorful interdimensional space train).

The conditions themselves weren't necessarily an improvement overall, but just the fact that he and Crowley would have their own room - and bed - to share, aware from similarly powerless passengers was enough to make him positively giddy. So giddy, in fact, that, by the end of that first day, he actually did settle down for a quick nap on the bed out of his own accord, and did actually fall asleep on the less-than-luxury mattress before Crowley was even done putting on his pajamas.

And so it has been since then, moving what few things they have into the new room, and, on the occasional dawn they found themselves elsewhere on the train, waiting for the moment they both appeared beside each other on the bed, like clockwork, and settled in to sleep the morning away.

The angel is gently roused from sleep by limbs and whispers, and his face scrunches up ever so slightly, eyes stubbornly refusing to open. He's gotten really good at the sleeping thing, if he could say so himself.

"Hm. What is it?"

Crowley leans in and presses a soft kiss to the angel’s forehead, humming with excitement for the plans he has and needs Aziraphale’s input on.

"What do you think about redecorating a bit?" he asks with an amused tone, "I could push out the wall a bit more, give you a little reading corner... would you like that?"

Well, that's enough to get the angel to actually open his eyes and look at him.

"Redecorating?" The idea isn't entirely too sudden, but Aziraphale hasn't fully learned to kick off the sleep drowsiness first thing when waking up, and information's coming in a tad fuzzy.

"Hm. Well...I wouldn't be opposed." His own reading corner would be a lovely addition. Without having to worry about the private rooms being occupied, and leaving the library to the patrons. " But...are you quite sure that's possible?"

Crowley groans a bit as he stretches against the mattress. "Mmhh, yea, well, tested it a bit." he mutters, "I think it'll hold."

He shifts, laying on his back and coaxing Aziraphale to lay against his chest while he wakes up. "I wonder if we could vault the ceiling a bit." he chuckles softly, head tilting to look at the angel beside him, "I did this back in my flat, you know. Pushed a corner out or two to fit a new piece of art. Got to a point where I couldn't remember which were the original walls."

The angel doesn't need much convincing before he's scooting over and comfortably laying his head and hand on Crowley's chest.

He pauses for a moment, then making a vague sound like someone who just put two and two together over something mostly inconsequential.

"So that's why it was so spacious." He mostly likely would have no noticed if Crowley didn't point it out. Reality has a funny way of bending to their whims even when they didn't directly ask it to. "Well, that and the lack of furnishings."

Edited 2021-05-10 22:27 (UTC)

"Minimalism is quite posh, angel." he says defensively, draping his arm over Aziraphale’s back. With a soft sigh, he decides to demonstrate, his free arm lifting from the mattress. He snaps in the direction of their door, the wall pushing out a few feet, taking up all the space that the hallway normally would. Of course a peek outside of the door, it would seem that the hallway was still intact. Crowley was expecting a bit more space, but he supposes the train has to have some limitations.

"Well that's disappointing." he groans, "Let's see how big I can make it, I suppose."

A few more snaps in all directions. The windowed wall behind them doesn't budge, but the side walls expand to the size of the traincar itself, and the ceiling raises as well, which could allow them either a vaulted ceiling or even some sort of loft. Crowley looks back at Aziraphale with a fairly content expression.

"Well, it's no bookshop, but I think we can work with it."

Aziraphale surveys all of the changes from his comfortable post, though he does suddenly find himself quite exposed in the now much more spacious room.

"Huh. I'm surprised that worked." No offense meant towards the demon, but all the talks about the train's status as a living creature and the sorts of limitations and illogical irregularities of the things they've seen in these words, along with the air of mystery around the train itself, he expected it to be a lot more difficult than this.

He leans on his arm, looking around at the space. "Seems a tad dreary now. With all the...nothing." Only plastic white walls and the window to the void outside. "It could do with some color, for starters."

Color, Crowley's formidable enemy. Back in the 80's his flat had been entirely white; the walls, the floors, the furniture... Patrick Bateman would have felt right at home. But as the years passed and styles changed, the demon adapted, eventually ending up with a flat very inspired by industrial design, but it wasn't exactly colorful either.

Trying to get ahead of it, Crowley imagines the warm interiors of some famous luxury passenger trains. Wood paneling, ornate fringed curtains, oriental rugs, and brass fixtures that make everything feel a bit regal. With a snap, the big open space transforms in style, but it remains open and empty.

"Like this?" he asks, curiously. It's much more Aziraphale’s style than his own, but one he can live with, the curtains and rugs deep red in color, Crowley's favorite should he have to pick one.

The gently pleased gasp that escapes the angel should be enough of an answer. He looks around again, surveying all the changes, but seems a lot more delighted. There's an air of familiarity to what he sees, too (even though it took him some time to ever quite take a trip on a passenger train, back when they were all the rage. He did manage to take some before the luxury ones stopped being all the rage).

"Oh, yes, that's much better. Although it's still missing...something." Mostly furniture. The potential is clear, however, and now he's more than aware, and ready to embark on this little project.

"How about..." He considers his options, and his eyes settled on the large red rug in the center of the room. After some consideration, he snaps his fingers, bringing to existence a deep red leather sofa and matching chairs (somewhat similar to the ones in his bookshop, what most would call vintage nowadays, even if Aziraphale had some opinions about that), a nice low table, and an elaborate lamp.

He looks at Crowley with a expectant smile.

Crowley grins as the furniture appears, the oxblood color of the leather in particular. "Still missing something," he hums, then with a snap, a small bar cart appears beside it all, with a decanter set and glasses. "There we go."

Of course, they're still laying in the middle of the room beside all of this, which Crowley finds slightly uncomfortable. "But now I think we may need to move the bed. Perhaps a loft?"

Aziraphale is delighted by this syntony, specially over the matter at hand. Are they really making a place that's...theirs? They might still be stuck in a magical interdimensional plane, but do they finally have the freedom to...well, coexist in an even more intimate matter, all of their own liking? Frivolously using miracles willy nilly to make something to call their own?

He's more than pleased about the bar cart, although the matter of the bed does catch his attention.

"Perhaps..." He looks at the end of the room opposite from the door. "Over there?"

The end of the car does seem to be the best place to tuck their private bedroom, but Crowley still thinks that a loft or two will help make a great use of their space. With a snap of hjs fingers, one is erected at the end of the room. Another snap sends their belongings (and themselves) all up atop it, but Crowley is still not satisfied. The bed itself is still very much a traincar bed, which he uses a final miracle to correct into something more sturdy and ornate, equipped with a high thread count sheet set.

Crowley's head cranes up to look about, ensuring there are nightstands and a wardrobe for their clothing, along with a small vanity beside it. Satisfied, he presses a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. "I think we may need to get up, now. We'll have a lot more work to do before we're finished." he says softly.

Aziraphale is positively giddy with this entire development. There's something that feels a bit naughty still, about using miracles in this much of a self indulging manner, even if they've found themselves forced to use them to keep up their comfort ever since they were rudely plucked out of their Earth. Granted they no longer belong to their previous home offices, and he doubt that, even if they were still keeping track of their miracles (Heaven seemed to be more of a stickler about it than Hell, if everything Crowley did was any example), he doubts they could trace them all the way back here. Still, old habits are hard to break and all that, even though this is most definitely breaking them.

He surveys the changes, and his approval is more than clear.

"I do believe you're right." He smiles at the demon, wide and bright and most definitely very awake now. "Wouldn't want to waste the day, would we?"

His look does seem to linger on the demon for a few moments after that, his smile gaining something of an overly affectionate favor, before he leans in to press a warm, somewhat impulsive kiss on his lips. He sits up after a moment, straightening up and clearing his throat.

"Right." He needlessly straightens his pajamas and pulls himself out of bed, not at all compensating for that lack of modesty. "Perhaps we should consider a kitchen..."

Such rebellion would be even more of a reason for Crowley to want to be frivolous with his miracles, had he felt the same way. But he is quite certain no one back home could touch them here, and wven if they could, he's fairly confident that they'd all been frightened into leaving the two of them alone.

Crowley melts into the kiss as Aziraphale presses their lips together, and he suddenly regrets suggesting they move at all, content to stay there, close, basking in one another's affections. When it does end, he takes a moment to swoon over his partner as he watches him leave their bed, then rolls himself off of his side, contemplating whether or not it's even worth changing out of his black silk sleepwear. It's likely they'll spend all day within their cabin, so why bother dressing?

"We'll never socialize again, at this rate." he jokes in reply to Aziraphale’s suggestion, "But why not, as long as it has a coffee machine."

The angel looks over their new vanity and dresser, fingers brushing over the exquisite miracled wood. He looks over the bed, and the covers, and then off to the great empty space ahead of them. The possibilities are quite literally endless, and they may well end up making their decisions until the end of time, or until the train truly stops.

"Of course." The first part doesn't sound too bad, if he had to say so. Not that there aren't quite a good few fellow passengers whose company he finds quite pleasant, but having all of his needs met in a single place where he actually has the space to move freely and the privacy he can't truly find anywhere else does sound quite good.

He looks down at the main floor again, giving it a thought. He then snaps his fingers, and a small corner kitchenette appears past the sofas, opposite of the door - nothing too overwhelming, a counter, a sink, a small oven and stove. He'll go over the finer details as they keep going.

He looks at the dresser again. With a thought, he opens one of the drawers and pulls out two comfortable gowns, one tan and one black, of course. He hands the appropriate one over to Crowley.

"What's next?"

After accepting the dressing gown graciously, Crowley wraps himself with it and stands at the edge of their loft. He's included a half-wall so that nothing falls off, but contemplates how they might walk up and down.

"Ladder or staircase?" he asks, assuming the angel will prefer the second option. A small spiral one nay fit perfectly, but he's open to opinions. "Maybe we can put some shelves underneath for your books. Some track lighting... if that wouldn't be too modern for you."

The idea of shelves gets more attention than the question about the stairs, quite obviously, although it's only slightly dampened by the fact that he still doesn't really have a lot of books to call his own. And he doesn't really enjoy the idea of stuffing the shelves with blank books, and what's in the library is for public use....

"Sounds like a splendid idea." Lighting and all. Maybe a little nook with a desk and a nice chaise longue. "And perhaps stairs. Although a ladder could make it easier to reach the top of the shelves..."

A tiny spiral staircase it is. Crowley miracles one up, just in time for him to step off of the ledge onto it and rush down to get to work on an area for Aziraphale. He pauses once there, wondering how much space the angel will need. After miracling a few shelves in place, he moves past them into the space beneath their loft bedroom. It seems like such a waste to not make use of the space, so he ensures there are more shelves inside of it, and then, thinking of the little back office he and the angel spent so much time in inside of the bookshop, miracles a desk and a sofa just like it within.

"Angel??" he calls down, wondering if he should bother with a door or leaving the entrance way to the little office open. He'll wait for his angel’s input, of course.

He watches the demon descend the new staircase, and takes a moment to look off at the partly empty room. Their room. Their...place of staying, in the train. Their space, as much as they can call it that. There's other things they could call it, for lack of other options. It gives him a funny feeling. A nice one.

"Coming." He ties up his gown as he goes down the steps, and steps through the delightful little threshold kept by the shelves, into the little nook Crowley has already prepared. His face lights up when he immediately recognizes the furniture within. There's a bittersweetness to it, the way it distinctively makes him miss his bookshop, the quiet evenings with only the rumble of the Soho nightlife going on outside. Drinks and chats to the sound of Tchaikovsky...

But, perhaps, they could have some of that back.

"Oh, Crowley, it's wonderful." He approaches the desk, gently touching the old wood that could easily be mistaken for the real thing at home. Granted he doesn't have all his books and letters and ledgers, but everything else is down to the very detail.

Crowley takes the angel’s hand in his own, perching atop the sofa as he had many times back in Soho.

"No customers to interrupt us, here." he murmurs, "No home offices. Just you and I."

His head bobs to the side for a moment, considering things, "And, well, a whole blessed train... but they can't come in here unless we've invited them."

The angel moves gracefully closer to the sofa as his hand is held, as if floating on sheer delight, which is a particularly good way to get through the morning (or whatever time they must've woken up, with the lack of astral bodies to begin with and their own lack of sense of time making it somewhat difficult to tell), his smile wide and his eyes bright.

"It's perfect." Even in its incompleteness, even if that doesn't change where they really are - he'll gladly take it. A space to call their own that is gradually feeling more familiar - he feels the shadows of the places they've been, the memories of conversations past, the things he had hoped for if they hadn't been so cruelly pulled out of their world by mysterious hands. It fills his heart, even though here's an accompanying bittersweetness to it - but he's willing to put that aside for the time being.

Crowley smiles, pressing a kiss to the back of the hand in his, then looking back up softly. "What else would you like to add?" he asks quietly, happy to spend their day like this if need be. Or hell, their week. Satan knows they have nothing better to do...

"A place to dine, maybe?" he offers, "Or drink. Maybe I can even move my plants in here..."

They surely must've been through enough to be well worth the comfort of working on their own space together. They didn't have the time to even really consider the concept back on Earth...

Still holding the demon's hand, the angel looks around, although his view is limited by the smaller space they are in. He's definitely gonna be thinking of some things to decorate these shelves. What a comfortable little nook they have here.

"There's plenty of space for your plants." He glances back out through the entryway through the shelves. "And we could do with something to drink." A bar, perhaps. Something nice.

"Oh, what about music?"

Music- that's a good question. Crowley leans over to gaze out the new doorway and into the vast space before them. They could miracle up a gramophone, but they'd have nothing to play on it, would they? He sighs, thinking.

"I'm not sure. Maybe I can rig something up with one of those music players from the music car." he considers. He's semi tech-inclined, after all. "And work on a bar cart of sorts. I think I have some funds to spend it on the real thing." he hums, "You know, good stuff."

The angel considers it. Of course he would much rather have his faithful gramophone here with them, but it would follow the same fate as his clothes - he can either miracle up a copy of the real thing and live with the idea that he can't actually access his and that it isn't the real thing, or he can move along to newer ventures. It makes him pout just slightly, although he's brought back by the last comment."

"We could pool our credits together, see if the train is feeling generous." He smiles, trying not to give too much thought to the idea of whether or not the train actually gets them the real thing, or if it's a situation much like the gramophone and the clothes and their own magic. Perhaps it would be best to not ask the question and just hope.

"If you'd like." Crowley offers, moving to stand. He groans quietly as he does so, letting go of the angel’s hand to walk out and into the expanse of their room. "I think we should figure out what else we'll need, first." he muses, "A kitchen, or dining table... hmmm, we could put another loft down the way..."

Crowley wanders the distance across the train car and pauses near the end, looking back to Aziraphale with a softer expression. "Alice once told me that she couldn't sleep in her room." he says quietly, "But maybe if she had a place she could feel safe... I dunno."

The angel follows a few steps behind, fingers brushing up against the bookcases as he walks out of the small office nook. It still all feels empty, and new, and he hasn't had to deal with new as far as what actually passes as adequate living quarters (which he does not account the island cabin and the previous train room as such) in a couple of centuries. Something that looks almost familiar, but made...together. In what way they can, where they are.

The change in the demon's tone draws his attention, rare as it can be, and, after a pause, the angel's face softens into the kind of smile his counterpart often fusses about, as it tends to be accompanied by words like 'nice' and 'kind', so cruelly thrown at the demon.

"I think that's a splendid idea." He comments back softly, approaching Crowley again. He looks towards the far end of the room. "We certainly have the space. And I don't see any harm in having a guest room." Not that he's had to deal with guests at all, besides one.

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It's not Soho, but it'll do.

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