voidtreckerexpress | 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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject