voidtreckerexpress | Party Time

It's heartwarming, really, to see the demon in such high spirits. Things had been obviously... tense before the failed Armaggedon, and they hadn't even had time to properly celebrate anything before they found themselves in some supposedly impossible misadventure. Not that anything is resolved just yet, but he'll take respite where he can, and this seems like a good evening for it.

Aziraphale considers the instructions, and sets gentle hands on either side of the demon's waist. "Like so?" He asks, smiling up at them for confirmation.

"Perfect." Crowley replies, beginning to sway their hips in time with the music, feet stepping gently side to side. If Aziraphale looked around, he'd see that everyone else isn't doing anything differently.

"Humans don't really take the time to learn a proper dance anymore." they note, smiling down at the angel as they sway, "See? Simple."

Crowley feels just a bit buzzed from their drinking, and it's lovely. A real mood-lifter, and though their situation isn't back to normal, the two of them have easily found themselves in an improved situation than before, however uncomfortable. The past several months were hard on them both, but Crowley thinks they wouldn't trade it for the world, because it only pushed them together, forced them to admit things to one another that may have otherwise gone unsaid. Crowley feels spoiled to be so close to the angel now, in a circumstance that may, if not for the fact that they are attending a very silly party on an impossible train, might be considered romantic.

Aziraphale could look around, yes, and maybe he does spare the room a quick momentary glance. But he's not very inclined to look away from the demon for too long, even though there's something about this moment that gives him butterflies in his stomach. His expression settles into something soft, despite almost wanting to laugh over this whole scene - where they are, in a party thrown by someone they don't know, in a train full of different people and creatures all equally mysteriously stuck in it, apparently soaring through the void between worlds, in an unexpected trip through different dimensions, after helping, in some way, probably, adverting the end of theirs. It's preposterous. You could even call it silly.

And, yet, here they are, slowdancing to some song he's sure Crowley knows better than he does, gently buzzed by whatever drinks they got their hands on, ignoring everything else. He can see the glint of Crowley's eyes through their lacy mask, but not much else. He wonders if he could stand it if he did.

"Didn't take you for a slowdancer." He eventually speaks again. "If I recall correctly, you were much more given to more...energetic styles."

The demon never particularly had trouble seeing through dark lenses, even in the dead of night, but the lace does present a different challenge, and Crowley does yearn for these masks to be discarded, so that they can properly appreciate the glimmer of Aziraphale's bright blue eyes.

"You've never seen me dance." they remind Aziraphale, mostly out of embarrassment. Aziraphale may have seen them... or at least heard of the sort of dancing done in hell, but Crowley prefers an air of mystery and drama.

Crowley glances to the side, hoping to give their warm cheeks a break, hiding them away from the angel in a manner that only tugs him closer, and scans the area for more alcohol, wondering if another glass or two would settle their nerves.

"You're doing just fine, by the way."

He hasn't seen them dance, not really, but stories about demonic dances were something that was used to further foment the fact that angels don't dance (well, most angels). Whether angels refused to dance because demons did, or demons danced because angels refused to, or its all just a bunch of old made up silly rules rules of long forgotten origin made to further distance themselves from each other, well, it doesn't really matter.

Aziraphale feels himself tugged closer to the demon and he feels his cheeks flush. Good thing they're not properly facing each other just then, for it might be a tad too embarassing.

He clears his throat. "Thank you. You're, um. You're a good teacher." He doesn't even know what the hell that just was.

Crowley might choose to tease harder at Aziraphale's comment if they weren't so damn nervous themselves. They're not even sure why at this point, since the two of them had seemingly been more comfortable with each other for a while now. This just feels so different... likely because it's formal.

Crowley clears their throat, the song comes to an end and they pull back just slightly from Aziraphale with a soft expression, the change in music being one that doesn't really lend itself to slow dancing anyway. "Why don't we get another drink?"

There's really no reason to be so nervous. It's just a dance, and they've gotten so much closer in the past several months, this shouldn't be too different. It's just a silly little party, a distraction...

"Oh,hum, yes." As he only registers the ending of the song when Crowley pulls away, his hands slipping back onto their sides. "Yes, I could go for another glass."

Crowley tugs Aziraphale along back to the refreshments, where more drinks are poured. Crowley is drinking theirs almost before Aziraphale's is even in his hands, in a great deal of a rush to get themselves a bit tipsy and calm their nerves.

"We can try again, if you'd like..." Crowley mutters, "If we're blessed with the appropriate music."

Aziraphale is somewhat distracted by his own minute to minute assessment of how the evening is going to properly notice just how fast they're drinking, but even when he does see it, he assumes it to be related to just how scarce proper alcohol has been for them as of late.

He's bringing his glass to his lips when they make the comment. He glances over the glass as he sips, a small knowing smile covered by it.

"Well... Perhaps we shall be so lucky." Because dancing is quite fun, and he hasn't done it for a while. And maybe he's growing a fondness for these slower steps.

As the evening proceeds, the two decide to detach from one another long enough to socialize with other passengers. Crowley works through their nerves with more to drink and finds themselves stealing glances with the angel even when they are apart. By the time they've regrouped it's possible that anything that was alcoholic in the room had been consumed by one of them at some point, and Crowley is indeed feeling tipsy, but also a bit bored.

If it wasn't evident before, it is by the way they slink back across the room to the angel, quick to drape themselves around him again, talking rather close and just a little louder than necessary.

"I was just thinking--" Crowley began, somehow recognizing their volume and bringing it down a notch, "I was thinking there might be something better to drink in the kitchen. Care to take a walk?"

Aziraphale flutters around the room for the bits of time they're apart, stopping by the refreshments a couple of times in hopes of finding something palatable to eat and to get himself another drink. Words are exchanged with a few of the other partygoers, a few strange but tolerable moments are had, but more often than not he catches himself quite distracted, eyes finding the demon across the room every so often.

After a while, and an untold number of drinks, he standing off the side of the room, and partly tolerating the slightly erratic music that continuously plays through, but mostly lost in slightly drunk-hazy thought . He doesn't quite catch sight Crowley before they're already on him (maybe it was something about demons and lurking). He only winces slightly before the volume of their voice is back under control.

"Oh, yes, I suppose we might have ran their refreshments dry." He says, checking his very empty glass, numbered some number he can't quite recall. "Would it be a tad rude to leave early?"

Crowley shakes their head, the usual assortment of disjointed noises coming from their lips.

"No, no, quite the opposite. Wouldn't want to overstay our welcome." they reply, shifting slightly on their feet. Crowley links their arms again, pointing Aziraphale across the way to the door opposite the one they entered through. "This way, angel... to the kitchen."

"I do think you're right." He accepts easily enough, his mumbling and slurring still at a rather manageable level. He's not even that worried about manners, just trying to keep up airs.

"To the kitchen it is." And he leads them out of the gym, the loud music left behind them as soon as the door closes.

The cold of the spots between cars makes Crowley cling tighter somehow to the angel's arm, and despite their moment in that spot before entering the standard coach, Crowley's closeness remains.

"I think that's where they keep all the good wine." Crowley notes, remembering the spider from earlier. "Certainly a bottle won't be missed. If the party's any indication there aren't many on this train that drink."

It doesn't take long to cross a train car when moving quickly through it, and Crowley is nowhere near stumbling drunk yet, so they're to the next door before they know it.

They cross through the quiet coach, and what seems to be an office or workshop of some kind, on their way to the dining coach.

"Well, more for us, then." The angel suggests, though he does wonder what might be available in this sort of train. And what may even be available in the worlds they'll supposedly stop on? He supposes they'll have to see. "Surely they won't mind."

He's careful in leading the demon through the spaces between the cars, gentlemanly as ever. He barely spares a glance at the absolutely void outside the windows, as many questions as he has about it, but there's far better sights to pay attention to.

Crowley takes note of their surroundings, the little boxed in rooms of the coach seem quite comfortable compared to their own room, which is easily packed in, with two additional roommates. The fact that the doors seem to have locks on them are what really interests the demon, and once they're into the dining hall, Crowley motions back behind them.

"Probably should take our findings to one of those little rooms, once we acquire it. You know, so we don't have to share." Crowley grins, though their smile seems a little more devious than that. Crowley's focus from there isn't on anything other than the angel linking arms with them, at least until they've reached the kitchen.

The angel smirks, though whether he actually takes in the meaning of Crowley's own smile is debatable. Once they reach the next door, he leads Crowley through again, careful of their high heels and all.

"You know, it's nice to share." The angel teases, as if he doesn't have his own history of struggles with sharing. "It's no way to cause an impression in a new place."

Crowley carefully steps into the kitchen, blowing air out of their nose at the angel's response.

"Yes, well, I'd only like to share with you, tonight, if that's okay." they say, a coy little look on their face as they start to look around. Crowley squeezes gently at the angel's arm before letting it go, moving quickly to rummage through cabinets until they finally find what they're looking for.

They find the stash of wine eventually and pluck a bottle, tucking it into their arm. It's late and they're already buzzed... so Crowley forgoes the glasses entirely. It won't be the first time the two of them had passed a bottle back and forth.

"Well?"

The angel watches them, smiling bright when they turn with the much quested for prize. It's not his collection of wine and single malts, but-

"It'll do." He jokes, but with a hint of a sweet timbre to his voice. "Certainly for the rest of the night."

He gestures back toward the door, but holds one of his hands out to them. "Lets find us somewhere a bit more quiet, shall we? I believe I quite had my fill of the chosen party music."

Crowley smiles, taking Aziraphale's hand as they're lead back to the door, some pep in their step, despite the heels on their feet.

"A shame we can't procure our own records... maybe in time." they mutter, and as they move back through the dining hall, they think about those little quiet rooms just beyond.

Aziraphale keeps a gentle grip on their hand as they move through the empty cars, the lack of view in the windows just further cementing this feeling of solitude. And, yet, he isn't bothered at all, quite the contrary, with such excellent company to keep.

"Well, perhaps we could ask. Should be no harm." Oh, how he could do with his records and his books, in the welcoming sanctuary that is- was- is? His bookshop. "I would love some Mozart. Bach. I'd settle for less, if we could get anything at all."

Reaching the quiet car, he tests the first door they move across - lo and behold, a nice little room for them to hide out in. So he holds the door open. "After you."

"Oh-- yes, sure. Let's just ask our captors, 'Excuse me, could you give us some knockoff Bach, please, we'd really like to listen to it while we read Jomeo and Ruliet!'- yes, that should do it." Crowley's tone is teasing, including the most formal voice they can muster as they recite the request, and cackling to themselves as they finish speaking.

They're still hissing small bouts of laughter as Aziraphale tests the door, immediately distracted and delighted once it's open, and tilting their chin up in a mock-polite way as they enter per Aziraphale's instruction, quickly flopping onto one of the benches, using a quick miracle to open the bottle without the proper tools to do so.

Edited (fuck) 2020-06-15 23:14 (UTC)

Aziraphale is far too familiar with Crowley's kind of sarcasm to be bothered by it - and he's in far too high spirits to be bothered by most things in the first place. He follows them into the room, closing and locking the door behind him, moving over to take a seat on the opposite bench.

The angel sighs, head buzzing slightly with the delectable touch of alcohol, wiggling slightly in that familiar way he does to adjust himself in his seat.

"I can't help but to be curious about what would appear. What would this train - this place, or, whoever - make of the classics."

"I'm afraid to find out." the demon replies, then takes a healthy drink of the wine, straight from the bottle. It's certainly not the high-end stuff the angel keeps in his shop, but it'll do in a pinch. Better than whatever was on hand at the party.

Crowley admires that little wiggle for a moment before passing the angel the bottle, reaching then behind their head to tug at the string that secures their mask in place, pulling it off and letting it fall from their face. It's tossed to the side, and then Crowley runs their fingers through their own hair to make sure it's properly in place.

Aziraphale mutters a thank you as he takes the bottle, settling back to take a healthy sip himself - but his eyes find themselves on the demon again even then. He daintily wipes at the corner of his mouth, handing the bottle back over, before tending to pulling off his own mask.

"You know," He starts, putting the mask away on the little table. "that is quite the lovely dress."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Pressing FFwd as discussed.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject