Thanks Crowley! (and Aziraphale, and Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. and @thebibliosphere who helped inspire this GO x Discworld crossover.)
for those who can't see it: A picture of my laptop screen showing an open LibreOffice document called Ineffable Bastards, the word count at 69696. Pandora radio is playing Demons by Imagine Dragons.
Eventually I will post about how every once in a while a Queen song will pop up on this Pandora station, but only when I'm working on this fic. So thanks to Freddy Mercury too, for keeping me going when I'm feeling discouraged.
it just hit me. The part when Crowley is drowning his troubles in the bar, talking about the fall
[image id: screen shot of the Good Omens script book. pertinent line is "... next thing I know I'm doing a million-light-year freestyle dive into a pool of boiling sulphur." /end id]
y'all...
Y'all...
Y'all...
do you know what that means?
[image id: screen shot of a google search for "vulcanized" which is a chemical process used to "harden" rubber, making it heat resistant. /end id]
I'm losing my shit here. They vulcanized the fallen angels into demons to be resistant to hellfire.
Forget Crowley as being wily. The wiliest mfers are Terry Pratchett and @neil-gaiman because hands down I have no doubt they fucking cackled when they came up with this. I mean, I'd have cackled if it were me.
I don't know what to do with this info besides inviting others to cackle with me (us?)
... also, does this mean angels are a form of rubber? A sap? We know they're 'elastic' in a sense because they can change shapes.
vulcanized things don't change shape very well however.
there is a "devulcanization" process - holy water??
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise Mrs. Ogg,” said Aziraphale, smiling down at the tom who let out a rusty purr and coated Aziraphale’s pants with fur. “And Greebo. Hello sir,” Aziraphale said, letting out a grunt when the cat jumped up and began making biscuits on their lap. “I, ah, see, ow, he’s feeling, ow, much better!”
“Oh yes, a nice little visit with you perks him right up, it does. And I told you, call me Nanny.”
Thankfully Crowley had already swallowed their sip of tea this time. “I bet it does, Nanny,” Crowley murmured. She winked at Crowley’s arch look and it was quite clear the witch was playing Zira like a kazoo, since it didn’t take much to get into the angel’s graces. Even mangy old monsters that probably terrorize the whole neighborhood could manage it.
“I keep saying, don’t I Zira, that you should get a cat or two to keep you company in the shop,” she said, pulling from her ratty bag a very lumpy mug that had clearly been made by one of her many grandchildren, as well as a silver flask from somewhere upon her person. “There’s a litter out in our Jason’s barn.”
“Oh, I’d love to, Mrs. Ogg but-” It was at that point that Greebo noticed Crowley and froze, having never been faced with anything quite like this before. Humans trembled when Greebo walked by, snakes knew better than to sun themselves in his garden. A combination of the two should have posed no problem, but it did, oh it did. Greebo broke the stare and the sound barrier on his way out the door back into the garden. “They don’t like Crowley.”
32,000 (thirty two thousand) words. This is a little ridiculous. Here’s a bit that had me cackling.
Aziraphale gave Esk a gentle smile and sat down beside her. “Of course, my dear. And Crowley can put my books in the Bentley, won’t you dear?” they asked with just the faintest edge in their voice. Crowley threw up their hands but snatched up the bag and stalked towards the door. “Thank you.”
Esk couldn’t help but laugh at the put upon look Crowley gave them before stalking out. “I’ll probably regret asking, but how long have you two been together?”
Aziraphale’s smile was uncharacteristically sharp. “Officially, about a week. Emotionally, about six thousand years.”
“What? Really?” Esk covered her eyes with her hands and laughed helplessly when the reformed angel nodded. “That really does explain a lot.”
“It rather does, doesn’t it,” agreed Aziraphale. “I’m sorry you had to hear all that, my dear.”
“It wasn’t anything I didn’t already know,” she said. “But he wouldn’t listen to me and I wanted… I wanted someone else to tell him. So,” she shrugged. “I’m grateful for your help.”
Aziraphale patted her hand. “Well, it’s not the way I would have done it, but then my way might not have worked. But enough of that for now, hmm? Tell me about these omens that have been plaguing the campus?”
“Is that why-” She shook her head. “I should have realized. It started about a decade ago as best we can tell, but only in hindsight is it obvious. It started small, but it’s been getting too obvious to ignore at this point. We can’t keep mirrors uncovered without seeing visions of death and destruction. The senior staff had expected it to blow over when the apocalypse didn’t happen, but it hasn’t and now they’re finally worried. One of them saw a ‘golden child’ in the back of their dessert spoon and immediately retired to Genoa.”
“We didn’t bring the blasted Bentley!” Crowley snarled, glaring at them from the doorway.
“Oh, dear, must have slipped my mind,” said Azira, radiating innocence. “Lose my head next.”
“It can be arranged, angel,” Crowley threatened emptily, flinging themself onto the couch.
Aziraphale just beamed at them. “I do hope you didn’t walk too far before you remembered.”
