“So,” Crowley said, stretching his legs out and taking another sip of wine, “what’re you up to these days?”
“Nothing particular,” Aziraphale said. “Although I do have to pop over to Nice for a blessing next week, but that shouldn’t take long.”
“Next week, huh? Mind covering a minor temptation for me, then, while you’re in the area?”
“I suppose so,” said Aziraphale. “What precisely is it?”
“It’s in Monte Carlo, actually,” Crowley said, “just popping in to the casino for a smidge of troublemaking. Nothing complicated.”
“Ah—” said Aziraphale, and shifted uncomfortably. “I’m afraid I can’t go to Monte Carlo.”
Crowley snorted. “What, are you too virtuous for gambling now? Don’t go using that line on me. I’ve seen how you get over baccarat.”
“No, no, it’s not that,” Aziraphale said. “It’s just—I can’t go to Monte Carlo.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve been banned,” Aziraphale muttered.
“Sorry, what?”
“I’ve been banned. From Monte Carlo.”
“What did you do?”
“In my view,” said Aziraphale primly, “I wasn’t doing anything wrong at all. I simply took the time to implement a bit of strategy and mathematics. Anyone could do the same. It’s hardly cheating.”
Crowley took a second to parse this. “You got kicked out of a casino for counting cards.”
“Not before I’d accumulated several thousand pounds doing it,” said Aziraphale, in a most un-angelic fashion.
Crowley had a sudden image of him, all buttoned up in waistcoat and bowtie, spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, sitting at a blackjack table, his soft hands laying down the cards, the complete sincerity in his voice as he’d say oh, dear me, it looks like I’ve won again, fancy that, the canny glint in his eye that anyone looking less carefully than Crowley would miss.
It was a remarkably compelling image, and Crowley let out a low, inadvertent whistle.
“So, I can’t help with your temptation, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said.
“Yeah, no, that’s all right,” Crowley said, “but, uh, have you been…banned anywhere else?”
Aziraphale went pink. “It is possible,” he said, carefully, “that I might find myself unwelcome at several establishments in Las Vegas, as well.”
“You’ve been on some sort of casino-defrauding world tour, and you didn’t tell me?”
“Don’t make fun,” Aziraphale said. “It’s only a hobby.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley said, “getting booted from gambling establishments, right up there with manuscript collection on the list of your notable hobbies.”
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you—”
“Look,” Crowley interrupted, “have you, ah—ever been to Atlantic City? In America?”
Aziraphale shook his head.
“Well,” Crowley said, “pretty sure New Jersey could do with a bit of divine intervention.”
A small smile crept onto Aziraphale’s face. “It’s a tempting thought,” he said.
