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vocab_drabbles2023-09-11 02:02 am
mxcatmoon) wrote in vocab_drabbles2023-09-11 02:02 am
Entry tags:
078 Juxtaposition - Paint, Drying: An Ineffable Essay - Good Omens
Title: Paint, Drying: An Ineffable Essay
Fandom: Good Omens
Author: Cat Moon
Rating: PG-13
Words: 666
Characters/Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley watch paint dry. And banter.
Notes: After season 2, I said that I could watch endless episodes of Crowley and Aziraphale doing nothing. Drinking tea, doing crosswords, I would find it fascinating. Then after watching random out-of-order "Staged" compilations on YouTube, I have a better understanding of why – and it clarified my position that they could pretty much do anything or nothing and be entertaining. So, from there the sarcastic expression popped into my head about something being 'as exciting as watching paint dry'. I took this as a challenge. Because yes, I would watch them watch paint dry.
Together (as always), they'd thwarted Armageddon and the Second Coming. Really, on a scale of excitement, how could you top that? Life wasn't all excitement, of course; downtime could be nice on occasion. Sometimes boring wasn't even boring, it turned out.
Even just a slice of life on an ordinary day.
"I'm back!" the demon announced in that Announcing way of his, having returned to the bookshop after his errands.
"Oh, hello, Crowley," Aziraphale answered distractedly, not paying him any mind.
That wouldn't do at all.
Crowley approached where Aziraphale was sitting, seemingly staring out before him. "What are we doing?" he asked, plopping down on the sofa.
"Waiting for the paint to dry."
Crowley finally noticed what his angel was looking at. Not that he was distracted by looking at Aziraphale, of course. Never. "Why don't you miracle it dry?" he queried. The walls, well, the brief scraps of them that could be seen peeking out from all the bookshelves, gleamed with wet paint.
"It's not like I'm in a hurry."
Crowley conceded the point with a slight nod, not bothering to mention that Aziraphale had obviously miracled them painted in the first place. He hadn't been gone that long. "It's a bit… yellow, isn't it?" This wasn't the subdued, aged color they had been, this was vibrant.
"Yes, I thought it would be a nice touch. Cheery."
Crowley peered at the wall for a few moments, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Isn't that the same color you turned my car?"
"You really saw the car?" Aziraphale asked in a surprised voice.
"Ah hah!" Crowley exclaimed, having caught him in a well-crafted (accidental) trap. "It is!"
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Aziraphale answered evasively.
"Riiiight." He knew his angel well enough to smell the BS but decided magnanimously to let it pass. "I like the juxtaposition between the yellow and the brown bookshelves," he added because it felt like he should say something about the new hue, but really, compliments weren't his thing.
"The what?"
"You know, the, the contrast. S'interesting."
"Oh. Thank you." There was a definite tone of 'unimpressed' underneath.
"Of course, I prefer red or black," he had to add to uphold his reputation.
"Naturally," Aziraphale muttered, making it sound like a slight.
"Isn't your lot supposed to prefer white anyway? What's got you so fascinated about yellow?"
"I told you, it's cheery," the angel huffed in annoyance.
"Okay, don't get your knickers in a twist."
"Really, Crowley," Aziraphale tutted.
Again, with the uppity voice that begged Crowley to respond in kind. "I don't have to help, you know," he muttered.
"Help?! Are you honestly insinuating you're helping me watch paint dry?"
"Well, what else am I doing?" he asked reasonably.
"Being annoying," came the muttered words.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"I heard that!" Crowley informed him. "What's your obsession with yellow, anyway?"
Finally flustered enough, Aziraphale answered truthfully. "Because it reminds me of your eyes!" he blurted.
There was silence in the shop. You could literally hear the paint drying.
"What?"
"I said, it reminds me of your eyes," Aziraphale repeated in a more subdued tone.
If Crowley had been capable of higher brain functions at that time, he probably would have mentioned that his eyes were definitely not that shade of bright yellow, but he wasn't capable of much more than gaping for long moments.
"You… like my eyes?" he asked finally.
Aziraphale's softened to that loving gaze that was for Crowley alone. "I think they're beautiful."
Sure, they'd done a lot of overdue talking after their reunion and saving the Earth from another cataclysm, but obviously, there were still a lot of areas that had been omitted.
"I always have," Aziraphale whispered.
Crowley was up from the couch before he'd even registered moving, grabbing Aziraphale's hand and pulling him out of the chair. "The hell with the paint," he told his angel. "Take me to bed."
The paint, it turns out, dried perfectly fine without being watched.
The end
Fandom: Good Omens
Author: Cat Moon
Rating: PG-13
Words: 666
Characters/Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley watch paint dry. And banter.
Notes: After season 2, I said that I could watch endless episodes of Crowley and Aziraphale doing nothing. Drinking tea, doing crosswords, I would find it fascinating. Then after watching random out-of-order "Staged" compilations on YouTube, I have a better understanding of why – and it clarified my position that they could pretty much do anything or nothing and be entertaining. So, from there the sarcastic expression popped into my head about something being 'as exciting as watching paint dry'. I took this as a challenge. Because yes, I would watch them watch paint dry.
Together (as always), they'd thwarted Armageddon and the Second Coming. Really, on a scale of excitement, how could you top that? Life wasn't all excitement, of course; downtime could be nice on occasion. Sometimes boring wasn't even boring, it turned out.
Even just a slice of life on an ordinary day.
"I'm back!" the demon announced in that Announcing way of his, having returned to the bookshop after his errands.
"Oh, hello, Crowley," Aziraphale answered distractedly, not paying him any mind.
That wouldn't do at all.
Crowley approached where Aziraphale was sitting, seemingly staring out before him. "What are we doing?" he asked, plopping down on the sofa.
"Waiting for the paint to dry."
Crowley finally noticed what his angel was looking at. Not that he was distracted by looking at Aziraphale, of course. Never. "Why don't you miracle it dry?" he queried. The walls, well, the brief scraps of them that could be seen peeking out from all the bookshelves, gleamed with wet paint.
"It's not like I'm in a hurry."
Crowley conceded the point with a slight nod, not bothering to mention that Aziraphale had obviously miracled them painted in the first place. He hadn't been gone that long. "It's a bit… yellow, isn't it?" This wasn't the subdued, aged color they had been, this was vibrant.
"Yes, I thought it would be a nice touch. Cheery."
Crowley peered at the wall for a few moments, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Isn't that the same color you turned my car?"
"You really saw the car?" Aziraphale asked in a surprised voice.
"Ah hah!" Crowley exclaimed, having caught him in a well-crafted (accidental) trap. "It is!"
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Aziraphale answered evasively.
"Riiiight." He knew his angel well enough to smell the BS but decided magnanimously to let it pass. "I like the juxtaposition between the yellow and the brown bookshelves," he added because it felt like he should say something about the new hue, but really, compliments weren't his thing.
"The what?"
"You know, the, the contrast. S'interesting."
"Oh. Thank you." There was a definite tone of 'unimpressed' underneath.
"Of course, I prefer red or black," he had to add to uphold his reputation.
"Naturally," Aziraphale muttered, making it sound like a slight.
"Isn't your lot supposed to prefer white anyway? What's got you so fascinated about yellow?"
"I told you, it's cheery," the angel huffed in annoyance.
"Okay, don't get your knickers in a twist."
"Really, Crowley," Aziraphale tutted.
Again, with the uppity voice that begged Crowley to respond in kind. "I don't have to help, you know," he muttered.
"Help?! Are you honestly insinuating you're helping me watch paint dry?"
"Well, what else am I doing?" he asked reasonably.
"Being annoying," came the muttered words.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"I heard that!" Crowley informed him. "What's your obsession with yellow, anyway?"
Finally flustered enough, Aziraphale answered truthfully. "Because it reminds me of your eyes!" he blurted.
There was silence in the shop. You could literally hear the paint drying.
"What?"
"I said, it reminds me of your eyes," Aziraphale repeated in a more subdued tone.
If Crowley had been capable of higher brain functions at that time, he probably would have mentioned that his eyes were definitely not that shade of bright yellow, but he wasn't capable of much more than gaping for long moments.
"You… like my eyes?" he asked finally.
Aziraphale's softened to that loving gaze that was for Crowley alone. "I think they're beautiful."
Sure, they'd done a lot of overdue talking after their reunion and saving the Earth from another cataclysm, but obviously, there were still a lot of areas that had been omitted.
"I always have," Aziraphale whispered.
Crowley was up from the couch before he'd even registered moving, grabbing Aziraphale's hand and pulling him out of the chair. "The hell with the paint," he told his angel. "Take me to bed."
The paint, it turns out, dried perfectly fine without being watched.
The end