The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 64: Angel's Share

Chap 64: Angel's Share

Twice in one night. New record, demon.

Crowley called for another round. A resounding thud woke him from his thoughts. The bartender left an entire bottle there and walked off.

Oh, that again, too. Growling, he took the bottle and opened it. No angel appeared. He grunted, about to pour the whiskey into the glass, then shrugged, and took it straight.

"Twice in one night!" he spoke to the air. That was continuing too, the drunken conversations with no one. Or barring that anyone who would listen, talking for the benefit of his own sloshed mind.

Doing great for yourself and your angel.

"My angel," he laughed sardonically. Then, his face fell and he bemoaned, "I have no right to call him that! He was never mine to have!"

Of course, he was! Now go home and talk to him!

"Is gone to h-hell. Is all gone to hell!" it was a good thing he kept his glasses rammed to his face. The bloody tears were starting to pool at the bottom of the rims. Hissing, he grabbed a wad of paper napkins and smeared them away, then set those on fire as they poofed out of exitance.

Pull yourself together! Go home and talk to him before it is too late!

The demon raised his head. "Perhaps I'm right. I should listen to me."

Yes! Get out of here!

"Yes, Crowley, get out of here."

The demon blinked. The voice wasn't his own. It had a softer, steadier tone. A second alto in the higher ranges. A female voice.

Something warm pressed on his wrist. He looked down. A small hand rested there, fingers painted with something that shimmered from black to white and back again. He looked up.

"Olivia?" he asked quizzically.

The woman in dark. She sat down across from him.

"What are you doing here?"

"On holiday during the, well, holidays. Now, Crowley?"

He just stared at her.

"Listen to yourself, sober up, and go home to your angel."

The call came in so fucking early.  The witch was fighting thru a tangle of bedsheets to get to her phone. When her hand landed on it, she moaned and yanked it into the fabric cavern. "Yes, Aziraphale?"

"How...how did you know it was me?"

She yawned and pushed the back of her hand to her mouth.  "Who else is going to call me at this hour?"

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry. I forget sometimes, about time zones and human sleep patterns."

"No," she stated flatly, sitting up out of her nest. "You're drunk."

"Boulder...boulder...(hiccup) dash."

"Something's gone wrong." She pulled her knees up to her chin and hugged them. "Spill it."

"I—I—no! I just wanted to check on the status of the hair is—"

"Cut the crap, angel," she stated flatly. She heard an audible gasp on the other line. "Sorry, but you need to be curtailed at times.  Give me some credit: You're drunk, you didn't call Tracy, and my guess is you've been starring at your phone for twenty minutes debating if you should call me. Am I right?"

"Very perceptive of you," he mumbled, astounded.

"So shut and talk to me already."

"I beg your pardon?"