The Body I'm In

Chapter One

Summer 2024 (Random Day in July)

It's hotter than hell here in Soho. He hates it. It's too hot to do any single thing. Practicing bass or drums or vocals were off the table. Putting finishing touches on his clothes for next week's music festival was out of the question. Pruning his plants was out of the question. He did not want to do anything except lounge around licking ice lollies – that was it. Even sweating and breathing ended up being too much work. It got to the point a constable barked the order to go inside. Crowley, though he grumbled, obliged.

That's how he ended up standing and listening to a presentation on banjoes. He did not want a banjo. He did not want to learn how to play one, either. They were Crowley's least favorite instrument followed closely by the harp and rattles. However, what other choice did he have? He could take a trip to the coast and dive into the ocean; he liked doing that. But, driving seemed too much, too. As much as he adored driving his Bentley it was just too hot to travel. Plus, Crowley had a concert tomorrow and the music festival next week resulted in his day being utterly packed.

"Did you hear that Aziraphale's doing a concert this evening?" a jovial-sounding voice said. It broke up the sounds of the instruments being plucked. "Only five pounds to enter. What a steal!"

Crowley's head jerked upwards. He'd grabbed a magazine about guitars a few minutes early and had been reading a section about the different types of strings. For a moment, he thought that the voice was talking to him, but realized that must not be the case. He honestly did not know a lot of people even though he himself was also a musician. Crowley tended to keep to himself – it was easier that way (less people to hurt him).

"I know. I can't believe it," another voice, this one higher pitched but with a touch of posh added to it. "Usually those tickets sell loads and loads."

Aziraphale - selling tickets for loads of money? How had that happened? Last Crowley knew he'd been struggling to get his footing. At least he'd get two or three people at a show. Now, it seemed that the music world was treating him well.

Despite himself, he wanted to get closer and find out a bit more about the goings on of the angel of a person named Aziraphale. He glanced about trying to figure out who was talking about him. It wasn't very busy. There were a few people looking at guitars. Someone was choosing a new microphone. None of them were doing much talking. Then, there was a couple nearby who were staring at a display of banjos with a fierce intensity. They were too interested in those instruments for his comfort. How long had it been since he'd heard that name? Far too long it seemed, but even though it truly had been years it made his stomach do a flip flop and his heart flutter like a million of bees clamoring to get out of their hive.

"It's for a charity. MindOut I believe it's for," the man continued. "I got his newsletter in my inbox this morning. All the money raised during this charity will be donated to them. Isn't that lovely?"

"Oh, it's marvelous! Oh, Daniel, we ought to go. We hadn't seen a show in ages and ages. We haven't seen a show that's small and quaint in ages upon ages."

"No. We haven't! We should go for the memories. Plus, we can tell all our friends how generous we are. We're helping a musician and we can prattle on and on about how charitable we are."

"We'll be so good. Plus, we'll be the talk of the town. Maybe we could get him to play an Ed Sheeran song. We are paying him. He has to do what paying customers request of him."

Crowley felt his blood start to broil. How dare they talk about Aziraphale like he was a play thing to them? He was a living, breathing creature of the highest quality. Crowley opened his mouth and closed it. What could he say? What would Aziraphale do?

"Excuse me?" Crowley asked the couple, trying to sound as laid back and neutral as possible. "Did I hear that Aziraphale's in town tonight?"

"Yes. Yes. Are you going? It's such a good way to give back to the community. I've never listened to his music and I hear it's good. But I don't know if it's good good or if it's clap-for-child's-art good," he woman said as she stifled a yawn.

"Oh, yes. I am good. I'm going to protect him from people like you," Crowley growled, his fingernails digging into his palm. "He is not your puppet. He won't be playing anything by Ed Sheeran – not a fan – so don't you try to get him to and it does not matter that you're paying him. That money is for charity. It's not to buy yourself a song or a space in the crowd."

The couple looked stunned. He did not celebrate. Turning on his he, Crowley works on getting himself called down. Another night in jail does not sound fun. He tried his tapping techniques and his breathing exercises. They did not help. He really really wanted to see Depeche Mode (as well as a certain someone). He couldn't see it from jail.

Plopping the journal down on a stack of music books, Crowley marched off. Besides being enraged by that couple and needing to calm down before he did something destructive, he strode out of the music shop and headed back him to go get ready to see that angel of his.