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set - devious
aj_crawley wrote in milliways_bar
Forked tongue poking from between his lips in concentration, Crowley is methodically switching the coloured stickers on a Rubik's cube.

Ladies and gentlemen, the downfall of Man.

[Mun has little brain; please ping scuba soph before tagging!]

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Aziraphael is watching him from the bar, talking earnestly to another patron but sneaking glances every so often at Crowley's delicate work. At last he appears to finish the conversation and takes his cup (saucer held carefully underneath) across the room toward Crowley's seat, where he can observe at close range.

"I've been wondering what happened to the little metal car from my Monopoly game."

Milliways: the only place Crowley knows that's frequented by patrons strange and supernatural enough that you can't always tell there's an angel in the room. The demon jumps, dropping the Rubik's cube before trying (entirely pointlessly) to hide it under the table.

"You got here early," he says guiltily.

"Earlier than I'd expected, yes. The last one on my list is going to have to be next week; the girl went to France at the last moment to visit her aunt." He puts his cup and saucer down on the table and makes himself comfortable in the seat opposite.

"This goes a long way toward explaining why the Scrabble set has only two vowels left," he muses, frowning.

"I think you're jumping to some unfair conclusions," Crowley says, drawing himself up and doing his best to pretend that he doesn't still have a yellow sticker in one hand.

(Actually, he took the car, but he has no idea where the vowels are.)

"Am I?" he says blithely, looking at the hand with the yellow sticker.

"It would make my list of potential marker and tile thieves very short."

"Or, you could have just lost them," Crowley says tartly. "As flattering as it is that you think so, I'm not actually behind all your little daily woes."

"I'm on the list of potential thieves, of course, intentionally or not. But it's difficult to imagine how I misplaced nine As, eleven Es, nine Is, seven Os and four Us."

The speed with which he rattles this off is somewhat alarming.

"And the car was always your favourite piece." He sighs, then brightens. "Perhaps you could make do with that little dog."

"I will not," Crowley replies, quirking one annoyingly perfect eyebrow. "I'll use the top-hat."

Most people, if posed the question, would probably not imagine Crowley to be the Monopoly-playing sort. But that's simply because they're not imagining the right sort of Monopoly.

(Angels and demons, after all, tend to play for rather higher stakes.)

"Oh," Aziraphael says, uncertain. The top hat was usually his favorite, even if he was often teased about fitting it over his head.

"Well, if you really... what about that little iron?"

"I'm not using the iron," Crowley says, looking mildly outraged. "Anyway, I'm sure the car will turn up."

Well, it will now.

"Yes," he says wistfully, "yes, I certainly hope so."

(Score one!)

"You really are disturbingly attached to your board-games, you know," Crowley tells him. "D'you even remember how you spent a rainy afternoon, before they came along?"

"There was always reading, of course. Or cleaning, but that can only keep one occupied for so long. But those don't have the same potential for friendly competition."

"Yeah. Friendly competition. Right. How long did the last game take us? Two weeks?"

They wound up trapped in a rather circular discussion on the hypothetical disposition of Henry VIII towards secular charities, and on whether Moses could match up well against the power of a soulless media corporation, given the rather overblown PR efforts in Egypt, to say nothing of the question of idolatry.

(It's complicated.)

"Yes, but only because you wouldn't accept my point about the Ten Commandments."

This seems to be a point he still refuses to concede, judging by his somewhat cooler tone.

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