“Crowley’s Milk As Good as Any Better’n Some”
Aziraphale choked on his tea and looked at it again. “J.K. Crowley?”
It was an old carton. Early 1900s, if he had to guess. Aziraphale had gone through an old chest and found it there – thankfully void of milk. He had no idea how it had gotten there. He had probably spent more time than he should have staring at it. Enough time for someone to knock at the door for the third time.*
“Angel, what are you doing in there?” Crowley asked, letting the door open and pretending it hadn’t been locked the entire time. Continue reading “Ice Cream”
“Please, please, look where you’re going!”
“I’m looking out the window,” Crowley said, as though Aziraphale wasn’t having a panic attack.
For his part, Aziraphale wondered what heart palpitations felt like. He practiced breathing because he liked it and it made things natural with mortal beings, but he had never really let his corporeal form deal with the complexities of a heartbeat beyond the normal kind.
“You’re looking out the wrong window.” Continue reading “Reverse”
Azzah brought the bowl to her lips holding it with both hands. “I think this is my favorite.”
“Hm.” Reem took a big gulp herself, belying her previous words. “Then enjoy it while it lasts, little sister. She said it will only be for a little longer.”
“I think you should make up for your less enjoyed drink with something else.” Azzah hooked her free arm with Reem’s. She grinned at Waseme, who knew exactly what Azzah referred to. With a shake of her head, Waseme went back to pouring another bowl. Whether for someone else or in preparation for them coming back, Azzah never knew.
Reem hadn’t missed their look. Reem was a sharp one. Azzah might have sat them both down in front of Waseme’s hut to start their evening, as they always did, but she had to know what Azzah would push her toward. It was hard to miss Lebna. His skin was lighter than most, though just as rough from work fishing, hunting, sowing and gathering as the others. His locs were thick, bound only with coloured thread.
“What’s this?” The moment Reem noticed Lebna, her eyes caught. “Well?” she asked Azzah, pretending not to know.
“He’s still up.” Azzah took another sip. “You should go speak with him.”
“I should go speak with him?” Reem repeated, not doing much more than pressing her lips against her bowl.
Azzah laughed. “Come on now! You aren’t fooling anyone, especially not me.”
“Oh, Azz, how could I ever fool you?”
“What is the deal with French fries?”
She knew her brother was trying to get her attention away from her phone. Yet another topic to make her look across the table at his order. “Uh huh.”
“It’s… a salt potato. What a miracle.”
Her high score was coming up. She just needed to concentrate.
“You like them.”
She felt the fry poke into her cheek, then fold over immediately. Not a crispy fry, but one still soft. Her favorite. She opened her mouth.
“Thought so.” He prodded the corner of her mouth, but didn’t place it in. She tried to move her head a little, without turning her eyes.
Then she got ten fries. She coughed. “Really?”
Her brother shrugged, but her high score remained untouched.
He looked into the room. She was asleep, oddly enough. As difficult as it was to get her to sleep when the sun went down, he was afraid to ruin it by coming closer. Yet he never did as he thought he should and he crept across the room, the light in the hallway obscured enough by the door not to light up the room.
In the dark, he looked down at her prone form. So small. He reached down, smoothing the fine hair at the top of her skull back, relishing in the touch.
She slept on, thankfully. He leaned down and kissed her nose, which wrinkled slightly. Still asleep. He grinned, reaching out with a hand.
Only to be stopped by the sound of someone standing in the doorway, darkening the room further. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the disapproval on his wife’s face.
Don’t wake her up, she mouthed at him.
Of course, he mouthed back. However, playtime was over. He left his daughter alone and went to put himself to bed.