Aziracrow Oneshots (H҉҉a҉҉i҉҉l҉ ҉S҉҉a҉҉t҉҉a҉҉n҉)

#4 "... Chinese Whispers?"

It had been rather some time since the past meeting of both angel and demon: a stunning 5-star cabaret introduced at the dawn of early NYC. They had danced and drank, and Crowley had 'accidentally' split a tall glass of champagne over the angel's classic French waistcoat.

Aziraphale had maintained quite a grudge for an absurd lengh of two decades now, refusing to answer the demon's calls and complaints.

It had been a nice waistcoat after all.

The angel mosied into the movie theatre weighing a box of Kleenex tissues under his left arm, and breathed in the sweet smell of popcorn as it whistled through the air. That was when the angel spotted it: a familiar uttering, a curled lip as a swarm of black disappeared into the crowd of people in an easy loping gait.

"Crowley..." Aziraphale croaked, dropping his tickets in the act. A number of members from the queue paused behind him as their brows creased in befuddlement, however the angel ignored them, because he had already lept from the queue and was hurrying towards the ticket window.

"Excuse me, madam?" The teenage boy that was sat behind the glass' ears turned pink, "Oh I am so sorry: excuse me... Sir, have you seen a tall man- about 6"1- buying a ticket? He was probably wearing all back, and oh yes, he's ginger."

"Sorry, sir. Can't say I remember many who take tickets from here, but if he matches the Gothic description you gave me, I can bet he booked a seating in there..."

The boy motioned to the furthest screen, where a title of Rings was emblazoned above the door in bold brass letters.

"Is it a romance?" The angel offered, and the boy- Oliver, from the lettering of his name tag- released a frail hoot. "Afraid not." He responded, "The screening starts in five minutes though. Better get a wiggle on if you wanna grab a good seat."

"Oh, but my tickets?" The angel wagged the paper infront of the window- curse angle morals!

Following this, Oliver motioned for Aziraphale to pocket the paper as he shyly crept across his desk so that his nose was almost pressed to the glass, "Listen, I'll let you off okay for this one. Because I know whoever is behind those doors must be super special to you, right?"

The angel nodded his head.

"Thing is, if someone had given me the opportunity to catch a film with my boyfriend it might just have saved our relationship..."

"Oh but he's not my boyfriend, dear fellow. We're just very good friends."

This time Oliver did smile. He reclined his body back into his chair and nodded at the angel to walk on. "Enjoy your film, sir."

...

Aziraphale waddled through the set of double doors as he held his nose high in the air... And there he was. The demon had pitched himself a seat whereby the characters on the projector could dive right out of the screen. Right at the bottom. Unfortunate for the angel, there was a scarce number of seats that could accompany him. They were all right at the back.

With a slight huff, the angel watched as Crowley adjusted himself in his seat as Aziraphale made his way around the back of the theatre, falling into a vintage foldable chair.

Crowley had grown out his hair since their past meeting, and Aziraphale'a chest tightened: he had forgotten how much he had appreciated it at that lengh.

He had to find some matter of communicating with the demon. He really did. Naturally and on any other day, Aziraphale would have sat in silence, not wishing to disturb the neighbouring humans. However the boy at the ticket window had revived something in the angel: his faith in humanity had been restored, perhaps it could assist the angel once again.

Slowly, Aziraphale turned to his left whereby a woman of her late sixties was watching the blank screen with much concentration. The adverts began to role.

"Excuse me, madam, sorry..." The angel thought about closing his mouth then and there, but he forced his tongue to keep wagging, "Please could you help me spread a message? I need to talk to him, down there..." Aziraphale motioned towards the row of front seats.

"Ooh the Gothic looking one with the sunglasses? Sure, Hun. How about a game of Chinese whispers?"

After the woman had explained the rules to the angel, she asked, "What is it you'd like me to say?"

"Um, well..." The angel's cheeks turned pink, "Tell him I like his hair."

The elderly lady- who's name was Ginny- smiled sweetly at the angel and slowly turned to tap a man in the row infront on his left shoulder, "Excuse me, sir--?"

This went on for many minutes: by this time the final advert had drawn to a close on the big screen, and a parental warning was soon displayed. However Aziraphale hasn't noticed the hazardous review on the screen, because his eyes were fixated on a pair of sunglasses that were staring right back at him.

The demon's face warmed as he opened his mouth in the darkness.

Thank you, Angel.