Daegaer wrote,

There are, apparently, no depths to which I will not sink
Seriously.  Look away now.

Over on CA someone asked for suggestions on how Aziraphale and
Crowley would go about getting married.  Sheesh.  They wouldn’t, you
know.  And then afrai poked me with sticks, and the following horror
crept into my mind.  Couldn’t post this before lunch, as I didn’t want
stellanova to lose her appetite. (Sorry).

(Oh, and oweing to an obscure old-fashioned Irish and British
superstition, angels
are all 6’ tall in my delusional world.  I know no one else will have
heard of this, but apparently, it’s impossible for humans to be
exactly 6’ tall.  The only human who was, was of course, Jesus.  So I
extended this to mean that 6’ is the natural height for angels. 
C’mon, British and Irish people, has anyone else heard of this

With This Ring

Ring, Ring Ring, Ring Ring, Ring


“Blast.  Infernal machine…..Hello?”



“If you had to put down a date of birth, what would you put down?”

“We don’t have dates of birth.  We weren’t born for one thing, and there weren’t any days or months yet when we were created.”

“Yes, but if you had to.  Like . . . like on those tax forms you insist on filling out.”

“I leave it blank.  No one’s ever asked.”

“Hmm.  All right, height . . . six foot; weight . . .”

“None of your business.”

“Heh.  Let’s see . . . what would you say was the colour of your hair and eyes?”

“They haven’t changed in 6000 years, I’m rather astonished you have to ask.”

“Keep your raiment of the justified on.  Have you any medical problems?”

“Other than the tension headache that’s beginning right now?  No, of course not.  What are these questions in aid of, Crowley?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.”

“Don’t try that innocent tone on me, I know perfectly well you’re not innocent.  What exactly are you filling out?”

“Ah.  Well.  A claim form for expenses.”

“And you’re filling in my details?  You’re charging your temptation expenses to Heaven?  Crowley -.”

“No, no.  Although that’s a good idea, thanks for suggesting it.”

“Gah!  You’re impossible!”

“Yeah, I know.  No, I’m not swindling your people, just mine as usual.”

“Didn’t you get into trouble for that before?  I’m surprised you’d try again.”

“Ah, but this time I’ve been reading the fine print.  Have you ever read the fine print on one of our forms, Aziraphale?”

“No, aren’t they designed to be never ending?”

“True, but I ran it through a word processor, did a search for keywords – they never think of things like that, they’re all stuck in the 14th century down there.  Anyway, loophole city, Aziraphale.  They’re sloppier than people think.”

“Loophole . . . city?”


“I found loopholes.  Which I am currently exploiting.  How much would you say your shop is worth, if you had to buy it today?”

“I’m not mortgaging my shop to Hell!”

“Nooo, of course not.  But I could claim part of the cost back for you.  If you like.  If that wouldn’t be an intolerable burden which might allow you to run out and buy more books to stuff onto your shelves.  Aha!  All that paper – a fire hazard.  I’ll claim for your insurance as well.”

“Crowley!  Stop!  Just stop!  Explain to me – as simply as you can – why you are sending details about me to Hell’s bureaucracy?”

“I’m allowed dependants.”

“You’re allowed . . . dependants.”

“Yes.  As in, people whose expenses I can claim for.”

“How am I a dependant of yours?”

“No need to take that tone.  It’s very simple.  We’re married.”


“Aziraphale?  Aziraphale?  Are you still there?”

“. . .  Yes.  I had to sit down.  What?”

“Relax.  No one will ever check.  Have you ever wanted to have children?”

“Stop laughing!  It’s not funny!  Take my name off that form right now!  We are not married!”

“That’s not what this copy of the registry says.  It’s Ok, don’t worry your little head about a thing.  Sweetie.”

“How dare you find this amusing!  I’ve never heard anything so, so –.”

“Adorable?  Hey, hey, calm down or you’ll have a heart attack.  I’ll come round later, after a hard day at the office.  I’ll expect my dinner on the table.”


“Bye.  Darling.”