This Year, I Am Going to Count the Omer:
Apr. 7th, 2007 11:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tanarillToday is the sixth day of the Omer.
The Omer is a fifty-day period, stating on the second day of Passover and ending on the first day of Shavuot. Shavuot is a festival whose name literally means "Weeks" because you count off seven weeks from Passover. Those seven weeks are the time it takes the winter barley crop to grow. I can never remember to count it, but this year I shall do it by LJ, which is to say, I'll actually remember to do it!
Title: ASRPxGO 4
Fandoms: ASRP > DP >> Butch Hartman, but GO=Neil Gamian+Terry Pratchett
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Dan
It was, possibly, the single most uneventful cross-Atlantic flight in the history of commercial airlines. The movies were all both tasteful and underscored, and if they all seemed to be set in Regency England, well, it was better than Snakes on a Plane. The fat guy who always goes to sleep in front of you, and leans back his chair while snoring obnoxiously, was conspicuously absent. No terrorists, to the surprise of two terrorists who had managed to get the components for a small but extremely powerful bomb aboard, attacked. There was no turbulence. There wasn’t even, to Crowley’s immense disgust, a screaming baby.
Bloody angels and his bloody expectations warping bloody reality!
Anyway. The transatlantic got them to New York, where they transferred to a smaller flight to Amity Park and their luggage made it onto the same plane.
They arrived in Amity Park four minutes before Dan had an orgasm, and it hit them like a diesel train. Crowley caught himself thinking how cute a young child was; Aziraphale breathed, “Oh my.”
They both exchanged a glance.
“I think,” said Aziraphale carefully, “that you were right to bring me here.”
Crowley smirked in return.
Later, in the Renaissance Hotel, chosen because it was the most expensive hotel in town although, as it turned out, it was tastefully expensive, they had a conversation that went:
“Dear, how are we to find this Dan?”
“Go find where that–” there was no need to specify what that was “–came from, and look from there.”
Which they did.
Dan’s reaction to Crowley was a delighted “You’re back!” followed by a double-take and then a “What’s he?” in response to Aziraphale.
“Angel,” responded Crowley, in a really-I-wish-I-didn’t-know-him-voice.
“Oooo. Any good in bed?”
Aziraphale choked, which was impressive considering that he hadn’t been drinking anything. Crowley blinked behind mirrored shades and said, totally cool and calm, “How should I know?”
“You mean you aren’t screwing?”
“No,” while Aziraphale had a coughing fit in the background.
“ . . . then I can tap his ass?”
“No!” This was Aziraphale, more or less magenta.
Dan wheedled, “Aww, why not? I bet you have pretty wings too.”
Aziraphale shot Crowley a we’ll-talk-later look and then said, “No.”
“Oh . . . well, what did you want me for, then?”
Aziraphale gave him an incredulous look. “You’re emitting megajoules of energy and you don’t know?”
Dan shrugged. “Nope. What’s a megajoule?”
“A lot of energy,” stepped in Crowley. “You give it off when you orgasm.”
“So why haven’t I blown up lots of shit every time I have sex?”
“Not that kind of energy, dear,” said Aziraphale. “The kind of energy that makes people happy. My kind of energy.”
Blink. Blink again. “Are you sure the two of you aren’t fucking?”
It's not that Aziraphale doesn't like Dan. It's that he has no idea how to react.
Which is a lot of people's reactions.
And he hasn't even met the brainmates yet :3
The Omer is a fifty-day period, stating on the second day of Passover and ending on the first day of Shavuot. Shavuot is a festival whose name literally means "Weeks" because you count off seven weeks from Passover. Those seven weeks are the time it takes the winter barley crop to grow. I can never remember to count it, but this year I shall do it by LJ, which is to say, I'll actually remember to do it!
Title: ASRPxGO 4
Fandoms: ASRP > DP >> Butch Hartman, but GO=Neil Gamian+Terry Pratchett
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Dan
It was, possibly, the single most uneventful cross-Atlantic flight in the history of commercial airlines. The movies were all both tasteful and underscored, and if they all seemed to be set in Regency England, well, it was better than Snakes on a Plane. The fat guy who always goes to sleep in front of you, and leans back his chair while snoring obnoxiously, was conspicuously absent. No terrorists, to the surprise of two terrorists who had managed to get the components for a small but extremely powerful bomb aboard, attacked. There was no turbulence. There wasn’t even, to Crowley’s immense disgust, a screaming baby.
Bloody angels and his bloody expectations warping bloody reality!
Anyway. The transatlantic got them to New York, where they transferred to a smaller flight to Amity Park and their luggage made it onto the same plane.
They arrived in Amity Park four minutes before Dan had an orgasm, and it hit them like a diesel train. Crowley caught himself thinking how cute a young child was; Aziraphale breathed, “Oh my.”
They both exchanged a glance.
“I think,” said Aziraphale carefully, “that you were right to bring me here.”
Crowley smirked in return.
Later, in the Renaissance Hotel, chosen because it was the most expensive hotel in town although, as it turned out, it was tastefully expensive, they had a conversation that went:
“Dear, how are we to find this Dan?”
“Go find where that–” there was no need to specify what that was “–came from, and look from there.”
Which they did.
Dan’s reaction to Crowley was a delighted “You’re back!” followed by a double-take and then a “What’s he?” in response to Aziraphale.
“Angel,” responded Crowley, in a really-I-wish-I-didn’t-know-him-voice.
“Oooo. Any good in bed?”
Aziraphale choked, which was impressive considering that he hadn’t been drinking anything. Crowley blinked behind mirrored shades and said, totally cool and calm, “How should I know?”
“You mean you aren’t screwing?”
“No,” while Aziraphale had a coughing fit in the background.
“ . . . then I can tap his ass?”
“No!” This was Aziraphale, more or less magenta.
Dan wheedled, “Aww, why not? I bet you have pretty wings too.”
Aziraphale shot Crowley a we’ll-talk-later look and then said, “No.”
“Oh . . . well, what did you want me for, then?”
Aziraphale gave him an incredulous look. “You’re emitting megajoules of energy and you don’t know?”
Dan shrugged. “Nope. What’s a megajoule?”
“A lot of energy,” stepped in Crowley. “You give it off when you orgasm.”
“So why haven’t I blown up lots of shit every time I have sex?”
“Not that kind of energy, dear,” said Aziraphale. “The kind of energy that makes people happy. My kind of energy.”
Blink. Blink again. “Are you sure the two of you aren’t fucking?”
It's not that Aziraphale doesn't like Dan. It's that he has no idea how to react.
Which is a lot of people's reactions.
And he hasn't even met the brainmates yet :3
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-04-08 05:07 am (UTC).....hehehehehehehehe.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-08 09:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-09 12:22 am (UTC)