Work Text:
1810
Crowley sauntered into the bookshop, dressed to the nines. His wasp-waisted tailcoat was the height of fashion, and fitted enough that it was a good thing he didn't strictly need to breathe.
"Hurry up, Aziraphale, we're going to be late for Lady Archibald's soiree."
"You go on without me, dear."
"Aww, c'mon, angel, it'll be dull as sin without you."
"I really prefer to stay in tonight, Crowley."
"Alright, spit it out. What are you not telling me?"
"Oh, very well. I suppose you'll hear about it sooner or later anyway. I, err, may not exactly be welcome at Archibald House any longer after the last party."
"Oh, do tell."
"I may have, ahh, eaten the centerpiece."
Crowley's mouth dropped open, in a way that was more snake than human.
"I'm sorry. You what? Just picked up a flower arrangement and stuffed it in that mouth of yours? Gnawed on some candles? Chomped the greenery?"
"If you must know, it was a pineapple," said Aziraphale haughtily. "And it was scrumptious. How was I to know they’re only for looking at? That’s absurd."
"So are the prices they’re charging to rent them. Wish I'd thought of it."
"Oh, do stop laughing, you fiend. You'll pop a button on that ridiculous coat of yours. And you'd best be going if you don't want to be late."
***
Two hours later, the bookshop door swung open again. Aziraphale did not bother to get up. There was only one person the shop would let in at this time of night.
“Back already then?"
“Ugh, it was duller than dull. Not a single soul worth talking to. Had to resort to making my own entertainment.”
“Perhaps you’d have done better to stay in with Hamlet, like me.”
“Then I’d be depressed and bored. But never mind that. I brought you something.”
Crowley appeared in the doorway to the back room, looking enormously pleased with himself. He was brandishing an oversized silver platter, upon which rested a majestic, gloriously spiky pineapple surrounded by garlands of greenery and gilt-edged ribbons. A generous wedge had been cut out of the fruit, revealing its golden, juicy interior, into which a large knife had been stuck.
"You inspired me, angel."
“Oh, good lord.”
“You should've seen their faces. The outrage! The confusion! The temptation to have just a tiny taste!”
Crowley was fairly vibrating with glee. Aziraphale tried his best to look disapproving, which was difficult as the fragrance was making his mouth water.
“I hope the servants won’t be blamed for the missing silver.”
“You know I wouldn’t,” protested Crowley, looking mildly insulted. “They’ll find it under the table tomorrow morning. Must've fallen in all the chaos.”
"Well, it would be a shame to let this fruit go to waste," Aziraphale declared, pulling a cloth napkin from his sleeve with a dramatic flourish. (He only fumbled it a little. He really was getting good at this magic thing.) "Be a dear and go get the port, would you?"