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video/ mid-afternoon

[This was bullocks. This was absolute bullocks. He felt like he'd stepped into a rerun of the bloody Xfactor or whatever it was. Reincarnation, memories from another life, nonsense. Absolute rubbish. Yet he couldn't stop dreaming about it. Every night it had happened. The girl in the water, pulling her out, some agony tight in his chest-- and-- incredible loneliness. Incredible grief. More than once he'd woken up in tears and so was running on as little sleep as possible.

So when he appears on the feed, he's looking haggard and cross. He's never been much for technology. He's also wanted to avoid touching this... supernatural disaster-- but he's exhausted all other possibilities short of going to therapy and if it is connected to this-- organization, maybe someone can give him a clue]

My name is Crowley. I'm looking for a missing girl, about eleven to fourteen. Shoulder length dirty-blonde or brunette hair, wearing a locket. Heart shaped. If anyone's seen her, or knows anything about her, let me know.

Or if anyone can tell me about the Bureau. The truth about the Bureau. Not the interdimensional whatever it is. How prevalent are they? How prevalent are 'we'? Is anyone doing any sort of investigating at all?

[and while he knew it wasn't a good idea to question so openly on their own network, he needed information. And it would be interesting to see what they did with this threat, if anything.]

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[so more than one memory. Theories. He didn't know if this man would be forthcoming with them and maybe didn't want to hear them over the network anyway. He needed to...meet him outside somehow. Find out where he lived or worked. That might be problematic. Something in him said it was in his jurisdiction but he wasn't a bloody cop.

He makes a face at the at the apology]

I'm not the one you should feel sorry for. [he was fine. Just fine. At least in terms of the nightmare that kept him awake at nights and made it difficult to eat as he would suddenly remember the smell of someone who had been in the river for three days]

Maybe it's really some sort of illness. [if there was a collective trauma. But that didn't explain Bureau or what they were telling people.]

I haven't yet. How do you know him? I take it he hasn't been too much of a pain in the neck for you.

Crowley... [The softness of the name rolls out of him without thought, oddly familiar despite how little he's had reason to use it with Anthony. He's in no position to pry or offer condolences where they're obviously unwanted, but this sort of thing was traumatic. Crowley needs to talk to someone.]

I hope it's not. But it all feels a bit science-fictiony, so nothing can be ruled out, can it.

[Aziraphale shrugs and adds with a lighter tone.]

Anthony's been a bit of a disaster, but nothing I can't handle. I feel like 'how I know him,' however, is something for him to tell you, not me.

[another face. Don't say his name like that. No one has ever said his name like that. Not even-- Well, never. It is not a name meant for saying in that tone and feels like it should be applied to someone else. He tried to forget it]

But that's why it's a lie, okay? If it's science fiction it's not true. They're hiding something. They've... buried something. It doesn't make any sense.

[he shakes his head. And then... peers at the man. Nothing he couldn't.. handle? How he knows him?]

Been dating long then?

Things don't tend to make sense until you have more information anyway.

[Aziraphale blushes, which probably says enough, though he's trying very hard to look cross and tell Crowley off.]

...I did not say anything like that. You're making an awful lot of assumptions.

Anyway, that's not how I know your cousin.

[the blush says a lot. Too much. Especially coupled with the slight hesitation after. He hoped it was Anthony's personality this man was after and not the looks. Though that would explain the soft tone of the name earlier.]

People are usually not that secretive about relationships unless they have something to hide.

It's either dating or accomplice. [it's a joke. Mostly. But it might be difficult to tell as his tone didn't shift much]

Anyway, I don't care. Unless you're part of a crime syndicate then I might care a little.

[and then because he realizes he hadn't asked]

What's your name?

[Aziraphale looks just a tiny bit alarmed at that joke and almost tells Crowley that Anthony appeared in his memory. Almost. The guilt is a bit overwhelming. He laughs uneasily.]

You can call me Mr. Fell.

[yeah, there was something up. That was entirely too close to a pseudonym for comfort. What was it? Some kind of smuggling? Shop lifting ring? Drug trafficking? Who knew what Anthony could be lured into.]

Fell.

[he should get to know the man actually. Figure out what he was hiding.]

We should-- if-- [how the hell to phrase this] I'd still like to have lunch. [a beat] At some point.

[and sound like the biggest fucking idiot while doing it apparently]

[He frowned at him, puzzled by the stumbling request. Oh, Crowley, you awkward human being.]

Is this about the memories or are you going to try to give me the shovel talk?

Shovel talk? [that's a new one. he wondered if he even wanted to know]

I think that's what it's called, yes! [He was unduly pleased to explain a pop-culture reference to someone else for once.] That talk were you say something like: if you ever hurt him, I will break you.

I'm not entirely sure where the shovel comes in, to be honest.

Hadn't occurred to me no. [though he would without a doubt break Fell if he actually hurt Anthony.]

It's-- He's not likely to be forthcoming about anything. And I'd like to-- [get to know you sounded like he was wanting to take him for dinner and a snog] --talk.

Not forthcoming, yes. Well, I think being rather difficult seems to run in the family.

To...talk. Alright, I guess. Fine. When would be good for you?

Why do people always say that? [they'd clearly never met any of his parents or even his Stepfather come to think of it.]

Sometime on the weekend unless you want to work around school hours.

Well, my friend's partner has a 'poetry' reading Saturday at 6 that I promised to attend ages ago. [There's definitely regret in there.]

...I don't suppose you're free around 6 on Saturday?

[Oh God. Poetry. He hated poetry. So much. Especially the poetry of other people who thought they were clever when really they couldn't rhyme their way out of a paper bag on fire. Or put in little artistic flourishes that made him think of Shatner except that he'd lapsed into a coma every ten minutes]

I'll be there. [kill him now] Do I have to wear anything, or--?

Well, you have to wear something. It's not that kind of gathering. But no, actually, I was hoping you could give me an excuse to get out of it.

Unless you'd like to go listen to pretentious drivel, but I've heard his poetry. He isn't very good. I don't know why they're dating.

Of course I meant to wear something. [he flushed. Fell had known what he'd meant]

I try never to ask myself that question. [as he never really wants to know the answer]

Sure, let's do something else then. Dinner? Somewhere?

Can never be too sure, you know.

Dinner sounds wonderful. Where would be good for you? I'm located in Manhattan, but if you'd prefer somewhere closer to you...?

[right. He knows when he's being mocked, but doesn't particularly care Fell's opinion of him]

Wherever. So long as I don't have to wear a bloody suit. [and preferably somewhere where the appetizer isn't the same price as a Mercedes]

Do you like Indian food? There's a nice place in Queens.

[God. His stomach would hate him. He would have heartburn for hours if he so much looked at it. But he didn't want to look particular. Let Fell be where he was the most comfortable]

That'll work.

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video/ mid-afternoon

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