Good Omens fic: In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida (gen)
Aug. 31st, 2010 05:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficSo after a reread of Good Omens, I decided to pound this out. Hope you enjoy it.
Title: In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,680
Characters/Pairings: Crowley, Aziraphale
Summary: There wasn't really much to talk about back in the days of Genesis. Not until a certain someone killed his brother.
Of all the things written about the origin of the universe, there was one observation so obvious it was scarcely thought about it: that being, it was very boring. There were two whole people in the world, and although the concept of bad weather had just been invented, it still didn't lend itself to conversation.*
And if it was bad for them, imagine being a demon. You couldn't hang around Hell – everything was political rallies** and "hey, remember that time we made him eat the apple! That was very nice!" There was the Garden of Eden, which you could stroll through if you happened to have had a talk with the guard about how, if you were allowed to go in to mess with the Great Plan, then surely it shouldn't be minded for you to go in and see about some oranges. But the Garden of Eden was, after all, a garden, and ultimately it amounted to trees, more trees, and some nice flowers.
So Crowley*** spent a lot of time with Aziraphale, gossiping about the goings-on in their respective spheres. "Did you hear about Beelzebub? He's made out of flies now. It's a good look for him."
On that particular week, a few decades from Beelzebub's makeover, Crowley was experimenting with having prehensile thumbs, while Aziraphale was experimenting with not being twenty feet tall. It made conversations much more interesting, as Aziraphale could finally see the faces Crowley made when they talked, and Crowley could point at things. So, if the conversation turned to the sky, Crowley would point up, just to make sure there was no possible confusion about which sky they were talking about.
But on this particular day, Aziraphale seemed to have shrunken even more than his genial five feet and change, slouching in on himself like he hadn't since Adam and Eve's kids had stopped coming round****.
He let out a long-suffering sigh, then another long-suffering sigh, then when Crowley still hadn't acknowledged him, went ahead with an anguished moan.
"Everything cheery, then?" Crowley asked.
"Did you hear what Cain did?"
"Which one is Cain again?"
"The one with the mark."
"What mark?"
"The one God gave him. For killing his brother."
"Oh," Crowley said. And then, since that didn't seem to suffice, he went ahead with one of the guttural words Hell had developed which would come to be translated as something akin to "Bugger."
"Yes. That." Aziraphale stared at him, and although Crowley had been getting used to an eternity (or at least an epoch) of Aziraphale being satisfyingly depressed and therefore quiet… well, if it went with him staring like that, he'd take the chattering over which dog had birthed which puppy*****.
"Well, you have to expect these kinds of things," Crowley said, trying to sound knowledgeable on the subject. "It's like getting sick, it's bound to happen."
Aziraphale was not consoled. "As if the zebras weren't bad enough," he muttered.
"What happened to the zebras?"
"Eaten by the lions."
"Not all of them, surely."
"No, just the weak and the old."
Crowley raised an eyebrow. "How can there be old? Weren't they all created on the same day?"
"He did some on the day prior, just to get ahead of His workload."
"I don't recall. I was, you know… sauntering."
"Yes, it was very considerate of Him, actually. We got it all wrapped up in six days and got to take the seventh off. We spent it singing His praises and watching the kittens and Crowley, did I mention Abel was dead?"
"Yes. You did."
"Well?"
"Yes, terrible you know, but like I said, bound to happen. It's like with the lions. I'm not the one who made them with the teeth and the claws. Although I do like the manes, those were a nice touch."
"Are you saying this is part of the Plan?"
Crowley never talked about the Plan to Aziraphale, since the angel was a big believer in the Plan and you just didn't bring up things that meant that much to you, especially when you would be British in a few thousand years. "Well," the demon said carefully, growing hair to run his fingers through, "they do have teeth."
"It's for contrast," Aziraphale insisted. "Like a painting."
"What's a painting?"
"Just an idea the boys in the lab have been cooking up.****** But even if the Plan was for lions to start eating zebras, that doesn't lead to murder. It's not like when we coming up with the humans, we added claws or razor-sharp teeth or poison stingers. They're in God's image. Who looks at God's image and wants to add a shattered skull to it?"
"I think I could rustle up some volunteers," Crowley said.
Aziraphale glared at him. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
"What, me? Me?"
"I won't be angry with you."
"Yes."
Aziraphale blinked a few times, then leaned in to better glare. "You toerag."
"Hold up. It's not as if I gave him a how-to guide. I just asked why, if God had the entire garden to Himself, he would want the best of their flocks too. Honestly, I half-expected him to just man up and give better sacrifices. How do you go from goats and cows to people, I don't even…"
"Fine. Fine!" Aziraphale walked in a tight circle.
"So, uh…" Crowley tilted his head to the side (he was experimenting with a neck). "Why does God need to have things sacrificed to Him if he has the entire Garden of Eden all to Himself?"
Aziraphale whirled on him, still frustrated to an un-angelic extent. "Did you pay any attention at all when the system was being set up?"
"I was a bit preoccupied, really. Like back before the Fall, when everyone was choosing sides and deciding on a rebellion? I thought we were planning a surprise birthday party for the big guy."
"A birthday party? For God? The eternal and undying, alpha and omega, without beginning or end?"
"I wasn't thinking it would be a literal birthday. More of a Friars Club Roast. Where else could they be going with all that 'who does this God fellow think he is, anyway?' talk."
Aziraphale nodded understandingly, which was just about the only way he could nod. "You see, the sacrifices are restitution for sin, which are crimes against God, and they're herd animals because that's what herdsman value," he said learnedly, which was just about the only way he could talk. "They're lucky to get that much headway. Some of upper management didn't want to let them upstairs at all."
"Sounds more like my department than yours," Crowley observed.
"Yes, well… how hard can it be to not sin? You just realize something is wrong, than you don't do it. I've never had much trouble in that department."
"But you are, however, very boring."
"Thank you."
Crowley crossed his arms and then took it one step further, rubbing his chin with the end of a folded arm. "I don't suppose the offer applies to us. Well, me."
"No. I don't think so."
"Because I could kill animals."
"I believe you."
"Even baby ones. I don't discriminate."
"I think getting back into heaven would entail more soul-searching and repentance."
"Exactly why I'm not keen to go back. Especially now that you've got Abel up there, probably whining about how utterly fragile his skull was."
"He is milking it some," Aziraphale admitted, sitting down on a boulder and crossing his legs. "And he doesn't seem to get the whole free will concept, because he seems to think it extremely unfair that after all those nice sacrifices, he got killed by his brother."
Crowley sat down beside him, nodding along. "Seems something to take up with his brother."
"Yes."
They quieted and watched the sunset, which was one of the few things that hadn't markedly deteriorated since the Apple. Entropy was taking its time with it.
Aziraphale tapped a finger on his knee, quite liking the sound of it. "You know, Crowley, if you were really serious about getting back into heaven, I'm sure I could put in a word for you."
"Nah, not me, never. Irredeemable, that's me."
"Well… if you're sure."
"Perfectly. But I suppose if you ever need to Fall, I could show you the trick to it."
"Oh, no. Besides, if we were on the same side, what would we have to talk about?"
"Good point."
The sun went down.
"Well, anyway, now that their sort has tried it out, I'm sure they won't do it again."
Aziraphale nodded. "Yeah. It's just like when Eve touched a fire. Even though she'd been told how hot it was, she just needed to feel it for herself."
Crowley pursed his lips. "She still have that scar?"
"Yes."
"Huh."
*Sample dialogue: "Oh, my, is it just me or are their bits of ice in this rain?"
"Yes, they do seem to be mixed in."
"What a pisser."
**Where did you think they were invented?
***Once called Crawley, but in a fit of individuality that future generations would emulate for millennia, the A had been rechristened an O. If asked, he would simply state that people (including him) had been mispronouncing it all along.
****He had slipped them some fruit from inside, figuring that if it was sin-ish to give it to them, it was more sinful to let it rot.
*****Aziraphale was continually pleased with the variety of colors dogs came in, which showed up apples (his previous favorite among multicolored things) very well. One of the things he looked forward to over the centuries was seeing what new breed of dog mankind would come up with, the darlings, and whenever a pound had to put it sleep some of its residents, he tried to sneak a few into the back of heaven. It caused the martyrs some consternation, but they put up with it because they had a reputation to die up to.
******Not even the very best in heaven could foresee Thomas Kinkade, nor would they want to.
Title: In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,680
Characters/Pairings: Crowley, Aziraphale
Summary: There wasn't really much to talk about back in the days of Genesis. Not until a certain someone killed his brother.
Of all the things written about the origin of the universe, there was one observation so obvious it was scarcely thought about it: that being, it was very boring. There were two whole people in the world, and although the concept of bad weather had just been invented, it still didn't lend itself to conversation.*
And if it was bad for them, imagine being a demon. You couldn't hang around Hell – everything was political rallies** and "hey, remember that time we made him eat the apple! That was very nice!" There was the Garden of Eden, which you could stroll through if you happened to have had a talk with the guard about how, if you were allowed to go in to mess with the Great Plan, then surely it shouldn't be minded for you to go in and see about some oranges. But the Garden of Eden was, after all, a garden, and ultimately it amounted to trees, more trees, and some nice flowers.
So Crowley*** spent a lot of time with Aziraphale, gossiping about the goings-on in their respective spheres. "Did you hear about Beelzebub? He's made out of flies now. It's a good look for him."
On that particular week, a few decades from Beelzebub's makeover, Crowley was experimenting with having prehensile thumbs, while Aziraphale was experimenting with not being twenty feet tall. It made conversations much more interesting, as Aziraphale could finally see the faces Crowley made when they talked, and Crowley could point at things. So, if the conversation turned to the sky, Crowley would point up, just to make sure there was no possible confusion about which sky they were talking about.
But on this particular day, Aziraphale seemed to have shrunken even more than his genial five feet and change, slouching in on himself like he hadn't since Adam and Eve's kids had stopped coming round****.
He let out a long-suffering sigh, then another long-suffering sigh, then when Crowley still hadn't acknowledged him, went ahead with an anguished moan.
"Everything cheery, then?" Crowley asked.
"Did you hear what Cain did?"
"Which one is Cain again?"
"The one with the mark."
"What mark?"
"The one God gave him. For killing his brother."
"Oh," Crowley said. And then, since that didn't seem to suffice, he went ahead with one of the guttural words Hell had developed which would come to be translated as something akin to "Bugger."
"Yes. That." Aziraphale stared at him, and although Crowley had been getting used to an eternity (or at least an epoch) of Aziraphale being satisfyingly depressed and therefore quiet… well, if it went with him staring like that, he'd take the chattering over which dog had birthed which puppy*****.
"Well, you have to expect these kinds of things," Crowley said, trying to sound knowledgeable on the subject. "It's like getting sick, it's bound to happen."
Aziraphale was not consoled. "As if the zebras weren't bad enough," he muttered.
"What happened to the zebras?"
"Eaten by the lions."
"Not all of them, surely."
"No, just the weak and the old."
Crowley raised an eyebrow. "How can there be old? Weren't they all created on the same day?"
"He did some on the day prior, just to get ahead of His workload."
"I don't recall. I was, you know… sauntering."
"Yes, it was very considerate of Him, actually. We got it all wrapped up in six days and got to take the seventh off. We spent it singing His praises and watching the kittens and Crowley, did I mention Abel was dead?"
"Yes. You did."
"Well?"
"Yes, terrible you know, but like I said, bound to happen. It's like with the lions. I'm not the one who made them with the teeth and the claws. Although I do like the manes, those were a nice touch."
"Are you saying this is part of the Plan?"
Crowley never talked about the Plan to Aziraphale, since the angel was a big believer in the Plan and you just didn't bring up things that meant that much to you, especially when you would be British in a few thousand years. "Well," the demon said carefully, growing hair to run his fingers through, "they do have teeth."
"It's for contrast," Aziraphale insisted. "Like a painting."
"What's a painting?"
"Just an idea the boys in the lab have been cooking up.****** But even if the Plan was for lions to start eating zebras, that doesn't lead to murder. It's not like when we coming up with the humans, we added claws or razor-sharp teeth or poison stingers. They're in God's image. Who looks at God's image and wants to add a shattered skull to it?"
"I think I could rustle up some volunteers," Crowley said.
Aziraphale glared at him. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
"What, me? Me?"
"I won't be angry with you."
"Yes."
Aziraphale blinked a few times, then leaned in to better glare. "You toerag."
"Hold up. It's not as if I gave him a how-to guide. I just asked why, if God had the entire garden to Himself, he would want the best of their flocks too. Honestly, I half-expected him to just man up and give better sacrifices. How do you go from goats and cows to people, I don't even…"
"Fine. Fine!" Aziraphale walked in a tight circle.
"So, uh…" Crowley tilted his head to the side (he was experimenting with a neck). "Why does God need to have things sacrificed to Him if he has the entire Garden of Eden all to Himself?"
Aziraphale whirled on him, still frustrated to an un-angelic extent. "Did you pay any attention at all when the system was being set up?"
"I was a bit preoccupied, really. Like back before the Fall, when everyone was choosing sides and deciding on a rebellion? I thought we were planning a surprise birthday party for the big guy."
"A birthday party? For God? The eternal and undying, alpha and omega, without beginning or end?"
"I wasn't thinking it would be a literal birthday. More of a Friars Club Roast. Where else could they be going with all that 'who does this God fellow think he is, anyway?' talk."
Aziraphale nodded understandingly, which was just about the only way he could nod. "You see, the sacrifices are restitution for sin, which are crimes against God, and they're herd animals because that's what herdsman value," he said learnedly, which was just about the only way he could talk. "They're lucky to get that much headway. Some of upper management didn't want to let them upstairs at all."
"Sounds more like my department than yours," Crowley observed.
"Yes, well… how hard can it be to not sin? You just realize something is wrong, than you don't do it. I've never had much trouble in that department."
"But you are, however, very boring."
"Thank you."
Crowley crossed his arms and then took it one step further, rubbing his chin with the end of a folded arm. "I don't suppose the offer applies to us. Well, me."
"No. I don't think so."
"Because I could kill animals."
"I believe you."
"Even baby ones. I don't discriminate."
"I think getting back into heaven would entail more soul-searching and repentance."
"Exactly why I'm not keen to go back. Especially now that you've got Abel up there, probably whining about how utterly fragile his skull was."
"He is milking it some," Aziraphale admitted, sitting down on a boulder and crossing his legs. "And he doesn't seem to get the whole free will concept, because he seems to think it extremely unfair that after all those nice sacrifices, he got killed by his brother."
Crowley sat down beside him, nodding along. "Seems something to take up with his brother."
"Yes."
They quieted and watched the sunset, which was one of the few things that hadn't markedly deteriorated since the Apple. Entropy was taking its time with it.
Aziraphale tapped a finger on his knee, quite liking the sound of it. "You know, Crowley, if you were really serious about getting back into heaven, I'm sure I could put in a word for you."
"Nah, not me, never. Irredeemable, that's me."
"Well… if you're sure."
"Perfectly. But I suppose if you ever need to Fall, I could show you the trick to it."
"Oh, no. Besides, if we were on the same side, what would we have to talk about?"
"Good point."
The sun went down.
"Well, anyway, now that their sort has tried it out, I'm sure they won't do it again."
Aziraphale nodded. "Yeah. It's just like when Eve touched a fire. Even though she'd been told how hot it was, she just needed to feel it for herself."
Crowley pursed his lips. "She still have that scar?"
"Yes."
"Huh."
*Sample dialogue: "Oh, my, is it just me or are their bits of ice in this rain?"
"Yes, they do seem to be mixed in."
"What a pisser."
**Where did you think they were invented?
***Once called Crawley, but in a fit of individuality that future generations would emulate for millennia, the A had been rechristened an O. If asked, he would simply state that people (including him) had been mispronouncing it all along.
****He had slipped them some fruit from inside, figuring that if it was sin-ish to give it to them, it was more sinful to let it rot.
*****Aziraphale was continually pleased with the variety of colors dogs came in, which showed up apples (his previous favorite among multicolored things) very well. One of the things he looked forward to over the centuries was seeing what new breed of dog mankind would come up with, the darlings, and whenever a pound had to put it sleep some of its residents, he tried to sneak a few into the back of heaven. It caused the martyrs some consternation, but they put up with it because they had a reputation to die up to.
******Not even the very best in heaven could foresee Thomas Kinkade, nor would they want to.
