I've got it under control!

Falling hadn't, in all honesty, changed Aziraphale's life overmuch. He'd aquired a car, a mini he called Bob- BeelzeBob, he'd say, and chuckle to himself until Crowley hit him.

Crowley didn't like it when Aziraphale laughed. He sounded too much like the angel.

He drove Bob exceedingly carefully, twenty eight miles an hour because don't you see, Crowley, the speed limit's thirty and you really ought to allow for equipment malfunctions.

And the bloody thing about it was that it worked, too. Queues of irate motorists, beeping their horns and raising their blood pressures as they uselessly revved their engines behind the pootling angel. (Fallen).

Crowley examined his bruised knuckles thoughtfully. Sometimes his internal editor had that effect on him.

Darker colours were in, this season. It meant Aziraphale no longer stood out like a sore thumb in tweed and overly expensive shirts. It meant Crowley was no longer quite so embarrassed about being seen in public with him.

But he found that he missed the smell of books.

No, in all honesty, there really wasn't that much difference.

atdelphi, dear... well, here's some Vetinari/Vimes for you. It's really a work in progress- I don't like the ending here, and I'm definitely going to take it away and fiddle with it a bit later, but here's the first draft just so's you know you have something to poke me about later. ;)

( Scoring Points. )

It needs to be longer, and the story needs reworking. But I've made a start. *g*