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Entry tags:
(CLOSED/ACTIVE)
Who: Aziraphale & Crowley
When: 7/5, late evening.
Where: Within their residence.
What: You know, just friends under the full moon.
Warnings: Language, probably. . . And consensual, very normal shaving.
There have been strange happenings ever since Aziraphale had first arrived here in this city. Most of it was to be expected, of course, as one didn't just simply arrive into a bustling city full of beastmen and magic without coming to expect a certain level of oddity. He wasn't quite yet used to it, not by far, but he was steadily adjusting his expectations for what he might have to encounter or otherwise deal with while residing here.
Mostly he had just been trying not to gawk at anyone's appearance, if he were going to be completely honest. It was just such a difficult affair when he was so delightfully interested in all of the variety that the beastmen had to offer. Oh, he had even seen some fishfolk!
No, the strangest part had been himself.
It was a small thing or so he had been telling himself when it first started. It was just a little nail growth! Albeit a very stubborn one, but surely nothing more than that. He would wake up with claws—of all things!—and promptly clip them off only for them to reappear the next morning. Next had been the teeth. It was barely noticeable in the beginning, but each day it got a little less so. Sharper, more pronounced, and absolutely dreadful.
Hopefully Crowley hadn't noticed that he had begun to take precautions not to reveal his teeth.
Hopefully.
Unfortunately, there had been a new development after evening fell today. Small, uneven patches of thick, white fur had appeared on his legs. He desperately wanted to dismiss it as unchecked hair, but it was too noticeably different from the sort of leg hair that human bodies were supposed to get. This was fur! It was fur!
Swallowing down his panic and horror, he had left his bedroom to call out to the rest of the cottage.
"Crowley—" he starts, already looking for a familiar streak of red hair.
"Something is wrong."
When: 7/5, late evening.
Where: Within their residence.
What: You know, just friends under the full moon.
Warnings: Language, probably. . . And consensual, very normal shaving.
There have been strange happenings ever since Aziraphale had first arrived here in this city. Most of it was to be expected, of course, as one didn't just simply arrive into a bustling city full of beastmen and magic without coming to expect a certain level of oddity. He wasn't quite yet used to it, not by far, but he was steadily adjusting his expectations for what he might have to encounter or otherwise deal with while residing here.
Mostly he had just been trying not to gawk at anyone's appearance, if he were going to be completely honest. It was just such a difficult affair when he was so delightfully interested in all of the variety that the beastmen had to offer. Oh, he had even seen some fishfolk!
No, the strangest part had been himself.
It was a small thing or so he had been telling himself when it first started. It was just a little nail growth! Albeit a very stubborn one, but surely nothing more than that. He would wake up with claws—of all things!—and promptly clip them off only for them to reappear the next morning. Next had been the teeth. It was barely noticeable in the beginning, but each day it got a little less so. Sharper, more pronounced, and absolutely dreadful.
Hopefully Crowley hadn't noticed that he had begun to take precautions not to reveal his teeth.
Hopefully.
Unfortunately, there had been a new development after evening fell today. Small, uneven patches of thick, white fur had appeared on his legs. He desperately wanted to dismiss it as unchecked hair, but it was too noticeably different from the sort of leg hair that human bodies were supposed to get. This was fur! It was fur!
Swallowing down his panic and horror, he had left his bedroom to call out to the rest of the cottage.
"Crowley—" he starts, already looking for a familiar streak of red hair.
"Something is wrong."
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Although, it does make him wonder if anyone here in this place were able to do anything as fantastic as regenerate parts of their body. Someone must be able to, shouldn't they? If there was all this magic and wild transformation going on, it stood to reason that someone would turn into something that could. Lizards, maybe? Couldn't spiders as well? Or was there magic that allowed it?
"You'll do fine."
It's simple enough. Surely, there's no way that Crowley could somehow mess up shaving.
Still, he opts for trying to guide him a little. Just in case.
"Just apply it evenly," he suggests.
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"Wonder if they teach a spell for this in witch school," he says. "Leg-shaving spell. Maybe a bit niche, but probably a call for it right?"
Must be a common problem. Even women would want to shave their legs. Why not shortcut the whole process? Sitting back he examines his haphazard application of shaving cream, which at least seems to cover all the fur, and swaps to pick up the razor instead.
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He lets out a small sigh.
"Evenly," he repeats. The both of them knew that this wasn't what anyone would consider to be evenly applied. It didn't matter if Crowley needed to take a little longer, it should be done well.
Then, he adds, "Do you really think they would waste magic on something so frivolous?"
It seemed a little disrespectful!
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Both sources of power, right? People waste electricity all the time, why not waste magic? He adjusts the razor in his hand, thinking, then leans in and carefully begins to shave the edge of one of the fur patches. He uses small, hesitant strokes instead of long, confident ones. This might take some time.
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"I suppose," he offers. Crowley isn't exactly wrong in that sort of thinking. There were so many witches and they did need to use their magic as he understood. Crowley among them. It didn't really change how Aziraphale felt about it.
His expression wrinkles.
"It just. . . Well, it seems like bad form. Don't you feel like it should be more sacred?"
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Crowley gives Aziraphale a doubtful look over that, pausing in his ministrations.
"Was it sacred, then, the time you fixed that bottle of awful Italian wine that got given to us instead of the Riesling?"
Honestly, sacred? The things they've abused miracles for, sacred really is a bit much.
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The answer comes immediately and just a tad defensive. That was hardly the same thing at all, most particularly because he would not put the things that both Crowley and himself were capable of in the same category as the magic being taught here.
Also, on that particular occasion it had been entirely necessary.
"And I don't know if I would put what we do in the same consideration as witchcraft."
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"Technically what you do is considered a whole lot holier than witchcraft, but you still used it to sober up when we drink too much."
He grimaces faux-apologetically, tilts his head then drops his eyes back to the fur patches he's meant to be shaving.
"Anyway, I thought the point of witchcraft was that it isn't sacred at all."
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"That's more of a human misconception, don't you think? That it isn't sacred."
Plenty of Christian rituals were just rebranded pagan ones, for example. They could change the name all they liked, but it was still what it was.
"Actually," he starts, glancing down at Crowley. "What do you suppose they worship here? I hadn't gotten around to asking."
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Huh. What do they worship?
"That's a good question," he admits, "I know they're big into the moon and moon cycles. Draw power from the moon, magic... weaker in some phases, stronger in others. Lots of... moon themed stuff."
Maybe he should have been paying more attention to some of the weird mysticism bits of the talks.
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"Oh, yes. I have heard plenty about the moon. Since it's tied to the whole—"
He pauses, glancing down at Crowley and his partially shaven leg.
"Well, this. The bodily changes. It doesn't only affect the werewolf-folk as it were. It's everyone."
At least, Aziraphale has been assuming that is what he is. A werewolf.
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Well, most certainly he would know if he paid more attention. That's beside the point, though. He rinses off the blade, begins carefully shaving another patch of fur.
"How fast does leg hair grow, anyway? Or leg fur, in this case. Never thought about it before. Same speed as facial hair, you think? Does it stop or just keep growing, do you think?"
Does all hair grow at the same speed? Is it different if it's on your legs? Hair on your head just keeps getting longer, but dog fur stays one length. What's the difference?
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How fast did hair grow? Aziraphale had never paid any attention to anything like that. It wasn't as if it mattered or was even particularly interesting. It was just hair. Well, he was certainly going to find out for himself soon enough now that everything was so. . . different. All of his hair was going to keep growing and none of it with his permission.
It was a little disturbing to think about.
His face pinches in dissatisfaction.
"Imagine it would keep growing. Endlessly. Like it does with humans."
He doesn't really want to talk too much about that part. He could already tell it was just going to frustrate him to think about. Maybe he should consider letting Crowley try to learn a spell to fix it. Would be simpler.
"For you, I would assume the moon would cause something like behavioural changes? Supposedly it's already done that with lower impulse control or something along that sort."
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Crowley sounds confused for a moment, about this suggestion. Why would he, specifically, get behavioural--
Oh. It dawns on him, like a splash of cold water, and after a moment's hesitation he carefully carries on shaving the fur in small strokes.
"Right, of course, suppose it'll happen eventually."
You know, when he eventually turns into a monster. Which Aziraphale isn't going to. Since that's how it's meant to be, leg fur aside. Right.
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Somehow, it seems that Crowley has misunderstood what he was trying to say to him. Or maybe he just didn't understand from the start? About the whole moon tomfoolery and general effects? Although, he would have thought he would have noticed from when it had happened earlier today?
Or did Crowley always feel like that?
"No, no. I don't believe you're understanding me," he says lifting his hands. "There shouldn't be any "eventually". It should be happening now. Did you not experience anything today?"
Lack of impulse control or anything else like that? He had talked about it quite thoroughly with another gentleman he had met who seemed to think it was a conspiracy. He kept meaning to mention it to Crowley as well, but he didn't want to delve too deep into the topic.
But he thinks it stands to reason that Crowley would suffer from regular instabilities from the moon so he ought to still be dealing with it. Or, at least, he would if anything was going to be fair.
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"Not yet," he admits. Then, just to placate: "might be a little more resistant to it. You know, demon. Might take a bit longer to happen for me."
Technically plausible. Crowley has no idea what about being a monster he might naturally be able to resist, but he can't prove or disprove the theory. If it might ease Aziraphale for a moment to consider then he's happy to entertain the thought.
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Somehow, that doesn't sound right to him. Or, maybe, he just didn't want it to be true because he couldn't think of anything more irritating than the idea that Crowley might get some sort of laxed effect simply on the merit of him being a demon.
"You're not a demon here," he remarks. He was virtually a human! Both of them were.
His eyebrows pinch inward.
"You're a witch."
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He sits back on his heels, squints at Aziraphale.
"Alright. So explain it to me then. How should it work, this witch business with the moon phases?"
Since Aziraphale apparently seems to believe he knows something Crowley doesn't.
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It definitely wasn't!
"Well, don't stop! You're nearly done with this leg," he tells him. He knows that Crowley was perfectly capable of both clearing off his leg and listening to what he had to say.
"I suppose I should start with today. Did you feel any differently earlier or, well, now?"
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With exaggerated patience, Crowley leans forward again and continues shaving off the patches of fur. Some thanks he gets, going to all this trouble. If he slips and cuts Aziraphale just a little it will be poetic justice.
"I feel as if an annoying voice won't stop criticising me," he replies.
No, he feels exactly the same.
"Bit alarmed when you insisted on showing me your leg out of the blue earlier, I suppose."
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"Ah, yes. I do apologise for that. It was a bit—"
Much.
In retrospect, he probably should have handled that a lot better. Or at least more calmly than he did. The whole thing was probably very alarming for Crowley, enough so that he made offers to help like this even though he probably didn't want to. Doesn't seem like it anyway.
He sighs.
"Supposedly there was an incident earlier today where many were having difficulty reigning in impulsive and foolish thoughts. I thought you might have at least seen it for yourself if not felt it," he mentions.
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He can already imagine what he might say.
That's half the work done, at least, and he sits back to take a look. He's perhaps taken longer than is reasonable, but he can't see any missed pa-- oh wait, there's one. He leans in to fix the missed patch, brow furrowed in concentration.
"What was this incident, then?" He thinks a moment, really turning over the day. He's not really done much at all, in truth. That's really most days in this place. So little excitement unless you make your own. Apart from, apparently, whatever it is he missed here.
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Then Crowley seems to be finishing up his leg. He ignores his question at first, too distracted by the prospect of being rid of that wretched fur. Excitedly, he rubs his hands along the now ridiculously smooth skin of his shin to admire the new condition of it.
"Oh! It looks much better. I'd say much better than it usually does even!" he says, delight written both on his face and in his tone.
It takes him a second to remember that he needed to actually answer Crowley still.
"Right, the incident! Well, it was things like encouraging others to steal or otherwise cause mischief, but without anyone whispering in their ear to do so."
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Well.
"Don't know if I'd have seen a difference, then."
If the behaviour change was 'became mischievous, encouraged people to do bad things' then really -- what is the difference for Crowley? Sounds like a Thursday, honestly.
"Shall I do the other one then?"
Has leg one passed the test? Seems as if Aziraphale is happy with it, anyway, if the way he's sort of... rubbing it is anything to go by.
Better not to think too much about that, the bare legs and all the rubbing.
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Well, that's a disappointing answer. It probably wasn't incorrect since Aziraphale could easily see Crowley being unaffected or simply not noticing that he had been affected, but it was still disappointing! He didn't like the idea that Crowley was getting to skirt by without any of this weirdness.
He really didn't want it to just be him.
"I suppose not, but it was certainly an eventful time for me," he says with a small sigh. The only positive side of it was that he had gotten to meet a lot of interesting individuals. It was just a pity that it was under such strange circumstances.
Then he glances at Crowley.
"If it's not too much trouble then."
He'd rather they matched.
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