Chapter Text
Muriel heard the store bell ring. They looked away from the book in their hands and closed it. As if something had been left inside, they opened it again and carefully slipped in a small bookmark they had found on a shelf. They smiled to themselves, it's what a human would do.
"Welcome human reader!" They said as they carefully made their way down the stairs. "Mr Aziraphale is not here at the moment, but I will be happy to help you in any way I can-" They looked at the door that had rung, but there was no one in front of it. They turned in on themselves, a bit conflicted if it was the common thing to hide when entering a human establishment.
The creak of wood warned them that someone had entered, and as they were about to go towards them, they felt the energy emanating from the corner where he was hiding. "Mr Crowley?" they asked the void as they approached.
The demon was sitting under the sun. His right leg was swinging desperately over the arm of the couch, while the other seemed to maintain strength to keep his body from falling to the ground. His glasses hid his eyes, but not enough to notice the slight crystalline texture they seemed to have.
"Mr Crowley" Muriel exclaimed again, regaining their composure and feeling a bit of reassurance that they didn't have to go through riddles and guesses of human behaviors. Crowley did not turn around, he seemed to be observing the street, however, his attention was on something beyond it.
They approached slowly. They were not afraid of the demon, had never exactly feared it. Their latest assignments had been concentrated on studying the angel - no longer traitor, but Supreme Archangel- Aziraphale. Thus, everything about her had led them to know all about Crowley and after their little adventure to heaven, the demon made them feel everything but fear. Likewise, they were now inspired by a feeling that was still difficult to define, but it was similar to the one they had sensed the last time they had seen the archangel.
They thought about their words, they weren’t used to talking to other immortal beings for matters other than work. "I understand that you and Mr Az- i mean, the Supreme Archangel, enjoy some human pleasures, such as food." They paused, at the count of five they would speak if Crowley did not. Had noticed that humans, unlike angels, tended to speak with pauses, making a short message into a long one.
They blinked. For no particular reason, but blinking seemed so funny to them. They knew that by now, the time was up and they should’ve said something to him, but they just stood there, watching her. She had always had a certain way of dressing, disheveled, chaotic, and this time was no exception, but they got the impression that this time it had not been by choice, but by carelessness. For example, his hair, which he always kept relentlessly groomed, was now disheveled as, according to a plant book he had found on Mr. Aziraphale's desk, a Chlorophytum comosum, which meant that it had become a mess.
Muriel was quickly lost in thought, thinking about the need for humans to give meaning to the smallest things, like black birds or cats, colors, dreams and plants. None of it was created to have any meaning other than to be used.
"Oh, well, it seems to me that Mr Aziraphale has some cookies on his desk, I can bring them over. We could even share them-" Out of surprise, the pages of the nearest books exploded without further ado, falling all over the place and knocking several books to the floor. Muriel turned around and held their breath - which they didn't really need to do but liked to pretend they did - and grimaced their face, thinking of what the Metatron might think of their guarding skills if it walked in at that instant. "Ah, Mr Crowley, you wouldn’t have accidentally..." but the chair was empty. They looked to the other corners of the room and couldn't find him either.
When the footsteps were heard, they took little hops on the stairs, which were not really hops, but little impulses that made them levitate. The steps quickened, nervous of something. Opening the new archangel's room, nothing had moved. The only thing different was the open book on the desk. Deep inside, what they were most curious about the humans was their self-imposed creation, they would worship God for its creation, but also themselves for their creativity. And so, their eyes wandered to the meaning and not the data, contrary to what they usually would have done in his work up there. "Chrysanthemum, also known as chrysanths or mums, usually refers to the happiness or eternity of something, however, it can change its meaning under certain conditions, such as if it is yellow it tends to represent the end of a process or the beginning of mourning."
Muriel stayed a while longer reading the book and the meanings of the flowers. When they came downstairs, the room was tidied up and all the books were in place. They stood there for a while, maybe waiting for her to come back or maybe watching how a demon, who they had always been told was one of the worst, had fixed the mess he made.
Without realizing it, they had already pulled out a small notebook, this one didn't need ink like the rest. They surveyed his surroundings, trying to organize the train of thought. They rested their finger on the paper and wrote down the basics of what they had understood.
"Mr Crowley reacts with intensity to anything that reminds him of the archangel."
They swung their weight from side to side, not sure if they were allowed to write about the archangel.
"The new archangel (Aziraphale) also reacts intensely to the demon, but for some reason they have left him down here."
The next day, while resting after a long day of questions from humans and to humans, the bell rang. Muriel, too absorbed in the plant book, didn’t notice till she sat next to them, almost just letting themselves fall on the couch.
“Mr Crow–”
The demon let out a large groan as he looked at the angel “For someone’s sake” he sucked at his teeth “Don’t call me like that, you sound stupid” he let his eyes travel to the window again “You can just say Crowley”.
Her hair looked the same as yesterday, and now that they thought about it, they were pretty sure those were the same clothes. Not very familiar with the dressing code of the humans, they ended up thinking it was a way to live.
“I might be wrong” they wrote, looking over their shoulder to make sure Crowley wasn’t looking “but I presume that the demon Crowley feels sort of how I felt back in heaven.”
“Alone”. They added.
Not knowing what to do, they returned to the book they were reading. Crowley just stared at the window for a long time.