Coffee Shop AU

[automatmods]

COFFEE SHOP

An absolute staple. No matter what side of the counter you're on, the coffee shop is the absolute center of your life. Whether you're a barista, or just camped out in the corner with the good outlet while you write your novel. Perhaps you just really want to tell the cute person behind the counter that you've loved them since they gave you that coffee six months ago. Or you're overwhelmed with orders and nothing is going right. For good or bad, everyone needs their caffiene. ♨ Post a top level with your character and canon. Include any preferences you may have. If you're feeling bold, write a starter! ♨ Tag around, make your own world. ♨ Please mark any potentially triggering content

Comments

Aziraphale | Good Omens (Book!Verse)

[goodoldfashioned]

(Mr. Fell owns a coffee shop, in that there is coffee in it and it is, theoretically, a shop. Good luck actually purchasing anything, though. Cash only. Odd hours. The Works. He has an impressive book collection, though, and if you get lucky, sometimes you can camp out there reading for a few hours before he notices you're there.)

[sparkofgoodness]

Crowley likes coffee shops.

He likes people watching, honestly. Everyone in a rush, people snipping at each other before their morning coffee, snipping at baristas over wrong drinks, gossiping with friends in corners, meeting up with a potential employer -- so much goes on. Always a couple of potential temptations there, but also always something interesting.

Aziraphale's coffee shop is no less interesting than the normal ones, Crowley might admit it's more interesting if pressed, but it's certainly --

Different.

Quieter.

It's genuinely the most unfriendly coffee shop he's ever seen, and he sort of loves that about it.

Of course, the only person he can watch here most days is Aziraphale -- but that's fine too. Crowley enjoys that.

He also enjoys helping by discouraging anyone else who decides to come in. Previous tactics have included turning into a snake and surprising the customer (successful), talking loudly on his phone (did at least make the person leave faster) and, in a particularly inspired moment, watching Fox News on his phone at full volume.

"They left a one star review," Crowley informs Aziraphale. "I think it's doing the trick."

[goodoldfashioned]

Aziraphale makes himself a coffee (turkish style, grains at the bottom), as he putters about in the morning. His usual-- he'd call him a customer, only he's never bought anything, and he's certainly not an employee -- his usual Acquaintance has made his usual appearance, and this time, he's bought his mobile phone with him.

He's helpful, is the thing, at least in the very narrow area of getting customers to leave his shop. And sometimes, if there's nobody around (which is very often the case), he'll make a coffee for him (same as his). Not quite as payment, you understand, just... a repayment, if anything. For the consideration, and, though he certainly won't admit to it, for the company.

"And people put a lot of stock in those reviews?" Unfortunately, Aziraphale's familiarity with technology takes a steep nosedive past the post office, so the only Yelp he knows is the sort he makes when he spills the creamer.

[sparkofgoodness]

Crowley looks up from his phone, tilts his head as he tries to think of a way to frame it.

"Well," he says after a moment of thought, "some of them. It's the average that's most important. Anyone can put in a review, which means you can't trust all of them."

He has, of course, helped by putting in his own review declaring it the worst coffee shop in London and assuring people he saw rats brazenly walking about the place. One star, would have given zero stars if he could.

Pocketing his phone Crowley slinks to his feet and strolls over to the counter, leans against it as he watches Aziraphale make himself a coffee. It's the lean of someone who intends to get comfortable and possibly not move for some time, because they quite like it there.

"If only one or two people out of, say, a hundred leave a bad review you might assume it's an off day. If all of them leave a bad review, you know something isn't right."

[goodoldfashioned]

Aziraphale nods, understanding.

"And I suppose people could always... make up reviews for places they've never been?" It ends as a question, because he's not sure if that's a thing people do so much as a thing Crowley does.

It seems like an awful lot of effort to him, but he supposes it must take all sorts. And if a few false ones help keep customers away, well, he can somewhat see the appeal.

Aziraphale finishes making the coffee, pouring a second cup for Crowley, and brings over the cups and saucers to the counter. He puts them down carefully, not wanting to accidentally nudge them too much and send some thick coffee down the sides of the cups, and afraid that a wayward elbow might knock them over. Still, he knows he never has to do very much to gain Crowley's attention, and he smiles with the vague sort of smile that indicates he's happy to have it.

"Here you are, then."

[sparkofgoodness]

Make up a review? Who would do a terrible thing like that! Crowley has no idea.

"Suppose they could," he says absently, as if it's never occurred to him. He leans an elbow on the counter, rests his chin in his hand thoughtfully and watches Aziraphale push the coffee across in front of him. It always feels a little like a victory, akin to getting the attention of a tetchy cat who normally doesn't let people touch it.

The coffee's actually pretty good, too.

"Busy day planned?" he prompts, as if they aren't both in a deserted coffee shop discussing conceptual ways of keeping it that way.

[goodoldfashioned]

"I suppose the better question is, how could you tell the difference?" He wonders, mainly to himself. Crowley's got a knack for saying things out loud that Aziraphale tries very, very hard to pretend he doesn't think, so Aziraphale always feels a bit lighter after speaking with him about, well, all manner of nonsense. A weight off his shoulders.

He takes a sip, thinking about it. "I've got a new french press I'd like to try." He doesn't say 'And I'm going to get a bit of reading done', because he always does.

[sparkofgoodness]

New press? Crowley makes a vague sound of approval, lifting up his own coffee to take a slow sip.

"Just wondered if you might be busy later," he adds, and sets down the cup again. "Got a spare ticket for something. If you're busy with the press, though, not to worry. Shop to run and all."

For a given value of run, that is. He turns the cup absently in the saucer, pretending at ambivalence, and begins a mental countdown until Aziraphale's curiosity gets the better of him.

[goodoldfashioned]

That mental countdown mustn't get much past five or so, before Aziraphale asks the, well, presumably obvious question.

"What sort of ticket?" He's genuinely curious about this, eyes attentive and ears equally so.

[sparkofgoodness]

Aziraphale is always so easy to catch. He has a curiosity about him, the sort of curiosity that normally gets Crowley himself in trouble. The difference is, Aziraphale often tries very hard to pretend he doesn't. That he's, well, something a little different to the person Crowley sees waiting to just escape and cause trouble. The sort of person who, with just a little nudging, could be as much of a menace as Crowley himself.

Which is to say, not particularly menacing. Mostly irritating. A well planned sort of irritation, though. The sort of irritation where, on stepping back, you have to respect the effort that went into it.

Crowley, still pretending at an casual air of disinterest, picks up his coffee and sips it to make Aziraphale wait a little longer.

"Glyndebourne," he offers finally, "ended up with a couple of tickets for The Magic Flute."

As if that is the sort of thing one happens upon accidentally.

[goodoldfashioned]

Aziraphale coughs into his hand delicately to buy himself some time. Not very much time, because Crowley has this (almost infuriating) habit for knowing the sorts of things he likes, better than most. It's much too difficult to not let himself be tempted, so he's stopped bothering with the pretense. Besides, Aziraphale knows that he's right where he wants to be.

"Well. I suppose I could put off the french press for another day or so." He smiles, a little sly, as he takes another sip of coffee. "How'd you manage to find them? It must've been difficult, Crowley."

But then again, sometimes things just have a way of working out, like a sort of minor miracle.

[sparkofgoodness]

"Oh, you know," Crowley says, "fibre connection."

As if faster internet gains one this sort of thing, but the trick of it is that mentioning confusing modern concepts normally gets Aziraphale to disengage from a topic.

Not that fibre internet is the newest thing on the planet, but everything is relative. Crowley meets Aziraphale's sly smile with his most innocent expression.

"Bit of a long drive. We'd have to leave in good time, be at least two hours and the parking will be a bit of a fuss. Could take the train out of Victoria instead, if you wanted, but not much faster. We'll need to get something to eat afterwards, too..."

It's going to be nearly the entire day, Aziraphale. Crowley has trapped you into a day out.

[goodoldfashioned]

"Not the jumper kind of fibre, I take it?" He knew a little bit about those, you couldn't get tartan without them, but not the telegraph sort.

On the one hand, he'd spend the entire drive up terrified for the state of the other motorists and pedestrians. On the other hand, Crowley did go through all this effort for him, and it'd be a shame if he couldn't show off a bit. So, after a few more moments thinking about it, Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully. "A drive through the countryside would be lovely, my dear."

Even if Aziraphale had to make it that way himself.

"And I certainly wouldn't want to skip out on dinner."

It's going to be nearly the entire day, Crowley. Aziraphale has trapped you into trapping him into a day out.

[sparkofgoodness]

Who traps the trapper?

"Thought not," Crowley says, and he smiles properly as he lifts up his cup of coffee for another sip. "I'll get us a table booked. Doors are at five, so we probably want to be leaving by two-ish."

Setting down his coffee he shoves it to one side a little, leans on the counter again.

"Could grab a quick lunch before we go, so you aren't hungry on the drive."

Otherwise Aziraphale might start craving snacks, and then he'd either get crumbs all over the Bentley or be demanding they stop at service stations.

[goodoldfashioned]

"You know I'd never turn down lunch." Almost matter-of-fact, the way he says it. Because it's true, and he's not going to pretend for more than half a minute that it isn't.

Soon, there will be lunch. He's not sure what sort yet, perhaps a nice bistro, perhaps sushi, perhaps tandoori. But it'll be good, he's sure of that, and the parts after will be, too. Because they always are.