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Having chased off the potential customer, Aziraphale bustled to the backroom where he clearly smelled the fumes of nail varnish wafting from the table where he occasionally shared a tumbler of scotch with Crowley. The demon in question was currently seated at that table carefully doing his nails. In black, of course. He had standards.
Aziraphale sighed like the martyr he pretended to be. Put out, he gestured at the manicure paraphernalia sitting on the table. “I don’t need acetone fumes around my first editions.”
“They’ll be fine.”
“They had better be,” Aziraphale huffed as he sat, moving some of Crowley’s supplies aside. “Why are you doing that here anyway?”
“You told me to find something to do.”
“I was hoping you would find a book to read. We are in a bookshop, after all.”
“I don’t read books.” Crowley was inspecting his nails now, looking them over for any imperfections in the coat he just put on. He wiped a spilled drop off his knuckle, getting rid of it without bothering with the nail varnish remover sitting nearby.
Aziraphale was fixing him with one of his no-nonsense looks. “You do read. I’ve seen you.”
“Books, angel. I said I don’t read books,” Crowley corrected as he prepared to put a second coat on his manicure. “Newspapers, restaurant reviews, whatever I pull up on my mobile screen, yes. Books are your specialty. Besides, you started it.”
Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “How?”
“Come off it, Aziraphale. You do whatever you can to chase off customers so you don’t have to part with one of your volumes. Mouldy smells, dank and dark spaces, dust, erratic opening hours, disapproving looks over reading glasses. I know you.” Crowley himself was receiving one of those disapproving looks sans reading glasses. He quirked an eyebrow mischievously as he wished his nails dry before slouching back in the chair a bit cockily. “I bet I could scare off a customer more effectively than you.”
“I have become quite adept at doing so without causing anyone harm.”
“You know I wouldn’t hurt them. Are you afraid to take the bet? Ten quid.”
“Money means nothing to us.”
“Then there’s no reason to refuse.”
Crowley stuck out his hand, an earnest look on his face. Aziraphale stared down at it, contemplating this bet very carefully. He was going to take the high road, not let Crowley tempt him, but then he fell. He shook his hand.
“No doing that thing like you did at Tadfield Manor.”
“Fine.”
The next morning Aziraphale returned to the bookshop after nipping out for a pastry to find a giant black and red snake basking itself in one of the bay windows. It wasn’t much longer before a woman peered in to view the window display, noticing the snake and running off with a scream.
“She didn’t even make it in the door,” said a now human-shaped Crowley. “Try to beat that.”
Glowering at him, Aziraphale reached into his pocket and handed him ten quid.