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“No, I don’t think so.”
“Come on. It’ll be fun.”
Aziraphale dug his heels in and pulled his arm from Crowley’s grip. “No, I really don’t think so.” His disapproving glare raked over the tottering metal contraption to which his erstwhile friend slash co-worker slash enemy was attempting to drag him. “That hardly looks like it has passed any of the required safety certifications and, to be honest, I believe the operator appears to be under some kind of influence.” No one could insert the very essence of disapproval into exquisitely polite words quite like the angel could. Under the influence? How polite for piss drunk.
Crowley pouted. “But it will be fun,” he echoed again, sounding a bit like a temperamental pre-teen to Aziraphale’s ears. “Come on. You only live once, huh?”
“We don’t technically live at all as we are immortal and, to be frank, only technically corporeal because of necessity and paperwork.” He pursed his lips. “And I don’t want to have to go through the paperwork caused by a discorporation because you want to ride on a whirlygig.”
Crowley stopped and slowly turned back, every inch of his thin frame clearly holding back snickers out of politeness and a determination to keep on Aziraphale’s good side. “A whirlygig?” he repeated softly. “Angel, that is a roller coaster. It’s a different beast entirely.”
“Yes, well, it also looks like it is about to fall apart on the first go round.” Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow and folded his hands fussily over his stomach. He wondered exactly how desperately Crowley wanted to go on the ride and, quite wickedly, wondered how long he could forestall before the demon inevitably won his consent. Just on this matter, of course. Not on every contentious point. Though, to be honest, he really did not like the look of the thing one bit and that strengthened his resolve.
“Oh, I’m sure it will be just fine.” Crowley waved a thin, long fingered hand in the rusting ride’s direction. A very faint groan of metal made the attendant sit up in worry as the roller coaster adjusted its connections unseen and straightened a few rails discreetly. Crowley snapped; a bolt stopped itself from falling out and obediently whirled its way back into place tightly. Crowley smiled at Aziraphale, encouragingly, hopefully. “Please, Angel? Just once around the track and then we’ll go get funnel cake.”
“... With powdered sugar?”
“Anything you like.”
Aziraphale nodded graciously after a moment longer and kept his smile hidden behind pursed lips at the demon’s pleased body language. Crowley did not exactly caper; it would be gauche. However, he did smirk in a dazzlingly self satisfied manner and held out his hand like a knight errant. Aziraphale put on a sigh and took Crowley’s hand. “But you are going to do the paperwork if something goes wrong,” he insisted.
“Of course, of course. Now come along.”