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“Do you know,” Crowley asked, lounging back in his chair and nearly falling off the patio, “what one of the kids told me the other day?”
Aziraphale sipped his drink. “What?”
“Half the neighborhood thinks I’m a vampire. A vampire!”
“Only half?”
“The other half has seen me outside during the day.”
“Ah. That does make sense.”
”Unfortunately. Imagine the fun I could have, riling them up! Fangs are easy...it wouldn’t be too hard to set up a screaming run-in with the sun and a lot of onlookers, if I tried...”
“I daresay you could manage it, if you put your mind to it.”
Just then the waiter brought over a pitcher. Its contents were decidedly red.
“Ooh,” Crowley said, sitting up as a glass of the red liquid was set in front of him. “Is this blood?”
“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “It’s sangria! There is fruit floating in it!”
“So there is,” Crowley agreed. “Pity, that.”
The waiter somewhat hastily set down a glass for Aziraphale and fled.
“It is not a pity,” Aziraphale said tartly. “It is quite a lovely sangria, and you may as well enjoy it for what it is.”
“If you insist,” Crowley said, and took a swallow.
“Besides,” Aziraphale added after a moment, “I daresay you could make it a passable imitation, if you strained the fruit out. And it would be much more enjoyable to consume.”
“After the screaming in the sun,” Crowley said reasonably.
“I was thinking before.”
“No, come on, it has way more effect if I use it to regain my strength.”
“Well,” Aziraphale said slowly, “why not both?”
“Both,” Crowley mused. “Yeah, that could work. Has the added benefit of getting to drink more of this stuff. After all...”
He grinned. “It’s quite a lovely sangria.”