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October 3rd 1925, New York
‘Have a good day, Sir’, the police officer said, touching his hat in an act of respect.
Crowley just gave a short grunt as a respond, doing his best not to come off as offensive to the police. He didn’t want to miracle himself out of another arrest today. Sulkily Crowley walked down the street.
It was his own fault, really. Supporting this alcohol prohibition seemed like a good idea, at the beginning. Even though Hell didn’t like it at first, by now they understood. The people didn’t stop drinking alcohol just because it was illegal now. They were now doing it illegally, walking down the path of temptation. Furthermore, the crime scene was flourishing, even outside of alcohol smuggling (though, that hadn’t been Crowley’s intention nor idea; honestly, he actual hadn’t had to do much; at the beginning he mostly just helped Carrie Nation by making the police underestimate her and let her out of prison in the wrongful belief she wouldn’t wreak havoc over yet another bar). But Hell gave him a commendation anyway, so everything should be fine.
Except that Crowley, too, liked to drink and now had to get his alcohol illegally. Which wasn’t a problem, of course, being a demon and all. The problem was that he was really fucking unlucky, at least today, and had chosen the one speakeasy (from hundreds of options) that got raided by the police. That was bad luck on another level. Obviously, compared to the other people, the actual humans, he was lucky. Just one small miracle and the officers had forgotten that he had been there, so he could just leave. Still, from all the speakeasies…
Crowley shook his head. He had other stuff to think about than this unlucky and annoying incident. To which speakeasy to go now, for example, given that he still wanted a drink. In the end, after a few short, but well used moments of thinking, he decided to just go to the next one he would find.
Which didn’t take long. There were speakeasies at pretty much every turn, so it was harder not to find one.
Crowley walked down the stairs to the basement of the building were numerous tables were occupied by even more people. He didn’t have any motivations for any social interactions whatsoever, so he immediately went to the bar and thanks to a tiny miracle he had his bottle of whiskey, a glass and even an empty table just for him within seconds. His first glass he downed without hesitation, with the second one he took a bit more time and while drinking his third he started to look around.
Even though he didn’t have any plans (or orders from Hell) for any temptations today, he wouldn’t pass an opportunity to have a little fun. Might not claim a soul for Hell, but at least ease his current boredom and still lingering frustration from the raid earlier.
However he quickly found something more interesting than a human to tempt. Just a few tables over and not having noticed Crowley yet. He really had to wonder at his taste in speakeasies today. The first one got raided and in the second one he incidentally met his supernatural companion of the last few thousand years (even though they technically haven’t really met, given that Aziraphale hasn’t noticed him yet). Maybe Crowley’s bad luck and good luck cancelled each other out today.
Crowley took his bottle and glass, left his table and slid next to Aziraphale into a seat that moments before hadn’t been there.
‘Hello angel’, he said, ‘shocked seeing you here.’
Aziraphale turned to him in surprise.
‘Crowley’, he said, ‘what are you doing here?’
Crowley smirked.
‘The same as you, angel. Drinking illegally’, he pointed at the glass of wine before Aziraphale, ‘Very naughty of you, by the way. Giving in to the temptation of alcohol. Tsk, tsk, tsk.’ Crowley mockingly shook his head at Aziraphale.
With an unpleasant expression Aziraphale put his hands into his lap and answered: ‘I am content to inform you that I have not given into any temptations whatsoever. I am here for the opposite reason, actually.’
‘You’re here to stop people from giving into any temptations?’, Crowley asked, looking around the room. Everywhere people were dancing, flirting and in general enjoying their lives while doing illegal activities (namely drinking alcohol). ‘Good luck with that, angel.’
Crowley took another sip of his whiskey.
‘I am not here to stop anyone from anything at the moment. Nothing they do is bad. Technically’, Aziraphale said, also looking around with a slightly uncomfortable expression on his face, ‘Maybe a bit of gluttony, but…’, he sighed, ‘Look at them! They are enjoying life, together. Without any conflicts or hatred between them because of some difference in their appearance or sex or whatever. When was the last time they were this united?’
Crowley furrowed his brows behind his glasses. It was true, no one seemed to pay much mind to who they were talking to. They all shared their love for alcohol, that was all that mattered.
‘Never, really’, he answered Aziraphale’s questions.
‘And that is why I am here. To see how good it is when people share a love for something.’
Crowley didn’t really want to think about how something he had influence in resulted in anything an angel would call ‘good’. He was a demon, dammit. Everything he had done or will do was to lead people down the path of temptations to fuel the machine of darkness they called ‘Hell’ (or to ease his own boredom).
To stop himself from thinking about Hell’s reaction if they ever found out an angel found something ‘good’ in Crowley’s alcohol prohibition, he asked Aziraphale: ‘And that glass of wine of yours has nothing to do with your visit here, does it?’
Aziraphale looked at him pointy and took his glass. ‘I must keep up an appearance, my dear. The people would become suspicious if I were to just sit here and not drink anything’, he said and took a sip of his wine.
‘Sure, angel, if you say so’, Crowley grinned, leaning back in his chair.
They sat there in silence, just drinking (or in Aziraphale’s case ‘keeping up his appearance’).
After a while Crowley decided to ask what he wanted to know since he spotted the angel: ‘Is this your typical place to go if you want to keep up your appearance?’
Aziraphale looked at him a bit annoyed, but didn’t respond to Crowley’s provocation and instead answered his question: ‘No, I prefer to go to different locations regularly. So, I can see different people getting on with each other, you know?’
‘Ah’, was Crowley’s reply, grinning to himself.
So off all the different speakeasies in New York, today Crowley and Aziraphale picked the same one to visit at the same time without knowing about the other’s decision.
Crowley poured himself another glass of whiskey and, because he was feeling generous (and also because he was already drunk), he poured Aziraphale a glass of wine. Their meeting really was a big coincident, but not an unpleasant one. His bad luck from earlier really got cancelled out with this evening in welcomed company.