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“Get me off this blessed boat,” Crawly growled, straightening up and wiping his mouth after being rather spectacularly sick over the side of the Ark.
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Aziraphale, annoyingly non-seasick.* “There’s rather a lot of water out there.”
*This may have had something to do with the fact that he had yet to even consider manifesting a stomach.
“’S a figure of speech, angel.” Crawly tried not to look at the churning waves, whose movement was unpleasantly similar to what his insides were doing.
“Ah.” Aziraphale nodded. “You know, I don’t quite understand why this sort of thing ought to upset corporations.”
“Design flaw,” said Crawly.
“Oh—no!” Aziraphale looked around, as if expecting Gabriel to appear out of nowhere. “She doesn’t make—I—it’s ineffable,” he finished primly.
“Puking is ineffable.”
“Perhaps it’s another punishment,” Aziraphale suggested. “Like the Flood.” He looked pleased with his logic. “And it affects you too because—”
“Because I’m a demon, is that it?” Crawly said.
“Well. Yes. Sorry,” said Aziraphale, with the vague sense that he probably shouldn’t be apologizing to a demon.*
*And especially not for simply calling the demon a demon.
“Urp,” said Crawly, leaning over the railing again.
“That does look dreadful,” commented the angel.
“Not as ‘dreadful’ as it feels,” said Crawly, whose stomach contents were doing their best to no longer be his stomach contents.
Aziraphale hesitated. “Shall I. Er. Rub your back? I saw the humans do it.”
Crawly made a plausibly deniable sort of “yes” noise.
Aziraphale reached out and started rubbing gentle circles on Crawly’s back. “There we go, my dear. How does that feel?”
“Ngk,” said Crawly.
Aziraphale filed it as another seasick noise, though he’d been sure that ill people turned green, and not bright red.