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Aziraphale and Crowley would like you to vote today.
Forgot to post this here as well. :| Derp.
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The two men-shaped things stood watching the crowd outside the small town hall. "Crowd" was perhaps too strong a word: there were sixty people at most, and forty-nine of them weren't doing what it was they came to do. In the great British tradition of queueing, they had formed some semblance of a line and were now standing around happily chatting to people they hadn't seen since the last time they saw them, and eating freshly-baked biscuits that had mysteriously appeared on a plate on the edge of the information table.
The first man-shaped thing gave his companion a shrewd sidelong glance. "Why do you think they do it?" He asked. He had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his immaculate black jeans, and was watching the scene before him with bemusement over the top of his sunglasses.
Aziraphale squirmed uncomfortably and mentally topped up the variety available to include Hobnobs and Bourbons. "Because, my dear, it can help to change the world."
Crowley snorted derisively. "A few bits of paper in a box? All of them to vote in men who scare the living daylights out of demons like Hastur¹?"
Aziraphale concentrated. The recycling bin he now kept in the back-room of his bookshop was full to the brink with wine bottles, which had quickly appeared there after he had failed to placate Crowley using only soothing noises during the previous evening's "Question Time". And the idea of being stone-cold sober on such an important day seemed somehow inhuman. "Well, it doesn't really change the world. Not really. But it changes their world. When they fill in that little bit of paper and slip it into that box, they know they've done their bit, that they've acknowledged their country. I imagine it will be a nice feeling." He added wistfully.
Crowley nodded, then stopped. "Nice feeling?" He echoed. "What do you mean, 'it will be nice feeling'?"
Aziraphale attempted to look nonchalant and failed. "Well, there was a reason I wanted to be here today," he admitted guiltily. He pulled two polling cards from his sleeve and held one out. "As we've decided to 'Go Native', we may as well give it a try. It's not like we've ever had the chance to do it. You know, before. Can you imagine Heaven holding elections every five years?"
Crowley looked at the bit of card being proffered to him. He then opened his mouth to tell his angel exactly where to stick it, but his tongue got confused and instead came out with: "Fine. Alright. But just this once. And just because I don't want that posh twunt telling us we can't stay in a bed and breakfast."
He stormed off towards the voting booth, leaving an amused (and secretly proud) Aziraphale to gaze after him, and to wonder if there was any more room in the recycling bin for a few more bottles. Miraculously, there was.
¹ Most demons are frightened by politicians for the simple reason that because they are so easily corrupted, there is always a chance that Hell could come out of a deal worse off. Claiming a politician's soul isn't really considered a victory, in the grand scheme of things, and most demons who have done so keep quiet about it or blame it on their enemies.
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The two men-shaped things stood watching the crowd outside the small town hall. "Crowd" was perhaps too strong a word: there were sixty people at most, and forty-nine of them weren't doing what it was they came to do. In the great British tradition of queueing, they had formed some semblance of a line and were now standing around happily chatting to people they hadn't seen since the last time they saw them, and eating freshly-baked biscuits that had mysteriously appeared on a plate on the edge of the information table.
The first man-shaped thing gave his companion a shrewd sidelong glance. "Why do you think they do it?" He asked. He had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his immaculate black jeans, and was watching the scene before him with bemusement over the top of his sunglasses.
Aziraphale squirmed uncomfortably and mentally topped up the variety available to include Hobnobs and Bourbons. "Because, my dear, it can help to change the world."
Crowley snorted derisively. "A few bits of paper in a box? All of them to vote in men who scare the living daylights out of demons like Hastur¹?"
Aziraphale concentrated. The recycling bin he now kept in the back-room of his bookshop was full to the brink with wine bottles, which had quickly appeared there after he had failed to placate Crowley using only soothing noises during the previous evening's "Question Time". And the idea of being stone-cold sober on such an important day seemed somehow inhuman. "Well, it doesn't really change the world. Not really. But it changes their world. When they fill in that little bit of paper and slip it into that box, they know they've done their bit, that they've acknowledged their country. I imagine it will be a nice feeling." He added wistfully.
Crowley nodded, then stopped. "Nice feeling?" He echoed. "What do you mean, 'it will be nice feeling'?"
Aziraphale attempted to look nonchalant and failed. "Well, there was a reason I wanted to be here today," he admitted guiltily. He pulled two polling cards from his sleeve and held one out. "As we've decided to 'Go Native', we may as well give it a try. It's not like we've ever had the chance to do it. You know, before. Can you imagine Heaven holding elections every five years?"
Crowley looked at the bit of card being proffered to him. He then opened his mouth to tell his angel exactly where to stick it, but his tongue got confused and instead came out with: "Fine. Alright. But just this once. And just because I don't want that posh twunt telling us we can't stay in a bed and breakfast."
He stormed off towards the voting booth, leaving an amused (and secretly proud) Aziraphale to gaze after him, and to wonder if there was any more room in the recycling bin for a few more bottles. Miraculously, there was.
¹ Most demons are frightened by politicians for the simple reason that because they are so easily corrupted, there is always a chance that Hell could come out of a deal worse off. Claiming a politician's soul isn't really considered a victory, in the grand scheme of things, and most demons who have done so keep quiet about it or blame it on their enemies.