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Is he imagining --? No. That definitely is the … Aziraphale takes another sniff and puts down his teacup. ‘Crowley, have you started using that lovely shampoo I borrowed when we were at Anathema’s?’
Crowley jumps in his chair and nearly drops his fork into his eggs. ‘What, no. Never.’
Aziraphale leans carefully toward him across their tiny table on the sidewalk outside the cafe. ‘Oh, but darling, I rather think you have.’
Crowley leans away. ‘I don’t even know what that stuff was called. How could I possibly get more of it?’
Aziraphale snorts. ‘I’ve seen you scent out a vintage at thirty paces more than once; I’m sure a little perfumed shampoo would be cherub's play.’
‘And why would I spend my time doing this? Good wine, yeah, that’s obvious. And I’ve seen cherubs play. No. Thanks.’
Aziraphale leans back in his chair with a satisfied smile. ‘I can’t possibly comment on your motivations, my dear. Other than to observe that you were under the kitchen window abusing that poor rosebush when I asked Anathema where she had purchased such a delightful thing.’
‘Did you see how little effort that rosebush was making!’
‘What I saw was you giving poor Newt quite a fright all weekend, what with lurking among the shrubs with the pruning shears.’
‘What did you expect me to do,’ Crowley crosses his arms and sniffs. ‘They were letting the rhododendron get ideas, as if it was in charge of the place.’
‘I’m sure you were quite effective in schooling it in respecting its betters,’ Aziraphale agrees soberly, unable to hide the twitch at the corner of his mouth. ‘But that doesn't explain why you now smell of honey.’
‘Uh ... bees?’ Crowley tries hopefully.
Aziraphale purses his lips reprovingly. ‘Crowley, that’s a weak riposte. I expect better from you.’
‘There was that honeysuckle, too. Spent...quite a lot of...all right, all right. You said you liked it and I was down around Oxford Street the other day, so I got a bottle. Yes? Good? Happy now?’
Aziraphale shakes his head and Crowley groans, sliding down in his chair like the world's oldest dramatic teenager. ‘What, what else do you want?’
‘To be the one washing your hair with it, of course.’