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' BIRTHDAY PARTY '
AMELIA MORRIS SKIDDED her bike to a stop next to a beautiful black Bentley. She quickly scurried to throw her bag over her shoulder. She made her way up the pavement and towards the front doors that belonged to a beautiful house.
"I'm assuming you're the other waitress, correct?" A formally dressed man asked. His hands were placed behind his back, his eyebrow raised slightly as he eyed her.
"Y-Yes, that's me," Amelia stuttered out with a slight nod of her head. The man opened the door for her and motioned his hand.
"Right this way, madam." She gave him a small smile and walked inside. Her shoes clicked across the polished floor, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the beautifully decorated home.
"Oh, and who might you be...?" A woman questioned while eyeing Amelia's outfit with a slightly disgusted look.
Amelia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "The waitress—I'm so sorry I'm late, I—"
She raised her hand in the air to stop her from talking, "No, no, there's no need to explain yourself. Uniforms are in that room there, and please—do hurry." With that, she turned to walk off. Amelia stepped into the closet and got dressed into the uniform. It wasn't the cutest thing, but in all honesty, she really didn't care. She glanced into the mirror and clipped some of her hair back so it would be out of her face.
Once she was appropriate looking, she walked back into the hallway. Her feet glided across the floor as she quickly made her way towards the back patio.
"Oh, thank god. Here, take this to that tent over there," a waiter said as he shoved a tray of bubbling cider into Amelia's hands. Straight to work it is. She struggled to steady the wobbling tray and started walking across the grass. She stepped into the tent, immediately noticing the herd of kids that sat around in a circle. Aziraphale stood on stage with his top hat placed in front of him.
"You see, it's me old top hat," he started, "But, wait." He twirled his wand around and tapped it against the table. Anticipation filled the air as he reached into his hat. Amelia served the cider—all while still paying attention to his magic act. "What's this? Could it be...our old furry friend," he trailed off and lifted a white bunny from the hat. "Harry the rabbit?" Amelia smiled widely, seemingly pleased with his trick.
"It was in the table," the birthday boy, Warlock, informed with a roll of his eyes. "You're rubbish." Aziraphale continued to hold a cheerful smile, even though he had just been insulted.
"Excuse me, excuse me," a boy spoke up, grabbing his attention. "He's right, you know. You are actually rubbish." A burst of yelling and laughing erupted as kids started throwing cake, causing a chaotic food fight to commence. Amelia backed away in an attempt to avoid getting hit in the crossfire. A soft yelp escaped her lips as she accidentally bumped into someone. The tray of cider fell from her hands, causing the glass to shatter onto the ground.
"I-I'm so—" she stopped in the middle of her sentence as she looked up. A tall man stood before her, wearing sunglasses along with a white tux—leading to the assumption that he worked there, too. The thing that caught her attention the most was his firey red hair. "Sorry..." she trailed off softly, her lips parting slightly. He brushed her off and strolled away without saying a word. Amelia gulped back the lump in her throat and picked the tray up. She turned around, only to bump into someone, again.
The lady she ran into spilt champagne all over her white dress. "I am so sorry," Amelia apologized with wide eyes. The sound of her voice made Crowley turn back to steal another glance. Red liquid stained her uniform. An airy laugh escaped his lips as he looked the human over.
"This is absurd!" Everyone turned their attention towards the commotion, making the whole tent grow silent. "You should be fired!" Amelia bit the inside of her lip, already knowing that's exactly what was coming her way.
—
Amelia adjusted her bag as she walked down the pavement. Unfortunately, she was fired. A small huff escaped her lips.
"It was all a bit of a disaster, I think." Amelia looked up to see the magician from earlier.
"Nonsense. You gave them all a party to remember. Last one any of them will have, mind," Crowley stated as he opened the car door.
Aziraphale pulled a limp pigeon from his jacket, "It's late."
"Comes of putting it up your sleeve," Crowley informed as he switched on the radio.
"No—" Aziraphale said with a shake of his head, telling him he wasn't talking about the pigeon. He used his fingers to tap against its chest, and within a matter of seconds, the pigeon awoke and flew away. Amelia furrowed her eyebrows, confused on how he did that. "—The Hell Hound. It's late." Amelia watched as he to hopped inside the car. Full of curiosity, she walked around it and up to her bike. She was still close enough to where she could hear them.
The signal on the radio cut out, and a male voice spoke up, "Hello, Crowley."
"Uh, hi. Who's this?" Amelia edged her bike closer towards the open door, careful not to bring any attention to herself.
"Dagon. Lord of the files. Master of torments," the voice answered.
"Yeah, just checking in about the Hell Hound," Crowley started, his tone sounding hesitant.
"He should be with you by now. Why? Is there something wrong, Crowley?"
"Wrong? No, no, nothing's wrong. What could be wrong?" Amelia leaned over and slowly peered over the door. "Oh, no. I see him now, yes. What a lovely, big helly Hell Hound. Yes, okay, great talking to you." Crowley shut off the radio and let out a deep sigh.
"No dog," Aziraphale stated.
"No dog," Crowley sighed.
"Wrong boy."
Crowley turned his head to look at him, "Wrong boy."
