Crowley under cover.
As far as cover went, it was nearly perfect. Sure, there were dangers, like the gimlet eye of the angel, who certainly suspected that something was not right, but couldn’t put his finger on what that something might be. Crowley could deal with that in his sleep, and frequently did.
Aziraphale comes looking for Crowley.
It was a beautiful day: the sunlight was warm and the bleachers reasonably comfortable, and his host didn’t have a match with Atobe for at least another half hour. Crowley stretched and yawned, supremely content with just how good life was.
It really was a pity that things were about to get so complicated.
The Messiah and the Adversary chat, and Lucifer drops in. Aziraphale and Crowley sweat.
The Adversary stared at the Messiah, frowning. The Messiah stared right back, also frowning.
"You’re not what I was expecting," Adam said, at last, feeling that a Messiah ought to be wearing a white bathrobe, or have a halo, or somehow demonstrate his difference from ordinary humans (perhaps funny-colored eyes?).