Title: "Risk"
Summary: Another bit of silly nothing, also inspired indirectly by Eddie Izzard with vague references to previous drabble. You can't talk about Napoleon's attempt on Russia without at least acknowledging Hitler's.


Bottles surrounded the two supernatural entities currently sat at a table in Aziraphale's back room. A board game covered part of the table. Bottles (most of them empty) covered the rest.(o) They were deep in conversation, contemplating the fates of their respective troops. It was Crowley's move, and he sent a large portion of his plastic figurines to various spots on the green portion of the board.(oo)

"You aren't seriously trying to take Russia, Crowley."

The demon twisted the cap off a bottle of vodka and poured a glass suddenly full of some rather surprised ice. "Of course I am."

"One would think you'd learn from other people's mistakes." The angel glared pointedly. "You aren't the first to try a stunt like that, my dear."

"Yeah, but see, the thing is, he thought he had a better idea than old Napoleon had, when in fact it was the same blessed idea."

"And I do wonder how he might've got such a ludicrous idea planted in his head."

Crowley feigned innocence as he built up his troops, casually imagining himself more figurines when his reserves had grown thin. "And what ludicrous idea is that, angel?"

"Something to do with 'backwards nitwits' and Russia's winters not being that cold?" Aziraphale arched an eyebrow at the demon before further building up Australasia, strengthening his foothold in the wretched place.

The demon smiled a bit at the angel's hypocrisy and when his turn came up, placed a few more plastic figures on the board. "Something like that."

"Let me guess -- Germany would have bastardized the vodka industry as well."

"On the contrary, I think they would have increased production and output by 150. Vodka would've become the Mercedes of liquor."

"So how was it he ended up in a ditch--"

"Don't forget the petrol."

"Yes, yes. On fire, instead of ruling Russia with an iron fist?"

Crowley grinned at Aziraphale over the tops of his shades. "Who of any of us could possibly say for certain?" He took a sip of the clear liquid, rolling it around on his palate for a moment. "Free will, it's a bitch."

"Moreso than Eva?"

"I do believe that was low, even for you, angel."

"Your bad influence, I'm sure."

"Flatterer."


(o)One part Risk, one part drinking game: A bottle of Sangria commemorated the moment when Aziraphale took Spain, Moet & Chandon when Crowley took France, Riesling when Aziraphale took Germany, Chianti when Crowley took Italy, and so on.

(oo)It was a rather older edition of the game they were playing, before Russia became more complicated than a Dostoevsky plot.