Voice over: Yeah, no cold open this time. If you haven't seen the last three videos – what are you even doing? I'm putting my life on the line here for you. Organized crime, the presumable cryptid making people awfully well behaved, and a giant f███ing snake that was here at some point.

A pause.

Voice over (cont.): Or, you know, just a bunch of cricket players with communication issues; someone who makes scones so good, people want to be nice to him; and a badly made movie prop. I'll let you decide.

Voice over (cont.): So, where were we?

_{End of cold open}

---

The screen comes to life to show us the bookshop – not quite as magical as when we first entered, now that we know what we do. But maybe that was the magic of it all along: making you believe in something. We're about to find out.

Liv is standing at the back of the shop, near an opening behind a bookshelf that we stepped through, last time. The heat coming from it is visibly reddening everybody's faces, except that of Mr Crowley, who is non-chalantly not looking at his partner. That partner started glaring at him for some reason, after Liv mentioned that she still has one theory to go through.

A little further to the side, there is the pseudo-police person (slash private detective slash neighborhood stalker) and Jim, the helping hand around the shop who may or may not be a homophobic ex mafia leader with amnesia. Let's not get into that again.

Liv: So, as I said: There's this girl who calls herself TheTravellersJester online, and she is... uh... a fan of yours?

Fell: (chuckles nervously) How nice.

Liv: I don't know if you know her. She's been commenting on your Yelp-page pretty regularly, so you might have come across her posts before.

Crowley: (grinning like a shark) You could say that.

Liv: Then maybe you know the theory she's put out?

Fell: Oh no, definitely not. I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, my dear.

Liv: Well, I can read it to you. I've got screenshots.

Fell: … wonderful.

Crowley: (gleeful) Isn't it just?

Mr Fell glares at him again. He seems to be about to say something, but then throws a sideways glance at the camera and closes his mouth quickly. Instead, he just folds his hands in front of his stomach and starts nervously wringing them until a knuckle pops.

Mr Crowley looks up in surprise at the sound and regards the whitening knuckles for a few seconds. Then he casually looks away while reaching out and taking one of Mr Fell's hands into his. The painful fidgeting stops. Obviously.

The bookseller turns his head in wonder and looks at his partner's profile. Mr Crowley doesn't seem to react at all. But when you look very carefully, you can see him softly squeezing the hand he brought to safety.

Liv: Let's just go through her claims one by one, and you can tell me what you think about them. Or if they're true or not.

Fell: (slightly out of it) They're not true.

Jim: Are you saying this to Ms Liv or to Crowley? Because you're still looking at Crowley.

Constable: (laughs) He does that a lot! I noticed that, too!

Liv: Well, I'm sure you can easily prove that, then. For a start, she says that you two are married. I don't know why this is so important to her theory, but she keeps insisting that it is. We talked about your relationship already, and you're... uh, what did you call it?

Fell: Yes, quite! Next question.

He finally looks at Liv as he says this. As soon as he turns his head, Mr Crowley turns his to look at Mr Fell. Unfortunately, his expression is hidden behind his shades.

Constable: Married? I didn't know that! Does that work? Is that even allowed?

Liv: Wow, hey!

Fell: Well. Not married. But we are... (he doesn't seem to find the right word)

Crowley: Us.

Constable: It all makes so much more sense now. You know, the Apoc-

Crowley: (cuts her off) -Application process for my job in this bookshop. Or lack thereof.

Mr Fell silently mouths “Thank you” at him. For what, we can't be sure. There is a slight squeeze from one hand to another going on again, but it's hard to tell who initiated it.

Crowley (cont.): Scandalous, I know. Nepotism at it's finest. Is it nepotism if he's not my parent? Maybe it was more of a casting couch.

Fell: (confused) What is my couch casting?

Crowley (cont.): But I was fired for annoying customers yesterday.

Liv: No need to get so worked up! I'm not asking you to put a label on your relationship for the sake of a Youtube video, sorry. Let's just say that this girl's instincts seem to have been correct enough on this one. Married or not, love is love.

Jim: That it is! It would be weird if it wasn't. I don't think that's how language works!

Constable: (to Mr Crowley) Oooooh, wait, is that why you said you were an expert on love?

Crowley: Nnngk, let's hear the next question, yeah?

Liv: Uh, sure. So, that was pretty much her rebuttal for you, Mr Crowley, being a guardian angel. You know, with having another reason to hang around and make sure nobody is … uh, “guillotining” Mr Fell, is how you put it in a Yelp review, I believe.

Crowley: You would be surprised at how often that happens. Ouch!

He looks down at their hands in surprised outrage, where apparently another squeeze has taken place, only this time with at least 50% more pinching.

Fell: (under his breath) Says the one who once got tangled in a tube with bits of string.

Crowley: I- that was one time and it was designed to be a nefarious trap-

Fell: By whom?

Crowley: (sputtering) That's not the point!

Fell: If the answer is by you, darling, I rather think it is the point.

Mr Crowley says something that is not a word that I, as an American, know. Given that it doesn't have any vowels, I'm almost certain that it also is not a word in British English, if it weren't for the fact that Mr Fell seems to understand him perfectly.

Fell: Quite.

Liv: Okay, so, next question. Do you own a snake?

Fell: I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.

Jim: I think she means the huge snake from your sketchbook!

Liv (cont.): Because people keep mentioning it on Yelp-

Fell: They must be talking in hyperbole.

Liv (cont.): -and posting photos of it on Instagram-

Fell: Photos are often manipulated to get more people interested.

Liv (cont.): -along with video reels.

Fell: Well, err... you see...

Jim: I think she means Cr-

Crowley: (cutting him off) Craig.

Fell: “Craig”?!

Crowley: It's just-

Fell: That's worse than “Just a J”!

Crowley: You said you'll get used to the J!

Fell: Yes, but not to Craig!

Crowley: I'm not really called-

Fell: Honestly, what were you thinking-

Crowley: -when I told my good friend Craig that you'll take care of his snake while he's on holiday?

Fell: No.

Liv: (confused) “No”?

Crowley: What do you mean, “no”?!

Fell: I see what you're doing there, but no. That is a horrible lie and I won't stand for it.

Crowley: So you can excuse the one with the sword, but you draw the line at the name Craig?!

Fell: (sniffs) I have standards. (to Liv) The snake does not belong to anyone called Craig.

Jim: If he's not Craig, can I be Craig? Short for Ga-

Crowley: (cutting him off) Nobody is Craig!

Fell (cont.): It does not belong to anyone. It is very independent, and intelligent-

Crowley: Aw.

Fell (cont.): -and sweet-

Crowley: Oi!

Fell (cont.): -and it comes and goes however it pleases, and even if I would love for it to stay here permanently, I wouldn't have it any other way. And most of all, it is not called Craig.

Crowley: That last one is the most important one, is it?

Fell: Someone has to defend its dignity, and if I have learnt anything over the years, then it is that despite all of its many admirable traits, “defending its own dignity” is not among them.

Crowley: Hey!

Fell: (shakes his head and huffs) “Craig”.

Liv: Okay, we're getting off track here. So you do have a snake.

Jim: Oh, can we have a snake? I want a snake!

Fell: I do not have a snake. If anything, the snake has me.

Crowley: (grinning like a cat that got the cream) Is that so?

Fell: Well, it certainly keeps turning up like bad penny.

Jim: Can the snake have me, too?

Fell & Crowley: (unisono) No.

Liv: Okay, so this is like a, uh, typical cat-owner situation. Only with a ginormous, deadly reptile.

Fell: Oh, it's quite docile.

Crowley: Only last week, it bit a customer in the ankle for being a noise nuisance.

Fell: Well, that customer had it coming.

Liv: (under her breath) They told me “don't make a video in Britain, Liv.” “People are stuck up and boring in Britain, Liv.”

Liv: (addressing the others) So, this girl on Yelp and Reddit claims that you (points at Mr Crowley) are that snake.

Crowley: Wouldn't that be something.

Fell: He certainly behaves like 200lbs of cold-blooded reptile in the middle of winter, a lot of the time.

Crowley: Oi! I need my beauty-sleep.

Jim: You really do!

Crowley: ...bold words for someone in biting range.

Fell: You can have as much sleep as you want. Just not in my reading chair while I'm trying to read. I got you your own couch for a reason!

Crowley: But when I fall asleep on the couch, you sit on the reading chair on the other end of the bloody room!

Jim: Naaah, that's not true, he usually sits there with your head in his lap for a while.

Liv: Sorry to interrupt, but I'm trying to get out of your hair, here! The longer you bicker, the longer I stand here with a camera, discouraging customers from coming in.

Fell: Oh. Oh!

Crowley: Angel, no. She's got to leave.

Fell: Fine.

Liv: So, are you or are you not a snake?

Crowley: What a ridiculous question!

Liv: That I cannot help but notice you keep evading to answer.

Crowley: I am not a snake.

Constable: Oooh, because you're the-

Fell: (cutting them off, strained) Muriel, don't you have somewhere to be?

Constable: Oh, yes. But she said I am not allowed to come back in and ask her about her love life. Maybe instead I can help here and ask about yours!

Fell & Crowley: (unisono) No.

Constable: But-

Jim: I'm not allowed to ask about all the sketches of Crowley either.

Crowley: Sketches of me?

Fell: Next question, please.

Liv: Oooookay, so the girl's theory also claims that you both were running this bookshop in 1800 and in 1941. I suppose you already claimed it was your however-many-greats-grandfather who happened to look a lot like you, but this is why I brought Doreen along. And she certainly seemed to think you were the same person that sheltered her during the war.

Fell: I- I don't suppose her memory is that fresh, what with it being more than 80 years ago.

Liv: That's true, but wouldn't that just make it likelier for her to not remember you?

Crowley: (shrugs) She's over 90. Memories sometimes play tricks on you at that age.

Liv: She seemed to remember that secret passage through the bookshelf just fine.

Crowley: Pah!

Liv: (to Mr Crowley) Just like she seemed to remember you, too. Don't think I didn't catch her comment about that “nice young man, back in the war” who she used to play marbles with.

Crowley: Hhhffsss!

Liv: You have a lisp, don't you? A bit like a hiss, whenever a question catches you completely off guard.

Crowley: Ngk.

Liv (cont.): And there was a thing in Doreen's diary that I'm curious about. Would you mind taking off your glasses for just a sec?

Fell: (angrily whispering at his partner) That “theory” and its review were gone before anyone could read them, but you just had to tell her to shoot the screen, didn't you?

Crowley: That's not what that-

Liv: I really don't wanna be rude, but there's something I reaaaaally would love to check.

Crowley: I don't-

The doorbell rings, and the door is pushed open so hard that it crashes into the wall. All heads turn around to see a man in dark biker leathers and a scowl that needs a firearms certificate.

New customer: Arright, I was promised a free book by the dickhead that was here on Saturday.

Crowley: I'll just check on the heat lamps real quick, I'm not sure we turned them all off.

He makes a circling motion with his pointer finger and stops it in the direction of the still opened secret passage, and without another word, he vanishes down the stairs.

Mr Fell lifts an eyebrow and shakes his head. Then he turns around to the newcomer and puts on his best customer service smile.

Fell: I am ever so sorry, but we do not give away books for free.

Customer: Well, I wanted to buy one.

Fell: Not sure we have what you are looking for, my good Sir.

Customer: Your colleague told me what books you have. I want “Winning the Poop” by Milne!

Fell: I think you mean-

Customer: Do not tell me what you think I mean! I know what I want, arsehole!

Fell: (with a pinched expression) Of course. I only meant that you got the name slightly wrong. It's actually-

Customer: Oh no, no, no, see I wrote it down this time, I know exactly what it's called, you old dickwad!

Mr Fell starts to look a lot less friendly and a lot more like most people in customer service actually feel.

Jim: Oh, hello! It's you again!

Customer: You! I told you to meet me outside! Let's settle your attitude once and for all, yeah?

Jim: Oh, I would love that! Aziraphale keeps asking Crowley out all the time and nobody asks me out!

Fell: I- I- I am not!

Jim: Whenever you start talking about the long form of my name that I am not allowed to mention, you get that look and ask him to go outside with you!

Fell: That- Well. Yes, alright.

Jim: Great! (to the customer) Let's go!

Constable: Oh, that sounds like fun! Can I come, too?

Customer: Scared to come alone? Well, I'm not afraid of you both!

Jim: The more the merrier, I say! (makes to go for the backdoor)

Fell: No, you're staying in here! No going outside, remember?

Liv: He is really, honestly, literally grounded?! I still can't believe that.

Fell: I told you, he has problems with his... his head.

Liv: That, I can believe.

Jim: Naaah, I actually like my head! Only yesterday I hit a shelf with it so hard it toppled, and it didn't even hurt!

Customer: I'll make it hurt! Come on, you sook, or I'll drag you by the throat!

Larry the Hoodlum: Is there a problem?

All four of the cricket-bat men stand up around their little coffee table and glower towards the commotion at the entrance.

Jim: Hm, I don't really want my friends as interested in my throat as Aziraphale is in sketching Crowley's.

Mr Fell's face immediately starts glowing red like he's an alarm on Star Trek.

Fell: (to his hoodlums) (sputtering) I- yes, I think- Maybe it would be best if you escorted this young man out of my shop, since he is threatening my employee.

Barry the Hoodlum: No problem.

The four of them step towards the front of the shop menacingly slowly, and form a semi-circle behind Jim and Mr Fell.

Customer: Jerry?!

Jerry the Head-Hoodlum: Ed! Oh thank god, I have been eating scones for two hours now and I can't say “a rude word”. Oh, a rude word!

Customer: Er... are you okay, mate?

Jerry the Head-Hoodlum: (face crumpling and voice breaking on the single word) No.

Customer: (putting an arm around his shoulders and leading him towards the door) There, there, why don't we go and get you a nice cup of tea and you tell me what's wrong?

Jerry the Head-Hoodlum: (sobbing) Please, no tea!

They exit the shop. The remaining three hoodlums scratch their forearms or the backs of their neck awkwardly.

Barry the Hoodlum: Soooooo...

Larry the Hoodlum: I think we should... (makes a gesture with his head towards the door) Thanks for the scones, Mr Fell!

Fell: The pleasure was all mine. Pop back over whenever you fancy!

Larry the Hoodlum: Thanks! See you soon!

Barry the Hoodlum: Bye bye!

Jean-Claude Baptiste the Hoodlum: Je n'ai pas compris un seul mot depuis que nous sommes arrivés ici, mais c'était bien d'être invité à prendre le thé au lieu de simplement brûler des maisons. Bisous!

Fell: Ahm... Yes. Of course. Quite. Au bien- … À rev- … Goodbye!

The remaining hoodlums leave the shop after Larry loads up on scones.

Liv: Is that usually how it plays out when you have customers?

Jim: You'd be surprised!

Liv: At this point, I'm not and that's somehow worse.

Crowley: (poking his head out of the secret staircase) Oh, he's gone.

Constable: Were you afraid of that man?

Crowley: Not of that man, no.

Mr Crowley tries not to obviously snicker as he looks at Mr Fell, whose face is still very confused about what just happened, while also slightly suspicious of the other man who conveniently ducked out for the exact time it took for it all to unfold.

Liv: Uh... let's just continue. I forgot where we were... (sighs heavily) So. There was this comment by you (points at Mr Crowley) where you said you haven't slept in four weeks. If you're a normal human being, how can you stay awake for four weeks?

Crowley: (raises an eyebrow) Have you ever watched a 5-months-old? The literal spawn of Satan?

Liv: No? Was it literally literally the spawn of Satan?

Crowley: Unfortunately not.

Fell: (sighs) In hindsight, he definitely wasn't, but we thought so at the time.

Liv: Yeah, that's what my friends with kids tell me, too. (to Crowley, answering his question about watching babies) Okay, still no.

Crowley: Well if you did, you'd know how fast it feels like you've not slept in a decade.

Liv: (disappointed) I guess. Fine. (to Mr Fell) Did you kidnap a person and hide him in your basement until a customer comes in and tells you he and his brother have a missing friend, only so you can give him your blessings and let the man go free, so it looks like you can perform miracles?

Fell: Excuse me?! Of course not!

Crowley: (snorts) Giant snake in the basement would've eaten him, no?

Liv: I thought you said that's a movie prop.

Crowley: (shrugs) Film crew in the basement would've had him do hard labour for exposure, then.

Liv: Okay, so you didn't kidnap a man to pretend you can work miracles.

Fell: (appalled) No!

Liv: So you can work miracles?

Fell: (miserably) If I could work miracles, wouldn't I just make all of this theory-business and you go away?

Crowley: (contemplating) 's a good point...

Fell: No.

Liv: Okay, that's a good point. If you wanted people to know, you'd just tell me and if you didn't, you'd have gotten rid of me.

Fell: That is a good point, isn't it!

Liv: But then why did a lot of people see this bookshop burn down and yet it's still here?

Mr Crowley stops grinning for once.

Fell: Rumours of my bookshop's fire have been greatly exaggerated.

Crowley: Not really.

Liv: What do you mean?

Crowley: It was horrible. It was... everywhere. (in Mr Fell's direction) I didn't know where you were.

Fell: (goes soft) I know, darling. But I wasn't there.

Mr Crowley looks unconvinced, and somehow a few inches shorter than we know him to be, when his shoulders aren't hitched up like that.

Mr Fell turns his hand so that his open palm is facing upwards.

Fell: Here, give me your hand.

Crowley: Ngk- what? No!

Fell: (with a barely noticable little, fond smile on his face) You've held it before, you know.

Crowley: Did not! It- it's fine, was just... surprised by the fire.

Mr Fell takes Mr Crowley's hand and holds it to his chest. The other man looks away.

Fell: (to Liv) Well, there you have it. We did have a fire. A quite devastating one at that. But my insurance was rather generous and paid for it all to be rebuilt in record time.

Liv: Britain really is wild.

Fell: Does that answer your question?

Liv: If there was a fire – and I agree that there must have been one – but if there was a fire and you did not... magically make there not have been a fire... then there must be some kind of... remnants of what happened. Or repercussions.

Fell: Well. I used to be fond of authentic candle light. Now, if you'll look around you'll find that every candle in this shop is one of those LED atrocities. And the sheer amount of fire extinguishers you see is not the standard in this country. I'm sure your... Instant Grammo-pictures will confirm that all of this wasn't here before the reports of the fire.

Liv: Huh... That's true actually. Especially the candle thing. I did wonder why they're all fake when in the pictures they aren't.

Fell: And I assure you that my dear Crowley here wasn't quite so... shaken before.

Crowley: (somehow meekly and petulantly at the same time) 'm not shaken.

Mr Fell smiles, lifts their joint hands and kisses the back of the lither one. Mr Crowley looks shaken.

Fell: (to Liv) Lasting repercussions in people's psyche prove more than any scorch-mark on a pillar that has easily been painted over, I think.

Liv: I didn't mean to imply- … or drag anything up. Uh. But I had to ask. Moving on! There was an accusation that you have created a sock-puppet account called DebStJames to discourage anyone from posting supernatural theories about you.

Fell: While I do enjoy the spotlight of the entertainment industry, I rather lean towards stage magic than puppetry.

Liv: Sock-puppet accounts are accounts that you make and run yourself while pretending to be a different person with strong opinions about your actual person.

Fell: Oh. That sounds a lot less fun. …I really don't know how I am supposed to prove that I did not do that.

Liv: It's actually pretty easy to prove. Since I had nothing much to do, yesterday, I messaged the person running the account DebStJames and met up with her. She lives not far from here, actually. Her name is Deborah St. James and she's a photographer with a homepage that goes back almost 15 years, and a husband and a father who live with her and vouch for her real name definitely being “Deborah St. James” and her coming to this bookstore often.

Fell: Oh. Well, that was easy.

Liv: Yeah, to be frank, I expected all of the outlandish shit in this theory to be easily disproven by you.

Fell: Well! I didn't know I would need to gear up to defend myself like this, did I?

Liv: So anyway, TheTravellersJester claims that you run this sock-puppet account – who is a real person who in person also insists that there's nothing supernatural going on here, by the way – to distract from the fact that you two are actually an angel and a demon. … running a bookshop for whatever absurd reason.

Fell: Er... That is ridiculous, is it not?

Crowley: Me running a bookshop is decidedly ridiculous.

Liv: It sounds ridiculous. But she has a point that there's so many examples online of Mr Crowley calling you “angel”. Sooooo maybe you are an angel!

Crowley: (indistinct mumbling)

Liv: I'm sorry, what?

Crowley: (oddly defensive and firm) I said: 's not why I call him “angel”.

Fell: Right! Definitely not!

Crowley: It's not.

Liv: Then why?

Crowley: (through his teeth) Why d'you think?

Liv: Well, someone thinks you're being literal.

Fell: Why do you call me angel, Crowley?

Mr Crowley is silent and keeps eye contact with Liv to pointedly not acknowledge Mr Fell beside him, who is still holding his hand.

Crowley: Next question!

Fell: Crowley?

Crowley: Why do you have a sketchbook with sketches of me that I am not allowed to know about?

Fell: Right, next question!

Liv: Ummm... So this is kind of still the same question, but... while Mr Crowley calls you “angel”, he keeps calling other people “humans”. And another account, too, called Inspector_Con- (turns to Mx Constable) wait a second, that's you!

Constable: Oh! Yes! (looks around uncomfortably) Eh... humans! Fellow, other humans!

Liv: (flatly) “Fellow, other humans.”

Constable: Because I am very fond of how we are exactly the same!

Jim: Yeeeeeaaaah, that's always nice, isn't it? To be exactly the same.

Liv: You know, I came in here with what I thought were the craziest theories about what I'll find, from “snake monsters” to “demon dogs”. But I would have sworn black and blue that “aliens” was the only thing that is too absurd for anyone to even suggest.

Constable: Uh-huh!

Liv: (stares at them with “what the f███” written clearly on her face) I'm starting to not be so sure anymore.

Crowley: How about Inspector Constable here goes back into their flying saucer and you concentrate your questions on the people actually running this bookshop.

Fell: My dear, you are not running this bookshop.

Crowley: Am too! Ask that bloke you just sent off with your extortionists!

Jim: That's true, he was telling me to stay out of the way, on Saturday. That is usually all you do when you run the shop.

Fell: (ignoring Jim) Over my dead body you are.

Constable: Soooo should I go and fetch a cuppa, or...?

Fell: Yes my dear, if you please.

The police person-slash-stripper-slash-private eye-slash-corporate spy-slash-alien slinks off to where there seems to be a steady supply of tea somewhere in the backrooms of the shop.

Liv: Fine, I'll ask you, then. (to Mr Crowley) “Humans”. Why?

Crowley: Would you rather I called them animals?

Liv: That's not-

Crowley: Plants? Oh, I can treat humans like I treat plants, if you like.

Fell: Don't you dare!

Liv: Do I wanna know what's going on here?

Jim: Oh, he just loves to shout at the flowers he brought for Aziraphale on his previous visits.

Fell: He does what?

Jim: And yesterday, he incinerated our devil's ivy by the register.

Fell: He did WHAT?! Crowley, what did you do to poor Rudy?

Crowley: Oh, so “Rudy” is okay but “Craig” is too much.

Fell: Rudy looks like a Rudy! What has that poor dear ever done to you to-

Crowley: Relax, angel, I just wanted to scare him a bit by singeing his pot because the whole thing was starting to lean.

Fell: Oh! Oh, poor Rudy!

Mr Fell runs off to the register and starts fussing about a lush, green Pothos-plant. Mr Crowley looks after him with his mouth pressed into what should look like a scowl, but somehow feels like an expression of enchantment.

Liv loudly clears her throat.

Fell: (calling over from his plant) He calls other people “humans” because he likes to see himself as something otherworldly and scary.

Mr Crowley throws his head back and barks out a single laugh.

Fell (cont.): Even though he is very much not. (comes back to the group) Because as Rudy will attest, he cannot hurt a fly.

Jim: Well, that's a hard thing to do! They keep escaping when you try to drop a book on them.

Mr Crowley mumbles something almost entirely incomprehensible, but the words “doomed all of human kind for a snack” are in there if you listen closely.

Fell (cont.): But there's your reason. He is – as you young people put it – edgey.

Mr Crowley hisses at him.

Fell: You see?

Liv: (looks Mr Crowley up and down) No, that actually makes a lot of sense, with all of that. (gestures at all of him)

Crowley: What's that supposed to mean?!

Liv: Nothing. You look totally normal for an older gentleman.

Crowley: “Older gentleman”?

Fell: (pats his arm) You're very “cool”, my dear.

Crowley: Please don't say “cool”, it sounds so wrong out of your mouth.

Liv: I'm with him on that.

Jim: He's usually very warm, I think it's because of the-

Crowley: (interrupts him) And this is where we stop talking about my body temperature or your lack of fashion sense.

Liv: Well, on my list, there was only one more thing and that was your alleged demon dog. Which I know is a hoax.

Crowley: (lifts an eyebrow) Oh? How so?

Liv: Because if you had a dog, I would be sneezing my lungs out for hours now.

Crowley: Allergic to “demon dogs”. How convenient.

Liv: So one last time: You're not an angel and a demon?

Fell: A- an angel who lives on earth and runs a bookshop with a demon?

Liv: Yeah, it sounds ridiculous if you put it like that.

Crowley: Oh no, I'm definitely a demon. And an ex-angel. And a snake.

Liv: (rolls her eyes) Okay, okay, I get it. Dumb theory.

Fell: Quite... quite outlandish.

Liv: To be honest, it was humbug from the beginning. Why would an angel be so evil as to hypnotize people.

Fell: O-oh?

Liv: Or a demon be so shit at his job that he's slightly annoying at best, but makes people feel more secure in his presence at worst.

Crowley: What are you talking about?!

Fell: I hope reality isn't too disappointing of an ending for your documentary.

Liv: You mean the reality that you ran away from the greeting card mafia for love, kidnapped your amnesiac boss who they sent a spy after – dressed as a stripper dressed as a police officer, mind you – who talks like an alien whose only knowledge about earth comes probably from the Teletubbies? Whom you then roped into spying on your neighbors to set them up with each other so that you can pretend that you're still carrying out your job – because somehow it's the greeting card company's job to make random people fall in love with each other.

Fell: Er...

Liv (cont.): While you get your money not from selling books but from having a secret passage behind a rotating bookshelf that leads into an old WWII bunker which is now being used as an incubator for a gigantic snake that a movie crew abandoned at your place because their monster flick, called “Big Snake Darling”, is not being made after all.

Fell: I believe that sums it up quite nicely.

Jim: Wait, does that mean I was your boss?

Crowley: You only realised that now?

Jim: Told you, I'm a smart one!

Crowley: … go get yourself a cocoa.

Jim: Thanks! (runs off)

Fell: (sighs) You can't allow him so much cocoa, or he'll be up on a sugar high all night!

Liv: Okay, I think I'll take Doreen home now and let you deal with your... employees. So before we leave, can I please just pay for this copy of Dorian Gray?

She pulls out the book that Mr Crowley did not want to sell her, two days ago. Everybody goes into a defensive stance as if they expect this to get violent for some reason. Liv just looks confused.

Fell: No!

Crowley: Absolutely not.

Liv: You're a bookstore! I thought the bad reviews were hyperbole!

Fell: Will you put that book down, now!

Liv: It's a book! Not a hostage!

Crowley: Not really mutually exclusive, here.

Fell: I think you have caused enough of a ruckus to my business for today. I must ask you to leave.

Liv: What business? I have been here for the whole day and you haven't sold a single book!

Fell: Well, nobody seemed to be adequately equipped to take proper care of them!

Crowley: It's more of a rehousing process.

The camera starts shaking violently and suddenly points downward as Mr Crowley is apparently herding Liv towards the door.

Liv: Hey! I'm not leaving without Doreen!

Crowley: I can take her home.

Doreen: Oh, dearie!

Doreen comes up behind him, leaning on Jim's arm.

Doreen (cont.): I've seen how you drive, and I did not live through the Blitz and a terminal disease to be killed in a traffic accident.

Crowley: Oh f-

Fell: She's quite right, dear. I think she's safer in the car of this young woman who presumably got her driver's licence at the age of 16 without any lessons and never learnt to drive on the correct side of the street.

Crowley: Wow. See if I help you usher customers out of the shop again.

The bell jingles as the door is pulled open and Doreen – now on the arm of Liv and almost out of frame – is slowly ushered through it by Mr Fell.

Fell: Mind how you go! And have a blessed drive home!

The door falls shut behind us and the voices of the curious employees of the bookstore are drowned out by London's traffic, as we slowly sway closer to the car that we began the second video in.

Liv: That was... something. I'm sorry they weren't the men who sheltered you in 1941.

Doreen: (laughs) Oh no, dearie. They definitely were.

The view of the street and busy sidewalk slowly fades to black.

The scene that gradually replaces it, is a familiar one: Posters, art prints and newspaper clippings of cryptids. A big headline about the Leviathan above it all. And the young woman that we accompanied through all these videos strolls into view. She's holding a steaming mug with the words “Hair of Werewolf” on it.

She takes a sip.

Liv: And that, as they say, is that. Am I disappointed about there being no cryptid, as Mr Fell said? Not really. You guys know me – I do this for the entertainment and a fascination for the folklore aspect of it. I'm not really baking on finding anything.

She pauses and looks to the side for a moment.

Liv (cont.): But if I did, wouldn't that be cool?

She takes one thoughtful sip from her mug. Then another.

Liv (cont.): In the end, what I found was kind of like folklore, wasn't it? A bookshop that's been lovingly run by the same family for over 200 years now. Customers that forget everything in the face of how good the scones are, which the owner made himself just to share with strangers. Employees that seem so naive that you'd expect them to be taken advantage of, and yet they are free to see the world with the love and wonder they have for it, without that being their detriment. A young girl that survived the worst time of her life in there, but grew up to be an old lady who had nothing but love in her memories for this place despite the circumstances.

Another pause, this time without a sip.

Liv (cont.): A place where star-crossed lovers were finally able to hold each others hands.

Liv (cont.): That's what it all boils down to, isn't it? Love. In it all, at the core, there's love. Love that has found a home in a bookstore in Soho. That may not be a cryptid, but as cheesy as it sounds, it is pretty magical.

She smiles and puts the mug down.

Liv (cont.): And I'm not disappointed to have witnessed it.

As she reaches her hand out towards the record-button of the camera, the video comes to a close. The screen goes black and all we can hear is Liv saying:

Liv (cont.): I hope you aren't either. Good night.