neutral_omens | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Date: November 6
Status: Public
Setting: The lobby
Summary: Aziraphale is leaving.

The Metatron liked chairs in general, but he wasn't convinced that pink was an appropiate colour. Nevertheless, it was at least somewhat comfortable, and provided a good view when he looked up from the book he was reading (initially a discourse on evolution as opposed to creation, now an essay on semiology due to a burst of irritation).

Besides, it was out in the lobby, which he understood people tended to pass through, and it might be an idea to be more acquainted with people. It wasn't that he hadn't meant to previously, it just... had ended up not happening very much. Possibly staying in the room to read those particular books hadn't helped.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up, and blinked. "Aziraphale?"

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"It's quite all right, I have an umbrella," Aziraphale said slightly uncomfortably, still avoiding the Metatron's curious gaze.

He popped it open - black, of course; he was British - and held it gallantly over her, allowing Ellie to step out into the rain without a drop on her.

"I'm so sorry," he blurted, once he was sure the Metatron was no longer looking. "You've been so kind, my dear, you really have, but I thought if it's only temporary then it wouldn't matter if I left for a short while. Got out from under your feet and went a bit independent for a time."

"Thank you...temporary? Oh. Well..." Ellie flushed slightly. "It was kind of hard to tell from the way your note was worded. You've been no trouble at all, though, really." And he hadn't; in fact, the angel had been so little bother it had almost been annoying in a perverse way, because she'd kept forgetting at odd moments that he was around and nearly doing something disastrous, like bringing home a 'friend' for the night or casually lounging around the room in the nude. But she'd always remembered in time and hadn't minded sharing her space at all, really. She'd certainly never wanted for a cup of tea or something to read.

"You will be coming back, though?" she pressed, disliking the sound of her own anxiety. "And you'll be careful? Whoever ordered your shop burned could still be looking to finish the job." It was perhaps an unfair card to play, but unfortunately, that didn't make it less true. And neither Adam, Crowley nor John would be out there keeping an eye on him.

"Thank you. I will," he said reassuringly, "I believe. I'm certain I'll be fine; it is, my dear, after all, London, and I do know London. I've only been Principality of this section of the world for, oh, since it really got daring. And that was before the gavotte was invented."

He winked at her, trying to coax a smile, but she suddenly seemed to him very scared and shocked, and the first- well, not the first, but certainly the most powerful - pangs of guilt struck him, and he, for the first time since speaking to Crowley, hesitated. She looked so lost.

In a fit of sudden compassion and sheer loneliness, dropped his umbrella and hugged her, nose in her hair and eyes shut tight, clinging to her tightly. He hadn't- he hadn't been able to say goodbye to Crowley like this, or anyone else, but it felt so nice and what if he didn't come back anytime soon...

His breath hitched, and then he had let go, standing back and picking up his umbrella, tidying and looking for all the world dignified, if it wasn't for a half-sparkle of tears.

"I'm going, my dear. Please take care. I'll keep in contact."

"You'd better," Ellie said severely, then bit her lip. "And if you see--well, if anything strange happens, call me."

"I shall." He gave her a kiss on the forehead, trying for a smile. She still looked frighteningly vulnerable to him, and that worried Aziraphale. He touched her hand briefly. "Will you be all right?"

It was almost, oddly, the farewell of lovers, he reflected, umbrella giving them an intimate closeness, with the natural fall of rain shielding them and making their actions and conversation wholly private.

"I'll be fine." Ellie conjured up a stunning smile for the angel's sake, not wishing to add to his burdens any further with worry for her. And it was probably true, though the place would seem colder and less homey without him around. "And I'll keep an eye on...everyone else, don't worry."

Aziraphale nodded.

"Thank you." He meant it.

The rain was still coming down. "Well." He looked inside. "It's nice and warm indoors, my dear, and getting colder outside, and you're not dressed for this like I am. Go on. We'll see each other again."

He stepped away, the gleam of dark hair suddenly reminding him of... everybody else.

"Good-bye, Chantinelle."

Ellie raised her hand in farewell, having said all that was needed, and turned back to the Manor with her arms wrapped tightly around her body, not so much from rain and cold as from a (stupid, pointless) desire to be held. Blessed angels, she thought, trying futilely to transform her sorrow into the bitter anger that was so much easier to bear, always leaving just when you've got used to having them around.

Once inside, she shook the water out of her long hair and watched through the rain-blurred glass of the door as the angel vanished into the downpour, his departure punctuated by a final glimpse of unexpectedly cheerful red tartan scarf.

Still somewhat puzzled and bemused by Aziraphale's abrupt departure, the Metatron watched Ellie come back in. She seemed a tad unhappy, and he wondered a bit about that. Even if he probably wasn't going to like the answers he'd get.

...Getting to know who she was was probably a good start, though.

He said nothing for a few moments, looking at the cover of the book, then turned to look at Ellie. "Er. The weather's a little... down. Um... Would a towel be of any use?"

Having managed to quite forget the Metatron's presence--after a while, the various angelic auras around the Manor tended to blend into a general background hum of holiness that she barely noticed anymore--Ellie whipped around, glistening droplets scattering from her hair across the lobby carpet.

"Uh..." She hastily weighed her options, and discarded the notion of declining and walking away at once. Some sort of explanation would likely be better than leaving the Voice to wonder and draw his own conclusions. "Sure. It really is. Ah, down. The weather."

Perfect, just perfect. First time you've talked to the Metatron since the Fall and the best you can come up with is a weather report? She forced a smile that she hoped was charming, twisting a strand of soaking hair nervously around one finger as she took a few cautious steps toward the Voice of God. "A towel would be great."

The Metatron manifested a large fluffy towel and gave it to her, hesitating only slightly. It wasn't as though you could catch demonic, really. "Ah... green's all right, isn't it? I'm afraid I don't quite recall details from... well, before." He hesitated, and added, "More recent ones, too, I suppose. I... wasn't aware that you and Aziraphale knew each other well."

"Green's fine." She accepted the towel and blotted her face dry, then flipped her hair (which had taken the brunt) over her head and wrapped it up, securing it on her head with a neat twist. "Thanks. We, ah. Well, we met some time ago, but we don't know--" She crossed her arms defensively, trying for nonchalant. Telling the truth about not sleeping with someone was harder than it sounded; her well-earned reputation for shagging anything on two legs, normally a point of pride, was suddenly a disadvantage. "I mean, in the Biblical sense. We..." She reddened slightly. "Well, drink tea, mostly."

The Metatron blinked. "You drink tea together?" He considered this for a moment, then added, "You'd think they might say something of the sort. I mean, some people must have done it- or something of that nature- at some point? Certainly you'd expect people of the same side to be doing more than warring with everyone else and begetting."

Ellie blinked. "War and 'begetting'...that's certainly an interesting way of putting it." She smiled, more genuinely this time. "And several centuries out of date, but far more circumspect than the modern euphemisms. But you know they did get up to plenty of other things back then...preaching, for instance...oh, and drinking." She half-perched one shapely hip on the arm of one of the lobby armchairs. "And somebody had to have spent an inordinate amount of time composing all those volumes and volumes of impossibly dry, droning Hebrew law."

"Really? Well. I... couldn't say I've really noticed." He looked down for a moment. "But I don't particularly think it would be helpful to hear more recent euphemisms," he added, looking up and blinking slightly at her choice of seat. One of those modern things, he presumed. "And yes," he added, "it's just that war tends to stick in one's mind. Repetition should get on people's nerves a little more, perhaps."

He wasn't sure whether to take the last remark an an offence, and settled for a general remark. "Yes, well... sometimes people have decided twenty words can do the work of one. Incredible."

"Hmm, well, maybe adding all that complexity to the rules helps them rationalize the amount of time they spend breaking them." This possibly wasn't the wisest line of conversation for a demoness to pursue with one of the highest-ranking members of the Host, so Ellie added, "But you know, it isn't so repetitive from their point of view. We see them come and go, but to a mortal a war may be a once-in-a-lifetime event. Hard to learn from history when you're around to witness so little of it, I suppose."

"I thought that was why they'd started keeping historical records," the Metatron said. "Though I would be uncertain that theorising that events might have taken place in alternate ways from generally accepted models would be particularly helpful." He flicked through a couple of pages, and added, "Possibly it could confuse those looking into it."

Ellie blinked again. She couldn't remember whether the Metatron's mode of speech had been quite this hard to follow back in the old, old days. "Perhaps," she said, abandoning her perch on the armchair and edging toward the stairs a bit. "They do say history is written by the victors. Maybe it's a moot point if all they're ever going to hear is one side of the story." She stopped herself before she could follow that line of reasoning right back to the Bible, which (it being a supposedly flawless account of divine revelation) was a sure way to annoy any member of the Heavenly hierarchy.

"So, then... if they hear tales of victory, then people are likely to continue fighting in the consideration that, because their ancestors won their fights, those fighting now are also likely to win their fights? Is that what we're looking at?" He frowned at nothing in particular. "But circumstances are different each time, so there'd be... the outcome would be..."

He hesitated, turned turnwords Ellie and said, "Different... wouldn't it...? But that's... but we're..." He hesitated. "Um. Well. Ah... perhaps we could... I've got... things I was intending to do, and I'm sure you have too, so... perhaps we could pick up again on this later?"

"Oh, certainly," Ellie said, nodding perhaps a little too vigorously. "I do have to, ah. Do things. I'm sure I'll see you around." She smiled brightly, gave an awkward little wave, and made for the stairs post-haste, hoping her relief wasn't too insultingly apparent.

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