(no subject)

[gilded-voice.livejournal.com]

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?"

Comments

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

He had everything he needed, the angel knew, checking off a mental list. Some things he didn't need to bring - a small collection of decorative snuffboxes, as well as several books he left, including the one most precious. He kept only his cane for the long walk to Tadfield, and dressed well; a heavy overcoat, a slightly less-thick undercoat, scarves, gloves, an umbrella, and decent runners in varying shades of tan and dark grey created him to be the slightly pudgier image of a certain werewolf, without the patched section of clothes.

Wrapped in his thoughts, he nearly missed the quiet, "Aziraphale?" as he headed for the doors. He turned: the Metatron.

"Oh. Er. Hello."

This is the part he most hated. The surprise of finding someone so very much his superior by surprise was enough but the question of where the "The" fit in the Metatron's name - or, indeed, how to address him at all - distressed Aziraphale more.

And at such a time!