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Feb. 6th, 2007 05:31 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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neutral_omensDate: February 6th, 2001
Setting: Manor lobby
Status: Public! [Complete]
Summary: Well, he had been invited....
The letter had begun Dear Berith...
No one had ever addressed a letter to him that way in his entire existance.
That said, he had become rather - fond? Was that the right word? Perhaps... - of the angel, and was perturbed at his leaving. Though he had noticed that Aziraphale was dreadfully distracted during their last supper in London. He had thought to ask what was wrong, but the angel did tend to speak what was on his mind, and so he had to assume that if Aziraphale did not bring it up, it was none of his business. The letter had startled him, surely, but it had at least shed some light on the situation.
Aziraphale had been longing for home, from what he gathered. It still did little to help him understand, as Berith had never been homesick in that sense. He found it hard to be tied to the earth. It was too changeable. Nevertheless, with the angel gone, his purpose for being in London was forfeit, and 'Lower Tadfield' sounded as good a place to be as any.
Getting there by train had been simple and the ride was enjoyable. He found the Manor without much difficulty, though he felt a strange sense of vertigo looking at it. There was great power in this place, it burned with it. And Berith was certain that he knew some of it, but he could not be certain of how, precisely....
It was not until he had stepped into the lobby that he felt his primal, protective senses go on high alert, something ancient within him raising its hackles and recoiling in pain. The vertigo warped into a sickening case of the spins, and he covered his eyes with one hand to try and stop the name from spelling out under his eyelids -
What in the name of the Ninth Circle was Justice doing here?
Berith turned on one heel with all intention of leaving immediately....
Setting: Manor lobby
Status: Public! [Complete]
Summary: Well, he had been invited....
The letter had begun Dear Berith...
No one had ever addressed a letter to him that way in his entire existance.
That said, he had become rather - fond? Was that the right word? Perhaps... - of the angel, and was perturbed at his leaving. Though he had noticed that Aziraphale was dreadfully distracted during their last supper in London. He had thought to ask what was wrong, but the angel did tend to speak what was on his mind, and so he had to assume that if Aziraphale did not bring it up, it was none of his business. The letter had startled him, surely, but it had at least shed some light on the situation.
Aziraphale had been longing for home, from what he gathered. It still did little to help him understand, as Berith had never been homesick in that sense. He found it hard to be tied to the earth. It was too changeable. Nevertheless, with the angel gone, his purpose for being in London was forfeit, and 'Lower Tadfield' sounded as good a place to be as any.
Getting there by train had been simple and the ride was enjoyable. He found the Manor without much difficulty, though he felt a strange sense of vertigo looking at it. There was great power in this place, it burned with it. And Berith was certain that he knew some of it, but he could not be certain of how, precisely....
It was not until he had stepped into the lobby that he felt his primal, protective senses go on high alert, something ancient within him raising its hackles and recoiling in pain. The vertigo warped into a sickening case of the spins, and he covered his eyes with one hand to try and stop the name from spelling out under his eyelids -
What in the name of the Ninth Circle was Justice doing here?
Berith turned on one heel with all intention of leaving immediately....
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Date: 2007-02-06 06:34 pm (UTC)No, not like that time. Berith. Fighting to ignore the demon's broadcasting anxiety, Adam asked his retreating back, "You all right?"
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