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Feb. 9th, 2006 12:54 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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neutral_omensDate: February 1st, 2000 (Date changed for credible continuation of plot!)
Setting: Hallways
Status: Mostly Private - Hastur, Ligur, and Aziraphale
Summary: Aziraphale runs into a few demons.
It wasn't the best thing to be, well, drunk on a Wednesday. Particularly for an angel. In theory, anyway.
In practise, Aziraphale felt that he was quite justified, being drunk. He'd decided on the first glass of wine when, over an early supper (alone) of simple curry (the cook was bent on Indian tonight), Wensleydale had dropped hints about a new and very well-aged wine that had come in.
He decided on the second glass when he'd had his first sip of the first glass.
The refilling had only been ineffable.
And then the angel went maudlin. A book from the library - a bible - sat abandoned on a nearby table, and Aziraphale couldn't help remembering that this book had lived while his own treasured ones had met a fiery end.
He picked the book up - A Medical Treatise on Goblins (Based on the Recorded Wars and Truces) - and his grip tightened. Anger flared and ignited him, disappearing the heaviness that alcohol brought.
He shook his head and set it back down. It wouldn't do to be angry; nothing ever came of it. Aziraphale finished his (last) glass, paid his bill and was about to leave when he remembered the book sitting there.
It wouldn't really be fair to just leave it there, would it?
He took it and disappeared upstairs, intent on the library.
The angel was on the landing of the second floor when he heard two unfortunately familiar voices bickering. Or possibly talking. It was hard to tell when you spoke like a transgendered Eliza Doolittle before Pickering and Henry Higgins.
His feet slowed and, before he had begun to process that it was Hastur and Ligur there near him and the stairs, he walked into them. One of them. The book went sprawling, but the drunk - although he wasn't quite prepared to admit this, yet - angel stayed on his feet, as did the demon.
Aziraphale opened his mouth. He meant to say something, likely something apologetic, but what came out was, "My bookshop," and an odd sort of squeak.
It was the first time Aziraphale had been that close to either of them since the fire.
Setting: Hallways
Status: Mostly Private - Hastur, Ligur, and Aziraphale
Summary: Aziraphale runs into a few demons.
It wasn't the best thing to be, well, drunk on a Wednesday. Particularly for an angel. In theory, anyway.
In practise, Aziraphale felt that he was quite justified, being drunk. He'd decided on the first glass of wine when, over an early supper (alone) of simple curry (the cook was bent on Indian tonight), Wensleydale had dropped hints about a new and very well-aged wine that had come in.
He decided on the second glass when he'd had his first sip of the first glass.
The refilling had only been ineffable.
And then the angel went maudlin. A book from the library - a bible - sat abandoned on a nearby table, and Aziraphale couldn't help remembering that this book had lived while his own treasured ones had met a fiery end.
He picked the book up - A Medical Treatise on Goblins (Based on the Recorded Wars and Truces) - and his grip tightened. Anger flared and ignited him, disappearing the heaviness that alcohol brought.
He shook his head and set it back down. It wouldn't do to be angry; nothing ever came of it. Aziraphale finished his (last) glass, paid his bill and was about to leave when he remembered the book sitting there.
It wouldn't really be fair to just leave it there, would it?
He took it and disappeared upstairs, intent on the library.
The angel was on the landing of the second floor when he heard two unfortunately familiar voices bickering. Or possibly talking. It was hard to tell when you spoke like a transgendered Eliza Doolittle before Pickering and Henry Higgins.
His feet slowed and, before he had begun to process that it was Hastur and Ligur there near him and the stairs, he walked into them. One of them. The book went sprawling, but the drunk - although he wasn't quite prepared to admit this, yet - angel stayed on his feet, as did the demon.
Aziraphale opened his mouth. He meant to say something, likely something apologetic, but what came out was, "My bookshop," and an odd sort of squeak.
It was the first time Aziraphale had been that close to either of them since the fire.
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