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[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

Date: 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.

Comments

[i-hate-crawly.livejournal.com]

For a few moments Ligur was thrown rather off balance. He hadn't quite mentally mapped out what he was trying to do here aside from inflict as much damage as possible.

"You want me to be an example?"

He looked uncertainly from the angel's malicious squint to Hastur's encouraging leer.

"Well, yeah," he said eventually, voice still hinting at major discomfort. "Plus it'll 'ave the added bonus of pissing off that bastard virgin snake of yours. Reckon he'd be right annoyed if I discorporated you."

And with that Ligur extended his previously retracted claw and gave what he dearly hoped was a threatening expression*.

"You want some more then?"


* In fact it just made him look slightly constipated.

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

A comment about Crowley's, er, state of purity was just too low of a blow. With a high warcry, Aziraphale launched himself clumsily at Duke Ligur.

"Buggre Alle This!"

[i-hate-crawly.livejournal.com]

Clumsy as the angel's charge may have been, it caught Ligur by surprise; and the diminuative Duke of Hell was sent sprawling.

Oh bollocks, he thought as the angel got in a few poorly aimed blows, it's happening again<. One of them poncy bastards is trying to beat me up/i>. He had two options: demand that Hastur help him or try and regain the upper hand once more. As the first option held the probability that Hastur's opinion of his angel bashing prowess would be severely diminished; especially given the divine rank of the angel in question.

He gave a snarl. No angel was going to humiliate him like this.

With a roar he began to slash at Aziraphale with his claws.

[born-to-lurk.livejournal.com]

Hastur, who had been distracted by a coin* on the floor, now turned his attention back to the scuffle between the drunken angel and Ligur. He watched the other demon with a small sense of pride, snickering at the mention of Crowley's pure shame. For once, his partner seemed to be quite capable of handling the situation by himself, and that was when Aziraphale charged with his not-so bloodcurdling battle cry. Ligur went down rather like a sack of diabolical potatoes. The taller demon stepped in closer, moving behind Aziraphale and giving him a very unsportsmanlike kick in the back.

* Which had the nerve to stick to the floor, not caring to budge.

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

When the force of the kick knocked him off a precarious balance that pushed him flat to the floor, momentarily shoving Ligur's nails along his face, Aziraphale fell in pain and sobered himself.

He was simply glad Crowley hadn't seen this, although from the sting of the scratches, it seemed like the demon would inevitably find out, sooner over later.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, and turned to thoughts of holiness. He undid mental blocks (meditation and compartmentalization were divine things) that prevented him from blinding innocent passersby, and his halo began to shine. And shine. And shine.

The angel rose slowly, face bloody (one hand still cupped his cheek, slick against his sweating, red-smeared skin), and stood strongly, halo shining into every crevice in the room.

"Be gone," he mumbled.

[i-hate-crawly.livejournal.com]

Ligur was dragging himself up in preperatopm fpr another vicious slash at the angel's face when all heaven was suddenly let loose. All in all he would have quite probably found a direct hit by a tactical nuclear warhead marginally preferable.

"Bleedin' heaven," he swore, as he ineffectually attempted to shield his eyes from the divine light.

Lurching and almost overcome by the urge to shriek he blindly lunged for the nearest door. Too pained to utter any threats about getting the angelic bastard next time.

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

Aziraphale turned it down after both had left, exhausted from his little breaking of the Manor rules.

He spared less than a moment over the welfare of the demons (it was only an Intention sort of thing), and then rubbed a hand over his face, smearing the scratches more. It stung.

He sighed, readjusting his clothing and fixing his halo, and then blinked down the hall, setting off with a hand covering his face again. It wouldn't do to cause a fuss, really. Gabriel would be in the hospital wing, hopefully, and he'd put him right.

The angel tried to whistle as he went, but guilt and pain trailed him. He hadn't meant to lose his temper like that.