(no subject)

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

Date: Unknown (Anyone, please tell him how long he's been away!)
Setting: Lobby, Dining Room
Status: Public (complete)
Summary: Tidy up, check up, see about being paid.



After at least a few days of reuniting with Crowley*, Aziraphale decided to go Out.

Aziraphale dressed carefully that morning in baggy tweed (he was rather hoping it would hide his newfound body, the muscles weren't quite him). In fact, the angel had spent little time in front of the mirror - Vanity was a sin, after all, but the main reason was that he felt a bit... overwhelmed. His old tweeds, gold-framed specs, and an extra pair of tartan socks made him slightly more comfortable, but he avoided mirrors still.

Aziraphale found his way downstairs easily enough - no lurking demons on the stairwell (off duty?), no succubus asking him in for tea, no angels having dramatic fights with their boyfriends**.

A depressingly quiet day.

Aziraphale wondered again how long he had been gone, as he crept down the hall and found it bare of choking dust and cracks. Everything was as it had been, except more silent. He flinched as he walked under the section that was formerly a collapsed disaster, but peered up at it anyway, searching for weaknesses in the structure. No sense in an accidental repeat. He found none, and felt relieved.

The angel found himself at his desk, blushing to the roots of his hair as he noticed the bundled tartan socks sitting there, looking forlorn and abandoned. Oh yes. Those.

He went back to work, trying to clean up, and setting up new deskplates, new guest sign-ins, organizing and labelling everything. He flipped through notes on the Manor, old and new, sorting into guests, employees, and entities-at-large, which meant he'd get clarification. Alphabetical order, through first name, as not everyone had been inventive enough to think of last ones. (Unless one were to refer to a certain pair of demons as first name Duke.)

Aziraphale finished the settled records just in time for lunch, and his mind had begun to wander to the territory reserved for books and manicures. The former of which he was satisfied, as the books that Israfel had painstakingly collected were still lying there when he'd arrived earlier. The latter of which he needed sorely; his new form hadn't had its nails attended to as well as the rest. A rustle of what was a low-slung makeshift ponytail (the only option, as Crowley assured him, tying it back with a glint in his eye Aziraphale was concerned about) was an embarrassing reminder that he also needed a haircut. A day out in the 'morrow would not be unwelcome.

The angel stood, patting his tweed down nervously - he really did hope no one noticed - and set the last of his work away. He paused to stretch with a yawn, and then smiled happily. He was home, far sooner than expected. He had his beloved books. He had an occupation. He had Crowley.

Now where was everyone else?


*Really, the demon's stamina was amazing.
**These arguments were surprisingly enjoyable to overhear. Entertaining, like a really good soap. You couldn't help but feel sorry for those caught in the middle.