neutral_omens | (no subject)

Date: May, 2000
Setting: Manor Grounds
Status: Public
Summary: A General Announcement and a meeting.

There had been a sign Aziraphale had sellotaped to the edge of his desk a few days ago, since his conversation with Hermes. It was simple, and drew a few questions, but Aziraphale rather liked it. It read:

Mr. Fell's Storytime. Come one, come all!
Saturday after tea.

It made him feel like one of the readers from that show, Jackanory. Except Aziraphale was rather grateful he didn't resemble Prince Charles or the like.

It was now three o'clock and he was sitting in the library, a large, weathered book open in his lap. He had his glasses on, sliding as they were, and a glass of water sat on a coaster within arm's reach. There were pillows strewed about in the small space in front of him, and the bookshelves stretched back. Aziraphale stroked his chin, deep in thought, as he mouthed the words of the next passage.

"Never was the dawn so beautiful," he said to himself, tapping the page. He was so wrapped up in the text and the elaborate illustrations he hadn't noticed the newcomer.

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"Meanwhile, beneath the altars, the gods had built a sacrifical pyre. So many logs of wood were heaped upon it that the heavens seemed to light up in the roaring blaze. At this sight, the God of Snails trembled in fear and bit his lip; yet Little Nana sat quietly by, her hands folded in her lap.

Tecuciztecatl was honoured to be the first to leap into the flames. At the gods' command, he drew near the pyre..."

There was the patter of paws in the hallway. Little paws, persistent paws. Dog was on the trail of a rat, although instincts far more sophisticated than (and just as important as) a simple terrier's told him, very gently, that this was not a rat that it would be wise to pursue. A dog's habits are not hard to entirely ignore.

Sirius had met up with him halfway, and more out of boredom and a certain gnawing loneliness than any real interest, he had tagged along, his footsteps wandering behind the quiet clatter of Dog's businesslike claws, pausing here and there to examine a framed picture on a wall, a bit of interesting frippery on a shelf, or the view from a window. They enjoyed one another's company in the tacit way of canines everywhere, a natural and unforced feeling of togetherness, an unspoken treaty against cats and newspaper men everywhere.

Mr. Sniffles's trail led Dog right to the library, where he paused, aware of a certain feeling of power in the air, subdued; there were demons here, and a creature reading from a book, the kind of creature that ordinarily would have made him (or at least his hellhound half) bristle. But surely there was no harm being done here. His steps slowed, his nose lifted from the ground, and he padded into the library cautiously, followed by Sirius, who paused to lean against the stacks behind Aziraphale's little circle of pillows, making as little noise as possible, thrusting his hands into his pockets and attempting without success to be normal-looking despite his unkempt hair and unshaven jaw. Then again, perhaps here a man who looked like a raving madman was relatively commonplace. He stood still, pretended not to look at the other people in the room (this was particularly difficult in Ellie's case) as he absorbed the story and formulated his own beginning for it. Aziraphale reminded him vaguely of Remus: the sort of loveably-frumpy Englishman who did do things like storytime with Aztec myths and probably was going to make a nice cup of tea directly afterwards. He found the sound of Aziraphale's voice, an accent and a tone that was familiar, and the sound of the words, alien and unusual, inexplicably soothing, and he felt jittered nerves calming in their influence.

Nudging Dog with his toe, Sirius slid as silently as possible to sit on the floor, the hellhound flopping companionably down next to his knees, head stretched out along the floor and his ears perked, for all the world as if he were listening, as well.

Ellie glanced around at the sound of another entrance, and blinked in surprise as a Hellhound disguised (very well disguised, she amended) as a small flop-eared dog accompanied a disreputable-looking man with a very unusual aura into the room. Neither seemed inclined to disrupt Aziraphale's reading, and the man had a look about him of someone who preferred to remain unnoticed, a sentiment she understood very well.

So when he shot her a covert look (hmm, pretty eyes, she noted in passing) and immediately dropped his gaze again, she smiled slightly but let him get away with it, turning her attention back to the story without comment. She could investigate later. For the moment, she kept the peculiar pair in her peripheral awareness the same way she was Hermes, content to live and let live as long as nobody tried anything funny.