a little more inspiration....

[blessedarethebookmakers]

It is late afternoon on the eighteenth, and as the mirror swims to life, it focuses on Aziraphale who is standing about halfway back in the bedroom. He stands, hands tucked in front of him, smiling but looking slightly nervous, his wings arched a bit as if he wants to show them off but not be too obvious. He smiles at the...well...mirror. Fingers clenching a little bit.

When he speaks, though, his voice is low and soothing; warm like honey and pleasant. As if he's happy to see you. And in a way, he is.

"Hello. It's nice to meet you all. My name is Aziraphale and I'm an Angel. Well... Principality if you want to be precise, but that doesn't particularly matter here. First of all, I want to thank everyone who helped me out the other day and apologize for being a bit short with them. This human body is a new thing for me and I rather fear I don't have the hang of it quite yet.

But, we're all a little out of our element here, aren't we? This is a new place for us. A new experience. And a battle we must fight for the good of others who need our help. And sometimes, we can feel stuck, trapped even-- For instance, my wings are rarely displayed and not precisely corporeal when they are. If I need to remove my coat, I can do so with ease. Now, unfortunately, they are as solid as the rest of me.

And yet..." He dips his head and there is a bit of a cheeky smile. "With a little Faith." He hopes. No! Believes! "We can perform miracles."

Then he closes his eyes and focuses, concentrates, believes with everything in him that he still has the capacity for this kind of faith, this kind of miracle. That he will be able to take off his clothes with no problems at all.

All at once he can feel something catch. Something bright and cool and refreshing flow through him and around him.

Anyone looking in would be able to see a faint white gold light beginning to shimmer around him, a wind stirring the curtains and his hair. Perhaps there is a faint vibration, for the mirror slips, so only his head and shoulders are in view. The light seems to flash around him and then--!

He can feel the coolness leave him slowly, like a wave pulling from shore. With a thrilled smile he looks down and notices he did indeed manage to remove his coat as he'd hoped. Or perhaps made it disappear completely. As well as his vest, his shirt, his undershirt-- in fact the only thing left is the fob watch lying helpfully between his bare feet.

"Ah-- Ahem. Well! Slight miscalculation! But as you can see! Everything is just...just tickety...." And then the cold rushes back at once like a tsunami and for the second time in as many days, darkness crashes through him and he pitches forward and out of view.

There is a faint thud as he hits the floor.

But he'll be able to reply to any and all responses in a few hours...

...Probably.

Comments

Action / OTA

[bigbadrose]

[Rose doesn't have enough faces and hands to slap for all of this.]

[She does go running out of the room with blankets and a jacket and now she just has to find the very very very stupid man.]

[And put a blanket on him and toga it.]

[Part of her figures she shouldn't care, she should honestly leave him to it, because there is no way in fuck he's going to appreciate it, but whatever, he doesn't have to know it was her, right? Miracles her fucking ass.]

[serpentinthegarden]

[ Crowley looked to the screen as an eyebrow slowly lifted over his shades at this 'miracle' of belief in action and he spoke a word the angel would not hear, not in his unconscious state. ]

"Hallelujah."

[ And on his way... There would be a knock on the door in a few minutes and some one had better answer or the 'miracle' of a door coming off the hinges was going to follow. ]

[bigbadrose]

[Rose physically runs straight into him, smacking her head into his chest, arms full of blankets and a robe-jacket-thing that looked to be his size.]

Oh. Ow, Doctor you shouldn't--

[Blink blink, blush.] Sorry, if you're looking for Mr. Fell, [And because if you can't joke at a time like this...] He's fallen and can't get up.

Lend a hand will ya?

[Dumps half of the blankets into his arms, and positions the jacket/robe backwards over him to try to cover his decency.] I don't know which of you all is worse at handling mortality. No, [Growl!] Still the Doctor, but blimey you come close.

How strong are you? Ironically if you were the one knocked out... [Flaps a hand, ignore that.]

[serpentinthegarden]

[ Funny really, that was the second time he had been mistaken for a Doctor. Fortunately this time he didn't have a baby in a basket to deliver. ]

Yea, I saw, broadcast the whole thing. It was inspiring.

[ He smirked after Rose, fully intent on helping and gaining one or two angles to tease the angel with once he woke up again. ]

He has never had to do anything without his magic before.

[ Crowley hadn't either but he doesn't bother to get into that. Instead he dumped the blankets that had been shoved on him into the nearest chair and made his way around to check on the unconscious angel. Breathing steadily he was just out cold. ]

He can't have fainted? This does look like a faint but... angels don't faint.
We can't really leave him here.

[ Which was why Rose had asked how strong he was, hm? He was strong enough. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's arm and hoisted him to his feet. ]

I'll put him in his bed. Point out which one it is?

1/2

[takeitsleazy]

[well that was a thing that just happened. be good about it, Michael. behave.]

2/2

[takeitsleazy]

[yeah

no.

it starts out as a low, wicked, indulgent chuckle, then bubbles into a full cackle of mocking laughter. he claps his hands together, then one hand goes to his face, and he's doubling over out of sight.

he may have fallen out of the chair.]

Oh that's funny.

[he'll be here for a while. rude, Michael. rude.]

[blessedarethebookmakers]

[interesting thing about this mirror is he can see how people have reacted in the past. So several hours later, he is awake and looking quite pleased with himself, even if he can't stop yawning for some reason. Either way, Michael's mirth ruffles not a single feather]

And what have you managed to do. [he pops a grape in his mouth and chews delightedly.]

[takeitsleazy]

Actually - [disarming grin] - I've been doing a lot of thinking about that "ineffable" stuff, and I realized something really neat.

[blessedarethebookmakers]

Oh? [he takes a sip of the tea sitting by him] And what's that?

[beancounter]

Fenton was listening, and nodding along. A little pep talk is perhaps just what everyone could use right about now. He was watching with interest as the guy attempted magic, wondering just what the guy was attempting. And then...

...well, that didn't go well. Fenton winced as the guy swooned and collapsed onto the floor. That sounded like it hurt.

"Ahh... I take it that didn't go to plan. You okay, there? Hello..?"

[blessedarethebookmakers]

It takes him several hours to respond as he was passed out and happily sleeping, but now he is awake and looking quite pleased with himself.

"Yes, hello! I'm quite alright, thank you. Not even a bruise." Anywhere he wants to talk about. "It did and it didn't. Rather like a genie wish in a way." A faint smile. "How have you been getting on? Practiced any miracles yourself?" Alright, he knows it's magic. But miracles just sound better to him. More refined.

[beancounter]

"Oh! You're awake now." He figured that the guy must have been knocked out, or maybe just too embarassed to immediately reply. "Glad to see you're okay now. You must've had a lucky fall, not to get hurt."

"Miracles...? I can't perform mira-- oh! You mean magic. Ahhh, no. No practicing yet. I don't know how to start."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"I suppose I must have. I don't remember much of it." Which is probably good everything considered. "And that's simple. Miracles, or magic, are all based on change. On creating something that wasn't there before whether it be an object or a circumstance. It can be as simple as heating up a pot of tea."

Action

[smilingarmor]

As it had happened, Sylvando had been out when Aziraphale had sent out the message and hadn't had his mirror with him, so he didn't see it until he'd gotten back to the apartment. Given the amount of time that had already passed, he figured that there was little point in rushing over immediately to check on the angel; if no one else, the angel's roommate had likely come to the poor fellow's aid already.

Thus Sylvando opted to continue with his original plan, with some slight modifications. While they'd been provided with basic foods, the keyword there was 'basic'; while none of them were likely to starve, if one wanted to do even simple cooking, a few additional ingredients tended to be required. Hence his absence; a bit of busking followed by a bit of shopping, and he'd come back with a bag containing several different kinds of seafood.

While his cooking would never win the high praises his performances tended to, there were a few things that Sylvando could cook very well, if he did say so himself, and one of them happened to be the Valorian bouillabaisse that had always been one of his favorite dishes growing up. And thanks to the remarkable 'refrigerator' that preserved food with cold air, and the equally remarkable little oven that could reheat said food in minutes, he could make enough to have meals for several days both for himself and for his roommate if he cared to have any, and still have some to share.

And his plan regarding Aziraphale happened to revolve around that sharing. Thus, several hours later, Sylvando was knocking on the door to Aziraphale's apartment, lidded soup tureen in hand. He was just glad that he'd found one large enough to hold enough for several people, in case the Angel's roommate might want some too.

Re: Action

[bigbadrose]

Rose gets the door, and pretty much glomps Sylvando in a hug. "You are a right angel, you are," she's taking some of the food off his hands, and gestures for Sylvando to come in and follow her as she brings it over to Aziraphale's bed, which also still has a guardian demon in that. That's a thing.

"Have you two met Sylvando? He brought soup."

[serpentinthegarden]

The commotion at the door had the 'guardian demon' looking back over his shoulder at the doorway when Rose and the new neighbor arrived. He must have been a new neighbor, he wasn't one of the welcoming committee.

"Nope, never met him."

Crowley paused, then decided anyone who had brought soup might deserve a little more of a welcome.

"Nice to meet you, Sylvando. Anthony Crowley."

action/ locked to Crowley

[blessedarethebookmakers]

It is such a relief to be in the bath. Aziraphale leans back in the quiet, enjoying the heat and bubbles frothing everywhere-- feeling a bit like Venus if she'd decided to rest in the sea rather than be delivered to inspire the randy humans. The tub was up against the wall, of course, making his wings a bit of a nusiance, of course, but compared to everything else, it was heaven.

It was quiet, for one thing. It was hot. There was no one who would bother him here. All he needed was a nice glass of wine and some pleasant music, though he wasn't liable to get either. He sunk further in the tub. As much as he could do any way, and sighed. It felt like a test where the instructions weren't clear. He couldn't even guess what the Almighty had meant by this but he had the feeling he was falling very short of the mark.

Which wasn't unusual.

He would just have to try harder, that was all. To somehow be better.

But... right now... he needed to rest. And eat probably. But that would require getting out of the bath and he wasn't ready to face the world again.

[serpentinthegarden]

It was about an hour later when the bathroom door opened at the push of a demon's foot and Crowley entered. Having been invited he didn't bother to knock, not that he would have been able to anyway with two wine glasses in one hand and a corked bottle of wine in the other. It had been a act of skill and luck just to get the door open.

"Found one."

The bottle was presented like a prized kill. It wasn't a particularly exquisite vintage but as luck would have it the wine was from a decent year. Something good enough to keep the guests raving about their experience.

Crowley sauntered over before realizing his error. There was no place in the bathroom in which to sit but for the side of the tub... So that was where he landed. Both the glasses landed beside him and with a little effort the cork landed some where on the other side of the room. Apparently it had possessed a very good seal. The wine was poured and a fluted glass handed to Aziraphale.

"Should we drink to not having to sleep on a park bench tonight?"

[blessedarethebookmakers]

He stirs a bit when the door opens, then relaxes when he realizes it's just Crowley and with wine no less. His stomach literally growls for it even if, he glances at the vintage as it's presented, it's not the best. In fact it's barely even peeking up over mediocre. But he's just about ready to drink vinegar in a cup provided it had some alcohol in it.

"Oh, bless you. Or curse you. Or... or whatever you prefer. I'm so out of sorts, I can barely keep my head on straight." He can't help but admire Crowley's ridiculous and ridiculously beautiful wings as he sits, all angles and black and looking very theatric. Aziraphale finds himself wanting to nuzzle the small of his back or grace a hand along his thigh. But it's not the first temptation of the type he's had or even the hundredth, so he's well practiced in keeping his hands to himself.

He takes the glass and gave Crowley a wry look.

"If we must." He touches his glass against the Demon's, loving the faint shivery chime and then takes a drink, moaning in faint relief at the taste. It's not the best, but it's so familiar that he can't help but melt a little from it.

"Though really we can't drink to anything. It's a bit like going from being a zoo keeper to living in the monkey cage and having to deal with the fleas and the flinging of...regrettable objects." He makes a face. "On Earth it was different, you know. There but apart. Our own spaces. Our own identities. And not stuck having to listening to monkeys shriek at us all day. Do you know, I'm supposed to be a Prince. I mean--" He flushes slightly. "--the Class or whatever it was. I didn't choose it. That's what he told me. I'm meant to inspire. I thought it was wonderful at the time... Not for being in charge, of course, but I mean it's something I know how to do. But I'm not entirely sure I'm right for the job.

And it is just another job..." He sighs, finishes his wine and holds up his glass. He drinks from it deeply when its refilled and rests his head against the back of the tub, eyeing a row of slender dark feathers.

"And if I must work, I'd rather it be with someone I know who can help me pick off the fleas..." He is sorely tempted to reach out and stroke a feather, but keeps his hands on his glass. "It's part of our pact, isn't it?"

He hopes Crowley understands what he's getting at. That he'd prefer him to stay. That if he must be with anyone, Crowley is the only one he wants to be with. They would share this space wonderfully, he's sure. At least until a time they moved on.

Mirror

[king_of_egypt]

[Well- Atem had been pleased to see that the stranger made a full recovery, and had been planning on saying as such but he hadn't wanted to interrupt. So he was there for long enough to witness what happened- having the decency to look away- and to hear the accompanying thud which prompted an involuntary wince from him.

By this point he wasn't sure if Aziraphale had a weak constitution or if it was just that the magic here was so incompatible with him]

[So.... for now, he gently placed the mirror aside, as he didn't want to chance taking another look to fiddle with the buttons and switch it to audio only then he made an attempt to send a message himself as his mirror recorded a shot of the ceiling]

You're.... probably tiring of hearing me say this..... but..... are you alright? [To which there was likely no response. Not really knowing in which room the other was staying... it was pretty much left to Aziraphale's other acquaintances to come to his aide.]

[blessedarethebookmakers]

[it's several hours later but he does reply]

Thank you, yes! I am perfectly all right. Well, mostly. You're so kind. [a smile, evident in his voice even if he can't be seen]

You know, I think it went rather well. A bit unexpectedly, but I achieved what I started out to do. Think of what someone with more spark could do.

[king_of_egypt]

[It's been so long that the mirror had still be left abandoned on the table where Atem left it. Hearing the sound though, he returned to collect it]

Glad to hear it. It was concerning when you .... lost consciousness like that. [In hindsight perhaps he should have done more to locate the man when it happened.]

.................................. [Atem stared blankly at the mirror that was no longer aimed skyward at that next statement though he didn't openly contradict it.] Ha, yes... well.. I suppose... so? [Sounding more like a question than an agreement. Aziraphale had wanted to remove clothes, and he did that.... though all of them hadn't been the intention] It's also a cautionary tale for all of as as we begin our training and try to master our newfound powers.

It doesn't appear as if it takes much for them to be a drain on the body. It's as if the magic here draws directly on the Ba- er soul [Translating for him]- much like the energy required to summon a spiritual monster in my original time. If that's the case, worse could have happened to you than passing out.

Locked to Crowley//Morning

[blessedarethebookmakers]

The sun gracing across his face wakes him, but slowly and gradually like a lover's kiss. For a moment he basks in the warmth and softness of the blankets and the comfort of the bed. It's not the first time he's regained consciousness naked in bed, but the first time he didn't have that heaviness of perhaps imbibing something he should not.

After a moment it strikes him how strange it all is that he slept at all and a sudden striking terror has him bolting upwards, staring around an unfamiliar room and the sun coming in through the open curtains. He remembers very quickly, thoughts piling in one after another and he sorts them all out in appropriate boxes. Here for a job. Reduced to a mortal state, which required sleeping and eating. No miracles except for petty little ones that send him swooning to sleep.

And... He glances at the clothes. His clothes, lying neatly folded at the end of the bed...and on the bed across the way... a bundled of blankets with a patch of red hair sticking out above them.

Crowley...

He must look so sweet when he's sleeping. Aziraphale longs to take a peek. To sit beside him on the bed and touch his shoulder, lean over to see his face.

But that is starting down a road he will not go down so he firms up his resolve and gets out of bed. His legs are steady, but the towel he had wrapped hastily around his waist the last night flops to the floor. Oh well. Pants and trousers on! And oh, they feel nice and warm. Though he'll have to do something about his shirt and vest and coat.

It will make him sleepy, which is a problem. It's a bright fresh morning and there is much to do! So perhaps he will have something to stimulate himself with before he works the miracle. Black tea, perhaps! Or coffee! Since he's feeling particularly daring. He's never actually made coffee, but enjoyed it in so many small cafes, he's sure it won't be a problem.

It is a bit awkward walking around with his top half bare to the world, but then he lets it go with a shrug, imagining himself as some resplendent young man from an Erroll Flynn film. Perhaps the one with the pirates. He wasn't, of course, and was aware of that. But as there was no one awake to think him silly for thinking it, he was going to indulge in this little fantasy as he went into the kitchen.

[serpentinthegarden]

Eventually the light filtered over to the other bed to disturb Crowley's sleep as well, but it was met far less cheerily. He grumbled and pulled a pillow over his head so that not even the tuft of red hair could be seen sticking out of his cavern of blankets.

It wasn't that he hated mornings it was just that they tended to be so bright and this one in particular had interrupted the best sleep he had experienced since he had been here. It wasn't a high bar really, considering this was only his second evening in this world and the first had been spent out on some lonely train bench but some how it felt more restful than even napping through a century had been. It was a shame it had to come to an end and that he had to get up... but he could put that off for another half an hour or so.

When Crowley finally did stir from his slumber and make his way into the kitchen he was resplendent as well, wearing a loosely fastened pink robe that was far too short for him in both the height and the arm departments as it had been left in the room for it's former female occupant and not for him. His wings didn't fit in the thing either, so they trailed behind the groggy demon as they dragged across the floor.

"Is that coffee?"

The question was asked through the semi-conscious haze of sleep as he set a mug down and practically collapsed onto the table beside it.

"Black as you can make it."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"It's already black as it can be, my dear. And not terribly good, I'm afraid." But, he hopes, serviceable. He pours the coffee in two mugs and then turns and stops, staring without meaning to. Crowley looks absolutely ridiculous in that. It's not so much the pink or the bizarre shortness of the garment but all of it together. He doesn't like it. It pains him almost physically to see him undone in this way--even if he doesn't seem to mind it.

Well, it just means he will have to work harder to solve the problems here and take them back to where they belonged. Crowley-- well, deserves his sleekness and his Bentley and his Earth, despite that he was a demon and there was a war on and everything. It didn't make sense and certainly no angel would agree, but it was nevertheless the truth.

He clicked his tongue and took a strong sip of his own bitter coffee because he'd forgotten he'd not added any sugar or cream yet. But the caffeine seemed to perk inside him and give him a boost.

"Honestly," he said. "Your poor wings." Moving behind him he stroked gentle fingers over the bathrobe, miracleing in place the seam which would allow Crowley to raise his wings if he wanted before sitting across from him heavily and taking another sip.

"I do wish we weren't so human."