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

[serpentinthegarden]

"Flowers?"

His face showed how puzzling the request was. It was odd for a business meeting but he considered it and then shrugged, taking the suggestion a little more seriously than it had perhaps been intended.

"I could do that. There must be a flower shop around somewhere."

What was best for that sort of thing, roses wasn't it?

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"Please... It was a joke." Now he was flushing. He hadn't expected Crowley to take it so seriously! "But it does sound like a wonderful idea. Not the flowers the-- er-- meeting. Especially since we don't know how busy we'll be."

[serpentinthegarden]

No flowers then? There was a flicker of disappointment as if there had been it would have meant something. A business meeting would have become something entirely new and annoyingly desired.

But that Aziraphale had agreed at all would be good enough.

"Exactly. And it would give us the chance to checkout the other restaurants, see if any of the can do more than breakfast."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

He caught that flicker of disappointment and pretended he hadn't. Really! They couldn't get that involved. They would have to go back to normal when they returned home and the further they went, the more difficult it would be.

"Such as they are. Perhaps, though, as we beat back the Corrosion, more opportunities will arise. Like a decent bakery for one thing." He sips his latte.

[serpentinthegarden]

He made no mention of it either, choosing instead to move swiftly away from any overly hopeful sentiments that weren't the least bit returned.

"Chinese. Ooo... I'd kill for a good wonton."

A glance to the angel.

"Not literally, I wouldn't actually murder some one for some take out, just it would be nice to have something other than American. They must do other cuisine styles?"

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"Of course I know it's not literal." He clicked his tongue. "I don't have that low an opinion of you! I actually think for a demon you're quite nice."

[serpentinthegarden]

NICE

He hated that word 'nice'! Nice was angel territory and the thought of being called nice by anyone sent his evil blood boiling! Being called nice by Aziraphale, an angel, his rival, and oldest friend... sent his emotions spiraling between a desire to kill the offending angel or, terrifyingly, devour him. How dare he be called nice, please say it once again.

Crowley leapt over the table, grabbing the angel by his lapels and slamming him against the backrest of his chair. Practically sitting on the pinned angel Crowley snarled down at him, their lips mere centimeters apart as he growled each word.

"I'm not nice! Demons are not nice! We're evil, corrupted and unforgivable. Nice is a four letter word to us! I'm not nice!"

[blessedarethebookmakers]

His wings flare a little at the suddenness of it and he's almost sure the chair will tip over, only then Crowley is there snarling at him. He is so close Aziraphale can feel the heat of him, can smell his breath. His mouth is so close it's all he can do not to wrap his wings around them both to shield them from the dead silence and prying eyes of the cafe, to wrap his arms around his neck and pull him in, drawing the anger from the demon with his mouth.

He would taste so very dangerous.

But Crowley is angry, too. Even his feathers seem to be bristling and Aziraphale has to resist the temptation to touch them and feel them soothe under his hands. He knows, no matter what he said, there are ways to soothe the demon, to draw him close. And those words. What does he mean by them. Would he return to the Almighty's Grace if he could? Does he want to stay away from it? He knows why nice is a terrible thing to be, and a dangerous one, but he's always wondered about Crowley's motives-- and if there isn't some spark left, deep inside him, that keeps him going. That keeps him from tipping completely over the edge.

Aziraphale selfishly wants to nurture it. To bring it to a pure white flame and cup it in his hands. But not for the better of all, which is the horrible part. But to know that he could. And he knows there is so much he can do. But there is so much more he won't. Because, perhaps even more selfishly, he wants Crowley to stay Crowley. A horrible demon, yes, but with a hidden font of something deep and warm and wonderful. Almost sacred. Something that no other Angel or Demon he's met has yet to have. Granted he hasn't met many of the latter. He doesn't know what it is, but he wants to see more of it.

"I did say for a demon," he murmurs after a moment, reaching up to rest his hand lightly on one of Crowley's slender wrists. "And you know, there's no one to impress here." Or to be afraid of either, he doesn't add.

[serpentinthegarden]

No one to impress, well... he wasn't so sure of that at all. Especially now where he found himself looking down into a pair of pale blue eyes. Crowley fancied that he saw longing in those and wouldn't it be easy to take advantage of?

They were so close. He could feel the heat from Aziraphale's thigh on the knee he had placed on his chair to prevent it tipping over. It had been a moment's misplaced rage but he had still been consciousness enough to make sure the angel wouldn't have been harmed by toppling over. His breath smelled just like the syrup they had bandied about earlier when they had been flirting. That was what it was, even an angel must have understood that? And those wings, lovely flared things that seemed to confirm what he had seen in the angel's eyes. Wouldn't he love to ruffle them further?

His own wings softened just at Aziraphale's voice, the snarl following them as the angel clutched at his wrist. Just one word, one look, and he would dive onto those lips eagerly. Just forget everything else.

That was the odd thing about himself. The part that never quite fit in anywhere. He had some how been too evil for Heaven. Unforgivable, had to be, as even God had turned her back on him and cast him out. But sometimes he worried he was too good for Hell for here he was, a demon, absolutely entranced by an angel's light.

But there was no one here to impress... He reconsidered those words as a cleared throat broke through the trance and caused him to look up at the dozens of wide eyes and gaping mouths that now filled the restaurant. Even now Crowley felt he would still turn back and kiss Aziraphale, the audience not really being an issue as he had been reminded that neither Heaven or Hell could touch them here. He doubted Aziraphale would feel the same way about it.

"What? Haven't you ever seen an angel and a demon having a lively conversation?"

The audience received a glare but most of the fire had faded from his voice.

"Go back to your... oatmeal."

At least one person in the crowd seemed to have a bowl of it, foolish mortal that he was. Only when that man did dip his spoon back into his bowl did Crowley look back to Aziraphale and almost whisper a few words.

"Sorry... force of habit really."

He pulled back, intending to retake his seat.

"After so many years it's difficult to get used to the idea that no one is around to check up on you."

Not that they ever had really but the fear was still there, drilled into him after centuries of threats and seeing what happened to other demons who failed.

[blessedarethebookmakers]

Everything seems a bit colder from his absence. It's all Aziraphale can do not to pull him back into his space. He misses with strange abruptness the feeling of his hands and the brush of his breath and that wonderful gentle knee in just the right place that he only notices as Crowley withdraws. He clears his throat and straightens his clothes, realizing they are still the center of attention but not caring. Let the humans gawk. They would forget soon enough.

And then ...his heart goes out to Crowley. How can it not? He knows how difficult it is to want to be one thing but forced to be another. How they had both spent hours sometimes trying to justify how something was good or bad just to have a semblance of a life. Of course Aziraphale should be above such things and set a moral example. An angel shouldn't try to wiggle out of goodness in order to live a life in a place not really meant for him.

But for a demon well... It seemsa lot harder than it ought to be.

He smiles a little, forgiving him, the warm feeling filling him from head to feet, from wingtip to wingtip. What an odd demon he is. How passionate. How wiley. And how strangely intriguing. How beautiful. How warm.

He wants to hold his hand but doesn't dare. He wants to wrap his wing around him. To hold him close. To kiss his jaw and neck and let him know that at least one being in the universe finds him amazing just how he is.

But in that way lies a madness he cannot go back from.

"It's alright, Crowley." His voice is as warm as his feelings and he couldn't keep the honey from it even if he wanted to. "It's a new experience for both of us." He does stretch his wings a little, and, oh look, his feathers are jut brushing Crowley's. He can't really help that.

"And I'm actually almost looking forward to a few things."

[serpentinthegarden]

The feathers brushing against his soothed some of the lingering anger but did nothing for the fervor. That desire to be near the angel, to touch him only grew as they did indeed touch. His feathers delightfully bending and meshing with the angel's in what felt to him a very illicit moment, out in front of everyone like this. Damn bold that was!

He found his mind wandering over all those roads he'd just bypassed in that little exchange as Aziraphale spoke, wondering what might have happened if he had pressed that advantage and been just as bold... just kissed Aziraphale right there in front of everyone. There would have been a proper show! But the doubt that would have been well received lingered. Would that have made him unforgivable in Aziraphale's eyes too? It was too real a possibility. What was good and what was evil in this situation?

Right now the angel positively glowed and he used that as a sign that he had made the correct choice, if not the passionate one. There were some interesting new things they might try once everyone adjusted to this place.

Crowley reached for his coffee glass and held it up.

"To new experiences."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

It was bold. The feathers tangled and brushed in a way they never had before. White against black. He could feel every little shift and minute adjustment in Crowley's wing and he would lie if he said he wasn't flushing a little because of it. But who was there to see and condemn? Oh, the humans perhaps, but they would condemn anything for any reason. Because they didn't like it, because it was hot that day or cold, because they were bored. He hardly cared what they thought.

Instead he beamed at Crowley, lifting his own cappuccino and clinking his against the demons.

"To new experiences."

And memories to carry them through the time when those experiences were far behind them.