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

[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.