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]

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.

[serpentinthegarden]

The sleeping arrangements had been decided by the toast as far as Crowley was concerned. One drink of wine in agreement that neither of them would have to spend another night outside on a bench hiding out from their deranged roommates. Whoever decided these people would be able to save the universe were absolutely as mad as the new inmates.

Crowley listened as Aziraphale unloaded his baggage and sipped at his wine. He nodded in agreement about the Prince designation... Prince - Principality, it was a little on the nose but it could fit, and conveniently he went in for a refill about the same time the angel had. Mostly he sat in mute silence enjoying the steam from the bath which made this room warmer than the others and listening to the familiar sound of Aziraphale's voice, which after the past evening's horrors was a greater comfort than the wine.

"Pick off the fleas?"

On he understood it but the metaphor was still enough to earn a disgusted expression.

"That's charming."

The wine was swirled in his glass. The pact, yeah, that was part of the pact... fleas and all.

"It would be easier, really, to maintain the pact if we were staying in the same apartment. Kinda difficult to keep an eye on each other in separate spaces."

Given that he had thought he might have to break the door in to check on the angel earlier, before Rose had arrived to let him in. Having a key would make that so much simpler. Besides... they had known each other for centuries! They were, Crowley hazarded to think it, friends.
The demon sipped from his glass, allowing the wine and the company to further disarm him.

"I'm meant to be a Monster. Fitting for a demon really. Always unforgivable."

Though just a touch of disappointment might have slipped in there as he leaned forward to rest on his knees. It was one thing to be a demon and to be comfortable with that and another to have people constantly reminding you how you could never be anything else. Which despite what Merlin had said about the class had translated to him in that way.

"No idea what I'm actually supposed to do with that. It's not like tempting humans really has any kind of meaning here. There's no one to keep score."

The steam eventually had it's way. His glasses kept fogging up and despite efforts to keep the dampness wiped off of them he did eventually have to set them aside next the to wine bottle on the lip of the tub.

"You seem to have worked it out though. At least partly. Already out there trying to inspire people to try out their new powers."

Wasn't the angel's fault that had gone pear-shaped.

[blessedarethebookmakers]

Yes, well, fleas were fleas. He lets Crowley speak, humming every now and again to say that he was listening, refilling his glass a third time. And he thought. He wasn't as good a planner as Crowley was. It took him time to come up with things and he wasn't usually, as they said, on the ball. Nor generally anywhere near it ofttimes. But he has to think of something, he tells himself. Especially as Crowley sunk to his knees and took off his glasses. Oh, Aziraphale could guess why. It was probably more comfortable and even he could see the glasses were fogging in the steam.

But he looked different. Disarmed. Vulnerable. Aziraphale had to resist staring at him, but he always enjoyed this look; the tenderness of his eyelids and lashes. The brilliant citrine gold of his eyes. They should be demonic and should fill him with revulsion and resolution to defeat him somehow but-- he couldn't help but feel ... soft. Gentle. Warm. Wanting to protect him somehow though goodness knew he didn't need it.

He curled one wing slightly, very slightly as if he was just stretching it out, but feathers nevertheless brushed the back of Crowley's head and perhaps his neck.

He should probably say that he was the one that chose to fall. That, if he was a monster, he had no one to blame but himself. That was what they would expect him to say in this situation.

But They were not here and even if they were? There was something far more important to tell him.

"I forgive you." For Falling, for questioning, for turning against the Almighty, for sowing dissent, for everything because Crowley never quite crosses that line into unforgivable. If there must be choice, then it stands to reason there must be a bad choice to make. In any case, humans make most choices themselves regardless of whether angel or demon interferes.

Perhaps it's blasphemous, even, to forgive a demon so readily. But if the Almighty has an issue with it, she can come and take it up with him herself. Forgiveness was a divine gift and one that he was able to give freely and readily. So he was going to give it.

"As for working it out, I managed a miracle anyway." A wry smile. "Of a sort. But as always it's up to the others to do what they can with it. It's possible that I've done nothing at all to inspire them and only invited derision." But, oh well. Who cares what they think? He knows he did something wonderful.

"But you, you wily creature, will figure something out. You always do. And it'll be devious as sin, most likely." Though not necessarily evil, he thinks. "So I don't think I could allow you to stay anywhere else. Jut to keep an eye on you."

[serpentinthegarden]

'I forgive you.'

Those words were like that caress of feathers, light and perhaps a mistake, but one that sent his senses whirling. He turned to fight, to level a glare at the angel and proclaim he didn't need that sort of fake comfort... only Aziraphale's eyes were so sincere. Maybe the words had been meant and that possibility, as unfathomable as it sounded, left him a gaping silent mess. His mouth hung mutely open as his golden unblinking eyes stared at the bathing angel.

It came to him in little drips and drabs that he was gawking. Watching those glorious white wings sway lightly in the breeze, the suds from the bubble bath slide down the man's pale arms... He racked his brain for something intelligent to say but nothing came and he eventually decided that was for the best. He would say nothing.

Crowley looked away, trying to cover up that starstruck moment by shifting his position on the floor. His elbow coolly came to land on the lip of the tub and his back came to rest on the porcelain wall like it was a backrest and the floor was a recliner. As close to the suds as he was some of his dark feathers ended up trailing into the water, but he didn't pay those much mind.

"Yea... you did. Really going to have to teach me that trick. I do like this jacket but wearing it every night... it would get tiresome."

Maybe Aziraphale hadn't inspired everyone but he had lit a spark in Crowley.

[blessedarethebookmakers]

Crowley's eyes seem to be burning into him. There are no key emotions crossing his face that someone could pick up on--but he knows what it means. He's known Crowley long enough to know what it means. With or without glasses, it's not the first time he's been stared at as if he's the only being in existence. It's not the first time he's seen that kind of hunger.

It makes him flush slightly, but he meets the demon's eyes mildly as if he doesn't fully understand the weight of it. As if he doesn't know. The truly embarrassing part of it is that a part of him revels in the attention. Wants to be resplendent. Shining. Perhaps even overwhelming. But he squashes that part down and tucks it neatly away. At the same time he doesn't deny the attention either, and makes certain that no part of him moves or flinches away from it as if he's changing his mind or means it any less.

Still he waits until Crowley's back is to him before closing his eyes. It was good. It was a good thing to say. He feels the rightness of it in the lining of his gut. But it was a horrible thing to say. He knows how Crowley feels, even if he doesn't know why. Even if it doesn't make much sense in the grand scheme of things. There are certain people he can see Crowley with in that sense, but he was nowhere near that area. In fact he was on the other side of town having lunch in a fussy little cafe.

The point is, there are certain lines he will not cross. Will not allow himself to. Friendship, yes, perhaps, in the oblique way that they have. Caring for one another here, certainly. But no more than that. And it's not fair to engender those kinds of feelings or that kind of hope.

He will just have to make sure to keep a certain distance, that's all. To not--

Wait, what?

"You want to learn it?" He laughs a bit at the mental image, opening his eyes and is startled a bit as the world seems new; catches the sight of white bubbles clinging to black feathers and has a flurry of complicated emotions which he buries just as rapidly. and taps the stem of the empty wine glass against Crowley's shoulder, asking for more.

"We'll you'll certainly be popular if you end up naked for all to see. But...well.. you'll want your clothes back..."

His are gone. His beloved coat. His vest. Everything. Just vanished. He'll have to wear something new and stiff. Perhaps even a t-shirt.

Well he will have to anyway, and right now he's taking a bath so who has time to worry about it? He thinks with some desperation and tries to bury those feelings with the others though there is a slight rumbling in the metaphorical ground of his mind.

"I've got a better idea..." He leans forward a bit. "Pardon me." He brushes aside some of the smaller feathers near the base of his wing to see the state of the jacket. Thankfully there was a hole in it already, though too snug to get all of it out.

"We will have to cut along the seam here..." He traces it with a finger. "And then you will be able to get out on your own. If, by the grace of the Almighty, we can find a somewhat decent tailor... well... perhaps they can add buttons? Or a zipper? I don't really know. We certainly can't have your coat flapping about.

He looks up then and finds himself incredibly close to the back of Crowley's neck, nose to nose with his collar. What if he hooks a finger on the back of his collar and pulls it down. What if he leans forward and--

"How was that bouillabaisse? Any good?" He says, leaning back and listing away, looking very hard at his own pale knees poking above the suds. "I am absolutely famished."

[serpentinthegarden]

"Obviously I wouldn't do it with one of those mirror things in the room..."

He huffed and the wine glass was taken to be refilled without looking back at Aziraphale. There was far too much temptation there. Not that looking ahead and dutifully filling the stemware was an adequate deterrent to it.

As he moved away the angel seemed to draw closer. Those small delicate feathers were brushed tantalizingly aside as the warm breath from Aziraphale's tailor discussions sent all those little hairs on the back of his neck into a grand salute, standing on end in anticipation. He couldn't see how near the angel had come to his neck but he could sense it. Buttons and zippers... and lips so very close and so very desired.

Then like a flash Aziraphale was gone and he ended up with a lap full of wine.

"Shit!"

The expletive flew freely as during those alluring few seconds he had forgotten he was even pouring Aziraphale another glass. Fortunately they were in a bathroom surrounded by towels and washcloths and one of them could immediately be set to the task of cleaning up the mess.

Soup? Yeah, lets talk soup. Soup is safe and not at all intriguing like clothing talk seemed to be.

"Seafood. That's what it was and the seasoning was perfect. There's a lot left in there, put it in the minifridge."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

The sudden expletive makes him want to laugh while at the same time filling him with a sort of effervescent warmth that sends champagne like tingles all the way to his ears. He presses his lips together and takes a moment to rearrange his face into something not highly amused by this. He clears his throat but still sounds warmly amused as he says:

"In that case, maybe we should trade places, my dear." He pauses and then just gives into the temptation. "As you seem to have missed."

[serpentinthegarden]

"I wouldn't mind that,"

Crowley grumped while reaching for a second towel, this mess was a little too much for just one.

"But, we haven't tracked down a tailor yet."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

He frowns.

"Well you can't just stay in that mess until we do! We don't even have any money, Crowley." Though he does understand.

"If we cut holes that are just big enough, no one will notice." He presses his lips together. "But you'll need a bit of help getting dressed."

[serpentinthegarden]

"I never said that I wanted to."

The angel was given a hard look, cause really, that would have been too gross even for a demon and he should know better.

"Look, do whatever. Miracle it off, cut it to pieces, I'll... walk around shirtless if I have to."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

He clicks his tongue.

"It won't come to that." With a grunt, he hauls himself upwards, fighting off a wave of lightheaded dizziness and has to lean against the wall a bit. "Here, throw me a towel and then get me a pair of scissors and I'll help you."

[serpentinthegarden]

"Right, scissors..."

Crowley hunted around for a towel that didn't have a massive wine stain on it and walked it over to drape it over the shoulders of the wall clinging angel.

"There must be some around, some place."

But finding a pair did require a full room turn out, looking in every drawer and every closet until a small sewing kit was discovered. Left there for the darning of socks and the repair of missing buttons. Inside that was a pair of scissors which could be proudly presented to the angel.

[blessedarethebookmakers]

Fortunately he was well dried off with the towel round his waist by the time Crowley returned. He gives a glance to the scissors and makes a face. They're small, but they should be able to cut through anything.

"I need to sit... Here, lets move to the bedroom." He expects some sort of remark and, if there is one, casually ignores it. He settles himself on the bed, scissors prepared, and then just looks at that lovely jacket. It would be a shame to ruin it. Even if they were going to repair it somehow with a tailor, though who knew if there was one, let alone anyone with quality. They were so few and far between these days as it was, not like it used to be.

It could be that there would be no coming back for this jacket, and Crowley's look would be altered in an unpleasant way, and looks were so very important to the demon.

Perhaps...if he concentrated...defined things more directly and clearly...

"Hold still, please." He set the scissors to the side, and traced his fingers along the seams instead, focusing on what he wanted-what he wished would happen. Not to make the jacket disappear or alter, but just so that it could be pulled on or removed. A white-gold line appeared in the seam and a very faint breeze stirred through his feathers. Aziraphale sucked on his lower lip in concentration and did the other seam and then, tugged at his collar.

"Let's see if we can get this off." Though he knew it would slide off easily, smiling proudly as it did. The seams parted to slip over his wings and then came back together just as neatly when the jacket was off. When it was free, Aziraphale set the jacket on his lap, testing the seams with his fingers and finding them just as miraculously pliable.

"Excellent. Now, let's get the rest of it and keep still. I don't want to burn you."

He didn't know if he would. He didn't know if this had that kind of Power. But then it might so he had to be cautious.

The shirt got the same treatment, but by the time he got to the undershirt, which he lifted away from Crowley's skin with one hand and traced seams with the other, he was sweating and his eyes stung.

"There... See if you can take that off..." It would be easy, he thought, and so it seemed to be. And oh, he had a beautiful back. Aziraphale admired the line of his shoulder blades and the arch of his dark wings, the curve of his spine. Again he longed to lean forward and nuzzle that spot between his shoulder blades but instead he leaned back, closing his eyes.

"I wonder, my dear, if you could bring me something to eat..."

[serpentinthegarden]

He was actually nervous when he sat in front of Aziraphale. Nervous for his jacket which he did like but felt like he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in, if it had to be destroyed... it had to be. He was nervous for his wings, with those scissors so close one slip and he might have ended up with clipped feathers. And he was nervous when he heard the scissors hit the side table. Worries over what Aziraphale was planning mixed with concern that the angel might overdo it again. It can't be good for a body, passing out like that all the time. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything?

As it turned out his concerns were at least somewhat justified. Aziraphale's voice sounded tired once he finished.

Crowley didn't draw attention to that. Instead he sat there a moment longer, stretching every muscle and sinew in his back until his wings too flared with the action. Then he turned those gold eyes back to the angel trying to work out just how badly Aziraphale might have pushed himself.

"Ye.. yeah. I can do that."

He reached past the angle to straighten the pillow behind him.

"You can just stay here, rest up."

Ignore any potential crashing and bangings from the kitchen. He would figure out how to work the microwave.

[blessedarethebookmakers]

Aziraphale watches his back move with interest, every twitch and stretch and the magnificent flare of wings. There's something about Crowley that's always been poetry in motion. Though even if he were a poet, the words would leave him as soon as those eyes settled on him. There was something about that look these days.

He clears his throat, flushing even deeper as Crowley adjusts the pillows, feeling a surge of warmth at the care Crowley is showing. He knows better to bring it up and instead settles back against the pillows with a murmured:

"Thank you." And then proceeds to rest there, half drowsing as he runs his fingers over the jacket that Crowley left behind, smelling him faintly and enjoying it. The crashing about in the kitchen and even worse, the beeping of the microwave reminds him that in some ways Crowley really is evil. Reheating such good food that way? The wages of sin are terrible cuisine apparently!

"Just reheat it on the stove, my dear. I'm sure there's a pot somewhere."

[serpentinthegarden]

The demon reappeared in the doorway just to lean there bare-chested on the frame as if the angel's distance muffled words hadn't been heard.

"Stove?"

Oh yea, stove... he could stove. Wouldn't be that difficult. Crowley shrugged and returned to his work. This was actually his first 'cooking' experience. 6000 years and he had never once found the need to lift a pot or warm up a burner. It was pretty simple though, one just turned a dial and then opened a window to let the smoke out when the brew bubbled over. It was fine!

At least the soup itself made it safely to a bowl, was warmed through, and the burnt flavor was only in the air. This soup joined the napkin and a spoon on a tray and was carried in to be placed down by the angel's bedside.

[blessedarethebookmakers]

It was odd how Crowley was standing in the door. It's almost as if he's showing off. Aziraphale feels strangely cold just looking at him standing there and wants to wrap a blanket around him and pull him close and down--


He closes his eyes and settles for drowsing instead. He soon wonders if he will regret this as he smells the burning and smoke. Well, he can't blame him for it! And at least the soup will not be microwaved. Therefore he is determined to like it no matter what.

Aziraphale opens his eyes again as he hears the demon come closer and beams at the tray and the soup.

"What service." He arranges the tray on his lap. "I suppose I should tip the waiter?" Then he takes a little bite of the soup, stealing himself and--

"Mm! Mmmmm. Delicious. Much better than the fare we were served with! Can you believe!" He takes another bite, letting it linger on his tongue, tasting the subtlety of the spices and the delicate flavor of the sea food. He could feel it warming him up already and seeping through his veins. Give him a moment while he enjoys the first good meal he's had in ages, wings flexing happily.

[serpentinthegarden]

What him, showing off? Don't be silly. Is he really the kind of demon to stand around tempting people from doorways? He was the epitome of innocence, not even rising to the challenge of telling Aziraphale what sort of tips this particular waiter cared for when he delivered the tray. He just looked at the angel enjoying his meal and held back the words with a smirk.

"I would't know. I took one look at the Shrimp Aspic and left it all well enough alone."

The soup had been his first actual meal in this world and it had left him with a horrible, diabolical thought.

"I suppose we'll have to become friends with him, Sylvando. Invite him over now and then so we can enjoy more of his cooking."

Because clearly using some one was the best reason to become their friend. Demon priorities.

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"Oh you must have been famished. Do you want a bite?" And tempting or not, Crowley's bare chest and the long slope of his stomach is distracting in more ways than one. He is about to try to convince him to put on at least his undershirt when the topic of conversation is changed.

"Oh! Oh, yes that is a wonderful idea. You know, if we're going to fit in here we should attempt to make...friends. It'll be interesting, certainly more with some of them than others. But you can't exactly inspire people that dislike you, can you. It shouldn't be too hard after all I have made friends before."

But back on the topic at hand. "And definitely with...Sylvando." He briefly touches Crowley's arm, shocked by the unexpected touch of bare skin and grips the tray instead. "Just think! Good food. Real food. Some bastion of sanity in this madness. I'm almost looking forward to it."

[serpentinthegarden]

He held up a hand, refusing the offer.

"I had two bowls already."

And he was a slight thing, those two bowls were more than enough to made up for a day's worth of being too upset, distracted to think about eating anything else. Though at that light touch of his arm his mind did wander to dessert, angel cake... this was far too tempting a thought to sit around and observe Aziraphale in his current state. So he made the attempt to act responsibly, by collecting those abandoned bits of clothing from around the room.

"We'll make more friends with a clean outfit to change into. I'm going to try the laundry next. Can't be too difficult..." Could it? "It can be running while I'm in the bath."

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"You know how to do laundry?" He's astonished. He's never thought to do it himself. Usually he had someone else do it for him, with compensation, of course.

"You're just full of surprises." Though he would be slightly dubious until the outcome. He was about to add to save his clothes for the second go-round, but then realized he no longer had them and tried to keep smiling. It had all been for the best, hadn't it?

"Well, enjoy your bath, my dear. And thank you for the food."

[serpentinthegarden]

"I've dabbled..." Not really but, "You know the gasket that goes round the inside of a side loading machine, the one that is almost impossible to clean? That was my idea."

Spreading a little laundry discord! Surely that wouldn't become a problem for him later on though.

"Do you," He paused perhaps about to reconsider the coming offer, after all he had been unnaturally good today and it was beginning to itch. "Want me to wash yours after my load is done?"

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"I've never been near one of those things in my life." Those were not spaces he generally wandered into; and standing at the dry cleaning counter hardly worked. Well, he didn't do that either. He usually had a boy to drop off and pick things up for him. So much more convenient.

It was harder to keep that smile though...

"No I... I don't think I have them any more, Crowley. They disappeared." Which was sad but he was an Angel after all. "All for a good cause. Mustn't complain."

[serpentinthegarden]

Aziraphale wanted to complain though. It was as plain to Crowley as anything, that after several centuries the loss of those clothing items was a terrible blow. Fortunately he could saunter over to the closet, open the door, and lean on the frame next to the perfectly well folded outfit that rested on a shelf next to a hanger containing a pristine white jacket... or nearly pristine. It would be pristine again after the water soluble paintball paint was washed off.

Anyway it was a little jewel he had discovered while rampaging around looking for a pair of scissors.