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]

"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.

[blessedarethebookmakers]

"Oh!" He is so startled he drops his spoon in the bowl. "Oh, there they are! Thank God!" He puts a hand over his chest. "My shoes too! Oh and the lovely coat." With the stain but it was better than no coat at all. "I am so glad they weren't discorporated. Can you imagine me walking around in a sheet? It would be horrible."

He was even tearing up a little at the sight of them, but blinked and looked away and hoped the demon didn't see. Though there was a sort of glow around him and the feeling in the room turned almost sweet, not that he noticed.

"Thank you, Crowley. I mean it. You've been so--" he stops himself from saying kind. "--accommodating that I'm sure you're up to something completely nefarious." He wipes at an eye.

[serpentinthegarden]

Crowley's eyebrow bobbed at the suggestion Aziraphale might have to walk around in nothing but a sheet as it was not the worst suggestion he'd ever heard before. But as much as he had craved that warm affection, being able to bask for a brief moment in the angel's glow, as soon as he had earned the praise he felt the need to escape from it.

If only he were up to something nefarious and not having the equivalent of a demonic existential crisis...

"Don't mention it."

No really, don't. The closet door was left open as he stalked away, first to the washer then to the bath. He wouldn't be returning until he was nice and clean... and hopefully some of his senses would have returned to him by then too.

[blessedarethebookmakers]

He wouldn't, but he wouldn't forget it either. In some ways, perhaps he should. But for now he was content, full bellied and warm. In fact, by the time Crowley gets out of the bath he is asleep once more, snuggled down into the pillows and wearing a faint smile as if he'd just tasted something pleasant.

[serpentinthegarden]

So he had. That soup had been heavenl--... er, hellishly good? Well worth eating anyway!

Crowley trolled around the room a little longer after his bath, settling the laundry and finally pawing through that instruction book that had been left for them, mostly just skimming, before he too turned in for the night. He would make a point of warning the angel about Ace sometime in the morning. Couldn't have the knife wielding Antichrist going after Aziraphale.