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.]

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.]

[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..?"

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.

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.

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.]

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.