True to their word, Aziraphale and Wilson had the downstairs study cleared away and ready for the evening's activities. Most of the furniture had been shoved aside, leaving plenty of space for people to gather, and to do...whatever it was that they were going to do. The angel still wasn't completely clear on that, but then he never really did
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"They've been gone an awfully long time, Wy," he said.
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". . . HAND. . . ." she said again.
This totally sucked.
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Which meant that he was now sprawled across Wilson, naked. With a dead length of demon-tongue wrapped around his waist.
And holding Nadia's severed hand.
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"...and that is the most traumatic thing to happen to me all night."
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"Haaaaaaaaaaaand!"
Translation for those not going into shock: you want trauma? Naked dude with wings and a tongue belt cut off my hand, you hippie!
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"Right here, my dear," he said, hurrying over to Nadia's side and kneeling next to her. "Just, er...give me your arm."
Angling his body so that he was shielding her view of her...stump, he held the hand against it, and a bright glow surrounded his hands and Nadia's for a moment. When it faded, there was no evidence of any injury at all.
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