The Outskirts of Milieux, Early Friday Morning (09/28)

[ditheringangel]

Aziraphale had awakened before dawn, instantly too fretful to be still. He'd slipped out of bed, with a word to Wilson that he just wanted to step down to the kitchen. But that hadn't been enough, he found himself pacing, and rather than disturb the young doctor any further, had gone out for a walk

Comments

Az

[guardian_noir]

The first thing that struck Az was the smell. Or rather, the nostalgic unfamiliarity of it. Clean air, trees, concrete, asphalt, water. No brimstone. No fires. No burned out buildings, or mangled winged corpses strewn in the street.

No End of Days.

He walked slowly down the street, accustoming himself to the shape of the town, to the sensations of a world that not embroiled in celestial warfare. A place of promise and potential, like his own world had once been, still with the scent of Creation on it. Az loved it. Wanted to protect and nurture it.

Az hated it. And wanted to watch it burn.

As he reached the center of town, he realized that in the end, he'd do neither. It was a welcome respite from the fighting, a reminder of the old days when his job had been to tempt and incite. He liked these small places for that. In a village, everyone was connected to everyone else. A single misery could spread like wildfire, creating levels of chaos that were unachievable in a city of millions. Crowley always preferred the cities, with their crowds and their never-ending activity. But then, Crowley had always had more faith in humanity, more belief in its ability to overcome temptation and despair, and so he was drawn to those places where mortals gathered en masse. Possibly it came from not being quite certain how he'd managed to end up Fallen.

This was not a problem Az shared. He could pinpoint the precise moment in time when he'd been damned. It was burned into his memory forever. WHERE IS YOUR SWORD?

Humanity had no idea the level of mercy exercised in its favor. So many gifts, given over and over, wasted on beings who couldn't begin to appreciate what they'd been given. It was enough to make a fallen angel bitter.