Wilson-Phale Residence, Abby Road, Wednesday Afternoon
Aziraphale settled into his favorite comfy armchair upstairs in the study, and opened a very old book in his lap. He treated it gently, like the prized possession it was, and turned the pages to where he'd left a white cloth bookmark.
A couple of hours later, he sat up with a start, nearly dropping the cup of tea he'd been sipping from.
"Good Heavens," he murmured, tracing his finger along several lines of print. "Oh good Heavens."
The angel sagged back against the chair and let out a worried exhalation. Then with a little gesture of his hand, a pad of paper and a pen appeared, and he scribbled down some notes. It was a good thing, he thought, that this was his night for the news broadcast. It might not make any sense to him, but someone out there might have a better understanding.
[ooc: Establishy!]
A couple of hours later, he sat up with a start, nearly dropping the cup of tea he'd been sipping from.
"Good Heavens," he murmured, tracing his finger along several lines of print. "Oh good Heavens."
The angel sagged back against the chair and let out a worried exhalation. Then with a little gesture of his hand, a pad of paper and a pen appeared, and he scribbled down some notes. It was a good thing, he thought, that this was his night for the news broadcast. It might not make any sense to him, but someone out there might have a better understanding.
[ooc: Establishy!]