Flushing a bright crimson, Azirphale pushed his spectacles up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That transparent, am I?" he muttered, thoroughly chagrined.
Well, yes, of course you are, he answered himself inwardly, hasn't Crowley told you often enough you're as easily read as one of your own books?
Sherry actually sounded lovely; but sherry was for sipping, and given that fact and his host's enthusiasm for his unusual acquisition, it seemed a shame not to at least try it--even if the notion of using peppers to make beer did sound positively barbaric. "That would be fine, thank you," he said resolutely. Crowley was always going on at him about never trying anything new. Well, this would certainly put paid to that notion.
"Loathe as I am to disappoint, however," he added, "I can't regale you with the lurid details, as there aren't any to speak of. And asking Her for advice is a bit like playing a game with blank cards against an opponent who won't tell you the rules. And who smiles all the time," he sighed. "You would think those of us who are actually in Her employ would have more of a direct line, so to speak, but no..."
"Lurid details?" Blair laughed as he moved to a cupbard that had been cold spelled and pulled out two brown bottles. "Love's more than sex. And I hadn't actually thought about getting an angel to talk dirty to me."
He arched a brow, amused. "Spending time with Crowley's made you interesting."
Blair handed over a bottle of the brew that was actually sweet and malty with a little kick of peppery bite. He quite enjoyed it; it was against the morm and happened to suit his taste buds all at the same time.
"Though the way I grew up, hearing about Judaism and Hashem, I never thought it'd be difficult to get into an argument." He sat back in his chair and screwed off the bottle cap, taking a sip.
"Of course it is," Aziraphale said, slightly embarrassed to have misjusged the man's interest. "I find it increasingly rare these days to encounter a human who thinks in those terms, however, so I congratulate you.
"And interesting--that's one way of putting it," he added with a wry grimace. "But I suppose I can't argue the point. Six thousand years' acquaintance is bound to leave its mark. ...Thank you." He accepted the beer, opened it and sampled cautiously, blinking at the odd (but not unpleasant) flavor. "I say, this isn't bad, is it? Extraordinary...I like to think Crowley isn't entirely immune to my own influence, either, but it's so difficult to say."
He settled back in his chair, not quite as comfortably as he'd have liked owing to the dratted wing. "Well, you wouldn't be all wrong. Some of us are," he paused, searching for the right words, "on more intimate terms than others. The Metatron, for example; I'm told he seems quite comfortable saying anything to Her that comes into his head. We Principalities tend to operate at more of a distance from the Throne, though. I've spoken with Her in person only three times since I was assigned to Earth."
Blair arched a brow. "Angels don't pray? You know there's a direct line and you don't pick up the phone when you know someone's going to answer? Or does Hashem have caller ID? A switchboard? A really good secretary?"
He took another drink of his beer, savouring it and leaning back into his chair. "Earth's call blocked?"
Aziraphale blinked again. "Well, naturally I do. And that's a very apt analogy. But there is a difference, you know, between ringing someone up and paying them a visit in person." He took another drink of the odd-tasting beer. "And all the talking in the world is of limited help if you lack the ability to understand what you're being told. Don't mistake me, I'm not complaining. Things are the way they are, all proceeding according to the Plan. Only at times it's...disconcerting to run up against my own limitations." He shrugged. "Not that there's anything unique in that, of course."
He looked at Blair thoughtfully. "You said you'd 'heard about' Judaism. Are you not a practicing member of the faith, then?"
Well, yes, of course you are, he answered himself inwardly, hasn't Crowley told you often enough you're as easily read as one of your own books?
Sherry actually sounded lovely; but sherry was for sipping, and given that fact and his host's enthusiasm for his unusual acquisition, it seemed a shame not to at least try it--even if the notion of using peppers to make beer did sound positively barbaric. "That would be fine, thank you," he said resolutely. Crowley was always going on at him about never trying anything new. Well, this would certainly put paid to that notion.
"Loathe as I am to disappoint, however," he added, "I can't regale you with the lurid details, as there aren't any to speak of. And asking Her for advice is a bit like playing a game with blank cards against an opponent who won't tell you the rules. And who smiles all the time," he sighed. "You would think those of us who are actually in Her employ would have more of a direct line, so to speak, but no..."
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He arched a brow, amused. "Spending time with Crowley's made you interesting."
Blair handed over a bottle of the brew that was actually sweet and malty with a little kick of peppery bite. He quite enjoyed it; it was against the morm and happened to suit his taste buds all at the same time.
"Though the way I grew up, hearing about Judaism and Hashem, I never thought it'd be difficult to get into an argument." He sat back in his chair and screwed off the bottle cap, taking a sip.
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"And interesting--that's one way of putting it," he added with a wry grimace. "But I suppose I can't argue the point. Six thousand years' acquaintance is bound to leave its mark. ...Thank you." He accepted the beer, opened it and sampled cautiously, blinking at the odd (but not unpleasant) flavor. "I say, this isn't bad, is it? Extraordinary...I like to think Crowley isn't entirely immune to my own influence, either, but it's so difficult to say."
He settled back in his chair, not quite as comfortably as he'd have liked owing to the dratted wing. "Well, you wouldn't be all wrong. Some of us are," he paused, searching for the right words, "on more intimate terms than others. The Metatron, for example; I'm told he seems quite comfortable saying anything to Her that comes into his head. We Principalities tend to operate at more of a distance from the Throne, though. I've spoken with Her in person only three times since I was assigned to Earth."
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He took another drink of his beer, savouring it and leaning back into his chair. "Earth's call blocked?"
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He looked at Blair thoughtfully. "You said you'd 'heard about' Judaism. Are you not a practicing member of the faith, then?"
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