(no subject)
((Everyone welcome, of course, particularly Rosie and Crowley.))
Aziraphale was hiding.
It wasn't something he normally did, and he rather didn't like being forced to hide. But really, he was too embarrassed to do anything else.
It had started when Up Above couldn't locate his former body. Granted, it was a little worse for the murder, having had parts of his skin removed and all with a dull knife - not an exaggeration, he quite clearly remembered the sawing motion - and he had been exhausted after succeeding in his mission so it probably did sustain more damage than he could remember, but he knew that body.
He could use it effectively. It was terrible when you got new bodies; they were so unused that it took ages before grace set in.
Not that the one he had right now was bad, when it came to grace. It was just that he preferred his old body, the one he was familiar in.
The one that was male.
Aziraphale sighed and glanced down at himself (herself?). It wasn't too unlike him, the outfitters in the Boutique for Angels Up Above had assured him - it had blonde hair, curly, and grey-blue eyes, and it was nice and soft, and looked good in tartan/glasses/etc.
He still didn't like it. Worse, he was terrified of it. Bodies tended to do things, unwanted things. He reviewed his mental checklist.
Tea. Feelings towards tea all in order, and same towards chocolate.
Tartan. All there.
Books. Perfect.
Crowley.
My, it was warm in here, wasn't it?
Aziraphale willed his body cooler and then scowled petulantly when he realized what he was doing. On the bonus side, his feelings were intact, physical feelings as well. On the minus side, he thought he'd prefer Crowley liking him while he was male, because Aziraphale had been male for ages and was going to be again very soon.
Silly thoughts. He reviewed his situation.
He was still wrapped in a blanket and his own wings, curled up in the back of his bookshop. He found some clothes but wasn't sure how to make them fit, so he'd just taken a blanket and some slightly too-large tartan pjs and found his glasses and curled up. He was having a read, even though his new body's hair - blonde, but natural, ta ever so - fell down past his face. He was in the back room of the shop, in a large chair. It was late at night but he had a candle burning.
It was far past the time he told Crowley he would be back at the flat. Several days, in fact. Oh dear. He tried to push the nagging thought out of his mind, and continued reading, working hard at avoiding all the other sounds. He hadn't really spoken to Rosie, either. Or his friends. He wasn't sure if he could face them, just yet. After all, he'd just returned earlier that day.
Aziraphale was simply embarrassed. He really didn't want to see anyone while he was like this, but when he heard the shop's door's bells tinkle as someone pushed it open, he realized, with some fear, that he would have to.
Aziraphale was hiding.
It wasn't something he normally did, and he rather didn't like being forced to hide. But really, he was too embarrassed to do anything else.
It had started when Up Above couldn't locate his former body. Granted, it was a little worse for the murder, having had parts of his skin removed and all with a dull knife - not an exaggeration, he quite clearly remembered the sawing motion - and he had been exhausted after succeeding in his mission so it probably did sustain more damage than he could remember, but he knew that body.
He could use it effectively. It was terrible when you got new bodies; they were so unused that it took ages before grace set in.
Not that the one he had right now was bad, when it came to grace. It was just that he preferred his old body, the one he was familiar in.
The one that was male.
Aziraphale sighed and glanced down at himself (herself?). It wasn't too unlike him, the outfitters in the Boutique for Angels Up Above had assured him - it had blonde hair, curly, and grey-blue eyes, and it was nice and soft, and looked good in tartan/glasses/etc.
He still didn't like it. Worse, he was terrified of it. Bodies tended to do things, unwanted things. He reviewed his mental checklist.
Tea. Feelings towards tea all in order, and same towards chocolate.
Tartan. All there.
Books. Perfect.
Crowley.
My, it was warm in here, wasn't it?
Aziraphale willed his body cooler and then scowled petulantly when he realized what he was doing. On the bonus side, his feelings were intact, physical feelings as well. On the minus side, he thought he'd prefer Crowley liking him while he was male, because Aziraphale had been male for ages and was going to be again very soon.
Silly thoughts. He reviewed his situation.
He was still wrapped in a blanket and his own wings, curled up in the back of his bookshop. He found some clothes but wasn't sure how to make them fit, so he'd just taken a blanket and some slightly too-large tartan pjs and found his glasses and curled up. He was having a read, even though his new body's hair - blonde, but natural, ta ever so - fell down past his face. He was in the back room of the shop, in a large chair. It was late at night but he had a candle burning.
It was far past the time he told Crowley he would be back at the flat. Several days, in fact. Oh dear. He tried to push the nagging thought out of his mind, and continued reading, working hard at avoiding all the other sounds. He hadn't really spoken to Rosie, either. Or his friends. He wasn't sure if he could face them, just yet. After all, he'd just returned earlier that day.
Aziraphale was simply embarrassed. He really didn't want to see anyone while he was like this, but when he heard the shop's door's bells tinkle as someone pushed it open, he realized, with some fear, that he would have to.