A Somewhat Worried Angel
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Aziraphale moved to the front of the store, still a bit tired. He'd had a terrible night's sleep, even though it shouldn't matter overmuch as he didn't really need to sleep, per se. Resting was more accurate. It was just resting his corporate body. With his eyes closed.
It was true. The rumours were true. There was one (1) Crowley amongst the Sages, and there was one (1) Aziraphale. Not him, but Another. Now there were two (2) Aziraphales, and one (1) Crowley. He wasn't going to take that one Crowley at all - it wasn't his Crowley.
He had made a mistake. He had come to the Sages hoping to do good, but how could he if he didn't have the demon to help or even hinder? He liked the flavour of Crowley's wiles, and he liked the small contests they sometimes had. He liked everything about Crowley, but where he was now, there wasn't one. It was a disturbing feeling. Perhaps his demon would turn up.
Aziraphale sighed heavily and began looking through his bookstacks as the sign on his shop door flipped messages. "Open to All" read across the sign now. He hoped it wasn't too out-of-date, even if it was in an old-fashioned font. He pulled out a rather favourite book - Gone with the Wind - and brought it up to the desk at the front. Windy, today. Poor souls. The sun glinted off a far building and shone at him, but it didn't matter. He felt like he was betraying what he was, mourning this absence.
He sat and opened the book. Crowley shouldn't matter. He was an evil of the world, but really, he wasn't that bad. And he was rather sweet, and funny, and oh. Dear.
The bell rang, and he looked up from his book, blue-eyes impossibly wide. He'd left his glasses in the back room, and he debated for a minute about materialising them, so his eyes wouldn't seem so pure. Pure. He smiled a bit; his thoughts were not quite as pure as his eyes.
"Hello, my dear," he greeted.
Aziraphale moved to the front of the store, still a bit tired. He'd had a terrible night's sleep, even though it shouldn't matter overmuch as he didn't really need to sleep, per se. Resting was more accurate. It was just resting his corporate body. With his eyes closed.
It was true. The rumours were true. There was one (1) Crowley amongst the Sages, and there was one (1) Aziraphale. Not him, but Another. Now there were two (2) Aziraphales, and one (1) Crowley. He wasn't going to take that one Crowley at all - it wasn't his Crowley.
He had made a mistake. He had come to the Sages hoping to do good, but how could he if he didn't have the demon to help or even hinder? He liked the flavour of Crowley's wiles, and he liked the small contests they sometimes had. He liked everything about Crowley, but where he was now, there wasn't one. It was a disturbing feeling. Perhaps his demon would turn up.
Aziraphale sighed heavily and began looking through his bookstacks as the sign on his shop door flipped messages. "Open to All" read across the sign now. He hoped it wasn't too out-of-date, even if it was in an old-fashioned font. He pulled out a rather favourite book - Gone with the Wind - and brought it up to the desk at the front. Windy, today. Poor souls. The sun glinted off a far building and shone at him, but it didn't matter. He felt like he was betraying what he was, mourning this absence.
He sat and opened the book. Crowley shouldn't matter. He was an evil of the world, but really, he wasn't that bad. And he was rather sweet, and funny, and oh. Dear.
The bell rang, and he looked up from his book, blue-eyes impossibly wide. He'd left his glasses in the back room, and he debated for a minute about materialising them, so his eyes wouldn't seem so pure. Pure. He smiled a bit; his thoughts were not quite as pure as his eyes.
"Hello, my dear," he greeted.