(no subject)
Good Omens/Sandman crossover. Aziraphale/Lucien, pre-slash.
Lucien leaned back as Variatio 9 began to play on Aziraphale’s jukebox. Aziraphale had retained a hunch that Lucien would be particularly enchanted by this piece of the Goldberg Variations, and he could not resist sneaking a peak at his friends face. Lucien’s expression was enthralling. His eyes were closed, and Aziraphale could tell that he was deliberately shutting out everything besides the music. There were hints of ecstasy, but peace was the most visible emotion. Crowley enjoyed Bach, but the demon had never displayed anything so beautiful. In fact, Crowley only had four appearances: A confident and amused smirk, a vague air of irritation, a pale faced look of terror, and a beseeching gaze for temptation. Lucien, though. Lucien’s varied facial contortions were endlessly fascinating. Aziraphale recalled the vivid rage that he had witnessed the first time that they had happened upon each other. Not that he could be blamed for that. Aziraphale would have reacted the same way, if the circumstances had been switched. He remembered so clearly…
Flashback time, w00t!
Aziraphale wondered where the extra back room had come from. It was certainly an odd occurrence. However, the bookshop was his domain, and there wasn’t anything for him to fear in it. He didn’t sense anything beyond the door on the far side of the new room that would want to give a nasty surprise. But he did sense… immense distance. Aziraphale blinked. How could that be? Well, everything that happened was part of the plan. The plan probably didn’t involve putting an addition onto his bookshop without causing any effects or reactions.
Aziraphale entered the tiny space, opened the door on the other wall, and stepped into the first threshold of L-Space. He wasn’t aware of the concept. All he saw was a long aisle of bookshelves, and noticed that the air was full of his favorite musty smell. He moved forward to examine the books, and got distracted by something else. There was something twanging against his higher senses. A pulse, or a vibe. It was strong, and it indicated that it originated from something important and exciting. Aziraphale followed its trail.
It took longer that he expected to reach the source. The vibe’s intensity had led him to believe that it was quite close. But after two hours of walking, he turned a corner and realized that he had penetrated the very edge of what had compelled him. Aziraphale glanced at the nearest bookshelf, and the name P.G. Wodehouse caught his eye. Aziraphale smiled at the book, and nodded to it like an old friend. Wasn’t it? He loved all of Wodehouse’s work. This one was Psmith and Jeeves. Aziraphale started to walk on, but now something was bothering him. He realized that he had never heard of the title, and pulled the book off the shelf to further investigate it. The book was certainly written in the author’s style. Curiously, Aziraphale flipped to the front of the book, to gain more information. Only to discover that there was no information to be found about the publisher, the release date, or the copyright. His eyes wandered on the shelf again, and paused at J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lost Road. Another beloved author, another book that he had never heard of. Aziraphale pulled it out and carefully set it on the floor besides the Wodehouse novel. Back to the shelf.
Love Can Be Murder by Raymond Chandler
Alice's Journey Behind the Moon by Lewis Carroll
The Return of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens
The Conscience of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle
Poictesme Babylon by James Branch Cabell
The Man Who was October by G. K. Chesterton
Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself. He kept pulling out more and more books, each with a familiar author and an unknown title.
“What sort of a library is this?” the angel wondered out loud. He heard a choking sound behind him, and quickly turned. A tall, thin man stood a few yards away. He had a long, thin face, and brown hair that grew in three peaks. The effect of this hairstyle made his head remind Aziraphale of the shape of an ivy leaf. Aziraphale also reflected that his height must be very useful for reaching the top shelves. Only then did he realize that the man’s face was both red and contorted with anger. Aziraphale blanched, as he realized that his behavior in this room had been less than exemplary. Books were scattered all over the floor, and a large quantity of dust was hanging in the air.
“I spent a great deal of time putting those books together in the perfect order,” the man hissed. “The arrangement was perfectly balanced between the aesthetic look of the book, the importance of the content, my personal ratings, and the regret felt by the author at never having published or finished it.”
Aziraphale trembled with anxiety and excitement. “Please,” he said. “I know that my conduct has been dreadful. I’m mortified, and I’ll try to express that later. But can you please tell me about this place, about these books? I don’t even know how I got here; I just went through a door and followed something.” Was that humble enough?
The tall man glowered. Apparently it wasn’t. “L-Space, fool. This is my domain. The books haven’t been written, only dreamed. Now, you tell me. This must have been the first time you have used L-Space. How did you immediately manage to find your way here? It’s not a simple matter to get through all of the intervening collections. Did someone point you this way?” He had calmed down, somewhat, but his words were painfully clipped, and he still looked capable of unpleasantness. Rather like some primal mother beast that has sensed a danger toward its offspring, Aziraphale thought. He didn’t know what to say. The man had given all of the explanations that he felt Aziraphale was entitled to, but it wasn’t enough. Unconsciously and desperately, he tried to probe the man’s mind. Only to provoke another roar. “Exactly HOW many times do you intend to invade my various sacred territories?”
Aziraphale cringed and stumbled backwards, and his wings popped out. He reflexively flapped twice to regain his balance, and knocked into the nearby shelf. More books started to fall. The strange librarian snarled and sprang forward to correct the damage. He turned back to the angel. “Answer. Me. Now. Before I contact the Corinthian.” Aziraphale somehow knew that the man wasn’t referring to the text. “What is a bumbling Judeo-Christian personification doing in my library?”
Back to present
Aziraphale smiled again. He was so glad that they had been able to get over the first incident to become friends. They really did have a lot in common.
Lucien leaned back as Variatio 9 began to play on Aziraphale’s jukebox. Aziraphale had retained a hunch that Lucien would be particularly enchanted by this piece of the Goldberg Variations, and he could not resist sneaking a peak at his friends face. Lucien’s expression was enthralling. His eyes were closed, and Aziraphale could tell that he was deliberately shutting out everything besides the music. There were hints of ecstasy, but peace was the most visible emotion. Crowley enjoyed Bach, but the demon had never displayed anything so beautiful. In fact, Crowley only had four appearances: A confident and amused smirk, a vague air of irritation, a pale faced look of terror, and a beseeching gaze for temptation. Lucien, though. Lucien’s varied facial contortions were endlessly fascinating. Aziraphale recalled the vivid rage that he had witnessed the first time that they had happened upon each other. Not that he could be blamed for that. Aziraphale would have reacted the same way, if the circumstances had been switched. He remembered so clearly…
Flashback time, w00t!
Aziraphale wondered where the extra back room had come from. It was certainly an odd occurrence. However, the bookshop was his domain, and there wasn’t anything for him to fear in it. He didn’t sense anything beyond the door on the far side of the new room that would want to give a nasty surprise. But he did sense… immense distance. Aziraphale blinked. How could that be? Well, everything that happened was part of the plan. The plan probably didn’t involve putting an addition onto his bookshop without causing any effects or reactions.
Aziraphale entered the tiny space, opened the door on the other wall, and stepped into the first threshold of L-Space. He wasn’t aware of the concept. All he saw was a long aisle of bookshelves, and noticed that the air was full of his favorite musty smell. He moved forward to examine the books, and got distracted by something else. There was something twanging against his higher senses. A pulse, or a vibe. It was strong, and it indicated that it originated from something important and exciting. Aziraphale followed its trail.
It took longer that he expected to reach the source. The vibe’s intensity had led him to believe that it was quite close. But after two hours of walking, he turned a corner and realized that he had penetrated the very edge of what had compelled him. Aziraphale glanced at the nearest bookshelf, and the name P.G. Wodehouse caught his eye. Aziraphale smiled at the book, and nodded to it like an old friend. Wasn’t it? He loved all of Wodehouse’s work. This one was Psmith and Jeeves. Aziraphale started to walk on, but now something was bothering him. He realized that he had never heard of the title, and pulled the book off the shelf to further investigate it. The book was certainly written in the author’s style. Curiously, Aziraphale flipped to the front of the book, to gain more information. Only to discover that there was no information to be found about the publisher, the release date, or the copyright. His eyes wandered on the shelf again, and paused at J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lost Road. Another beloved author, another book that he had never heard of. Aziraphale pulled it out and carefully set it on the floor besides the Wodehouse novel. Back to the shelf.
Love Can Be Murder by Raymond Chandler
Alice's Journey Behind the Moon by Lewis Carroll
The Return of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens
The Conscience of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle
Poictesme Babylon by James Branch Cabell
The Man Who was October by G. K. Chesterton
Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself. He kept pulling out more and more books, each with a familiar author and an unknown title.
“What sort of a library is this?” the angel wondered out loud. He heard a choking sound behind him, and quickly turned. A tall, thin man stood a few yards away. He had a long, thin face, and brown hair that grew in three peaks. The effect of this hairstyle made his head remind Aziraphale of the shape of an ivy leaf. Aziraphale also reflected that his height must be very useful for reaching the top shelves. Only then did he realize that the man’s face was both red and contorted with anger. Aziraphale blanched, as he realized that his behavior in this room had been less than exemplary. Books were scattered all over the floor, and a large quantity of dust was hanging in the air.
“I spent a great deal of time putting those books together in the perfect order,” the man hissed. “The arrangement was perfectly balanced between the aesthetic look of the book, the importance of the content, my personal ratings, and the regret felt by the author at never having published or finished it.”
Aziraphale trembled with anxiety and excitement. “Please,” he said. “I know that my conduct has been dreadful. I’m mortified, and I’ll try to express that later. But can you please tell me about this place, about these books? I don’t even know how I got here; I just went through a door and followed something.” Was that humble enough?
The tall man glowered. Apparently it wasn’t. “L-Space, fool. This is my domain. The books haven’t been written, only dreamed. Now, you tell me. This must have been the first time you have used L-Space. How did you immediately manage to find your way here? It’s not a simple matter to get through all of the intervening collections. Did someone point you this way?” He had calmed down, somewhat, but his words were painfully clipped, and he still looked capable of unpleasantness. Rather like some primal mother beast that has sensed a danger toward its offspring, Aziraphale thought. He didn’t know what to say. The man had given all of the explanations that he felt Aziraphale was entitled to, but it wasn’t enough. Unconsciously and desperately, he tried to probe the man’s mind. Only to provoke another roar. “Exactly HOW many times do you intend to invade my various sacred territories?”
Aziraphale cringed and stumbled backwards, and his wings popped out. He reflexively flapped twice to regain his balance, and knocked into the nearby shelf. More books started to fall. The strange librarian snarled and sprang forward to correct the damage. He turned back to the angel. “Answer. Me. Now. Before I contact the Corinthian.” Aziraphale somehow knew that the man wasn’t referring to the text. “What is a bumbling Judeo-Christian personification doing in my library?”
Back to present
Aziraphale smiled again. He was so glad that they had been able to get over the first incident to become friends. They really did have a lot in common.