(no subject)
Two drabbles:
St Andrew of Segni
Despite being a capable politician, Andrew di Conti was a wise, kind man -- which was why Crowley had to stop him from becoming pope.
He appeared to the priest in various demonic guises, leaping out from behind trees whenever Andrew walked in the gardens, stretching out on the uncomfortable cot while the priest knelt to say his bedtime prayers.
It worked. Andrew turned down advancement and retreated to a hermitage. When Crowley next visited him, the priest sighed and held out a bottle.
“Drink?”
In 1302, many pleasant evenings later, Andrew died. It was the beginning of a terrible century.
St Cosmas and St Damian
“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale as he surfaced, pulling the gasping doctors out of the water. Two identical faces stared in awe.
“Are we dead?” spluttered one formerly drowning man, the other clearly trying to swallow seawater, rather than spit before an angel.
“No,” said Aziraphale, releasing heavy chains and letting them splash and sink. He ruffled waterlogged wings. “Let’s get you to shore.”
Several miracles later, Aziraphale stood amid crowds, watching gloomily as the pair knelt before their executioner. As the sword fell, Cosmas looked up and caught his eye. The young doctor met his martyrdom with a trusting smile.
St Andrew of Segni
Despite being a capable politician, Andrew di Conti was a wise, kind man -- which was why Crowley had to stop him from becoming pope.
He appeared to the priest in various demonic guises, leaping out from behind trees whenever Andrew walked in the gardens, stretching out on the uncomfortable cot while the priest knelt to say his bedtime prayers.
It worked. Andrew turned down advancement and retreated to a hermitage. When Crowley next visited him, the priest sighed and held out a bottle.
“Drink?”
In 1302, many pleasant evenings later, Andrew died. It was the beginning of a terrible century.
St Cosmas and St Damian
“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale as he surfaced, pulling the gasping doctors out of the water. Two identical faces stared in awe.
“Are we dead?” spluttered one formerly drowning man, the other clearly trying to swallow seawater, rather than spit before an angel.
“No,” said Aziraphale, releasing heavy chains and letting them splash and sink. He ruffled waterlogged wings. “Let’s get you to shore.”
Several miracles later, Aziraphale stood amid crowds, watching gloomily as the pair knelt before their executioner. As the sword fell, Cosmas looked up and caught his eye. The young doctor met his martyrdom with a trusting smile.