heaven has no taste. [ active. ]
Character(s): Aziraphale, Ulquiorra, and anyone who wants to join them.
Content: Ulquiorra is looking for Aizen. Aziraphale is trying to forget this incident, with help from his good friend Mr. Strongest Liquor You've Got. Action!
Setting: Porfavore's.
Time: Afternoon.
Warnings: None.
So, an angel walks into a bar.
Well, not exactly. But having this particular angel drown out his troubles (with "something stronger than tea") is about as bad a joke as any that could ever start with such a ridiculous line.
No sooner had Aziraphale learned to use the strange journal-contraption he had been given at the gates than he'd gotten himself into worlds of trouble with angels, demons and fallen alike. In fact, trouble didn't even begin to cover the situation; as if having one Lucifer Morningstar was bad enough, this place had two. It was possible that neither of them were from his world and that, with any luck, neither of them had attempted to bring about the Apocalypse. But he did not doubt, nor did he underestimate their power. (Or their temperament; he'd be damned if he ever met a friendly Satan.)
The only bits of information he'd gleaned from his various encounters over the journal's "network" of sorts was that A.) this place was called Paixao; B.) there was no escaping it; C.) restaurants and hotels were in no short supply; and D.) the natives would accept anything shiny as currency. Alright, so the last one he hadn't learned from the journals; he figured that one out when a waitress insisted that, for a glass of brandy, he could give her his watch. He had to insist upon some other form of payment then.
It was a strange place, this world, and it was strange in the worst possible way. He hadn't been there for more than a few hours and already he wanted out. He wanted to settle in the back room of his store (which he hadn't closed before he left, and someone could very well waltz in and take whatever they wanted without paying). He wanted to mull over the prices of first-edition books and wonder what he could possibly do with them all. He wanted a good sushi restaurant. Most importantly, he wanted Crowley: he would know what to do in a situation like this, or at least he would do a good job pretending.
The angel groaned, rubbed his temples, and asked the much-too-exciteable waitress for a glass of their best white wine.
Aziraphale had never known a world beyond the human world. Beyond his human world, beyond Earth. Sure, there was Heaven. And he couldn't say he knew Hell, but he knew of it. This place, however, was entirely out of his element. And he wasn't even going to begin to think about all the other worlds there could possibly be, although the thought crept into his mind every so often. He was dead set on pinpointing this Paixao to some strange and remote location on Earth, but he couldn't think of any place like it. It simply wasn't Earth. He could feel it.
But then, it wasn't Hell. Not that he had ever known what it was like, but he had a feeling that if he really was Down There, his arrival would not have been so anti-climactic.
His white wine nearly finished, his face set into a deep frown, he thought about what he knew. Everyone here looked the same. Everything here looked the same. People were trapped in this dreadfully boring, wretched excuse for a world with no way out and no means with which to entertain themselves, other than those blasted journals. He had a demon on his trail, claiming to be his superior, and two Morningstars of ill disposition that had taken a particular interest in him. Duma, the fallen angel of silence, had taken to making signs that a fellow with a detachable head explained as emoticons, and another woman had weasled his true name out of him. And this place had no sushi restaurants.
If he didn't know any better, he would say this was Heaven.
"... oh, bother."
Aziraphale ordered some more brandy this time.
Content: Ulquiorra is looking for Aizen. Aziraphale is trying to forget this incident, with help from his good friend Mr. Strongest Liquor You've Got. Action!
Setting: Porfavore's.
Time: Afternoon.
Warnings: None.
So, an angel walks into a bar.
Well, not exactly. But having this particular angel drown out his troubles (with "something stronger than tea") is about as bad a joke as any that could ever start with such a ridiculous line.
No sooner had Aziraphale learned to use the strange journal-contraption he had been given at the gates than he'd gotten himself into worlds of trouble with angels, demons and fallen alike. In fact, trouble didn't even begin to cover the situation; as if having one Lucifer Morningstar was bad enough, this place had two. It was possible that neither of them were from his world and that, with any luck, neither of them had attempted to bring about the Apocalypse. But he did not doubt, nor did he underestimate their power. (Or their temperament; he'd be damned if he ever met a friendly Satan.)
The only bits of information he'd gleaned from his various encounters over the journal's "network" of sorts was that A.) this place was called Paixao; B.) there was no escaping it; C.) restaurants and hotels were in no short supply; and D.) the natives would accept anything shiny as currency. Alright, so the last one he hadn't learned from the journals; he figured that one out when a waitress insisted that, for a glass of brandy, he could give her his watch. He had to insist upon some other form of payment then.
It was a strange place, this world, and it was strange in the worst possible way. He hadn't been there for more than a few hours and already he wanted out. He wanted to settle in the back room of his store (which he hadn't closed before he left, and someone could very well waltz in and take whatever they wanted without paying). He wanted to mull over the prices of first-edition books and wonder what he could possibly do with them all. He wanted a good sushi restaurant. Most importantly, he wanted Crowley: he would know what to do in a situation like this, or at least he would do a good job pretending.
The angel groaned, rubbed his temples, and asked the much-too-exciteable waitress for a glass of their best white wine.
Aziraphale had never known a world beyond the human world. Beyond his human world, beyond Earth. Sure, there was Heaven. And he couldn't say he knew Hell, but he knew of it. This place, however, was entirely out of his element. And he wasn't even going to begin to think about all the other worlds there could possibly be, although the thought crept into his mind every so often. He was dead set on pinpointing this Paixao to some strange and remote location on Earth, but he couldn't think of any place like it. It simply wasn't Earth. He could feel it.
But then, it wasn't Hell. Not that he had ever known what it was like, but he had a feeling that if he really was Down There, his arrival would not have been so anti-climactic.
His white wine nearly finished, his face set into a deep frown, he thought about what he knew. Everyone here looked the same. Everything here looked the same. People were trapped in this dreadfully boring, wretched excuse for a world with no way out and no means with which to entertain themselves, other than those blasted journals. He had a demon on his trail, claiming to be his superior, and two Morningstars of ill disposition that had taken a particular interest in him. Duma, the fallen angel of silence, had taken to making signs that a fellow with a detachable head explained as emoticons, and another woman had weasled his true name out of him. And this place had no sushi restaurants.
If he didn't know any better, he would say this was Heaven.
"... oh, bother."
Aziraphale ordered some more brandy this time.