(no subject)
WHO: squashesdoves, sinksducks, and thelaughingmage. Also open to anyone who wants to deal with their issues in a totally unhealthy way and possibly, as a bonus, learn the (disputed) lyrics of "A Wizard's Staff Has A Knob On The End".
WHAT: getting completely pissed
WHERE: a regrettably nonymous drinking establishment
WHEN: the night of October 23rd. And possibly the morning of October 24th.
WARNINGS: consumption of mind-altering substances, historically inaccurate drinking songs.
SUMMARY: the best way to deal with having had people hearing your every thought up until a few hours ago is to imbibe a chemical that lowers your inhibitions until they're still hearing your every thought. Obviously.
...unless you're the Joker, I guess.
It was a pub, and therefore like pubs throughout the multiverse. Aziraphale didn't pay much attention to the name on the sign, because he was more used to pubs that self-identified by means of crudely painted animal heads, and also because he suspected he was better off not knowing[1].
He sat down at the bar and ordered beers for him and Crowley; Constantine hadn't specified a time, and from the last thoughts he'd heard before the connection, abruptly, sputtered out, might yet be awhile.
[1] He was: this particular respectable establishment went by the moniker of "The Litter Box".
WHAT: getting completely pissed
WHERE: a regrettably nonymous drinking establishment
WHEN: the night of October 23rd. And possibly the morning of October 24th.
WARNINGS: consumption of mind-altering substances, historically inaccurate drinking songs.
SUMMARY: the best way to deal with having had people hearing your every thought up until a few hours ago is to imbibe a chemical that lowers your inhibitions until they're still hearing your every thought. Obviously.
...unless you're the Joker, I guess.
It was a pub, and therefore like pubs throughout the multiverse. Aziraphale didn't pay much attention to the name on the sign, because he was more used to pubs that self-identified by means of crudely painted animal heads, and also because he suspected he was better off not knowing[1].
He sat down at the bar and ordered beers for him and Crowley; Constantine hadn't specified a time, and from the last thoughts he'd heard before the connection, abruptly, sputtered out, might yet be awhile.
[1] He was: this particular respectable establishment went by the moniker of "The Litter Box".