(Untitled)

[a_fell]

Aziraphael is in the bar for once, sitting at a table with a cup of mint-scented tea and a stack of papers. They don't look as yellowed as one might expect, and he's frowning slightly as he pores over them, allowing only the occasional frustrated click of his tongue to express his displeasure

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[aj_crawley]

It may be a Saturday, but it's early enough - by London time at least - that the bar is more or less quiet. The low hum of conversation doesn't quite drown out the crackle of the fireplace, nor the occasional clink of glasses, nor the heavy sound of the front door opening and closing as it admits, in order: the blare of a car horn off Charing Cross, a rather sullen gust of wind, and one demon, the shoulders of his coat lightly speckled with rain.

"Hph," he announces to the room at large.

(The intent, there, had been to blow back a stray tendril of hair. However, since Crowley is wearing his scarf wrapped right up to his nose, all he manages to do is steam up his sunglasses something dreadful.)

[a_fell]

Aziraphael looks up (whether at the sound of the door, the car horn, or the vague tingle that announces Crowley's presences is unclear) and lifts a hand in greeting. The other hand is busily tidying away the papers to a corner of the table within easy reach.

There's another cup of tea steaming invitingly at the place opposite him, and the wave turns into a beckoning gesture.

[aj_crawley]

Crowley almost misses it, taking off his sunglasses and blinking for a moment as his eyes adjust to the light. But even so, he's already looking, scanning the room - and spots Aziraphael in time to catch the end of the gesture.

He weaves his way over, attention divided between avoiding the wait-rats and polishing the lenses of his sunglasses on the end of his scarf.

[a_fell]

"Hello, my dear," he says, as soon as Crowley is within earshot. He spares a glance up and down the demon's well-insulated form, then a slightly guiltier one at the papers he's pushed aside.

"Have some tea; it's a good day for it."

(Every day is a good day for it, but blustery ones are even better.)

[gorgonfondness]

There's a mortal-and-half on a nearby sofa who looks slightly more disheveled than Aziraphael. She's clearly some sort of distressed, but she isn't really sure what to do with it.

She's curled her knees up to herself as best she can considering her condition, lost in thought until something makes her nose twitch. It's a comforting scent and it doesn't take her long to locate the source of it.

Meaning there's a young expecting woman glancing in the general direction of Aziraphael's tea.

Don't worry. She'll realize she's being rude in a moment and apologize.

[a_fell]

His head rises from its contemplation of the papers and he blinks once, twice; he has the distinct sensation that someone is watching him.

"Good evening," he says when he catches sight of her, all (well, most) traces of weariness falling away.

"Ah, I see you have an appreciation for the finer things," he says, smiling and indicating his tea when he sees where she's looking. "Let me bring some over; the bar does a lovely caffeine-free tisane."

[gorgonfondness]

Mia was hardly even aware that she was looking and jolts a little when he speaks.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean to trouble you."

She's even blushing at his suggestion to bring some over. He's even taking her condition into account with making it caffeine free.

But now that she has troubled him, though she wasn't meaning to, she isn't going to stop him from bringing the tea. She could probably use it.

"Thank you."

Mia wipes at the tears in the corner of her eye with her knuckles as he brings it over.

[a_fell]

"You're very welcome," he says, watching with concern. He puts the tray that Bar had helpfully provided on a low table in front of the couch.

"I hope you don't mind if I join you; there's only one pot, and this is one of my very favourite teas." He pours her a cup, taking a deep and appreciative breath of steam, and hands it over.

[hoorayfor_me]

{Freya y/n? :D?}

[a_fell]

{Y, if you're still around! Sorry, I wasn't sure when I'd be here...}

[olyabird]

There is a woman sitting at the bar, mouse brown hair pulled back from her aquiline features, her head down over a book of her own. There's a cigarette smouldering between her fingertips and a cup of thick black Turkish coffee in her hand.

She spoons another measure of sugar into the cup, idly stirring. The sound of Aziraphael's displeasure makes her look up, one eyebrow cocked.

"That looks suspiciously like work."

[a_fell]

He looks up, startled, and manages a wan smile.

"I'm afraid it's something like that, yes. I know," he adds guiltily, "many come here to relax. It's just that there's been a lot going on lately."

He isn't certain why he feels the need to be defensive.

[olyabird]

"This can be a good place to catch up," she says, tapping her book. Her accent is Russian. Possibly Muscovite, possibly something older.

"Business not going well?"

[a_fell]

"It can, I suppose," he says, with a certain reluctance.

"I'm don't believe I'd call it 'business,' but that's likely the closest parallel. And it's none of mine, I'm told, but one can't help a little harmless meddling, in such a situation."

[hoorayfor_me]

There's a woman curled up on the couch nearby with a cup of her own tea, staring at the fire in a preoccupied sort of way. Her gaze lands on him for a minute, and she seems to get a little distracted.

{:D! Up to you whether she's hearing anything in the way of thoughts or not.}

[a_fell]

...dangers to public health...226...three feet...26 vehicles, oh that's not nearly enough...'Biblical proportions,' that's rich...

The flow of thoughts comes to an abrupt halt as he looks up and glances around. Eventually, his gaze lands on the woman by the fire and he nods to her in cautious greeting.

[hoorayfor_me]

Freya smiles back a little uncertainly, and her gaze snaps back to the fire.

But it sneaks Aziraphael-wards again in a few minutes, mostly out of curiosity.

[a_fell]

His thoughts have gone oddly silent, though he's bent over his paperwork again. After a moment, he sneaks a look in her direction, clears his throat, and begins shuffling his papers into a ragged stack.

"Hello," he says at last, glancing her way.