The Bar at the End of the Universe

Aziraphale couldn't deny the worry he'd felt, at his realization that the goddess was upset over his- their- daughter. After everything that had happened outside the bar, it was distressing to feel even the temporary separation, from his lover. So despite being in the middle of his dinner- and the babe sleeping peacefully off to his side- he rushed up to Hedone's room, as soon as she'd asked. Food and sleep could wait, really- neither of them needed that. At least, not as much as Zira needed Hedone's company, her smile, her approval of the babe.

Despite the quick movement the babe just settled back to sleep against Aziraphale's shoulder, the picture of contentment, as he reached up to give a knock at the door. Unnecessary- he was sure the goddess could sense them, outside. But he'd meant what he said, about giving her space. It felt right, to wait rather than just letting himself in.

After a depressing sort of pilgrimage, Aziraphale trudged back into the bar. He just... stood at the door for a long moment, looking around. Watching the people talk, smile, touch one another. They seemed to be less orgasmic than when he'd left; he had to assume that meant Hedone was feeling better. He should have felt grateful, at least relieved, at the thought. But he didn't feel anything past that strange pit-in-his-stomach feel he'd had in the Garden.

He was in shock, he realized. Or maybe this was just... him, now. Depressing thought, that.

More trudging led Zira to the bar, only the feel of the smooth leather against his legs reminding him he was still nude. Rather than will up clothes, however, his focus went into producing a bottle of wine, and reaching out to his lovers. It seemed silly to put effort into dressing, when the bar was already far more immoral than he could hope to mend. He had to start accepting that. Shoulders slumped as he hunkered down against the counter-top, wings settling at his back to at least hide most of his indecency.

Not bothering with a glass, Zira took a heavy drink from the wine, right out of the bottle. If someone wants to notice the tall Englishman with wings, they're welcome to- even if he might not be too happy about it, at the time.

The shower was a wonderful place. The feeling of hot water cascading over sensitive flesh, cool air drafting through every so often bringing goosebumps to the exposed skin, exquisite smells wafting up from expensive and delicate soaps and washes all combined to make the shower one of Hedone's favorite places in the world. Second only to the bath tub.

She could spend hours in her shower, just indulging and since she never pruned up? It just made it even better. Tonight? Was one of those nights. And when she was finally done, she stepped from the shower aiming for the fuzzy rug placed precisely in front of the shower.

And missed.

Her foot slipped and with a bang, her head hit the back off the shower. The normally graceful goddess slumped in the stall, out cold.

A somber looking man in priest's robes sat at the bar, nursing what looked to be a glass of water, lacking ice. He had a salad plate off to the side, half eaten. A book lay open in front of him, his focus seemingly intent on the text. After a few minutes of reading, he looked up, blinking and refocusing his eyes. He paused to eat a bite of salad, to sip his drink. His bright eyes scanned the bar, idle curiosity, as his mind mulled over the words he had recently read.

Aziraphale was on the beach.

Well, to be more precise, Aziraphale was floating amongst the waves rolling along the shore of the Bar's little slice of ocean, wings and arms propelling him among the surf with a playful sort of glee.

Aziraphale's talisman, and most importantly, Aziraphale's clothes, were on the beach. He didn't go without them often- it just wasn't proper. But he wasn't in a very 'proper' sort of mood. Besides, the water was deep enough to cover anything truly unbecoming. For now.

[[ooc: Picture link, and any inside the post assumed NSFW]]

In just a week, the new annex of the bar had become something of a favorites of the more... adventurous patrons, the sights and sounds seeping over into the main room (as much as She allowed; don't worry, nothing too scandalous).

That was, of course, unless you were one of the more prudish traditional-minded members of the bar, who happened to be sitting at a table just in front of the stage, frowning back at the door. Zira'd finally given in and removed the talisman from his neck, in an attempt to stop some of the temptation wafting through the door. It didn't help much, but it at least gave him the feeling of resistance, that he needed after his tryst with the demon and goddess within those walls. What he did with his Love was one thing, but that place was Sin, pure and simple. And, God help him, he wanted it.

Meanwhile, there were plenty of people without such moral qualms, who had thrown themselves right into the fray:

Belle had apparently found her fans, and was currently on one of the small stages in the room, giving a modern twist of a burlesque dance to a small throng of interested patrons. One of whom had finally decided to take the advice of a very mysterious friend, and get himself laid. Thankfully, he was without the deck of cards this time, but managed to find another bottle of Mac's ale somewhere along the way

Sofia was at the bar, still wearing her cop uniform; it had been a joke from Bar, she assumed, but why not? She'd already been accosted for it. At least she could have some fun with it, now.

Down the bar, Jack was drinking something violently green from a glass, taking in all the sights, smiling wickedly to himself. Right now, the only question on his mind was where to begin.

( Cut, for Angels & Demons spoilers. Do not read if you don't want to be spoiled! )

It had been a few days since the familiar, lanky blond form had been seen in the bar. Despite his possibly conspicuous absence[1], Aziraphale actually seemed in high spirits, settled in a chair in the bar's casual reading area. But rather than a book, a simple little sitar sat under scrutiny, the slow thoughtful plucking producing something resembling a melody, although not quite. The most striking thing about the scene was probably the pure, childlike joy on the angel's face at the sounds; which he could hear. Really hear. He smiled to himself, going about his musical exploration, and while he did flinch or turn into new or particularly loud sounds, he didn't seem scared, so much as deeply curious. He was trying to relearn everything, after all.

[1] Considering the Angel needed sleep just about as much as he required food or drink, he very rarely spent a (whole) night up in his rooms. He was as much a fixture in the bar as the booths, it seemed.]

[OOC Notes: Locked for plot purposes. Others can see Crowley at the bar, and can comment here or in other threads/posts that they have seen him, but Crowley will not acknowledge anyone but Zira, at this time. Please forgive him/them!]


He sat at the bar for a long time, hunched over, the arc of his wings outlined against his shirt, if anyone bothered to look. His posture was medatative, closed off. Anyone who dared get close enough would hear him murmuring a repeatative chant, though his voice never rose above the lowest of whispers. Anyone who dared get that close, while he was in his trance, would be hit with a surge of energy meant to push him (or her) back, away. He used his magic only slightly more often than he used his voice, but there was a time and a place for everything, and this was time for magic.

After a time, he straightened his posture, and began to unbutton his shirt. He shed the material and lay the garmet across his lap. His wings unfurled, spreading out to a full six feet of jet black-blue and somehow irridescent feathers. He drew his arm back to the center of the wing span, fingers walking over several of the feathers, searching. Finding just the right one, he yanked it loose, which drew a cry from his lips. He dragged the feather across his mouth, then lay it on the bar, and stared down at it. The effort was extremely focused, as he forced a single tear from his eye, and after a moment, he covered the feather with his hand.

When he pulled his hand away, the feather was gone, and in its place, lay a feather charm on a golden chain. Crowley curled his fingers around the charm, and fisted it as he slipped his shirt back on. Now he just needed to find the angel, to give him the gift.

Hedone walked on stage with her signature slink highlighted in her long red dress. Her lips matched the dress and her hair was sleek and curled. Stepping to the mike, she waited for the piano to start up, opened her mouth and let her smokey voice drift out over the room.

"How glad the many millions
Of Toms and Dicks and Willams
Would be, To capture Me..."

All at once, there was a disturbance in the bar, as the illusion of a door opened, and two little girls danced their way in. They were about six years old, wearing pink leotards, long dark hair pulled back in pigtail braids. It only took them about 2.7 seconds to realise they were in a strange place, both of them going wide eyed.

The bolder of the two stepped forward, as if to shield her sister, as they took in their surroundings. "A bar? Really." She said in spanish, as the other girl looked on. She tugged at the other one's sleeve, hands moving in a blur, signing a litany of questions, Where are we? Where is mami? How did we get here?

( Prelude to an entry, NWS and featuring mature themes )

He gathered his clothes with stiff, guarded movements, dressing himself with the coordination of a small child. He eased toward the door, half expecting another attack, instead rolling back in shock when he stepped into a bar. He reached up to see if he'd hit his head. Wide eyes looked around wildly, unfocused. He stumbled back, feeling resistance in his left ankle. Hitting the wall behind him, his breath surged out, and he could do little more than stare at the scene in front of him.

Taking the steps one at a time, Hedone moved slowly with a slink in her step. She wasn't one to hurry anything, even the simplest of activities. She'd been at the bar for a few weeks and was mostly used to it. There was alcohol, good food and company if she needed it. The fact that she was essentially trapped only hit a nerve every so often. Usually when she got the urge to sing. She really should ask the bar for a stage. Not today though.

Today she was in the mood for a walk on the beach. Maybe she could find someone willing to join her.

Near the back of the bar there was a more casual seating area, complete with a fireplace, a few couches and chairs, and most notably, an impossibly tall shelf of books. They ranged in topic from fantasy, to proper care and keeping of a garbleflarg[1]. This was the usual habitat of a rather tall, rather lean, and utterly plain looking man[2] by the name of Mr. Fell[3]. Currently, the man was perusing the stack of books (at least as high as he could see from the ground), trying to decide what to read, for the day. And while the hustle and bustle of the bar behind him didn't seem to bother him, it also appeared that the addition of company would bother him even less. There was a lonely air about him, at least as far as most could tell.

( Notes )