Aziraphale (not_occult) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-08-07 03:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | aziraphale, crowley, elaine belloc |
who| Aziraphale, Crowley, and Elaine
what| The Next-To-Across-From-And-Three-Doors-Down-F
where| Restraunt Random McFancy; LA.
when| Sometime shortly after this graffitti exchange.
rating| TBA
status| Thread; In progress
Aziraphale had tittered for fifteen full minutes before he'd made it out the door. Surely Heaven must have heard something about Lucifer's retirement. They would have had to. There weren't many, as Crowley would call them, 'Fast Ones' that Hell could pull and not eventually end up catching the ineffable eye, and he liked to think he wasn't so far out of their favour (as little as he had appreciated Heaven's opinions since the day he had, in the eartheral sense, rung Heaven up to deliver a good bout of Armageeddon-preventing prophecy, and been inconviently and prematurely returned to an incorporeal state by an incompetent Witchfinder who smelled like condensed milk and a lifetime of paranoia.) that they wouldn't have informed him of a such an important, inexplicable regime change.
He'd carefully wiped the lip of the half-full bottle of sherry that had been left by the previous owner of the house he was currently occupying with an embroidered hankercheif, and after swallowing it's contents as quickly and neatly as possible(Which had, somewhere along the way, become something decidedly more palatable and potent than Sherry), dabbed his lips, and set off for the restaraunt.
After apologizing for the wince his face had temporarily adopted while the waiter showed him to the table--In his world, reseverations were something that happened only to those who made them in a timely, polite manner; and himself.--he settled into his seat, sobered as much as he dared allow himself to be. Every once in a while, as he waited, his hands would sneak up to the silverware and fiddle it into a more acceptable angle.