Welcome to AZ Fell Bookshop, let me know if there’s anything in particular you’re looking for...
WHAT: A fae and an angel meet in a bookshop WHERE: A.Z. Fell Bookshop WHEN: Sunday, June 28 WARNINGS: None STATUS:Complete!
The people who came to greet him were very kind indeed, Friendly, patient. And that introductory video they presented was extremely helpful, plus it had quite the catchy tune to go along with it. Yes, everybody that Aziraphale had met so far was nothing but accommodating, but he was still very confused. Maybe even frightened, though he didn’t want to go so far as using that word to describe his current emotions. One moment he was leaving the Ritz after having an incredible lunch, ready to begin his new life with Crowley, the next he was plunged into this utterly foreign environment. This went far beyond his normal experience, so while he smiled, there was a nervousness behind it, and though he nodded, he didn’t quite understand what was happening.
Shock. That was probably what he felt. He was in a state of shock, but he chose to keep it hidden (albeit poorly) behind a thin veneer of politeness.
What was even more surprising, they told him that he’d been here before, though he swore he hadn’t and if he was, he certainly would’ve remembered. His bookshop was still present? Aziraphale demanded to be taken there immediately.
Away from its usual London setting, it both looked out of place, yet decidedly a perfect fit for its new environment. “It’s undoubtedly my shop,” he muttered to himself, being able to sense that it was. He nervously fiddled with his hands, held at waist level before drawing up the courage to step forward. As he did, he snapped his fingers, and the front door opened for him.
When the door opened, and the bell chimed, Nesta was at the wooden desk near the front, going over paperwork and accounting, keeping track of numbers. Running a shop was not much different than running an estate, and she had been extremely proficient in that. The numbers came together, as Nesta’s kept meticulous notes and perfect bookkeeping to go with it.
But she also didn’t necessarily enjoy the customer appreciation aspect of the job, and hearing the bell instantly made her sigh, just a little, to herself. When Elain was there, she delighted in talking to people, but it was just Nesta for now.
She did, at least, turn and look at the newcomer, and made an attempt. “Welcome to AZ Fell Bookshop, let me know if there’s anything in particular you’re looking for. The new arrivals are just to your right.”
The Fae turned back to her work without further comment.
Aziraphale stood at the threshold, stiff as a board, except for his eyes, which rapidly flew to and fro to scan the area. Everything was in order, save for a handful of exceptions - there was a new display in front, and he could already tell that some of the books on his shelves were not in the correct place. Minor things, but to Aziraphale, who clung to familiarity and routine (especially in times of stress such as this) the same way a drowning man clung to a life preserver, they were major.
What really took the cake was hearing an unfamiliar voice coming from the direction of his desk. His desk. A woman he’d never seen before in his place, which was bad enough. But the shocker was she’d replaced his chair with something not his. Oh, that was too much to stand for!
“I beg your pardon,” he said in an icy voice. “I am Mr. A.Z. Fell.”
That made Nesta turn, sharply and with blade-like precision. The tone alone was enough to earn a withering stare - one that had literally made men cower from her in the past. Elain would have told her to be calm, be collected, and she tried to do just that.
But first, she pushed back the seat just loud enough to let it make a scraping noise on the floor as if it was nails on a chalkboard.
She stood and walked towards him, but didn’t extend a hand just yet. First, she was going to figure him out. She already knew right away he wasn’t mortal. “Are you? I’m Nesta Archeron, manager of the bookshop as it is in Vallo.”
If Aziraphale was upset before, now he was livid. It wasn’t just because this woman claimed to be the manager of his bookshop. Oh no. It was her careless attitude about the shop that infuriated him, scraping her chair upon the hardwood floor, which he’d kept in pristine condition since the time carpenters laid it down in the year 1800. His expression turned from icy to downright fiery A real manager would be more mindful .
The thought of simply using a miracle to get rid of Nesta crossed his mind. He’d done it before. Hoodlums came to his shop (the mafia, Crowley called them), casually threatening how it would be a shame if the place burned down if he didn’t pay them protection services. Aziraphale didn’t even think twice about sending them away. After this incident, he didn’t have any more problems with them, his miracles made sure of that. However, here he was a new comer, and didn’t want to cause ripples.
There was also something very different about her. Later, Aziraphale would consider how she gave off a unique vibration, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. As he faced Nesta, this vibration struck a chord in the back of his consciousness, which was perhaps another reason he held back his hand. For now, he would deal with as much civilly as he could muster, before resorting to any angelic intervention.
“Ms. Archeron. It’s been very kind of you to look after my shop whist I’ve been away. Seeing that I’m present, your services are no longer necessary.”
Feyre might have told her to be calm or gentle or nice or any other thing that Nesta was not proficient at being when it came to men. She saw his expression, his anger and resentment, and immediately squared her shoulders, bracing herself. Paperwork had been drawn up, the DOA had been helpful, and she’d done well with the numbers and the whole place had given her focus.
It had been what she needed when the rest of her mind was dark. That darkness crept forward just a little, knowing that with just a touch, she could change the course of this conversation. But she didn’t entertain the thought long. That wasn’t who she was, as much as she hated to admit it.
How foolish of her to hope that her presence would be accepted and welcome. Nesta kept her voice as even as possible and spread her hands out in front of her. “Forgive me if I don’t take you at your word, but do you have any proof before I simply just hand everything over?”
“Proof?” The question was both so unexpected and offensive to Aziraphale that he was temporarily taken off guard. Nobody had ever dared ask him that question before, if only because he never had to. Sputtering out his confusion, “Wha... what?” it dawned on him that he didn’t have any on him. As an angel, there was no need - he breezed through the centuries without the need. If he was thinking clearly, he might’ve produced something that was acceptable, but he was nervous about there being some sort of legal hassle where he might actually lose his shop to this perfect stranger.
“Oh!” Just then he thought of something that just might settle the dispute. “I know. If you would be so good as to follow me to the office.”
He walked past Nesta and straight into the back room, and while he did so with confidence, he kept making mental notes of all the little changes that had been made in his shop along the way. In his office he reached for a small key ring, and even though there were many, it didn’t take long for him to find the right one to open the locked cabinet above the desk. He glanced over what was inside before taking out a very old scrapbook, which he set down upon the desktop. Leafing through the yellowed pages, he came across a tintype photograph.
“Here is my proof,” Aziraphale proudly declared. The photograph revealed a handful of men wearing clothes typical of the 1800’s, stiffly posed inside the very same bookshop, every one of them with a serious expression as was the standard of the day, since it took a while for a photo to be taken at that time. Everybody, that is, except one - Aziraphale stood among them, with a beaming smile, with the exact coat as he currently wore.
“This was taken to commemorate my bookshop’s tenth year anniversary. All these chaps,” he waved a finger at the men in the photo, “were my contemporaries. Book publishers and distributors.” Seeing their faces after so long, he became thoughtful. “Good people, but not all of them made it to Heaven.”
Nesta had followed, it wasn’t difficult with her long legs. She kept her face as impassive as possible, cool and without emotion, as she’d schooled herself for many long years to learn, out of necessity. Emotion was such a weakness at home, especially being a woman, and as she stared down at this picture of men showing off their accomplishments, she was filled with such a feral feeling.
At least there was the benefit of not giving a horse’s ass what Heaven was and why she cared, or why they were having small talk when he’d just attempted to throw her out. But if she could help it, Nesta didn’t show weakness.
“So that’s it then.” She didn’t ask it as a question, merely looked at him with narrowed eyes and a firm line of her lips. “You’ve no need for an accountant or manager or any such thing? I’ve made a number of improvements in my time here.” Though, at this point, she didn’t know if she could handle him giving her direction, even if he had asked her to stay on.
Improvements always meant change, and even in the best of circumstances Aziraphale was wary of change. Especially drastic ones, which is what it felt like arriving here unexpectedly, and then finding his shop in the hands of somebody else. When anxious or under stress, Aziraphale found comfort in the familiar, whether it was reading a beloved book or maybe dining at a favorite restaurant. Change was inevitable, it was a symptom of the mortal world, but as an immortal being he sought for the impossible permanence of Heaven on Earth.
Maybe that was why Nesta’s response made him pause. As upset as he was a few minutes before, he was still compassionate. It was one of those angelic qualities that he held himself to, despite how it barely seemed his fellow angels possessed any. He realized that she was probably feeling just as defensive as he was, being suddenly forced out of her position without any prior warning. Having a change of heart, he pouted and shifted his eyes uncomfortably.
“Well. Accounting was always my least favorite chore. And it would be prudent to have you show me the changes you’ve made. You see, I’ve only just arrived an hour or two ago. I don’t know anybody in town, or... really anything about this place. Besides the introductory video I was shown, that is.” He wrung his hands at waist level. “It would be a great help if you could. Stick around, that is. Please.”
That request was a far cry from his initial push of having her out, and Nesta’s eyes narrowed into little slits. Chore, acting as if he was so benevolent to keep her on. None of it sat right with her. With an already distrustful mind as far as men went, and such a strong sense of pride, she couldn’t pull the trigger to agree.
It may have put her in a position where she had less of a leg to stand on, but Nesta was never one to answer to others. She did what she wished, and with a head held high, always. Maybe she would have pulled into those Feyre and Elain reserves if he’d been less antagonistic, but Nesta was always the more cutting sister.
“I’ll show you what I’ve done with the books,” That would be quick, if he wasn’t a complete idiot with numbers, and she turned to the desk with a ledger. “But you’ll have to learn from the rest of this world about this place. I have no desire to be treated as someone’s inferior clerk.”
A wave of relief washed over Aziraphale, and it showed in his expression, oblivious to how blatantly rude he might seem. “Oh. Oh.” He smiled. “That would be wonderful. Thank you. Thank you very much.” The idea of having an ‘inferior clerk’ on board did not appeal to him at all, but would’ve done it, because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. However now that she made the decision, that took it out of his hands now, didn’t it? He was no longer the bad guy, kicking Nesta out to the street, so to speak. He could claim he’d offered her a position, but she declined, relieving him of sort of guilt. After all, he might not be affiliated with Heaven anymore, but he was still an angel.
“Yes, please do show me the books.” The sooner he could get this out of the way, the sooner he could start arranging his shop back to normal, starting with removing that awful chair.
“This way.” It was a good thing Nesta’s ability to cause someone to disintegrate in a pile of ash was from touch and not looks, as she turned her heel sharply and started walking towards the desk at the front again, not bothering to see if he was following behind. Or, maybe, it was regrettable, as the withering look she gave him before her head turned away was almost enough to turn even an Angel into smoldering ash.