Banishment had been... unexpected. Weeks prior to now, he'd lingered outside the portal between his own, smoldering and dead world, and the blazing bright light of an unknown new one. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't afraid of what might have laid on on the other side. Unsure if death might have been vastly preferable to being cast out and away. Surely, surely the incensed Charred Council wouldn't do anything that might bring any level of happiness or comfort to a traitor, even if the act had been borne from deceit.
... Weeks later though, well. He'd had his answer about which was preferable the second he arrived here.
A strange new world, with a familiar, but still foreign Greater Power, full to the brim with humans. With life. He'd have tried to find a way to send a thank you back home if he hadn't been sure it'd be seen as passive aggressive.
Aside from a singular mishap, he'd not yet been seen by anything sapient. Oh sure, one human had stumbled home, breathless and awestruck at the sight of a tall and winged entity in the park, but he'd taken great care not to let that happen again. Moving invisibly was simple for him after all, and direct interaction was... iffy still. Didn't want to make any mistakes.
But it was so difficult to pass by that shop, for a multitude of reasons, really. How could a scholar just waltz past a bookshop? How could an angel just ignore the feeling radiating behind that door? Not a powerful being, no, but there was no denying the comfort it brought to linger by the door itself for a time, little more than dust motes in a sunbeam and the faint scent of freshly turned earth just barely touching the air.
Like a specter did he finally enter, silent and careful, taking care to adjust to the size of the shop itself. Smaller, far more human sized, wings pulled tight as he fully manifested in the furthest most part of the shop. Away from the windows and doors.
After all, it was very hard to flip through pages when one didn't have any hands.
There had been something different in the last couple of weeks. He couldn't quite put his finger on it - just a change in the air, something new and strange and...despite it all, he didn't quite felt like it was a threat. He couldn't explain why. In fact, he'd talked it over with Crowley, and the demon had felt it too. It was hard not to feel defensive or concerned, however, considering the last time things were happening on an ethereal level.
So he's been a bit on alert. Weeks are barely a breath for someone several eons old, but it was enough for him to find some distractions after a while. Distractions that stop serving him the moment he feels something has stepped foot inside the shop.
...well, that might be the wrong word choice. He didn't hear any steps. Or the door opening or closing, for that matter. But he sits at his desk, head suddenly raised, an overwhelming feeling of deja vu washing over him.
He stands up carefully, puts away his glasses, and quietly, carefully, steps out into the shop, and begins looking among the shelves.
The feeling in the shop would be... calm. Supernaturally so, really. The air was clean, the sensation light, almost sleepy. The light filtering in, while not brilliant, had taken on a hazy, almost rosy tint. Full noon it might damn well be, but for just a moment, it'd feel more like a summer twilight.
It wouldn't be hard to follow him, at least. As the shadows grew longer in the back of the shop, the light of the archangel's wings grew all the brighter, casting an otherworldly, cool blue glow across the books. The rustle of feathers gently skirting across the floor and past book shelves, the gentle sensation of the air in a church yard after a thunder storm.
Azrael was indeed well aware at this point that he wasn't going to remain unfound for long. He'd speak moments before he could be seen, not wanting to startle the other angel too terribly.
"I apologize, for not using the door properly. I fear I'm not quite in any state for most humans to see, yet."
Edited (usin words right the first time woo) 2019-09-09 00:29 (UTC)
As peaceful as the whole change might be - in fact, it kind of complements the whole aesthetic of the shop, he would definitely appreciate it had it not been very sudden and unnatural -, it startles him that it happens at all, of course. And the moving lights and growing shadows, and definitely the voice - that last one causes him to jump, quickly turning to try and find its origin.
Whatever is in here, it feels...angelic. Divine. Which, when most would think that would be comforting, it is very much the opposite. One could thank his history.
His back is pressed against the side of a shelf, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts.
Sorry, Zira! If he'd known the other angel's history, he'd certainly have left well enough alone. There was absolutely no desire to make the other uncomfortable by any stretch of the imagination.
He certainly doesn't go pushing the matter, allowing Aziraphale to take all the time he needed to collect himself.
There, between the shelves, stood Azrael, looking... mildly uncomfortable. Seemingly calm, yes, but the entire feeling here seemed roughly on par with peeking in on a skittish cat. Not precisely the same atmosphere as it was in the front of the shop. Well... yes he'd rather hoped to go unnoticed for a little while at least.
Certainly dressed a touch more anachronistically than what would normally be wandering in here.
"... An exile." Not entirely keen on trading names quite yet. "One not of this creation, forgive me for intruding."
It's hard to be subtle when not only are you affecting your entire environment, the only other creature, and owner of the establishment, is a similarly ethereal being. And one that takes great care in maintaining his shop, of course.
The atmosphere changed the moment Aziraphale sensed something divine. Tension, confusion, which certainly don't change the moment he turns to look past the shelf and finds himself staring at Azrael, without a trace of familiarity or recognition.
But that's certainly an angel. A powerful one, as far as he can tell. But he looks entirely out of place, and he can't remember to ever have seen him. He would have heard about an angel this powerful, before he had ever been assigned to the gate.
So, he stares.
"....what--" He stumbles in his words, stops to try and gather himself. "I'm sorry, who exactly are you?"
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no subject
... Weeks later though, well. He'd had his answer about which was preferable the second he arrived here.
A strange new world, with a familiar, but still foreign Greater Power, full to the brim with humans. With life. He'd have tried to find a way to send a thank you back home if he hadn't been sure it'd be seen as passive aggressive.
Aside from a singular mishap, he'd not yet been seen by anything sapient. Oh sure, one human had stumbled home, breathless and awestruck at the sight of a tall and winged entity in the park, but he'd taken great care not to let that happen again. Moving invisibly was simple for him after all, and direct interaction was... iffy still. Didn't want to make any mistakes.
But it was so difficult to pass by that shop, for a multitude of reasons, really. How could a scholar just waltz past a bookshop? How could an angel just ignore the feeling radiating behind that door? Not a powerful being, no, but there was no denying the comfort it brought to linger by the door itself for a time, little more than dust motes in a sunbeam and the faint scent of freshly turned earth just barely touching the air.
Like a specter did he finally enter, silent and careful, taking care to adjust to the size of the shop itself. Smaller, far more human sized, wings pulled tight as he fully manifested in the furthest most part of the shop. Away from the windows and doors.
After all, it was very hard to flip through pages when one didn't have any hands.
well he sure just waltzed in there
So he's been a bit on alert. Weeks are barely a breath for someone several eons old, but it was enough for him to find some distractions after a while. Distractions that stop serving him the moment he feels something has stepped foot inside the shop.
...well, that might be the wrong word choice. He didn't hear any steps. Or the door opening or closing, for that matter. But he sits at his desk, head suddenly raised, an overwhelming feeling of deja vu washing over him.
He stands up carefully, puts away his glasses, and quietly, carefully, steps out into the shop, and begins looking among the shelves.
<3
It wouldn't be hard to follow him, at least. As the shadows grew longer in the back of the shop, the light of the archangel's wings grew all the brighter, casting an otherworldly, cool blue glow across the books. The rustle of feathers gently skirting across the floor and past book shelves, the gentle sensation of the air in a church yard after a thunder storm.
Azrael was indeed well aware at this point that he wasn't going to remain unfound for long. He'd speak moments before he could be seen, not wanting to startle the other angel too terribly.
"I apologize, for not using the door properly. I fear I'm not quite in any state for most humans to see, yet."
no subject
Whatever is in here, it feels...angelic. Divine. Which, when most would think that would be comforting, it is very much the opposite. One could thank his history.
His back is pressed against the side of a shelf, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts.
Then he leans, looking between the shelves.
"Who are you?"
no subject
He certainly doesn't go pushing the matter, allowing Aziraphale to take all the time he needed to collect himself.
There, between the shelves, stood Azrael, looking... mildly uncomfortable. Seemingly calm, yes, but the entire feeling here seemed roughly on par with peeking in on a skittish cat. Not precisely the same atmosphere as it was in the front of the shop. Well... yes he'd rather hoped to go unnoticed for a little while at least.
Certainly dressed a touch more anachronistically than what would normally be wandering in here.
"... An exile." Not entirely keen on trading names quite yet. "One not of this creation, forgive me for intruding."
sorry for the wait!
The atmosphere changed the moment Aziraphale sensed something divine. Tension, confusion, which certainly don't change the moment he turns to look past the shelf and finds himself staring at Azrael, without a trace of familiarity or recognition.
But that's certainly an angel. A powerful one, as far as he can tell. But he looks entirely out of place, and he can't remember to ever have seen him. He would have heard about an angel this powerful, before he had ever been assigned to the gate.
So, he stares.
"....what--" He stumbles in his words, stops to try and gather himself. "I'm sorry, who exactly are you?"