Aziraphale (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tartanisstylish) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
caveofsapphires2012-04-11 03:04 pm
tartanisstylish) wrote in caveofsapphires2012-04-11 03:04 pm
red solo cup is cheap and disposable;
WHO: ِ Aziraphale [John Gates] & OPEN.
WHAT: After an invitation from a very nice man, Aziraphale heads to the Bar for some much-needed libation. Be aware that he is a hilarious drunk.
WHERE: The Bar [The Cave].
WHEN: Wednesday 11 April, evening.
-
Human he might be (and how quick had the transition been, really, not that he was willing to think too hard about that), but at the moment he was in a very figurative Heaven. After all, even absent the Rhône, the Bar served an excellent dry red.
He had been pleasantly surprised at the look of the place, actually. It was far cleaner than he'd expected, well-organized, not sticky, and he'd sat down at the bar without much trepidation, aside from the slight buzzing of nerves that came from a combination of new experience and social gracelessness. Which he'd likely never get rid of no matter how much he put his mind to it.
He could have done without the music, but it wasn't Queen and that was small favors.
It was so easy to immerse himself in the smell and flavor of the wine, to close his eyes and experience it with every nerve. (He swirled it around in the glass, too, like a proper wine snob, although if anyone confronted him about it he would say that he had a right to snobbery; he'd tasted nearly every wine there'd ever been.) He had missed this, very much. Sometimes they'd had trouble getting the right vintages to the cottage; there was much to be said for the convenience of urban life, even if urban life did take place inside an enormous cave. Although this experience was entirely new, it did bring back memories, and he allowed himself to toast to absent friends - friend - who would likely have sneered at him had he been watching in any case.
The day had gone better than expected - certainly better than his whirlwind of a first day. On occasion he caught himself wondering, Are you really just a man? Have you always been? It was so easy to slip into that mentality. There was the video, after all. But then he would remember his conversation with Owen, who'd seemed so off-kilter at first, so meddled with, and who'd voiced his doubts with such remarkable clarity. He had so obviously been struggling in the same way Aziraphale was that Aziraphale had found himself getting quite angry after the conversation was over and he was back in his tiny flat. It all smacked of messing about, which he heartily disapproved of.
It was odd, though. He'd never felt kinship to a human before. Adam had always been a bit . . . far removed, at once a child and omnipotent. He'd admired humans, for their skill and talent and intelligence, and he'd pitied them (Oscar Wilde had fallen into both categories), but never felt that he had anything in common with them.
This was all very new. He had never been good at "new". Drat.
But at least now he had wine and a bit of time to think. He smiled into his glass and ordered another. Really, it was wonderful.
WHAT: After an invitation from a very nice man, Aziraphale heads to the Bar for some much-needed libation. Be aware that he is a hilarious drunk.
WHERE: The Bar [The Cave].
WHEN: Wednesday 11 April, evening.
-
Human he might be (and how quick had the transition been, really, not that he was willing to think too hard about that), but at the moment he was in a very figurative Heaven. After all, even absent the Rhône, the Bar served an excellent dry red.
He had been pleasantly surprised at the look of the place, actually. It was far cleaner than he'd expected, well-organized, not sticky, and he'd sat down at the bar without much trepidation, aside from the slight buzzing of nerves that came from a combination of new experience and social gracelessness. Which he'd likely never get rid of no matter how much he put his mind to it.
He could have done without the music, but it wasn't Queen and that was small favors.
It was so easy to immerse himself in the smell and flavor of the wine, to close his eyes and experience it with every nerve. (He swirled it around in the glass, too, like a proper wine snob, although if anyone confronted him about it he would say that he had a right to snobbery; he'd tasted nearly every wine there'd ever been.) He had missed this, very much. Sometimes they'd had trouble getting the right vintages to the cottage; there was much to be said for the convenience of urban life, even if urban life did take place inside an enormous cave. Although this experience was entirely new, it did bring back memories, and he allowed himself to toast to absent friends - friend - who would likely have sneered at him had he been watching in any case.
The day had gone better than expected - certainly better than his whirlwind of a first day. On occasion he caught himself wondering, Are you really just a man? Have you always been? It was so easy to slip into that mentality. There was the video, after all. But then he would remember his conversation with Owen, who'd seemed so off-kilter at first, so meddled with, and who'd voiced his doubts with such remarkable clarity. He had so obviously been struggling in the same way Aziraphale was that Aziraphale had found himself getting quite angry after the conversation was over and he was back in his tiny flat. It all smacked of messing about, which he heartily disapproved of.
It was odd, though. He'd never felt kinship to a human before. Adam had always been a bit . . . far removed, at once a child and omnipotent. He'd admired humans, for their skill and talent and intelligence, and he'd pitied them (Oscar Wilde had fallen into both categories), but never felt that he had anything in common with them.
This was all very new. He had never been good at "new". Drat.
But at least now he had wine and a bit of time to think. He smiled into his glass and ordered another. Really, it was wonderful.
no subject
How it was possible he hadn't a clue - how it was that he was sitting two seats down from Famine, in a bar, in a cave, underground, and didn't have any sort of weapon or even steady feet - but it was happening. It really was. And he was finding it hard to process.
He was half-tempted to wave down Owen again and alert him to the fact that he might be in grave danger and he should be very rude to this patron at the very least, but he was nowhere to be found and anyway, panicking him was not in anyone's best interest.
He picked up his wine glass, a safety, and barely noticed it rattling against the counter when he slowly placed it back down. Why was he trembling so?
no subject
As far as he was concerned, it proved one thing: this man knew who he was. Not who "David Mathis" was, but who he was. What he was. And yet... Sable still had no idea who this man was. Well, at least he'd been right about him being vaguely familiar. ... Maybe.
He doesn't comment on the shock, the shaking hands... but he does lightly ask, "Is this your first time here?"
no subject
As he was apparently no longer quite an angel, and as he was, if not as drunk as he'd ever been, certainly well on his way, he ducked his head slightly. Defensive, telling, but he couldn't help it.
"It is, yes," he said guardedly. "And you?"
no subject
He watched the not-quite-a-stranger carefully, noting his movements and demeanor, the way he was obviously trying to be cautious around him. Now... who could have known him before - really known him - that he didn't know in return? Probably no one human. Except that here, they were all human. Maybe that's why this was suddenly harder...
no subject
Here he was, looking exactly like he'd done at the power station, looking a bit puzzled, very intrigued, and entirely dangerous. What did one even say in this situation?
"How do you find it?" Aziraphale asked, eyes sliding forward again. "The Cave."