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.
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That earned Aziraphale a considering look from Owen. "Assuming you mean to include the bedroom sort under that blanket... Do you know what the Perseids are?" It was a question worth asking; if Aziraphale knew of Oscar Wilde, then chances were they shared other common denominators. That didn't mean the other man knew anything about astronomy. "One of my favourite times of the year, that would be."
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"All sport," he said severely, then brightened a bit. "The tears of St. Lawrence!" What a jolly martyr he'd been. Odd but so funny. "They're difficult to see in the city nowadays, but in the country - lovely." He pounds his fist on the bar, slightly harder than he'd meant to. "The sky is what we need, I believe I've mentioned this."
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Owen gave his head a quick shake and returned to the topic at hand. "Haven't missed them once since—well, since I was a lad." Rather, since he had died right underneath the amazing phenomenon. Now he could only wonder what would await them in the sky above, outside of this gloomy and disconcerting cavern. "Sure beats looking at a ceiling of sapphire all day."
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He found himself, for the first time, wishing the Antichrist was there.
"Well," he said firmly. "We'll just have to ensure that we do."
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He returned soon after, setting the drink down while he reclaimed his seat. "Rather think we should keep our heads low 'til then, though."
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He ran his fingers across the bar, allowing it to catch briefly in the ring his last glass had made. No promises, he thought, but said, "I'm not likely to start any riots, my dear, look at me," and gestured to himself.
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