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)
caveofsapphires2012-05-19 10:59 pm
tartanisstylish) wrote in caveofsapphires2012-05-19 10:59 pm
goddamn your confusion, he's got pretty persuasion [closed]
WHO: Aziraphale, Gabriel, Re-l [closed]
WHAT: Aziraphale discovers his persuasive powers via the obnoxious catalyst of Gabriel and Re-l in his bidness.
WHERE: Gates's, the outer ring, Diamond City.
WHEN: May 15, late afternoon.
WARNINGS: Possible mild violence.Gabriel.
-
The first few days, when he wasn't exploring, Aziraphale was sleeping. There was a great deal that he had to do to make his - John's - home livable again, primarily dusting, but he was still trying to acclimatize to the fact that he'd have to do it all by hand. As a result, he didn't even start until the Tuesday morning after they'd arrived.
It was fortunate that John's shop was not similar enough to Aziraphale's own in London to make him nostalgic. In layout it was not terribly different - the large front room full of shelves crammed with things, the small back room with a squeaky old door, the bedroom and kitchen upstairs, and, of course, the layers of dust on everything - but in every other respect, from the technology to the well-worn cookware in the kitchen, it was different enough that he could convince himself he'd had nothing to do with the creation of it. The smell unnerved him, though, he had to admit. He felt that a shop full of knowledge in whatever form should smell like paper and binding and glue, but the metal shelves and the assortment of differently-sized consoles behind the plywood desk made the whole place smell like the mobile shop Crowley had made him go to once. Even the Library in the Cave had smelled more right.
The back room had been a nice surprise, of course. There wasn't anything by way of paper books in the front of the shop - presumably they hadn't been profitable for John, assuming John had actually existed - but there was a small shelf in the back room absolutely stuffed with paper books. He hadn't recognized any of the titles, of course, although he'd spent a mad moment looking through the shelf for a copy of Lyrical Ballads, or The Picture of Dorian Grey, or a Bible.
That was impossible. Nor were any of these first editions. Still, some of them looked interesting, at the very least, and he made a note of several possible starting points. If he had books, he had some sort of familiar ground, and he was da-- bloody well going to take advantage of any he could find.
Another lay upstairs, sitting on the stove as if waiting for him: a kettle. He smiled to himself when he saw that before filling it up, putting it on to boil, and locating with great ease a bag of looseleaf Earl Grey in the cabinet by the sink. He found and washed a tea infuser, pot, and mug just as the kettle whistled, poured it in, and sat in relaxed silence as it steeped. No hope for milk, of course, but there was sugar.
He'd get to cleaning, he thought as he took the first sip of what was really the best tea he could hope for under the circumstances. He really would. Eventually.
Later, he would be very angry with himself for leaving the front door unlocked. Very angry indeed.
WHAT: Aziraphale discovers his persuasive powers via the obnoxious catalyst of Gabriel and Re-l in his bidness.
WHERE: Gates's, the outer ring, Diamond City.
WHEN: May 15, late afternoon.
WARNINGS: Possible mild violence.
-
The first few days, when he wasn't exploring, Aziraphale was sleeping. There was a great deal that he had to do to make his - John's - home livable again, primarily dusting, but he was still trying to acclimatize to the fact that he'd have to do it all by hand. As a result, he didn't even start until the Tuesday morning after they'd arrived.
It was fortunate that John's shop was not similar enough to Aziraphale's own in London to make him nostalgic. In layout it was not terribly different - the large front room full of shelves crammed with things, the small back room with a squeaky old door, the bedroom and kitchen upstairs, and, of course, the layers of dust on everything - but in every other respect, from the technology to the well-worn cookware in the kitchen, it was different enough that he could convince himself he'd had nothing to do with the creation of it. The smell unnerved him, though, he had to admit. He felt that a shop full of knowledge in whatever form should smell like paper and binding and glue, but the metal shelves and the assortment of differently-sized consoles behind the plywood desk made the whole place smell like the mobile shop Crowley had made him go to once. Even the Library in the Cave had smelled more right.
The back room had been a nice surprise, of course. There wasn't anything by way of paper books in the front of the shop - presumably they hadn't been profitable for John, assuming John had actually existed - but there was a small shelf in the back room absolutely stuffed with paper books. He hadn't recognized any of the titles, of course, although he'd spent a mad moment looking through the shelf for a copy of Lyrical Ballads, or The Picture of Dorian Grey, or a Bible.
That was impossible. Nor were any of these first editions. Still, some of them looked interesting, at the very least, and he made a note of several possible starting points. If he had books, he had some sort of familiar ground, and he was da-- bloody well going to take advantage of any he could find.
Another lay upstairs, sitting on the stove as if waiting for him: a kettle. He smiled to himself when he saw that before filling it up, putting it on to boil, and locating with great ease a bag of looseleaf Earl Grey in the cabinet by the sink. He found and washed a tea infuser, pot, and mug just as the kettle whistled, poured it in, and sat in relaxed silence as it steeped. No hope for milk, of course, but there was sugar.
He'd get to cleaning, he thought as he took the first sip of what was really the best tea he could hope for under the circumstances. He really would. Eventually.
Later, he would be very angry with himself for leaving the front door unlocked. Very angry indeed.