It's late. Or, possibly, early. It depends, rather, on your point of view. Whichever it is, it's certainly dark in the Tonks-Wrangle flat as Aziraphael silently opens the front door. Quiet, too, but somehow an entirely different silence to that of an empty shop which is somehow almost deafening ( Read more... )

It's rather chillier outside than it has been thus far. Autumn, it would appear, is very much underway, and Aziraphael stands for a moment to watch a couple of novices raking leaves from the grass. There are faint frown lines between his eyebrows, but he's most certainly not shirking his duty, or delaying carrying out what Crowley's asked of him. ( Read more... )

It's early autumn on Persephone, and around Southdown Abbey's somewhat remote landing strip, the trees are starting their slow transformation from green to vivid reds and golds. It's still warm, on the whole, but there's the slight suggestion of an edge to the breeze. Andronicus Crowley is wearing a scarf, Prior Fell isn't ( Read more... )

It's snowing gently, and it's early enough in the morning, on Boxing Day no less, that Aziraphael's footprints rarely cross others. His nose is tucked into his long green scarf, but passersby would be able to hear that he's singing softly to himself.

Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum
To lay before the King, pa rum pum pum pum...His ( Read more... )

The weather isn't quite managing to be seasonal, although it's doing its very best to appear so. It's sleeting furiously, cold and wet and more than enough excuse to walk closer than is entirely proper, shoulders brushing every now and again ( Read more... )

Aziraphael doesn't notice he's still clutching tightly to the bracelet until he's fumbling for his key; the door swings open without it. He's distracted ( Read more... )

[The simple yellow post-it in the envelope gives no indication of the trouble that was gone through to get it. Apparently the wilds of Scotland have no use for such things, although any number of witty postcards featuring sheep or postboxes could have been procured. But it's the principle of the thing.]Crowley ( Read more... )

Aziraphael is waiting, he's not entirely sure for what.

The back room still feels - not quite right. A little too impersonal. A little too holyIt hasn't had anything to act as counterbalance ( Read more... )

There are wheels within wheels, and rooms within rooms, and sanctums that go a long way past 'inner'. The Pope is only ever a figurehead, while the people who think they're in charge scuttle around interpreting what they believe him to mean and the people who know they are carry out orders that don't ever need to be given. Because they are Good ( Read more... )

Nymphadora -

Life here continues apace. The pace approximately matches that of the older priests that totter about and surely have some function... they'll all be ensured a place in Heaven, no doubt, eventually - the Vatican is apparently some sort of celestial waiting room ( Read more... )