entranceway | 9th Book || Nothing Like Being Lost in a Book

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9th Book || Nothing Like Being Lost in a Book

[The video feed cuts on to show Aziraphale in his room. He is seated in an old, tartan wing back chair with the cheerful morning sunlight streaming in from a window. He smiles cheerfully.]

So, I hear we have a book club. This seems like something I would very much like to get involved in as back home I own a book shop and here I manage the library as best I can. If someone has any information on this book club, I would greatly appreciate it.

Thank you.

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[Crowley is spritzing his plants and generally looking after them when the knock comes. He glances at the door to make sure it's just Aziraphale he's sensing on the other side. He's been rightfully paranoid lately.] Come in.

[He opens the door and closes it behind him, brow furrowed slightly. Don't think he didn't notice that hesitation before inviting him in.]

Dear...?

Hullo. [Crowley, for his part, does actually look just fine. He's smiling, got his sunglasses in place. He even has the window open since it's properly spring now. His plants all look healthy and green and terrified.]

I'm sorry about the book club thing, I did actually think you'd heard of it already.

[He makes certain to lock the door before stepping over, a bit of relief washing over him. Crowley's paranoia must be rubbing off on him.]

It's fine, dear. I'm sorry I was cross with you.

[The lock is comforting, but that's really all it is. Not like archangels care about locks.]

Eh, well, should have told you anyway. [He spritzes a jade plant and nods approvingly. This jade plant is much better behaved than the one he accidentally turned into a budgie.]

[He leans over to kiss his cheek apologetically.]

It hardly matters now, truly.

[He smiles faintly at the kiss.] Just try not to take over the poor club, yeah? The poor little mortals can't compete with your literary knowledge.

The girl who founded it asked me to help her moderate it. [He looks a bit guilty.]

[He chuckles.] Of course. Poor woman has no idea what she's in for.

I'll try to not overwhelm them.

[He grins, turning to face him.] Good luck with that. When's the first meeting? Barring further horrible events.

Ah, I... I don't know yet.

Seems like the first thing you'd want to know.

Oh I do, believe me. I just haven't gotten that information yet.

Maybe they're waiting for after the next event, whenever it is. Prior engagements fall by the wayside when the world breaks apart or you're stuck in a tunnel.

This is true. [He looks at the inviting beam of light from the window and decides now is the perfect time to sunbathe his wings. The great feathery appendages unfurl and stretch.]

Flying around with you was terribly fun, I must say.

[He snorts a little as Aziraphale lets his wings out.] It was, wasn't it. Should do it again--in the, er, future.

[Maybe once his wings have healed up and the mere idea of having them out again doesn't scare him shitless.]

It's not as if we need to conceal our flight here. [He kneels in the patch of light, letting his wings spread just enough to catch all the warmth.]

[His plants tended to, Crowley saunters over to his mini-kitchen to set the kettle on.] Yes, well, much as it's not a secret anymore, I'd rather not advertise. Personally.

[Especially not with Michael around, and especially not now that there's a rather wild-eyed Dean who probably won't bother to differentiate between Crowleys. If anyone was going to bless the plumbing...]

I like being able to feel the sun on my plumage. But I suppose we could do night flights.

Maybe... [He stares absently at the kettle, rather pointedly not willing it to boil. He'd rather not talk about wings anymore, and waiting for a kettle to boil is a fairly good way to not have to look Aziraphale in the eye.]

[Have one oblivious angel entirely unaware (or in fact fully aware and intentionally putting on pressure) of Crowley's discomfort.]

Would you like me to preen yours?

Just did mine. [HA.] I'll do yours though, if you want.

[He sighs slightly.] Dear, you know I like doing your wings.

Y-Yes, well...didn't know you'd be over. [The kettle whistles almost plaintively. Crowley pours out two cups of English Breakfast, idly fixing Aziraphale's exactly as he likes it. Probably with like seven sugars.]

Anyway, you can just enjoy the sunlight like a housecat and I'll see if I can make those feathers actually stay put for once.

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