She liked America. It was fast and loud and obnoxious, and as close to Hell as you could find on this plane. And she liked it just fine.
Hell never had bothered her much, and she'd come and go as often as the notion struck her. After all, most of America was Hell on a particularly smog-less day. A nice day, if you wanted to call it that. Especially in LA. Which was, currently, where she was. And where she had been for the past decade or so. Excluding the occasional trips 'home.'
Once, she'd been an angel. But she'd followed a friend down, despite the fact that she probably never should have gotten to know him in the first place. But that had been a very long time ago. Though funnily enough, not so long that she couldn't remember what Heaven had been like. And every now and then, despite herself, and how much she actually *did* enjoy her job, she would miss it.
Which annoyed her. And then she'd have to go out and do something wicked to remind herself just where it was that her loyalties lay.
But for the most part, she was quite a pleasant little thing to know.
She was a lawyer. A criminal defense lawyer, to be exact. And she was frightfully good at her job. Especially if you happened to be guilty.
She kept her hair long and short and black, and her wide heavy-lashed eyes were a peculiar shade of blue. Nearly purple, in fact. She wore red and crimson. And ebony as an afterthought. And not altogether that much of it, when it could be helped.
It has been said, and is quite true, that a Mr. A. Ziraphale, until of late, was the only angel stationed on Earth. This is true. Aziraphale was indeed the only angel stationed on Earth. Crowley, however, was *far* from the only demon. Why only send one, when the world is a fairly large place, with so many opportunities to nudge it's inhabitants in the, wrong, direction? You see, demons have the certain tendency to use everything to their advantage, including human nature. Especially human nature.
It is, in truth, very easy to be a demon in America.
Her name, was Aggie. And she liked being a demon just fine.
~*~*~*~
Aziraphale was pondering. He'd been pondering since just a few moments after he'd replaced the receiver.
That had been at precisely a quarter to 11. It was now coming upon 1:33.
The angel-made-human stole a glance at the clock and moved for the first time in several hours. He got up, went to his chair, picked up both cocoa and book, and returned them to their proper places. Sink and shelf, respectively. All the while, it was this train of thought which ran it's self through his mind, on a little tiny set of toy tracks. Apparently in the attempt to catch it's own caboose:
He was human now. That meant he could no longer merely wish to be somewhere and appear there. This was how he had always gotten to Crowley's flat in the past. He didn't own a car. But he could call a taxi. If he only knew the address.
Oh dear.
Now, had Crowley said 2:00 or 2:30? He was fairly sure it had been 2:30. His mind hadn't been all there at the time. Not that it mattered much. If he intended on getting anywhere at all, he'd best get to it.
Standing, Aziraphale removed his glasses to rub at his cerulean eyes, and received a nasty little surprise when he opened them again. He blinked twice, and put the spectacles back on, shocked to discover that he was quite near sighted without them. He spent the next few seconds staring blankly into wide-eyed space before he shook himself.
'No time for this now.' He chastised himself. 'Not if you expect to arrive on time. Now, get on with you then.'
And on he went, collecting his until-this-moment-highly-unneccisary,-kept-simply-to-appear-normal jacket from it's hook by the door on the way.
Stepping outside reminded him immediately that it was, in no uncertain terms, most certainly the middle of winter, and he hugged himself for warmth. Thus far, his experience with mortality was, less that delightful. And yet...
And yet, Aziraphale had been an angel for just a little over 6000 years now, and that angel optimism doesn't die off so very quickly. Allowing a smile to turn his pale, still perfectly shaped lips, the brunette stepped smartly off the doorstep, and walked briskly down the streets of London. He *would* find the demon's flat. He would.
Somehow.
After all, even humans get a bit of luck now an then, right?
Hell never had bothered her much, and she'd come and go as often as the notion struck her. After all, most of America was Hell on a particularly smog-less day. A nice day, if you wanted to call it that. Especially in LA. Which was, currently, where she was. And where she had been for the past decade or so. Excluding the occasional trips 'home.'
Once, she'd been an angel. But she'd followed a friend down, despite the fact that she probably never should have gotten to know him in the first place. But that had been a very long time ago. Though funnily enough, not so long that she couldn't remember what Heaven had been like. And every now and then, despite herself, and how much she actually *did* enjoy her job, she would miss it.
Which annoyed her. And then she'd have to go out and do something wicked to remind herself just where it was that her loyalties lay.
But for the most part, she was quite a pleasant little thing to know.
She was a lawyer. A criminal defense lawyer, to be exact. And she was frightfully good at her job. Especially if you happened to be guilty.
She kept her hair long and short and black, and her wide heavy-lashed eyes were a peculiar shade of blue. Nearly purple, in fact. She wore red and crimson. And ebony as an afterthought. And not altogether that much of it, when it could be helped.
It has been said, and is quite true, that a Mr. A. Ziraphale, until of late, was the only angel stationed on Earth. This is true. Aziraphale was indeed the only angel stationed on Earth. Crowley, however, was *far* from the only demon. Why only send one, when the world is a fairly large place, with so many opportunities to nudge it's inhabitants in the, wrong, direction? You see, demons have the certain tendency to use everything to their advantage, including human nature. Especially human nature.
It is, in truth, very easy to be a demon in America.
Her name, was Aggie. And she liked being a demon just fine.
~*~*~*~
Aziraphale was pondering. He'd been pondering since just a few moments after he'd replaced the receiver.
That had been at precisely a quarter to 11. It was now coming upon 1:33.
The angel-made-human stole a glance at the clock and moved for the first time in several hours. He got up, went to his chair, picked up both cocoa and book, and returned them to their proper places. Sink and shelf, respectively. All the while, it was this train of thought which ran it's self through his mind, on a little tiny set of toy tracks. Apparently in the attempt to catch it's own caboose:
He was human now. That meant he could no longer merely wish to be somewhere and appear there. This was how he had always gotten to Crowley's flat in the past. He didn't own a car. But he could call a taxi. If he only knew the address.
Oh dear.
Now, had Crowley said 2:00 or 2:30? He was fairly sure it had been 2:30. His mind hadn't been all there at the time. Not that it mattered much. If he intended on getting anywhere at all, he'd best get to it.
Standing, Aziraphale removed his glasses to rub at his cerulean eyes, and received a nasty little surprise when he opened them again. He blinked twice, and put the spectacles back on, shocked to discover that he was quite near sighted without them. He spent the next few seconds staring blankly into wide-eyed space before he shook himself.
'No time for this now.' He chastised himself. 'Not if you expect to arrive on time. Now, get on with you then.'
And on he went, collecting his until-this-moment-highly-unneccisary,-kept-simply-to-appear-normal jacket from it's hook by the door on the way.
Stepping outside reminded him immediately that it was, in no uncertain terms, most certainly the middle of winter, and he hugged himself for warmth. Thus far, his experience with mortality was, less that delightful. And yet...
And yet, Aziraphale had been an angel for just a little over 6000 years now, and that angel optimism doesn't die off so very quickly. Allowing a smile to turn his pale, still perfectly shaped lips, the brunette stepped smartly off the doorstep, and walked briskly down the streets of London. He *would* find the demon's flat. He would.
Somehow.
After all, even humans get a bit of luck now an then, right?