Aziraphale leaves the cinema with his back straight, hands behind his back, chin up, and trying to bend his knees, thinking if he should go play... whatever that thing is called.
Old ladies' poker.
Whatever. I mean, it would be weird not to go if it's what he always does, doesn't want to raise suspicions, but he's not even sure where the hell he has to go.
That... is a good question. If you get closer to home, someone will surely be able to tell you.
Not even sure what he's supposed to play. Although it was probably one of those posh games... This would be easier if he used his bloody phone. Could check the usual schedules.
Although maybe there was some... cave painting in his bookstore that indicated something. Can't believe he has to WALK all the way there.
You could take the bus.
He's not going to take the bus! It's the same distance from here to the stop as it is from here to the bookshop.
That's how he goes, by bus everywhere. They're comfortable and then he meets people.
Rolls his eyes, even leans back a bit.
Don't be dramatic! But fine, walk!
He gestures whipping with that "walk!"
More than one person greets him on the street smiling, although this had already happened to him since the last time.
Returns forced smiles to the people who greet him.
The shop awaits you gladly... although you have to open it with keys.
Doesn't even stop to think that... there will be keys.
Don't do mundane miracles!
Entering the bookshop isn't mundane!
If there are keys to enter! But okay, I'll shut up because you didn't scold us that much.
Exactly, thanks. He hasn't even thought about it. Looks around the bookshop because... he's been here many times, but he's never been here alone and knowing that the real Aziraphale is not coming soon.
Except for the day he was on fire.
That day wasn't the bookshop!
No, it wasn't. It's true. In fact, this time he's much happier with your presence. Although the first time you open a book without gloves...
Truthfully, closing the door and being able to stop being in a posture like he's got a stick up his ass makes him smile and relax, taking off his coat. Music, that's the first thing.
He doesn't have a stick up his ass!
Maybe it would do him good to put it on and relax his body a bit.
Better not a stick, but okay, there's a gramophone in the corner.
Maybe he should skip the shitty game and try that.
You can actually try, wait... Are you going to try putting a stick up his ass or the gramophone?
The stick. He already knows where the gramophone is and how it works. They're old friends.
You're not going to mess with Aziraphale's body! If you do that without Aziraphale, I SWEAR... okay, I don't know if he'll kill you. But I'll definitely kill you.
But it would give him a tactical advantage...
Truthfully, you'd be teaching his body something it doesn't even know exists. If tomorrow it starts reacting because of you...
That's a GOOD tactical advantage.
Yes... It is... although we wonder if Crowley usually does... that.
No. I mean, it's like food, or sleep, they don't need it, but they can learn it.
Yeah, I wonder if he... has learned it. I mean, we already established it's like food or sleep.
Maybe he's tried it before out of curiosity but...
Maybe it'll work better this time.
Why? Is the angel's body already used to this?
No, but I think he might like seeing the angel... like that.
I mean, the last time they did this switching thing, he thought about it but they didn't have a chance.
Well... now you have him, there ready to do whatever you want.
Anyway... better some music first. Not like we suddenly got nervous. He's sure there was some jazz or swing record among the classical music.
Yes, there are some.
And wine. That would also help, for sure...
There's also post-war band music.
He wrinkles his nose. For all the hells, there had to be a bloody way to make replacing all this with... beboop an accident without a clear culprit. And although it seemed like a good plan, there wasn't time to be thinking about it.
You're going to burn it all down soon. Dramatic Aziraphale moment.
We'll see about that... Alright.
Snap of fingers. Music playing.
Snap of fingers. Wine in a glass.
Snap of fingers. Shutters lowered.
Snap of fingers. Bookshop closed.
Ugh! Gabriel's going to come scold you...
"Fuck. He told you not to do that. Damn it, not even that. Bloody hell! For fuck's sake!" he protests trying to stop himself.
He's so cute and hysterical. Screams Aziraphale has never uttered in his life.
"Damn it..." he stops himself, trying to breathe. "G-Gosh."
So infinitely cute Aziraphale. He clears his throat a bit because this doesn't help him feel less ridiculous. He sighs and goes for the wine and drinks the entire glass and then pours himself another.
Honestly, if it's any consolation, you're not being much more ridiculous than he is.
Would there be a mirror somewhere in the bookstore? And a divan or something would help too...
Well... you've sat somewhere before. SURELY he has something for you to sit on where you can sprawl out. And maybe there's a mirror among the magician's... nonsense. What's needed is space.
There's plenty of space! I mean not everyone has a house like yours with three square kilometres and a REVOLVING door... it's another matter.
Plus, it won't come from a couple of finger snaps anymore. No, if the problem isn't the actual space, it's the space things take up.
Okay, okay... if we're all snapping our fingers more than a flamenco singer.
Space, divan, mirror... wine. And there we go... he sighs standing, looking at himself in the mirror. And the first thing is to take off his shoes.
Super important point.
And then the socks... and... what the fuck is this? Sock garters? Really?
Have you even seen his feet? Yes, of course he wears sock garters, it's very comfortable!
Okay. He didn't want to go through this. I mean, the idea wasn't to see him without trousers and with socks on... but there's no way to untie this shit without first taking off the trousers.
Actually... he's not going to look sexy in an... obvious way. Not with socks on or even if he takes them off. He's just going to look like a middle-aged man, dear.
That's an issue... for... when he manages to... get rid of these... shit. Scissors. He needs scissors.
And the underwear, for all the demons. What the hell is this?
Yeah, yeah... just because you wear modern underwear doesn't mean it suits everyone.
At least he manages to cut the sock garters with a letter opener. Can't wait to see you explain that and take off the socks. He wiggles his toes.
They're just some slightly chubby feet.
Yes, but... Well, the view still doesn't convince him. And knee-length underwear doesn't help the cause. Better to continue with the waistcoat.
Aziraphale would be MORTIFIED if he saw you. Well, yeah, that happened the other way around too.
Yeah, yeah... we're just reminding you. The waistcoat comes off quickly.
He tosses the waistcoat over the trousers and shoes and brings a hand to the bow tie...
Don't you dare wrinkle it!
He hesitates for a moment, looking at it, with his hand on it... and runs it through his hair, leaving it where it is before starting with the shirt from below. Ahem.
Ohh... you like the bow tie!
Ahem. Why the hell is there still a bloody third undershirt under the shirt?
Because it's the right way to dress! Don't you remember all the layers they used to wear before, including tights?
And before that, people didn't have heating and I don't see it being cold here.
But clothes fit better this way.
Whatever. Off goes the libido-killing cotton undershirt. It's also thrown somewhere.
He looks at himself again, just... in his underwear and bow tie... And takes a moment to take a deep breath before taking off the underwear too.
They're tossed away with a flick of his fingers before he looks at himself from head to toe again.
Not that nudity itself gives him any special... feeling. And knowing that in the end, their physical appearance was more of a choice than anything else.
Still, they had chosen... complete but some things changed a bit according to certain habits (ahem... that belly).
He brings his hands to it and caresses it a bit, smiling sweetly and thinking that he shouldn't let that worry him. And the truth is, when he notices that smile in the mirror, he does blush.
Aziraphale's sweet smile? Yes, he does it often.
Yeah, yeah... ahem. Well, the thing... more wine.
No wonder that smile makes you blush. Or that you need more wine.
He lies on the divan, throwing the clothes on the floor with a kick now, looking at the mirror. And then he corrects his posture. And corrects it again. And a third time, because he doesn't know how to position himself without looking too slouched to really look like Aziraphale or too composed to have access and... perspective.
Come on, however you lie down, you're always going to be sprawled out like a fried egg.
Because... you can't sit with your knees together and your back straight to do this! Okay. Screw it. Sprawled out it is and to hell with everyone else. He moves again like five more attempts.
Aziraphale's body considers that, despite everything, you're right. There's no way to do this without sprawling out.
When he finally settles into a posture he likes, he looks into his eyes, moistens his lips, and dares to whisper "Crowley..." before having to cover his face from himself unable to bear it.
"Aziraphale..." Another voice is heard.
To the hell with all the posture and... huh? He blinks, snapping out of his... general drama.
"What are you doing?" the tone is one of absolute, ABSOLUTE displeasure.
Aziraphale slowly opens the fingers he was using to cover his face and there he can see Michael, in the mirror's reflection, with a disapproving expression.
He blinks slowly... once... twice... lets out a YELP and grabs the first thing he finds to cover himself. This is a bookshop, so it could be... a book. Maybe one on contemporary art. With Andy Warhol's Banana, which was also the cover of the Velvet Underground album, drawn on the cover.
Michael raises his eyebrows, slightly startled by the scream, and looks at him... the Andy Warhol banana.
Aziraphale looks at him a bit flustered, trying to compose himself. Why the hell did he throw his clothes so far?
"Can you hear me or not?" Michael insists, not quite understanding why he's naked. It's the first time he's seen him like this...
"Uh-uh... Y-You. Uh... Angel. H-Hi." Play it cool, play it cool. You don't even know her name because you're not LISTENING. At another time he would invite her to join or something but... isn't she one of those who were there when they burned him? No... He would remember, the fucking face of the three was seared into his mind.
"Hi. What are you doing? One of these... human things?"
"This is... yes. Exactly," he hesitates a bit. "I mean... No! It's just that I was feeling hot and... maybe we could knock on a... symbolic door or something before showing up out of the blue like this," he protests.
Michael blinks a couple of times.
"I'm not going to knock on a door. Maybe you could behave like the angel you're supposed to be and not like a strange human."
"And what the blo...," he stops himself before saying bloody. "Bla... um... ble..." he can't come up with anything, he raises a finger. "Blu... I'm sure I knew a word for this... Anyways, who cares? The point is dolphins. I mean, the point is... that's only funny for twenty minutes, believe me, I know."
"Funny?"
"What I'm saying is... Earth changes one, and... well, wherever you go..." he shrugs. "We're supposed to blend in and all that, right?"
"I know, I know it has changed you completely. Almost to the point where we're not sure about... your nature."
"Ah, yes. That... cool, isn't it?" I think you could try a bit harder to sound like him.
"Cool? You're a disgrace to paradise, Aziraphale."
"Ah, yes. That very paradisiacal issue of not having clear priorities and what is embarrassing and what not," he murmurs and settles a bit better on the divan, sprawling with the book on top, not noticing it. Michael looks a bit... puzzled by all this.
"Is this attitude another act of rebellion?"
Aziraphale blinks and... clears his throat as he sits up straight.
"No, no, no... Sorry. Um... you've just caught me a bit... off guard."
"I've been sent to confirm that you're fulfilling what you've been asked."
"I... am. I am. Of course I am. It's just... more difficult than I thought. We have a lot of information on exorcisms and such, but if holy water doesn't work, even fewer will a few words and some hand gestures," he makes some theatrical gestures. Michael crosses his arms and looks at him quite intently.
"Exorcisms, huh? Is that what you're thinking about..."
"In reality... No. I discarded it almost immediately with what I just told you," he swallows. "I was thinking that if holy water doesn't affect him, perhaps fire might."
"He's a demon, Aziraphale... why would fire harm him?"
"Because holy water doesn't. His nature has changed."
"Just like yours," he accuses, pointing a finger at him. "You'd better have a clear idea soon... and act on it. Because I KNOW you don't want to," and a rather malicious smile appears on his face.
"Actually..."
"Eh?"
"Actually, what I need is to investigate more. I'm afraid I'll have to get closer to him and earn his trust if I want to know his weaknesses."
Michael squints. Aziraphale smiles at him like an angel. The very cynic.
"You have feelings of love towards him. We all know it," he accuses. "I've told them you wouldn't want to kill him because of it. How could you not know him?"
Aziraphale blinks a couple of times and blushes a bit because it's not that he doesn't know it, or that he doesn't know that everyone knows it, but hearing the accusations so directly... Now he understood why he started screaming at the slightest provocation.
"One thing is knowing his personality and another his weaknesses. It's true that I've had to... nullify his evils countless times, but I've never had to go to this extent."
Michael rolls his eyes.
"And do you think by getting closer to him you'll find out... how to exterminate him? You should know..."
"Well, I do think I'd have more options, yes. In the end, it's not like no one else knows how to do it, right?
"This is," she clears his throat. "A test. Of your resolve and your willpower... and your abilities.
"Of course, of course, of course. I'm... looking forward to proving all that."
"I know you don't have any. Imagine wanting a demon..." eye roll. "I don't want to have to keep coming down to Earth to constantly check up on what you're doing, Aziraphale. And I don't want to spend eternity on this... so, chop chop, either you cooperate, or someone else will probably beat you to it.
"And how on earth is someone going to beat me if there isn't a single usele... um... entity in your stup... um... paradise who knows how to do it? Besides, isn't loving supposed to be like the bloody essence of an angel? The impressive thing here is that he does it back, and in hell, no one mocks him. Damn it, tell Gabriel that I'll be fraternizing with the enemy for documentation purposes and if any of you show up and Crowley starts to suspect, you better be ready to forget about this mission."
Miguel raises his eyebrows at that response. Aziraphale hesitates for a moment, thinking he might have gone too far. That's why he should just keep QUIET.
"Uh... by the way, sorry for my bad manners. Would you like some tea, dear?" he adds.
"What did he?" Miguel laughs quite cruelly, ignoring the tea issue.
"What who what?
"That HE does it back, Aziraphale, don't be ridiculous."
"Of course he does it back, aren't you the ones who have that... thing of feeling those things or whatever?"
"You're imagining that!"
"Who knows him better, you or me?"
"you are feeling... you ridiculous exces of you own pity love and thinking is his..."
"I've been told," he responds, rolling his eyes.
"He's a demon, Aziraphale. Obviously, he can't be trusted."
"Of course, because people who kidnapped me and dragged me to the stake to burn can definitely be trusted." he continues, with sarcasm.
"We're the good guys, Aziraphale. And you've been playing on the wrong side of history."
Aziraphale squints at that.
"No... It's not like that," he changes his tone to a softer one.
"But your carelessness will lead to your disappearance. I'm telling you, I'm doing you a favor by coming to pressure you."
"I'm not having... alright. Maybe I am... but... Look, I know this may mean nothing to you, but there truly isn't a more upright, faithful, and committed angel to heaven than me."
"You're in love with a demon, Aziraphale," he looks at him with a raised eyebrow.
"And yet I've never let that influence me, quite the opposite. I think that's why I'm so irrational about it."
"How can you tell me you haven't let that influence you? You even stopped the Apocalypse, helping him!"
"That was for... me. And the world. And humanity. Not for him."
Eye roll from Miguel.
"You have no idea about anything, Aziraphale. Still... if you prove you're on our side, perhaps you can... become useful again. As for me, you can do whatever you want, as long as you exterminate him. SOON."
"Yeah, I know..." he moistens his lips.
"Good. Don't make me come back."
"I'm as eager for you to do so as you are to..." he squints. "Thanks for coming anyway. And... sorry for... talking to you like that, I'm a little nervous.
"I can see that, I can see that. No wonder," she smiles again, sideways, quite malevolently. "Anyway, I'll tell Gabriel you have a plan already, albeit a rather flimsy one.
He glares at him for a second, scolds himself internally, and smiles as sincerely as he can. Miguel disappears.
Aziraphale takes the book from where it is and puts it over his face with a huff/grunt/exclamation of protest and frustration.