(no subject)

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

Date: August 4th, 1999, around noon
Setting: Soho, London
Status: Private - Aziraphale, Ligur, Crowley, Hastur
Summary: There's trouble beginning.

Aziraphale had felt uneasy all morning. It wasn't something he could pin down; it was simply a very vague feeling that something wrong was happening, or going to happen, or had happened. He'd tried taking his wings out (they needed grooming anyway), going for a walk (the ducks were expecting him), speaking to a few customers about his latest find, and entertaining himself by cataloguing books to relieve the feeling, but it was little help.

The feeling had even progressed to the point where his skin had started to itch (but it was really the body's fault), and Aziraphale had at last pulled out his little spray bottle of holy water that Crowley had persuaded him to get. Crowley was in a lot of trouble with Hastur and Ligur, after the whole near-Apocalypse incident, he'd explained to Aziraphale, and it would be very convenient to have some sort of protection at the bookshop. Just in case. Aziraphale had thought it foolish at the time, but in the interest of Crowley's safety had taken his advice.

It was sitting on the desk, quietly mocking his unfounded worry. The fangs probably didn't help that effect either. Fangs, Aziraphale had decided, was the best way to disguise what the bottle really contained, although now he hoped no angels dropped by to see the clearly demonic spray bottle on his desk.

He flipped the page, ignoring the sun that spilled across it, and squinted through his beautifully framed glasses. It was an old text that he'd come across - an early copy of La Morte d'Arthur - and it had a scratch down one side of the cracked and disintegrating leather binding. He tsked and wrote it down on his list.