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outside_omensDate: After March 9th, 2000 (Exact date unknown)
Setting: Heaven
Status: Private (complete)
Summary: Aziraphale tries to find his way home.
There was a quiet fuss at the judging booth when he arrived, but after a moment’s deliberation, the judge on duty blinked at him and sighed. “Go on,” he said, and waved his hand. Aziraphale felt himself leave and appear somewhere far brighter.
Home.
It didn’t feel like it. Intelligently, he knew it was home, but it hardly was emotionally. A small set of angels passed by, arguing softly with their wings flighty and twitching in their excitement.
Aziraphale adjusted his toga and asked for directions. Off to the right and up left, a kindly brunet told him. The angel thanked him and started off, finding his way to the courtroom of sorts.
There was such a crowd that the harassed angel there just shoved a stack of documents at him and told him to get his body right away, no sense in waiting. If he could fill these out after he was back on Earth, that would be ever so kind, and could he just send them up by post, clearly labelled?
Aziraphale nodded, silent with his own happiness at not being held up by bureaucracy, and put the stack into a satchel created for just that purpose.
He was directed next to a big neon sign cheerily informing him that the building it was propped against was the “Boutique aux Anges.”
They were harried at the door. Gossipy, they outfitted him in a new, similar body, barely blinking at his papers. “All this fuss,” they said, pinning and fitting arms to arms and legs to legs. “Over Michael, you know. Poor thing.”
They spun him around, working feverishly. “We haven’t got enough time in the hypothetical day anymore. Everyone’s swamped. We’re swamped. They’re looking for replacements for him, you know.”
“Leader of the Hosts. A demon now!” another clucked at him, adjusting his hair.
Aziraphale chose to stay quiet as they whirled about him, fixing and clinging and making him stretch and bend. It seemed to take only hours, rather than the usual weeks, and he was finished, shoved out the door with body and all, and a new document clutched in his hand. More paperwork.
Setting: Heaven
Status: Private (complete)
Summary: Aziraphale tries to find his way home.
There was a quiet fuss at the judging booth when he arrived, but after a moment’s deliberation, the judge on duty blinked at him and sighed. “Go on,” he said, and waved his hand. Aziraphale felt himself leave and appear somewhere far brighter.
Home.
It didn’t feel like it. Intelligently, he knew it was home, but it hardly was emotionally. A small set of angels passed by, arguing softly with their wings flighty and twitching in their excitement.
Aziraphale adjusted his toga and asked for directions. Off to the right and up left, a kindly brunet told him. The angel thanked him and started off, finding his way to the courtroom of sorts.
There was such a crowd that the harassed angel there just shoved a stack of documents at him and told him to get his body right away, no sense in waiting. If he could fill these out after he was back on Earth, that would be ever so kind, and could he just send them up by post, clearly labelled?
Aziraphale nodded, silent with his own happiness at not being held up by bureaucracy, and put the stack into a satchel created for just that purpose.
He was directed next to a big neon sign cheerily informing him that the building it was propped against was the “Boutique aux Anges.”
They were harried at the door. Gossipy, they outfitted him in a new, similar body, barely blinking at his papers. “All this fuss,” they said, pinning and fitting arms to arms and legs to legs. “Over Michael, you know. Poor thing.”
They spun him around, working feverishly. “We haven’t got enough time in the hypothetical day anymore. Everyone’s swamped. We’re swamped. They’re looking for replacements for him, you know.”
“Leader of the Hosts. A demon now!” another clucked at him, adjusting his hair.
Aziraphale chose to stay quiet as they whirled about him, fixing and clinging and making him stretch and bend. It seemed to take only hours, rather than the usual weeks, and he was finished, shoved out the door with body and all, and a new document clutched in his hand. More paperwork.
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