Log, Ongoing

[saunturing-down.livejournal.com]

When; Feb 15th,around 1 PM ish
Rating Um...I'm thinking G for now, but possible subject to change
Characters; Crowley saunturing_down and Aziraphale wingedly
Summary; Crowley's introduction to the city.
Log;


Crowley was pissed. Where in the Hell had the Angel disappeared to? It was bothering him like nothing else, which was much more than he would ever like to admit to in all of his immortal existance.

The this fallen angel, who had not exactly fallen but had rather sauntered vaugly downward, was worried. Of course, Crowley had never worried before, so the emotion was a strange and foreign object to him, and one that he did not like. So here he sat in Aziraphale's empty bookstore, glaring at the wall across from him from behind his sunglasses.

He pushed himself to his feet and brought a cigarette up to his mouth, the thing lighting instantly. He breathed in the smoke, closing his eyes for a moment before breathing out. He frowned, golden eyes opening as the sound of water reached his ears.

And the cigarette promptly dropped from his limp fingers at the sight that met his eyes. He was...standing infront of a fountain. What the---?

Comments

[saunturing-down.livejournal.com]

Crowley's golden eyes closed as the angel murmerd an apology for having forgoten what he was going to say.

"Mn...not sssssssso far..." Crowley stated, feeling slightly muzzy from the alcohol in his system, but none the less, he cracked one yellow eye open and reached out, catching onto Aziraphale's wrist and drawing him closer. "There. Better." he stated. However, he did lift his head and open both eyes, brow drawing into a slight frown.

"Isssss there something wrong with your wingsssss?" he asked.

[wingedly.livejournal.com]

On any other occasion, Aziraphale would have made a halfway excuse to placate his colleague merely due to the fact that cherubs couldn’t precisely outright lie, though having a very drunk immortal being on one’s hand might change the situation quite a bit, indeed. Having proceeded to get rather violently comfortable when his wrist was tugged downward, the angel mumbled a pleased noise and simply lay sprawled out on the rug, breathing in an abrupt scent that was markedly the demon now that they were closer, though he could have recognized it within seconds at any other point. "Hm—?"

Blinking, he had to glance down in order to see Crowley while he inquired after his wings, and as if in an unknowing afterthought Aziraphale’s dilated cobalt eyes turned toward the white appendages, recalling how they’d been molting rapidly as of late. "Ah, they’ve been f—fuh—falling apart, my dear," he answered whilst finding it rather difficult to pronunciate, staring at the feather between his fingers idly and not exactly listening to the words coming out of his mouth, which was probably a bad thing.

[saunturing-down.livejournal.com]

Crowley was very near purring. Especially now that Aziraphale was a good deal more closer than he had been before, and it was rather pleasing to feel the delicious scent of the angel floating past his nose. It was something of a mix of light lavender, dusty books that nobody's opened for a century, and warm honey tea, if he was going to be poetic about it. Or, to put it simply, it was just Aziraphale.

He did frown however, wincing slightly as he forced some of the alcohol to leave his system so he could concentrate more on what the angel was saying. "Falling apart?" he asked. "Angel's wings don't just fall apart. They have a reasssssssson."