For someone who so loves books and reading and calm nights with a mug of cocoa in front of a fire, Aziraphale is surprisingly averse to silence. Or perhaps it's just that he's not used to it, after centuries of living in London, surrounded by people and life and noise. This forest, with its unnatural stillness, makes him anxious, and so he's doing his best, whether consciously or otherwise, to fill up the quiet with words.
Unlucky for whoever he happens to be with.
"The Revolution - well, directly after it, really, they called it the Reign of Terror, a very apt name it was too. I got involved quite by accident - there were these crêpes, you see, can't get them anywhere else, and nothing else would quite suit. I thought I'd just pop in for a bite, and before you knew it, there I was, in a cell with my hands bound!" He pouts, rushing on without letting his companion getting a word in edgewise. "It was awful, cold and damp, and my head was next on the chopping block when suddenly..."
He pauses at last, frowning. He knows this story, of course he does, and he knows exactly what had happened next, who had arrived and frozen time to save him. Only it's...fuzzy, for some reason. He can't quite remember now who it had been. How very strange.
City
What's a little creepiness when there are bookshops to explore? Certainly no one can deny that it's better than the woods. Aziraphale brushes off the inherent spookiness of the place as best he can. He spends his days exploring the town; any Reclaimers motivated enough to set up shop in the empty bakeries and start baking will shortly get a visit from a very appreciative and enthusiastic angel, more than happy to sample their wares, and he's drawn to the bookshops as if by magnets, getting himself lost in the stacks for hours. Should someone come across him with his nose in a book, they could quite easily stand there for a good five minutes before he suddenly becomes aware of their presence, giving a jump.
"Oh! You startled me!"
Wonderland
Amusement parks have never been Aziraphale's scene, but he is nothing if not open to new experiences. The extra bit of oomph this place provides merely boosts his natural enthusiasm into pure, unbridled joy. He laughs and beams, seeming almost to glow as he bounces from one game in Wonder Square to the next. And though he loses more often than he wins, that doesn't dampen his zeal a bit. Hey, maybe rescue him before he gets himself too deep into WonderDebt?
Once he's finally able to tear himself away from the games, he finds himself on the tram in Round Square, and wouldn't you know it, he's ended up next to you. It is beautiful, even romantic, and with all his memories of a certain demon who goes too fast conveniently (or not so conveniently) faded away, Aziraphale is free and clear to smile shyly at his companion, batting his eyes and quite swept away by the magic of it all.
The Hall of Mirrors in the Ghost Square is something else entirely. Aziraphale walks slowly along, fascinated, stopping to stare every time the mirror shows something a little stranger than a stretched-out or compressed version of himself. Perhaps he's in an unmistakably old-fashioned outfit. Perhaps he's something that looks nothing like the Aziraphale you know, a beautiful but terrifying mass of eyes and feathers, constantly flapping and hovering in the mirror. Or perhaps what appears isn't Aziraphale at all, but someone else, someone Aziraphale pauses in front of, only to frown at quizzically.
"Who is that?"
Wildcard
Got something else in mind? Hit me up at butteredcups or on Discord, or jump right in with a prompt!
Aziraphale | OTA | will match brackets or prose!
For someone who so loves books and reading and calm nights with a mug of cocoa in front of a fire, Aziraphale is surprisingly averse to silence. Or perhaps it's just that he's not used to it, after centuries of living in London, surrounded by people and life and noise. This forest, with its unnatural stillness, makes him anxious, and so he's doing his best, whether consciously or otherwise, to fill up the quiet with words.
Unlucky for whoever he happens to be with.
"The Revolution - well, directly after it, really, they called it the Reign of Terror, a very apt name it was too. I got involved quite by accident - there were these crêpes, you see, can't get them anywhere else, and nothing else would quite suit. I thought I'd just pop in for a bite, and before you knew it, there I was, in a cell with my hands bound!" He pouts, rushing on without letting his companion getting a word in edgewise. "It was awful, cold and damp, and my head was next on the chopping block when suddenly..."
He pauses at last, frowning. He knows this story, of course he does, and he knows exactly what had happened next, who had arrived and frozen time to save him. Only it's...fuzzy, for some reason. He can't quite remember now who it had been. How very strange.
City
What's a little creepiness when there are bookshops to explore? Certainly no one can deny that it's better than the woods. Aziraphale brushes off the inherent spookiness of the place as best he can. He spends his days exploring the town; any Reclaimers motivated enough to set up shop in the empty bakeries and start baking will shortly get a visit from a very appreciative and enthusiastic angel, more than happy to sample their wares, and he's drawn to the bookshops as if by magnets, getting himself lost in the stacks for hours. Should someone come across him with his nose in a book, they could quite easily stand there for a good five minutes before he suddenly becomes aware of their presence, giving a jump.
"Oh! You startled me!"
Wonderland
Amusement parks have never been Aziraphale's scene, but he is nothing if not open to new experiences. The extra bit of oomph this place provides merely boosts his natural enthusiasm into pure, unbridled joy. He laughs and beams, seeming almost to glow as he bounces from one game in Wonder Square to the next. And though he loses more often than he wins, that doesn't dampen his zeal a bit. Hey, maybe rescue him before he gets himself too deep into WonderDebt?
Once he's finally able to tear himself away from the games, he finds himself on the tram in Round Square, and wouldn't you know it, he's ended up next to you. It is beautiful, even romantic, and with all his memories of a certain demon who goes too fast conveniently (or not so conveniently) faded away, Aziraphale is free and clear to smile shyly at his companion, batting his eyes and quite swept away by the magic of it all.
The Hall of Mirrors in the Ghost Square is something else entirely. Aziraphale walks slowly along, fascinated, stopping to stare every time the mirror shows something a little stranger than a stretched-out or compressed version of himself. Perhaps he's in an unmistakably old-fashioned outfit. Perhaps he's something that looks nothing like the Aziraphale you know, a beautiful but terrifying mass of eyes and feathers, constantly flapping and hovering in the mirror. Or perhaps what appears isn't Aziraphale at all, but someone else, someone Aziraphale pauses in front of, only to frown at quizzically.
"Who is that?"
Wildcard
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