tramitem_log | They met at the Cloisters

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They met at the Cloisters

Who: Anthony and Aziraphale
What: On a date to The Met Cloisters
When: Monday - Aug. 3
Where: The Met Cloisters

He stood in the first hall, his weight shifted elegantly to one side as he stared into the carved wooden face of Mary. Romanesque wood sculpture depicting the Enthroned Virgin and Child said to have come from the chapel of Saint-Victor at Montianeix, or so the nearby placard read. It must once have been a very holy sort of chapel as even standing back at some distance the aura radiating off the mother and child made all the little hairs on his arm stand on end. The crawling sensation was either from that or from the nearby limestone doorway from Moutiers-Saint-Jean which he was not looking forward to passing through to get to the next gallery. It practically screamed Monastery and all the holiness that went along with an ancient place people spent their entire lives devotedly praying in. To his right was the first of the reconstructed cloisters so if he did begin to feel lightheaded he supposed he could nip out there for a turn around the font in the center. Was the font still full of water and would that water still retain some of its holiness as these stones had? Maybe popping in there wasn't the best idea after all...

Anthony instead sought out Aziraphale and drifted closely along behind the art enthusiast to peer over his shoulder at which ever piece had caught his eye.

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Everything caught Aziraphale's eye, including his demon, always nearby--lurking, circling, he wasn't really sure. What an odd, blasphemous pair they made: a gay, atheist angel and a bisexual catholic demon in a museum dedicated to holy items.

He had never been very taken by the whole of organized religion itself, but he loved the aesthetic: with the intricacies of stonework, wood detail, the stained glass... Religious places looked majestic. They carried a sense of drama and grandeur. He gave an appreciative look at each item, reading the placards and pointing out features or historical contexts of a few pieces when he was aware of them.

The Cloisters took on a new ambiance now. The holy artifacts made the air tingle pleasantly like static before an electric storm--or at least they did for him--and then, lurking around every step, some spooky darkness tickled his awareness as if teasing for his attention. It was all very mysterious.

He took Anthony's hand as they approached the stone doorway, threading their fingers together. Aziraphale was an angel, apparently, good, but hardly holy, as headless as the defaced angels arching over the doorway in their intricate stonework. What did it even mean to be an angel of the Lord? Must he force himself to believe in something that he had no faith in?

"Shall we continue on? Or do you need a breath of fresh air?"

Aziraphale's deep thoughts remained hidden to Anthony as they appeared like little more than a shadowed look or two as they drew closer to the grand archway with its imposing size and headless figures. At least six stone angels arced their way over the door-frame and all of them had lost their heads like some one had purposefully taken a chisel to them. If not for the very holy aura emanating from the stones Anthony might have thought them fallen. Maybe something similar happened to fallen angels. They didn't actually lose their heads, he could say that with some certainty as his was still very firmly attached, but something was taken when you were cast out. There was an empty void where once you had a deep purpose. Your sense of understanding about the universe and the way things worked was turned entirely on its head. You were fallen... lost... He felt every bit of that now as the building turned against him with it's tingling and prickling sensations.

It was almost funny how even a few months ago he could have walked into this place and felt like he belonged. There was nothing more normal than a good Catholic boy visiting a site full of holy relics. Things had changed so much. Now it was clear he wasn't the least bit 'good' and he doubted if he were even still Catholic... could demons really claim to be part of a group that had thrown them out?

It might have been a very lonely sort of feeling if he allowed himself to wallow in it instead of defiantly lifting his chin and resolving to enjoy the Hell out of this day just to spite the carved disapproving eyes which loomed down from every decorative element at him. The entire building might have turned against him in some effort to evict the demon but he would have stayed in spite of them as his hand grew very warm snugly tucked in Aziraphale's.

"Fresh air... who needs fresh air? I'm not bothered!"

He spoke grumpily as they marched through the archway together and into The Chapel. With the two of them walking hand-in-hand down the center aisle it almost felt like a ceremony and that he should at some moment draw his gaze towards those crystal blue eyes and stammer out some quick 'I do'... instead he stepped on a stone that burned his toes even through his thick rubber souls and sent him scamper-dancing as far across the room as the clasped hands would allow before he manged to step around the stone and back to Fell's side. Maybe at one time an alter had sat upon that piece or maybe some one had spilled a galleon of holy water on it... whatever it was Anthony made note not to step on that one again on the way out and haughtily pretended the incident hadn't happened.

"The stained glass is nice. You know, when you walk by the windows I can almost see it, you with your halo."

Anthony sounded very bothered--brave, but bothered--but Aziraphale wouldn't push the matter right now. He could bide his time, wait for the right moment to sweetly insist Aziraphale needed the fresh air and save Anthony's ego from admitting there was any stifling holiness. What was it like, he wondered, to look on this as a demon?

The magic of the Chapel and the stillness of the room was broken by Anthony's awkward hotfooting. Concern for Anthony's feet melted into amusement and then into affection, and Aziraphale swayed, stepping to keep from teetering over as he tethered Anthony's awkward tapdance to their shared orbit. The floor didn't look like it should hurt. There was nothing to stub a toe on, or anything electric or otherwise, so it must have been something holy about the spot. He gave the offending location a bit of a glare, thought a few unkind thoughts about blessed spaces, before wrapping his unoccupied arm around his beau's waist and curling into his side.

The artistry of the stonework and stained glass could not be disputed, but it was also cold, distant. Iron banded doors gave a solidity and impenetrability to the room, and the vaulted ceilings and narrow windows cast bluish light, creating shadows and echoes, illuminating and drawing the eye to the altar. But despite the ancient beauty around him, Aziraphale was drawn to the contrast: Anthony was warm and fiery, modern and irreverent beside him in this hallowed space.

"A halo, really," he said, muffling his pleased smile against Anthony's shoulder. "Anyway, I suspect even if I had a halo, I'd probably put it down somewhere and forget it buried under a pile of papers. But perhaps I'll take it out for special occasions." Aziraphale leaned up and pressed a coy kiss to Anthony's cheek. "If you ask nicely."

The ancient carved stones might have been set against him but there was one of the holy persuasion who didn't outright reject him. That arm had snaked itself so skillful around his waist that Anthony hadn't noticed it was coming until the hand landed on his hip. Snuggled in close he felt sheltered, as if he were being shielded from those soulless stone eyes. An umbrella. It was the oddest of sensations but he suddenly felt like he was securely protected under an umbrella. His eyes drifted closed for one heartbeat of a second as Fell's sweet lips left their gentle touch upon his cheek.

Suddenly he could smell the rain in the air. Outside the stained glass windows it was a perfectly sunny cloudless day... but he could still feel the electricity tingling across the surface of his skin and hear the rolling thunder. Lightheaded he drifted between the now and the beginning, uncertain as to which he was actually in.

"You would have given it away. If you had ever had one..."

Anthony sounded almost drunk as he sagged heavily into Fell's side.

"Here, nightlight. Don't thank me."

He pressed his eyes ever more firmly closed as if that might ward off the worst of the dizzying remembrances and clutched at Aziraphale's hand for the support his buckling knees demanded.

"What was that about the gardens? Can we get back to them over this wall? Maybe, some fresh air wouldn't be a bad thing..."

Yes, of course if circumstances arose, he would give it away. No question. Who wouldn't. Halos were a useless ring of light, probably some form of Grace or a show of heavenly power and standing--hence why Aziraphale was so sure it'd just be set aside and misplaced otherwise--much more valuable to a child who was scared of the dark or a person lost and in need of a torch. It was a simple matter of doing what was right and within one's power, wasn't it? Nothing grand.

Anthony wobbled, and Aziraphale struggled to arrange their limbs so that he wasn't about to topple over from the lanky weight in his arms. Flattering, of course, to think he made Anthony at all weak-at-the-knees with his affection, but he was certain it was really much more than that. A memory, perhaps? A sudden illness. He steadied Anthony, fussing and concerned and waving off a nice young man who offered to help.

"Over the wall? No, darling, the garden is through another couple of doors." If it was a memory, was he seeing Eden again? Aziraphale wondered what more Anthony could see of that moment; the last memory seemed to be the extent of the serpent's role there canonically.... Trying not to lose his grip, he offered a pat and then started them on wobbly steps toward the next room. It adjoined the most garden-like of the courtyards. He put on an encouraging smile, all soft and bright like the glow from the stained glass windows. "There we go. Not too far. Do you think you can manage a handful of stairs? We'll be back in the garden in a jiffy."

Anthony trudged along dutifully, moving without really seeing and yet still some how managing to serve past the stone that had so offended his sense earlier. It had been a nice day but then all the days had been nice... Until he had gone up there to cause trouble. Humanity made the mistake of listening, taking with that bite of apple the secrets of good and evil... but his other self did have a point, what was really so bad about that? They could have stayed in the garden as helpless children forever but look what they had accomplished once they left. Cars. He would be eternally in awe of them for having been creative enough to create cars.

"I'm finnne..."

He drawled as he staggered down the set of steps Fell had warned him of.

"Happens like this sometimes. Usually I end up on the floor. Hit my head once."

As the garden neared his pace slowed. Could they actually go back there? Should they even consider it?

"Maybe it was the good thing. Can you imagine spending your entire life inside a walled garden?"

Fine though Anthony may be, Aziraphale continued to fuss a bit. It was his right, he thought, given that Anthony worried him.

"You what?" His little glare suggested someone needed a stern talking to about memory delivery methods because this was unacceptable. Who or what that someone was continued to remain unknown, which was also unacceptable.

Aziraphale paused to look out the doors to what was essentially a bit of a walled garden itself. He hesitated before they could head out.

"I can imagine, but I'd rather not. It does not sound appealing, being walled up in anything. The world, and its ideas, are meant to be explored." This wasn't the most gardeny of the Cloister's outdoor areas, but it the one closest to them and the plants were all arranged between the paths, brush and herbs and trees that were themselves too much to be so confined. "I wouldn't want to be walled in." He hesitated before admitting, "I worry sometimes we'll do that to ourselves, with these new roles."

The fussing and fluttering was Aziraphale's charming nature, a sign that showed he cared and given that he was sheltering under the creature's wing it was for the best if he accepted the little kindnesses with as much demonic decorum as he could. I mean... otherwise he could find himself out there getting wet in the rain.

"You never would have said that then. You would have said we weren't meant to question."

Anthony took a step towards the garden but the demon in him didn't move an inch so the motion turn into sort of an awkward half step that soon saw him back in Fell's arms, where his not-so-angelic cheek could be touched, his blue eyes smiled down at, and... even if that young man who had offered to help earlier still lingered in the doorway watching their progress... his lips softly kissed.

"Don't go back to that? You're better as a human, more free."

Anthony was always so indulgent of him, both of his vices (to be expected of a demon) and his kindness and fussing, habits Aziraphale knew put other people off. Had he been so accepting at the start, too? Had Alec been right in supposing Aziraphale was the angel in the Garden of Eden? It was all a bit poetic if he was; poetic and painfully 'meant to be.'

One had to wonder, if that were the case, if there was really choice after all, or if somehow he and Anthony would find each other in any lifetime.

His eyes fluttered back open after the kiss, only dimly aware of other people milling about the museum exhibits, including the kind young man who now took distinct interest in something definitely not in their direction.

He kept his voice in hushed tones. "I can't say I'll have that choice. For all we know, we may well become those other versions of ourselves. Can a demon love an angel blinded by faith?"

Being so near the doorway leading out into the gardens the waft of fresh air which occasionally breezed past them helped to clear the mind. It was a warm, dry air not crackling with the electricity of memories so powerfully real they had threatened to floor him earlier. It grew easier to recognize his surroundings. He was in a museum looking into the sincerest most soulful eyes he had ever seen and contemplating saying something he knew his demonic self might have said even if it might bring a pang of loss to his dear angel's soft expression.

"I'm not sure demons can love anything. Isn't that the antithesis of being a demon?"

For all that Anthony loved the freedom of it, being able to do what you wanted whenever you wanted and who cares if it was against the rules or not... that had always worried him. Maybe one day he would wake up and despise Alec for his all too human weaknesses, maybe he would grow to hate his own mum for her religious convictions, or Fell... because he was an angel and he was a demon. It worried him.

"Is it?"

He tried not to let that doubt worm its way back into his heart. He had been fighting doubt and uncertainty off for months now, and he wasn't about to let that overtake him. If he was indeed an angel, he was a being of Faith, and though that faith may not currently belong to God, it did belong to the ones dearest to him. Even if Anthony doubted himself, Aziraphale would not. Whatever his purpose as an angel, he could be a champion of faith now. "Wouldn't that be a kindness on God's part, if They took from the fallen the ability to love? Then you couldn't be heartbroken, or pine, or watch something you love die. You would just be an agent of evil, nothing more."

If the fallen were cast out as punishment, wouldn't it make sense to take from them something they would miss? God, namely Old Testament God, did so seem to love to inflict punishment and suffering.

"I think it'd be crueler to take from demons the ability to be loved. And we both know that's untrue. Your family loves you. And I love you. And will continue to love you." He pushed on the door to lead the way out into the courtyard-cloister. "Anyway. I think a little sunshine would do us wonders, don't you?"

A little sunshine... Fell might as well have taken his hand and set off skipping through the valley of rainbows and gumdrops. It was a very optimistic hope, sweet, but foolhardy. Anthony wasn't sure he was worthy of that level of devotion and he was certain that the creatures he had met in Hell were devoid of anything but malice. Somehow he just couldn't find it in himself to say so, not in the wake of that stunning oration with the words, 'I love you and will continue to love you,' still floating around in his head, threatening to pull him out of his gloomy mood.

Aziraphale's shining hopeful face was regarded for several silent minutes, as if every soft line and contour might be memorized in that one moment, before a smile tugged at the corner of Anthony's mouth and he took up the offer to step through the open doorway. The sun blinded him immediately as it tends to do on any really bright sunny day when you have been indoors any length of time, but it was warm and refreshing being out in the gardens and away from all those judgmental carvings. As the past drifted further away in his mind he even began to feel more himself, able to flirt and tease again, which had been the whole point of the outing.

"Would you be disappointed if there wasn't a halo?"

He glanced back at Fell as he took up residence on one of the temporary benches. Usually there weren't any in this particular garden but these were leftover from some event and as they were here Anthony saw no reason not to make use of them. He sat on the left side, sprawled out across it to take up as much space as possible with one arm over the back of the thing so he could angle himself better to look up at his angel.

"Great big white wings... But I didn't see any sign of a halo."

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They met at the Cloisters

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